37. Emerson
Emerson
Henley’s entire body vibrates with excitement, and it’s the most adorable damn thing I’ve ever seen. Since we got in the truck, she’s been unable to sit still. Now she’s buzzing around the shop like a hummingbird.
Grabbing two helmets off the shelf, some driving gloves, and the keys to the Porsche, I scoot her out back. She heads toward the driver side first.
“Uh-uh, Trouble,” I tsk, twirling the keys around my finger. “Passenger side first.”
She pouts her sexy bottom lip at me, then with a huff shuffles around to the other side. “The door’s still locked, Em,” she grumbles impatiently.
Taking my time, I stroll around the car toward her, enjoying the frustration blossoming on her face. “Safety first.”
Hen glances down at the helmets and gloves in my hands and huffs. “Do we really need those?”
“Yes,” I say softly, stepping closer and placing a helmet onto her head and securing the neck strap. I lift the visor and her hazel eyes peer into mine. “If anything were to happen to that beautiful brain of yours, I’d never forgive myself.”
Though I can’t see her lips, the crinkles in the corners of her eyes tell me everything I need to know. With a wink, I shut the visor and playfully slap her ass. “Now get in the car.”
“Yes, sir,” she purrs. Then the sassy little siren salutes me, igniting my entire body.
Once inside, I lean over and make sure her seat belt is secure, then start the ignition.
Henley’s mumbled laughter and shouts from underneath the helmet sends adrenaline thrumming through my system. I probably should have started out easy, worked up to this speed, but her contagious energy pulls me in.
I’ve never taken any woman out on the racetrack with me. The track has always been a sacred place for me. The place I went to clear my thoughts, where I came to release my fears, the place where I’d come for some many years to feel less numb. To feel alive.
As I slide around each curve and hear the vibrant euphoria from the woman beside me, I realize it’s not just the drive anymore giving me life. It’s her.
We whip around the track a dozen more times before I slow to a stop.
“Aww, that can’t be all.” Her shoulders slump, and I’m pretty sure there’s another pout hiding behind that helmet of hers.
I lift my visor so she can see my eyes, and she does the same. “Well, I had thought that maybe you’d want to drive . . . but, if you just want me to keep driving—”
“Are you fucking serious, Em?” she squeals, her fingers reaching out to grasp onto my arm. “You’re actually going to let me drive?”
“Do you want to?” I jest.
“That is by far the dumbest question you’ve ever asked me, but I will try not to hold it against you,” she grumbles, and laughter tumbles out of me.
“Ouch.”
“Oh, come on . . . We both know your ego is big enough to handle it,” she scoffs.
My hand slips through the underside of her helmet and pulls it into mine.
Lowering my voice an octave, I trace the slope of her neck with my fingertip. “Careful with that smart mouth, baby. I can think of several ways to silence it.”
I tip the visor closed and hop out of the car before she can snap back. And before I make good on my threat.
As we round the back of the car, I gently grab her arm and pull her in front of me. When I lift off her helmet, her eyes simmer with heat. “Turn around.”
Her lips part to speak. Once. Twice. But then she slowly gives in and turns around. I lower the helmet to the ground. Gathering her waves into my hands, I begin to braid.
“Emerson Alexander Lane, are you braiding my hair?” she asks over her shoulder. I nudge her chin back forward with my finger.
“With the helmet, it’ll be hard to pull free if it gets in the way. You’ll need both hands and eyes clear at the speeds you’ll be going.”
“And where, may I ask, did you learn how to braid hair?” She snorts.
“Mama taught me.” I pause, taking a deep breath to calm the tinge of anxiety that sprouts. “She wanted to donate her hair when we shaved it the first time. It was easier to keep it all together so that we could save it.”
“Oh Em,” she breathes, then turns around and wraps her body around mine. “You are a good son, and a wonderful man.”
My breath catches in my throat as I take in her words.
They fill me with warmth, soothing the pain of the memory.
Reaching into my pocket, I pull out the hair tie I stole from her on the dance floor and loop it around the ends.
I shift her waist to face me then grab the helmet.
Just as I’m about to secure it back on her head, she grabs my wrist. I watch from beneath my visor as she brings it to her lips and feathers a kiss on the sensitive skin.
The woman is determined to make me ride beside her with a raging hard-on the entire time.
“Thank you,” she whispers, as I lower the helmet over her head.
A devilish smirk tugs at her lips just before I completely cover it.
“Start out slow at first, until you get the feel of her. She’s a little sensitive,” I say, patting the smooth leather dash reverently.
