Page 32 of Hot Lap (Speed Dating #1)

CHAPTER NINETEEN

The woman in the mirror is not Maiken Lange.

She’s Mai-Lan Rouge — lacquered, lethal, and absolutely done playing by anyone else’s rules.

The Cherry Bomb corset fits like a threat, blood-red satin structured to sin above the skimpiest red thong known to mankind. Jet-black garters and silk stockings follow. The stilettos are five-inch inky bitches and make no apology for it.

Hair: curled, pinned, sprayed into submission.

Eyes: Midnight winged liner, lashes for days. Where there’s smoke, there’s fire .

Lips: red so sharp it reads like a warning label.

This kind of stage makeup takes time. Two full hours. I didn’t rush because somewhere along the way, this message stopped being just for Reece.

This Cherry Bomb is for the motherfucking record .

I step back and assess what I see.

Yeah, I’m about to go off, Reece Pritchard. I’m gonna blow your world sky fucking high.

I set up my phone, check the lighting, and pose.

I’m not draped or passive or hiding.

I’m standing front and center, in control and giving total female dominance vibes.

The blush roses are in the frame, but they’re not decorations. They’re mine to destroy, just like his heart.

Every shot is deliberate. Legs angled wide. Chin tipped up. Gaze locked on the lens.

C’mon, world, say another fucking word about me.

They want to paint me as the stripper wife, the gold digger, the cheap money-grubbing whore?

Fine.

I’ll show them what a goddamn powerful woman really looks like.

If this ends tonight, I’m going out like a nuclear bomb, not like a pissy little bang-snap.

Fuck. That. Shit.

I upload the picture with a caption:

@MaiLanRouge: Am I a wife or just a distraction? Don’t crash while you figure it out, plonkers. #RP11 #MaiLanRouge #ThisIsBurlesqueBaby #CherryBomb

“Read it and weep, media whores.”

Just as I hit that SHARE button, a knock comes at my door.

I freeze, still in corset, stockings, stilettos — makeup sharp enough to make a man get on his knees and confess.

Fuck.

I cross the room, heart thudding like a war drum behind my ribs. I look through the peephole and, yeah, it’s Reece.

Okay, then.

I open the door.

He stands there, head bent, staring at his phone.

I watch it hit him in real time — the image, the caption, the unmistakable implication.

He blinks, lowers the phone, and looks at me.

For a second, neither of us says a word.

I’m in full Mai-Lan Rouge warpaint, and he’s just realized I posted a tactical nuke while wearing garters and five inches of vengeance.

And you know what? I’m not apologizing for who I am, what I’ve done, or how I live my life. This is what he married. Either he accepts me — all of me — or this is over.

“Your move, RP.” I turn and strut back into the room, leaving the door open.

He follows me inside without hesitation, shutting it behind him, and I put a mental checkmark in his plus column.

“I see you got the flowers.”

I turn. “I see you got my message.”

“Mm. Right. Pretend I’m dense and explain exactly what it means and who it’s for.”

Ooh, so he’s gonna play games? Tsk-tsk. Checkmark in the minus column.

“Reece Pritchard, I didn’t fly to the other side of the world just to hide in a hotel room like I’m your dirty little secret.”

He scoffs. “You’re hardly a secret, Mai.”

I gape at him. Is he being funny or an asshole? I honestly can’t tell, sooo well played. Checkmark in the plus column.

He continues. “The vultures are still circling, and I wanted to give you a place that’s safe from them.”

“Christ. Reece, that sounds thoughtful, but I don’t need your protection.” One for the minus column.

“I’m not?—”

“The hell you aren’t. It clearly didn’t occur to you that keeping me behind closed doors would look like you’re embarrassed by me."

He scowls. "I'm not bloody embarrassed by you. The race paddock is a proper madhouse and you'll get mobbed. I just didn't want to dump all of F1 on you in one week. That's it, Maiken."

I nod. Minus one. “Okay. So why did you end up P7?”

He flinches. Just a little. “I made mistakes. Small ones.”

“Riiight.” I cross my arms. “You never make small mistakes. That’s your whole thing, according to the race commentators, on TV .”

