Page 27

TWENTY-SEVEN

CHARLOTTE

With the exception of hitting Jesse Adler in the nuts with a pool cue, I’ve never intentionally caused another person physical pain. I don’t like violence. Even sanctioned fighting like boxing puts me on edge. Satin Satan—who’s wearing a satin top, to no one’s surprise—may push me over the edge, though. A swarm of media personnel was waiting to interview the drivers after the Italian Grand Prix podium ceremony, but, of course , she cornered the AlphaVite drivers the moment they stepped into the parc-femme. Granted, they’re the clear go-to. Blake refuses to speak to her, and Lucas is too nice to say no to an interview. Theo, of course, will talk to anyone with a microphone.

I’d be liable to throw my shoe at her—heel-forward—if I hadn’t scoured my favorite resale shops for months before finding these purple Ferragamo leather slides with bow accents at a decent price.

Lucas looks irritated, despite his win. To everyone else, he looks thrilled, but they don’t know his tells. He’s been fiddling with his watch nonstop since she approached him, and when he smiles, it’s close-lipped, and no lines bracket his eyes .

“If you glare any harder, I think Miranda may burst into flames,” Mitchell jokes with a smirk.

I’m not a jealous person by nature, but Satin Satan looks like she’s about three seconds away from wiping a bead of sweat from my boyfriend’s forehead with her tongue.

“That’s the point,” I tell him, narrowing my eyes at her until I see nothing but blobs. Whether or not he’s in a relationship, it’s not exactly professional for her to continually brush her tits against his arm while asking questions.

“She’s harmless,” he tells me, waving off my concern.

I turn my glare to Lucas’s manager. “They’ve slept together, you knob-headed goblin.”

His jaw drops. “What? How do you know this?”

“I’m a Walker, Mitchell. Are you really that surprised that I know all the paddock gossip?” I roll my eyes. “I may trust Lucas, but that doesn’t mean I have to like it when he’s being interviewed by a woman who’s seen him naked and clearly enjoyed it, since her nipples are harder than fucking bullet-proof glass.”

Beside me, Mitchell barks out a laugh, the rough sound causing me to jump. I don’t think I’ve heard him laugh before now. Maybe a little chuckle here and there, but never a hearty, motorcycle engine–sounding chortle. The noise catches Lucas’s attention despite the chatter of the nearby team members and media personnel. He catches my eye and smirks.

He’s been teasing me all day with soft touches and explicit promises when no one’s paying attention. Lucas has a very healthy sexual appetite—one that matches my own—but it reaches new heights after a grand prix, when he has excess adrenaline pulsing through his veins. He’s trying to keep me distracted as well, I’m sure, so I don’t spiral into panicking about our impending talk with my brother.

I stick my tongue out at him. It’s not exactly mature, but I’m sexually frustrated and can’t think straight. I find myself craving Lucas at the most inopportune times, like when he pulls off his helmet after a race, his face breaking out into a wide grin, or when he bristles if I try to open my own car door. Even now, when all he’s doing is answering questions. His racing suit is perfectly tailored to his athletic frame, the sleek, aerodynamic design accentuating his broad shoulders and toned physique. He looks every bit in his element—focused, determined, and undeniably handsome. The bold blue suit boasting the team’s sponsors only makes him appear larger than life. It’s a major turn-on.

My phone vibrates, a welcome distraction, but the name on the screen has me letting out a strangled squeak. Jesse Adler . I reel back, my face flushing in confusion, as I gape at the damn thing in my hand like it’s a ticking time bomb. What the fuck ?

Both Theo and Lucas pause the interview with Satin Satan and rush over to me, certain that something must be wrong. The two of them volley questions at me. Theo thinks I’m having an allergic reaction, going on about how red my face is. Lucas worries that my blood sugar is low because I’ve been too nervous to eat much today.

“I got my period,” I blurt out, not knowing how to explain my reaction without raising red flags.

Seriously? That was the best I can come up with?

“Um… okay,” Theo says, scratching his brow and glancing around, as if that’ll help. “Do you need something?”

“Tampons,” I blurt out, nodding. “Or pads. Either work.”

Oh my God, Charlotte. Shut the fuck up .

