Page 43 of Knot So Fast (Speedverse #1)

THRIVING ON CLOUD NINE

~ L ACHLAN~

I don't remember how we make it to the suite.

The world between the finish line and this elevator I forgot is needed to take them to his specific award winning private suite.

It’s a blur of riotous applause, flashes from cameras, the omnipresent screech of tires, and Auren's hand in mine. I’m vaguely aware of security parting a path through the crowd, of rival drivers and officials staring at us with something between awe and envy and fear, but it’s all white noise next to the thudding in my veins.

Every part of me is keyed up, vibrating with victory and lust and a need I can barely recognize as my own because I have never—never—let myself lose control like this.

By the time the elevator doors close behind us, cutting off the stadium noise and the shrillness of a million prying eyes, I'm not even pretending to hold it together.

My fists are clenched, my jaw aching with the effort to keep from dragging her to the floor right here and fucking her senseless.

My cock is a live wire against the zipper of my race suit.

My body wants to mark her so thoroughly that no one would ever dare call her anything but mine.

Auren's watching me, of course, with that feral, delighted little smirk she gets when she knows exactly how much she's unraveling me.

Her hair is everywhere—wild and electric, a tangle of black and magenta and violet strands that makes her look both regal and utterly untamed.

Her lips are still swollen from the victory kiss on the track, lipstick smeared so artfully it might as well be war paint.

The neck of her suit is half-unzipped, exposing the hollow of her throat, the faint shimmer of sweat on her collarbone, the pulse hammering in her skin like a dare.

She doesn't say anything.

Just bites her lower lip and meets my gaze, pupils blown so wide there's almost no color left at all. The elevator hums, floor numbers ticking up in a lazy blue font on the glass panel above the door.

The tension stretches between us—thick, charged, so potent it might actually kill me.

I don’t know if she’s waiting for me to crack, or if she’s savoring this moment before the inevitable, or if she wants me to make the first move.

But I can’t look away. I can’t do anything but drink her in and burn the image into memory, as if there’s a chance I’ll ever lose her again.

She’s the first to break the silence.

“You’re staring, Wolf,” she says. Her voice is lower than usual, threaded with something soft and dangerous.

“Can’t help it,” I manage. Even to my own ears, I sound hoarse. “You’re a fucking vision.”

Her mouth twitches, but she doesn’t look away.

“You gonna keep worshipping me, or are you going to actually do something about it?”

I don’t remember moving, but suddenly she’s backed up against the elevator wall and I’m crowding into her space, both hands braced on either side of her head.

She looks up at me, chin lifted, that same defiant confidence she’s always had—like she knows exactly how much power she has over me and relishes every ounce of it.

“You want me to do something?” I growl, pitching my voice low enough that it shivers between us. “Because if I start, I’m not going to stop until you’re begging.”

Auren’s eyes flick down to my mouth, then back up.

“Big promises, Wolfe,” she says. “You sure you can deliver?”

I take her face in my hands—gentler than I mean to be, because I could never really hurt her, but firm enough to let her feel the tremor in my fingers.

“You have no idea what you do to me, do you?”

She grins, sharp as a blade.

“Oh, I think I do.”

The elevator dings, and I force myself to step back before I forget where we are.

The doors glide open on the private floor.

My private suite. I’d custom-designed it for myself after my first championship, paid a small fortune to make sure it was impossible to access without my biometric data, and stocked it with every luxury and comfort an overstimulated Alpha could possibly want.

They said if you win once, you can lock this place in for five years. Now that I’ve won three additional times, this place is locked in for the next 15 years.

In three years, I’ve never brought any other woman here.

Not once.

Only Auren.

And even then, just the one time—before her accident, when she was still mine in all the ways that matter, and we’d spent a night here that nearly destroyed the place.

It feels right, somehow, that the second time would be now.

She walks in ahead of me, boots barely making a sound on the polished stone, and I pause for half a heartbeat to watch her take it in.

The full wall of windows facing the city, the modular furniture she used to make fun of for being “too Scandinavian,” the open kitchen that’s never been used for anything but heating up takeout and pouring expensive whiskey.