He exhales. “I wasn’t focused.”

I tilt my head. “Why not?” I’m not giving him an inch.

“You know why.”

“Say it.”

He runs a hand through his hair and paces two slow steps away and back. “I left without waking you. I didn’t want to muck with your head. Or mine. I thought it would be easier.”

Ah, the truth. That earns him another checkmark for the plus column.

I consider him for a long moment. “Was it?”

“No.” He meets my gaze and he doesn’t flinch this time. Another plus. “It was fucking rubbish.”

Silence swells between us, heavy and alive. It’s like last night again, only so much more intense.

I hold his gaze, my heart hammering like it’s trying to punch out of my chest. “This thing between us, it’s not gonna fit in a box, Reece. You either carry it in public or don’t carry it at all.”

His jaw tightens. “I didn’t know how.”

“You could’ve asked.”

He nods. “Okay. I’m asking now.” Reece steps forward. Close. Closer. He reaches out and hesitates at the edge of my waist, fingers not quite touching me. “And for the record,” he says, voice rough, “you’re not a distraction, not even close.”

He leans in, breath ghosting over my cheek, lips near my ear. “You’re the only thing that makes sense, Maiken.”

That’s all it takes.

I grab his shirt, pull him in, and kiss him like I’ve been waiting since Vegas to do it right.

It’s not soft.

It’s not sweet.

It’s teeth and lips and a low groan from his throat that tells me he’s done pretending this isn’t everything he wants and needs too.

His hands slide down my back, my ass, gripping both cheeks like anchor points. My stilettos give me height, but he still lifts me like I weigh nothing, walking us back until my shoulders hit the wall and the breath punches outa me.

“I didn’t mean to leave you out,” he says between kisses. “I just didn’t know how to bring you in.”

“Try harder.”

He nods, breath ragged. “Yeah. I will.”

Then he kisses me like every second without my mouth on his was a mistake he’s finally correcting.

I moan, back arching against the wall, hands sliding beneath his shirt. Hard muscle, hot skin, rapid breath. Every inch of him is a live wire I wanna put my tongue on.

He pulls back and lets me stand, though I’m still caged by his hands and his body. “Are you sure?” His voice is hoarse and so sexy.

“Would I be dressed like this if I wasn’t?”

His gaze roams my body — corset, stockings, heels — and something in him unhinges. Whatever control he had snaps clean.

Reece drops to his knees in front of me because worship is instinctual.

He slides his hands up my thighs, slow and reverent, and I swear I could come from the way he’s looking up at me, like I’m everything he’s ever wanted and didn’t think he deserved.

“You’re so fucking beautiful.” He presses a kiss to my thigh, right where my stocking meets my garter. “And I’ve been a goddamn idiot.”

“You’re not forgiven yet.”

He grins against my skin. “No?”

“Fuck. No.”

He stands, lips brushing my belly, chest, neck. He slides his hand into my hair, fingers wrapping tight. He tilts my head back as he kisses me again. Deeper. Slower. He’s claiming me and taking control, and I’m so fucking turned on by this man.

I reach for his belt.

He growls. Growls , I tell you. “Bed. Now.”

I smirk against his lips. “You giving orders?”

Reece lifts me in one smooth motion, carries me across the room, and tosses me onto the bed.

“No.” He crawls over my body, eyes dark with heat and something dangerously close to love. “I’m making up for lost time. Full throttle. No lifting.”

“I don’t know what that means.”

“You’re about to learn.”

He peels off his shirt and tosses it to the floor, and lemme tell you, Reece Pritchard is a blessing. He’s all lean muscle, solid pecs and carved biceps, sculpted shoulders. All that physio makes a man a work of art.

He covers my body with his, hot skin over silk and lace.

His mouth finds mine again, slower now but just as hungry.

He’s learning every curve, every sigh, every soft, gasping yes I give him.

Reece kisses down my neck, across my collarbone, trailing heat with every breath.

He strokes the corset’s boning, his fingers teasing where my breasts mound over the edge of the satin.

“You wore this for me.” It’s not a question because he knows the answer.