“Pads?” Lucas asks, staring at me like I’ve lost the plot. I pretty much have. He knows I don’t have my period, considering he woke me up with not one but two orgasms using his mouth and didn’t look like a vampire afterward.

“Otherwise known as a sanitary napkin.” In case there’s any confusion. “They come in all shapes and sizes. Maxi, thin, ultra-thin, extra-long. I swear some of them are absorbent enough that if Jack had one after the Titanic went down, he could’ve survived by floating on it.”

Knowing I need to leave before I embarrass myself further, I make a hasty exit and scurry back to the motorhome “for sanitary products.” A.k.a. hiding out in Lucas’s suite so I can see what the hell Jesse wants.

Within seconds of opening the message, it becomes clear that I overreacted.

Shocker .

Jesse Adler added Charlotte Walker to the group Fab Five (+Females)

Jesse Adler

Figured it was time to start the new group text.

Jaclyn Adler

Yay! Love not being the only female. The last group text had way too much testosterone and ball chafing talk.

Ezra Adler

Welcome, Charlotte!

The ball chafing talk was all your husband and Finn. Don’t put that shit on the rest of us.

Grayson Adler

Says the guy who asked if Plan B was the “medically correct name” because he was at the pharmacy and wasn’t sure if they’d know what he was talking about.

Finn Adler

I want to know why Lucas isn’t answering our congratulatory texts.

Care to explain, Charlotte?

Jaclyn Adler

You didn’t congratulate him, Finnegan… you said “thanks for not embarrassing the family and losing,” which isn’t very nice or supportive.

Finn Adler

Ugh. Don’t use your mom voice on me through text, Jac. It scares me.

Ezra Adler

Is Lucas wearing a Portugieser Automatic 42? Been dying to get my hands on one.

Grayson Adler

How the hell is anyone supposed to recognize that watch? Not all of us have a hard-on for wristwear, Ez.

Ezra Adler

Ever heard of Google??

Finn Adler

Didn’t you know that once you become a dad, you forget how to do normal things like use Google? Duhhh.

As the texts come in one after another, I don’t bother biting back a giant grin. My family group chat consists of my mum, who much prefers chitchat over the phone than text, and Theo, who uses it as his personal diary from time to time. It’s nothing like this, and as cheesy as it is, I’m honored to be included.

Lucas finds me in his suite twenty minutes later, while I’m texting Jaclyn the link to an adorable baby boutique in Melbourne and trying to explain to Finn why asparagus green and mustard yellow are indeed a horrible color combination.

He can’t get a single question out before I blurt, “I got added to your family group chat. Well, your parents aren’t in it, so it’s not the full family group chat, but it’s a stepping stone, right?”

Once the door is shut behind him, he takes a step toward me and runs a ring-clad hand through his hair. “And that made you freak out? I told Finn you’d be fine with it, but if you’re uncomfortable, I can have him?—”

“Jesse started the group,” I interrupt, giving credit where it’s due. He may not be my favorite Adler, but if Lucas is trying to fix their relationship, the least I can do is be supportive.

He goes rigid, his face frozen in shock. “Seriously?”

“Yes,” I hedge, grimacing at his reaction. “Is that bad?”

His brows curve toward one another. “No, not at all, but is that why you panicked and said you need tampons? Because Jesse was the one who added you?”

“Sort of,” I admit. “I saw his name on my phone and thought he was being shady, which would definitely make mending things difficult, but I now realize that may have been a tad dramatic of me. Honestly, the only downside I can see to being added to the group is that having a lot of Adler contacts in my phone may get confusing. What if I accidentally sext that I’m wetter than a water slide and not wearing anything under my skirt to the wrong person? I could never face your family again. We’d either have to break up or you’d have to cut all contact with them immediately.”

When Lucas’s jaw drops, I nod. Good. He understands the levity of having five new Adler contacts in my phone.

Or not. Because apparently he’s stuck on another detail. “You’re not wearing anything under your skirt?”