She drifts toward the windows, the late afternoon sun slicing across her profile and painting every strand of her hair in gold and neon.

I lock the door behind us and cross the space in two long strides, my hands on her hips before she has a chance to turn around.

I bury my face in the curve of her neck, inhaling so deeply I can feel her scent saturate my lungs. It’s stronger than I remember—more intense, more layered, as if her body’s in some kind of feedback loop and the only solution is to burn through it with touch, taste, and friction.

She tilts her head to the side, giving me better access, and I bite down—just hard enough to leave a mark, not hard enough to break skin. She gasps, her hands flying up to grip my forearms, nails digging in through the fireproof suit. The heat between us is instantaneous.

My cock is so hard it’s almost painful.

“Missed this,” I murmur, my lips brushing against her pulse. “Missed you.”

Auren snorts, breathless.

“Don’t get sappy on me now. Pretty sure there’s a rule about four-time world champions not being allowed to cry.”

“Not crying.” I let my tongue flick across the welt I just made, savoring the shiver it wrings from her. “Just stating facts.”

She laughs, but the sound turns into a moan as I spin her around and pin her against the window.

The glass is cool, and she arches her back at the sudden temperature shift, pressing her ass into my hips.

She’s so fucking responsive, every movement calculated to wind me tighter, to see if she can make me lose control first.

I grind against her, letting her feel exactly what she does to me. Her head falls back onto my shoulder, and she reaches up to grab at my hair, yanking hard enough to make me hiss. She drags my mouth to hers and kisses me like it’s a contact sport— deep, hungry, absolutely feral .

We nip at each other, teeth and tongue, neither willing to let the other have the upper hand for more than a second at a time.

I slide my hands down her body, finding the zipper of her suit and wrenching it lower.

I want her out of it. Need to see her skin, need to know she’s really here, not just a hallucination conjured up by months of longing and not enough sleep.

I get the zipper to her waist and shove my hands beneath the fabric, cupping her breasts over the thin, sweat-soaked tank top she’s wearing underneath.

She whimpers into my mouth, but it’s not a sound of submission.

It’s a fucking challenge.

I answer by pinching her nipples through the fabric, rolling them between my fingers until they’re so hard I can feel them even through two layers. She grinds back against me, and I can feel how wet she is, even through the multiple layers of suit and underwear and everything else.

The scent of her arousal spikes, so sharp and sweet it’s dizzying.

“Fuck, you smell good,” I say, half talking to myself. “Are you in heat?”

She snorts.

“If I was, you’d already be knot-deep and howling, genius.” She turns her head to the side, lips grazing my jaw. “I just…didn’t take my pills today.”

A pause.

It’s barely a fraction of a second, but it’s enough for my brain to catch up with the rest of me.

“You what?” I ease back, just enough to meet her eyes.

She shrugs, unrepentant.

“I didn’t tell you about all the side effects aside from suppression.

They make me feel like a zombie half the time.

Kinda why I sleep in more during the day and all wired up at night to play video games.

I guess also what you said before…I just wanted to actually feel the race…

and didn’t want you not being able to enjoy my scent…

if it’s something you genuinely enjoy smelling.

” She jerks her hips against mine for emphasis. “Is that a problem?”

“No,” I say, and it comes out as a growl. “No, it’s not a fucking problem. But next time you decide to come off, you tell me first.”

She arches a brow, amused.

“Why? Scared you’ll lose control?”

“Scared I’ll fuck you so hard you forget your own name,” I shoot back.

She grins.

“Promises, promises,” she hums and quietly adds, “I’ll stay off of it for a little bit.”

There’s a beat of stillness, both of us just breathing, pressed together so close I can feel her heart racing in tandem with mine.

Then she reaches behind her and drags my hand down to the apex of her thighs.

I almost lose it.

She’s soaked. Absolutely drenched, even through the layers of the suit and whatever ridiculous designer underwear she’s got on underneath.

I palm her cunt and she pushes into my hand, not caring about anything but the contact.

“So wet for me, Sugar?” I say, knowing exactly what it’ll do to her.

She bites my lower lip, hard enough to draw blood.

“Fuck yes. So don’t keep me waiting.”