“I posted it for the world.” I capture his gaze. “They can look, but only you get to touch.”

Another growl vibrates in his chest. “Fucking right I do.”

He unhooks my garter straps with the kind of precision that tells me he’s been fantasizing about this. His hands are steady, but his breath isn’t. It’s on my skin, warm and shaky.

His mouth closes over the top of my thigh and he bites, just sharp enough to make me gasp. Then he licks the sting away, erasing everything but him. He looks up at me, eyes dark, smile devilish. “I’m going to ruin you, Maiken Lange Pritchard.”

“Prove it.”

He doesn’t waste time. He hooks his fingers into my thong, draws it down, and tosses it aside. Reece shifts between my legs, and spreads me open with a touch that’s both confident and careful.

Then his mouth is on me, licking and sucking, savoring me like he’s starving, tongue slow and deep, hard then soft, and it’s devastating.

His powerful grip on my thighs anchors me to the bed and keeps me from flying apart.

I arch, clutch the sheets, one stiletto coming free and thudding to the floor as I writhe beneath his mouth.

But, fuck, he is relentless and so-sooo good at this.

“Jesus — Reece — fuck?—”

He groans against my clit like eating me out is the only reward he’s ever needed, and as he chases my orgasm, I arch off the bed, fingers digging into his hair.

The other shoe escapes and I press my heels into the mattress while I ride the edge, crying out his name when the world breaks.

I come apart hard and hot and everywhere.

Christ almighty, I think my atoms have scattered across the entire universe or, at least the damned hotel room.

When I fall back to earth, Reece climbs my body, trailing kisses and palming my breasts through the corset. “Fuck. I love you in this.” His mouth meets mine again, and I taste myself on his tongue, salty and sweet.

Then he pulls back just far enough to murmur, “Protection?”

“I have an IUD.”

His groan is obscene.

He grabs my hips, flips me onto my stomach, then slides an arm around my waist and lifts me to my knees.

I go willingly because I want him there, like this, and inside me.

“Need these off, darling.” Reece’s voice is dark and low as he shucks his pants, boxer briefs, and socks.

I look over my shoulder, and good golly Miss Molly. He’s everything I imagined and then some. Narrow waist, powerful thighs, long legs, and cock heavy and hard and completely at the ready.

He watches me drink him in, and that smirk he gets — that filthy, hungry, “you’re mine” kind of smirk — it’s almost enough to make me come again.

“You ready for me, honeybee?”

I smile. “You’re late, speed demon.”

He pushes in, slow and deep with a groan that cracks down the center of my spine. I answer with a moan and he makes a sound that’s pure animal lust.

“You like that, Mai?”

“Oooh, fuck yes.”

“Prove it.”

I push back against him. “More, Reece.”

“Brilliant. Because I’m not holding back.” He drives into me, rough but not careless. Full control. Every stroke deliberate, every thrust angled to make me feel it now and tomorrow.

We find a rhythm that’s rough and desperate. Hands on hips, mouth on skin, whispered apologies tangled with curses and gasps.

It’s not sweet.

It’s not soft.

It’s everything we’ve been holding back, released in sweat and heat and friction.

His hand slips around my throat and rests there. “Still good?”

“So fucking good.”

He grits out a curse, and that hand slides south to worm under the corset and palm my breast. I clench around him, and he hisses with pleasure, slamming into me harder. The headboard thuds against the wall, and I don’t care who hears.

He leans in, mouth at my ear. “Tell me you’re mine.”

“I’m yours.”

“Say it again, honeybee.”

“I’m yours, RP.”

When I come, it’s hard and fast and full-body, a sharp cry torn from my throat as everything inside me fractures and melts in the same breath for the second time today.

I fall forward, shaking, his weight folding over me. My release tips him over the edge, and he comes hard, locked inside me, forehead pressed to my spine and my name a rough gasp on his lips.

Neither of us speaks for a while.

Then he rolls to his side and pulls me against him, his palm stroking the curve of my hip.

“You gave me control,” he murmurs.

“Only the illusion of it.”

He smiles into my hair. “Yeah. I know.”