“ That’s what you’re choosing to focus on?” I ask with a huff. “Seriously? ”

“I don’t think you realize how fucking addicted I am to you,” he says, wrapping his calloused hand around my throat in a territorial move. “Doesn’t matter if you’re wearing a punny shirt and a grumpy pout first thing in the morning or rocking a little black dress and a flirty smile at a sponsor event. I want you. You’re mine. To worship, to tease, and to fuck. So knowing you’re bare under that sexy skirt you made? Yeah. That’s what I’m choosing to focus on.”

He slides his free hand between my legs, fingers brushing against the warmth at the juncture of my thighs. I gasp, and as he grazes my clit, a jolt of pleasure courses through me.

“Fuck, you’re soaked,” he groans through gritted teeth. With light, teasing strokes, he skims over the sensitive skin.

I whimper, grinding into his hand for more—more pressure, more friction, more everything.

“Tell me what you want, baby,” he says, his voice deep with desire.

“I don’t care,” I pant, squirming and desperate for a release. “Anything.”

“Gonna need more than that.” He nips my lower lip. “Do you want my fingers? My mouth? My cock?”

“Is all of the above an option?”

Lucas chuckles, the sound going straight to my core. “As much as I’d love to spend the next few hours getting lost in you, I have a press conference in about twenty minutes, baby. Now choose. Tell me what you want.”

What I want is for him to stop talking and do something, so I blurt out “fingers.”

The word’s barely out of my mouth before he sinks a finger inside me, then another, and curls them at the perfect angle. Pleasure spreads through me like lava as he plays my body like he’s a Juilliard-trained violinist. I latch on to his shoulders, knees buckling.

“I love it when you’re like this,” he murmurs against my skin. “Desperate for me; just how I feel about you all the time. Can’t get enough of you, Roo. Want you every second, every day, forever.”

He slams his lips to mine like he’s a bomb liable to explode if he doesn’t. The move causes the coil in my stomach to wind tighter, threatening to break free any second. I grind into his hand as his fingers work me in a measured, insistent rhythm. I palm his cock, which is straining against the tight material of his suit, pulling a grunt from him as he arches toward my fingers with an unspeakable yearning.

“I’m close,” I whimper, my head falling against his shoulder as I give in to the warm waves of sensation.

“Soak my hand, baby,” he says. That’s it. Game over. At his command, the band inside me snaps, every nerve in my body burning white hot until a warm pleasantness settles over my skin.

As I come down, I lift my head, my gaze crashing against his.

Darkness clouds the green in his eyes, his pupils blown out, and in a deep, deliciously demanding voice, he says, “Put your hands on the back of the couch and bend over.”

Lucas and I may be equals in every other aspect, but there is nothing that turns me on more than the way he dominates me inside the bedroom—or motorhome. These suites weren’t made with this type of activity in mind, so it’s a tight squeeze as I lean over, my knees on the edge of the cushions, and cling to the back of the small gray couch. Looking over my shoulder, I watch as he unzips the top half of his suit and muscles out of it. He’s still wearing a fire-retardant shirt, but the move allows him to take out his straining cock. He strokes himself while using his free hand to rummage through my purse to find a condom. It takes a frustratingly long time, despite my directions, to pull out the leopard-print bag where I keep them, along with hand sanitizer and pain relief meds. So long that I’m squirming in anticipation by the time he finally rolls it on, hovers over me, and lines himself up at my entrance.

No matter how ready I am to take his impressive length, there’s always a slight burn as he enters me, stretching me in the most delicious way. As he fills me, I tip my head back, my mouth dropping open. The position forces my legs closer together, creating a tighter fit than usual. I curl my toes in my shoes, tucking my face into the crook of my elbow to stop myself from moaning. We may be alone in his room, but the motorhome is by no means empty, and chatter from the hallway filters through the crack beneath the door.

He starts off slow, but quickly picks up his pace, thrusting to the hilt every time he pushes forward. The angle presses against all the right spots, and I muffle my moan at the pressure, my hands digging into the couch like a lifeline as stars dance in my vision.

“That’s the spot, hmm?” he grunts.

I nod absentmindedly, my walls clenching around him.

“It’s so fucking hot watching my cock disappear inside you. There’s nothing quite like it, baby.”

