Page 71 of Overdrive (Speed Demons #1)

When we finally pulled apart, both of us breathing heavily, I stepped back, my resolve hardening. “For now…” I paused, wondering how this was going to sound to him. “Friends… with extremely complicated, emotionally loaded, definitely-not-just-sex strings?”

I expected him to laugh. He didn’t, not this time. He just… looked at me like it might be the last time, grabbed me, and slanted his mouth over mine.

It was wild and raw, all tongue and need and no room to breathe.

I stumbled back from the force as he surged forward, his hands sliding down to grip my thighs.

My skin was on fire and my blood heated instantly, my body and heart and mind and soul wanting him in ways that I shouldn't.

It could jeopardize everything. It already was jeopardizing everything, but when he kissed me like this, nothing else mattered.

I wanted to matter to someone else, and that person was him.

In one swift, fluid motion, he lifted me onto the desk he’d fucked me on just hours ago.

I sucked in a breath when the cold surface touched the back of my legs.

My skirt bunched around my hips as my legs parted instinctively, letting him step between them.

His hands roamed as if he didn’t know what part of me to claim first—as if he wanted it all. Again. Still. Forever.

“Do friends kiss like this?” he asked against my mouth, his voice frayed with something between desire and heartbreak.

This was a terrible idea. I was going to regret this. But God, I needed to feel wanted, just this last time.

I moaned, hands grasping at the waistband of his sweats to bring him closer.

He dragged his nose along the line of my jaw, down my neck, licking, sucking, branding. I shivered, eyes rolling back. “Do friends touch like this?” he murmured, unfastening the buttons I’d just done up. One by one. Until he could cup my breasts under the shirt that no longer belonged to him.

Friends. He said the word with such disdain, and honestly, I felt the same way. Sure, we were friends , but that's not all we were. The term was offensive for the things he made me feel… and maybe the things I made him feel.

“Do friends know how you taste?” He dropped to his knees, and I swallowed down the lump of emotions. He stared up at me, and the temperature of the room ratcheted up when his hands slid over my thighs.

I should stop this, but I really didn't want to. When I walked out of this room… it could be the end. What if he found someone else?

Fuck, the thought made me sick.

"Aurélie, eyes on me, love." Ugh, he couldn't say that to me.

But I couldn't resist, and I did as he asked, and his hands inched further up my thighs to push my skirt up more.

"Good girl. Don't look away." He made me feel wanted in a way that wasn’t transactional.

I was more than just fast hands and hollow bones.

The air punched out of me as he shoved my panties aside and buried his face between my legs.

His mouth was hot and unrelenting, tongue flicking and curling, lips wrapping around my clit like he was starving for it.

My hands flew to his hair. I arched into him, gasping when he groaned, as if the sound of my pleasure did something to him.

I came hard. Too fast. Too much. My thighs trembled around his head and he didn’t stop until I whined, overworked and dazed.

When he stood, his lips were swollen, glistening, and smug. I barely had time to catch my breath before he helped me off the desk and guided me to the door on shaking legs. Not with words, just a hand on my back, a whisper of fingers down my spine.

But then he pressed me to the wall beside the door.

His hands caged me there, and his mouth covered mine again, hungry and deep.

"Taste yourself," he groaned into my mouth, and I whimpered, the words hitting me like a jolt of lightning.

"Do friends make you come all over their tongue?

" When he pulled back, just barely, I could taste myself on his tongue.

“Do friends let you leave like this?” he whispered, brushing his nose along my cheek, lips hovering over mine.

I was breathless. Shaking. Every cell in my body ached to stay. But I managed a crooked smile. “Guess you’ll have to redefine the term.”

He didn’t smile back. Just looked at me as if it might be the last time. “C’est cruel, ca,” he murmured. That’s cruel. Then, softer, almost reverent, “Tu es belle, même quand tu t'en vas.” You’re beautiful, even when you’re leaving.

My breath caught. He didn’t say anything else, but his gaze roamed over my face like he was trying to piece together every shard I’d just dropped. His fingers brushed my arm—light, barely there—as though he didn’t want to scare me.

“I should go,” I whispered, even though my body was still humming from the way he held me, kissed me, made me feel like I could stay here forever .

“Stay,” he said, not as a plea, but as if he’d forgotten he wasn’t allowed to want that. It was raw and reckless and far too tempting.

I turned my head before I could fall apart again. “If I stay, I’ll never leave.”

He laughed once. Bitter. Broken. “Good."

Silence pressed between us; it felt like standing on the edge of a cliff with no parachute. My heart screamed for me to tell him that I didn’t want it to end here, that last night had meant more, that I didn’t want to go back to pretending he was just another helmet on the grid.

But I couldn’t.

“Last night…” I started. My voice cracked. I fiddled with the hem of his shirt I wore to distract myself. It didn't work. “I needed it to be real.”

He stepped closer, and his warmth threatened to undo me all over again. “It was.”

God, I wanted to believe him. Wanted to stay in that bubble a little longer. But there was no space for this—not in my world, not yet.

“I’ll see you in Monaco,” I said, somehow forcing the words past the ache in my chest.

He nodded once, slow. “I’ll be waiting.”

He moved toward the door and opened it—and we both froze.

Marco stood there, hand raised mid-knock, his gaze instantly flicking between us. His brows lifted as he took in my flushed face, Callum’s bare chest, and the absolutely wrecked state of the hotel room behind us.

The fragile moment shattered immediately.