A low grumble erupts from beside me. “Em, I know how to drive a manual. I grew up on a damn ranch! I’ve been driving tractors and trucks all my life. I know how to handle all kinds of shifters.”
Indeed, you do, baby.
“Show me.” I nod at the steering wheel and watch her hands bounce with excitement over it.
She pushes in the clutch and turns on the ignition. The engine purrs to life, music to my ears. A sound that will never get old.
Her gloved hand wraps around the shifter, and I watch her chest rise slowly up and down as she takes a steadying breath.
One green Converse holds in the clutch while the other lightly feathers the gas as she shifts it into first. We launch forward, then immediately come to a jerky halt when the car stalls.
Laughter bursts out of me and tears form in my eyes as I try to catch my breath.
“Dammit! My foot slipped!”
“Sure, it did, Trouble,” I wheeze.
A flustered snarl sounds beside me. The Porsche rumbles alive once more, only to abruptly stop once more. She growls loudly and her head falls against the wheel.
“Gentle, baby. Slowly let out the clutch.”
I can feel the heat of her glare from beneath her visor, and I hold in my laugh, not wanting to provoke her feistiness any further. Rolling her neck, she set herself back up and presses the ignition once more.
This time when she throws it into first, we fly.
“That’s my girl!” I yell, and she floors the gas even more.
As we round each lap, Hen begins to grow bolder, increasing her speed. I only cover her hand to guide her through some of the shifts, but the rest is all her. Her giddy screams flood the cabin with every turn, and I learn that my girlfriend is quite the sailor when she gets excited.
“Hell yes! This is fucking amazing!” she yells as we whip around each turn and zip through each straightaway.
I only fear for my life about two times out of the twenty laps she drives. On one turn, she swerves a little bit into the dirt. During another lap, she gets a little too comfortable and tries to turn on the radio while driving.
I’d call that a win.
Henley slows to a stop, shifting into neutral and pulling up the parking brake like a pro.
Immediately, she turns off the engine and tosses the keys into my lap.
The driver-side door swings wide as she flies out of the car.
With a huff, she tosses the helmet and gloves onto the open seat.
I get out of the car and meet her on the other side.
“Oh my god! I can’t believe I just did that!”
“Yes, you did.” I lift my visor and give her a wink. “Very well, I might add.”
“I’ve never felt so free! I can see why you love this so much. It’s so . . .”
I ramble off a few adjectives. “Exhilarating . . . Intoxicating—”
“Hot,” she breathes.
Her chest rises and falls with her rapid breaths, her face flushed from all the adrenaline coursing through her veins. The floodlights of the track highlight every inch of her enchanting form as she does a victory dance in front of the car.
I’ve never seen a more stunning sight.
Noticing I’ve gone silent, she turns to face me.
Desire illuminates the gold flecks in her eyes, glowing like embers as she slowly glides toward me.
The closer she prowls, the more my heart rate accelerates.
By the time she’s right in front of me, I feel like my chest is about to crack wide open.
I’ve never felt a more primal need for a woman than I do right now.
Like Henley’s my air, and without her I can’t breathe.
One by one, she slides my gloves from my hands and tosses them into the dirt.
Her nimble hands slide up my chest and begin to work on the buckles securing my helmet.
There’s no doubt she can feel the way my heart races for her underneath her fingertips.
Painstakingly slow, she peels off my helmet, but my restraint snaps.
The air whooshes out of Henley’s lungs as I lift her into my arms. My helmet crashes onto the driver’s seat as I slam my mouth over hers.
I pour all I have into that kiss. Making up for every missed second over the years that I didn’t get to devour them.
“Em . . .” she rasps as my mouth trails over the edge of her jaw and down the slope of her neck. I pause right where I know she has a sensitive spot at the crook of her neck. “Please . . .” Hen pleads, arching her body further into me.
Twirling my tongue against her skin, my gaze darkens as I watch her eyes roll back. “You need me, baby?” I purr, rolling my knuckles against her peaked nipples.
“Yes,” she pants. “I need you.”
“Now?” I tease, letting my hand slide underneath her sweatshirt and palm her bare breast. “Baby, you haven’t been wearing a bra this entire time?
” I tsk out loud. “Here I was thinking you were a good girl, but you’re just full of trouble, aren’t you?
” Before she can answer, I suck on the tender skin on the crook of her neck as her hips buck against me.
“Oh my god, that feels so good.” She gasps. “Please, Em. Now.”