He smooths a hand over the expanse of my back before snaking it under my bra and pinching and pulling at my nipples until the stimulation has me bucking against him, wildly chasing after another release as the bubble of pleasure grows in the pit of my stomach. He whispers dirty words against my neck as he pushes even deeper, covering my mouth to quiet my incoherent babbling. He’s fucked the basic ability to speak right out of me.

“I’m not going to last much longer, baby,” Lucas says, his hips never faltering, “so I need you to be a good girl and come for me.”

At the instruction, my body complies, as if it has no other choice. I have to give him what he wants, and lucky for me, it’s exactly what I want, too. My orgasm crashes over me in shuddering waves, and I pulse around him, making him grunt on every squeeze. Without slowing, he loops an arm around my waist and thrusts into me until his release hits him and he stiffens, groaning out my name. His movements slow, and when they stop completely, he remains buried inside me, air sawing in and out of his lungs.

Lucas presses a light kiss against my spine between my shoulder blades before slowly pulling out of me. While he throws out the condom and shrugs back into his suit, I freshen up my makeup and hair. Satisfied that I’m not about to walk into the conference room looking freshly fucked, I wrap my arms around his waist and rest my chin on his chest.

“You good, baby?” he asks, stroking my hair. “Need me to get you anything?”

“Nuh-uh, but thank you,” I murmur lazily, releasing my hold on him. “You’re the best soft top.”

“What’s that?”

“Someone who’s dominant in the bedroom, but super nurturing outside of it.” I rack my brain for an example. “Like a Sith in the sheets, and a Jedi in the streets.”

Lucas bursts out laughing, clutching his sides at my Star Wars reference. We made a trade—he’ll watch Sex and the City if I’ll watch his favorite movie series. I agreed to this, not realizing there are eleven live-action feature films in the Star Wars franchise, but I’m a woman of my word.

“God, I love you,” he says through his laughter.

“Love you, too,” I tell him. “And not just because you gave me two orgasms in twenty minutes. I love you every day, all the time.”

He kisses my forehead, then opens the mini fridge. “You ready to head to the press conference?”

I reply with a salute, then hold a hand out for the bottle of juice he has pulled out in case my blood sugar drops while we’re there .

The press room is buzzing with energy. A dozen photographers tinker with their equipment while journalists type furiously on their laptops and camerapeople get set up to broadcast the interview to fans around the world. The room is sleek, with polished floors and large sponsor banners hanging on the walls. The backdrop features the iconic Formula 1 logo, and there’s a long table in the front with three chairs stationed behind it, microphones and water bottles ready for the drivers.

I spot Ella’s messy bun in the sea of reporters and slide into the empty seat she’s saved for me. She’s got her iPad in one hand, ready to take notes, and a Diet Pepsi in the other. She calls it pop, while Lucas refers to it as soda. They’re both wrong, considering it’s a fizzy drink, but oh well .

Lucas takes his seat between Theo and Blake, who placed P3 and P2 respectively, the three of them looking an equal mix of exhausted and exhilarated. The journalists immediately fire off questions, their hands shooting up into the air.

The moderator selects the first question, and Blake’s asked about his controversial overtaking maneuver in the twenty-fifth lap. That’s when I start to tune in and out. It’s not that I don’t care to listen; I simply get antsy and end up scrolling on my phone.

Everything’s going well until Theo’s asked about how the track limit warning he received on turn ten influenced his approach to the rest of the race. That line of conversation somehow morphs into one about ranking the best pasta shapes. He’s claiming linguine is the clear winner—he’s wrong; penne is—when my pump beeps. Grateful Lucas had the foresight to hand me a bottle of OJ, I unscrew the cap and take a few sips.

“Um… I think something’s happening,” Ella says, nudging me with her elbow.

“Huh?” I glance at her, but she’s staring straight ahead, a look of nervous apprehension dancing across her face.

I follow her gaze and find Theo glaring at Lucas’s phone, which is face up on the table. It only takes me a split second to realize the issue.

“You have about two seconds to tell me why you have Lottie’s glucose levels on your phone,” Theo says, his voice tight with suspicion and booming through the microphone.

Lucas doesn’t reply, instead locking eyes with me, helpless realization and regret flooding his face.

Then all hell breaks loose.