“Bad timing?” Marco asked with an amused smirk.

Callum sighed, and Marco grinned, stepping farther into the room like he lived here. Callum shot him a look sharp enough to kill. “Just catching up, Marco. Nothing you need to worry about.”

Marco shrugged. “I was hoping to go over a few things before the Monaco flight,” he said as he dropped his bag on the chair. “But if I’ve interrupted a post-race debrief with benefits…”

He nodded to the marks on Callum’s chest, and I swore the ground tilted under me.

Heat rushed to my face as I tugged the collar of the oversized shirt, trying in vain to cover up. “It’s nothing, Marco,” I said quickly, already backing toward the door. “I was just leaving.”

I meant to make it out cleanly.

But then I felt it—Callum’s hand closing around my waist. The way he dragged me back to him, the way his mouth crashed onto mine without hesitation.

My breath caught, but my body moved before I could stop it. I kissed him back, hard. Desperate. Like I needed him just to stay upright. My hands flattened against the warm planes of his chest, and I melted into him, reckless and ruined.

I didn’t care that Marco was here. I didn’t care about anything except the fact that I wasn’t ready to let him go.

When he finally pulled away, his breath was ragged, his forehead resting against mine. The only sound in the room was our uneven breathing, tangled and thick and charged.

“I lied,” he panted. His voice was low, hoarse. “Earlier. When I said I’d wait ‘til the end of the season?”

He shook his head, his thumb brushing over the corner of my mouth. “I get if you need space right now. I do. But I’m not waiting months to touch you again.”

I sucked in a shaky breath, my ribs aching under the weight of everything I wasn’t saying.

“I’m not asking for a public thing,” he added, gentler now. “Not asking you to risk anything with Luminis or deal with the media circus. I’m also not asking to hide things. I’ll follow your lead just as much as you’ll follow mine.”

“Callum,” I said, voice thick with too many emotions I hadn’t figured out how to name yet.

His fingers grazed my hip. “I’m not going to pretend last night didn’t change everything. You feel it. I know you do.”

My lips parted, ready to argue—but I couldn’t. He was right.

“I’m not going to push you,” he whispered, resting his forehead against my temple before pressing the softest kiss there. “But don’t expect me to keep my hands off you if we’re sharing a hotel again.”

I huffed a reluctant laugh, the tiniest smirk tugging at my lips. I didn't know what to say because my emotions were clawing at my throat and squeezing my chest like a vice. The weight my life weighed heavily on me, and I dreaded going back to a reality that was nothing but aching loneliness.

“You said friends,” he murmured, “but the way you kissed me just now? Doesn’t feel very friendly, love.”

I rolled my eyes, but the heat in my cheeks betrayed me. Did I confide in him like a friend? Sure. But all the things I felt for him were far more romantic than friends.

He smiled. “So let’s call it what it is. Friends… with proximity issues.”

“That’s not a thing,” I said, laughing quietly, except it sounded more like a huff, because breathing suddenly felt hard.

“You tried to friend-zone me, so yeah, it is now.”

I bit my lip. I had, and it was harsh, but I was hoping that would put distance between us that would make walking away easier. I was so fucking gone for this man. “So… what? We act normal in public?”

“And act not-so-normal in private.”

I looked away, face flushed, heart thundering in my chest. I wasn’t supposed to be here—not just physically, but emotionally.

Not with him, not when my seat could be snatched out from under me at any second, and certainly not when I’d spent the last twenty-four hours peeling back layers I hadn’t meant to expose.

But the way he was looking at me—with quiet determination, with hope, like he saw something in me worth fighting for—I felt myself slipping. The resolve I was trying to stitch back together was unraveling fast.

I was close to caving. Too close.

“I’ll think about it,” I whispered, the words trembling with more than I meant them to.

He leaned in and kissed the corner of my mouth, soft and unhurried. It felt as if he wasn’t just kissing me goodbye, but was reminding me what it felt like to be wanted.

“Can I put a timeline on that?” he asked, his voice playful but edged with something quieter. “I fear you’ll use it as an out indefinitely. ”

I narrowed my eyes, but it was all for show. He could see right through me.

“I make no promises on when I’ll have an answer for you,” I said, but my voice had lost its strength. It cracked at the edges, like it didn’t believe me either.

He took my hands in his and squeezed, grounding me in the moment. “Okay. Then I’ll see you in Monaco in a few days.”

I started to pull back, but then paused, caught in the way his eyes searched mine. He looked wrecked and glowing all at once. Like I was both the high and the heartbreak.

And fuck, he was everything I’d ever wanted.

But I needed a second. Just a second to breathe, to put the pieces of my life back in order before I let myself fall off the edge completely. I whispered the only words I could manage.

“Peut-être à Monaco. Au revoir, Callum.”

Maybe in Monaco.

I hoped he saw it as a promise, a warning, a sliver of hope wrapped in goodbye.

I drew in a steadying breath, forcing the whirlwind of emotions into a box I could carry—at least until I was alone. Whatever happened next, I couldn’t let myself fall apart here. Not in front of him.

My heart thundered as I walked out. Leaving the room. Leaving Callum. Trying not to look back. But, God, he made it hard to walk away when every part of me screamed to stay.

Still, I kept going, willing myself to hold it together just a little longer, because if I didn’t, I knew exactly what would happen.

I’d go into emotional overdrive, and this time, I wasn’t sure if I could survive it.

TO BE CONTINUED…