Page 10

Chapter 10

Pinned and Teasing

Noah

T he moment I kill the engine and the simulator pod powers down, I realize I’m drenched. Two hours in full gear, laser-synced to the Australian Grand Prix, Albert Park Circuit, replicating every elevation, every off-camber turn, every bump under the tires that shouldn’t exist but always do.

Paolo’s voice crackles in my ear. My data engineer from Italy—gruff, brilliant, and probably caffeinating mid-lecture. “Turn twelve—slightly wide on Lap 41. Otherwise? Flawless.”

I grunt my thanks in Italian, peeling off one glove, then the other. My fingers twitch, muscles still firing like they haven’t gotten the memo I’m done.

I unclip the harness and slide out of the simulator rig, feeling the remnant vibrations through my whole body.

The back of my fireproof undershirt sticks to my spine, and my thighs ache from braking pressure that isn’t even real.

My headset is still on as Paolo drones in my ear in rapid-fire Italian, breaking down sector times.

It didn’t work. Not the driving. That was fine. Crisp. Precise.

What didn’t work was what I’d hoped it would do—distract me from her.

Two hours of pushing every lap harder, sharper—trying to erase the look on June's face the last time I saw her. The wall she slammed up between us when I walked out of that garage.

She wanted space. Fine. I gave her space. But that was two days ago.

And I’m done playing cool.

I roll my shoulders and reach for the zipper at my collarbone and drag it down slowly. The fireproof fabric loosens across my chest as I pull it down off my shoulders and tug the sleeves around my waist. Cool air hits my sweat-damp skin and I groan as I reach up to rip the helmet off.

And that’s when I feel it.

Eyes.

I roll my helmet onto the ground and turn around.

Juniper "June" Kennedy.

She’s standing on the other side of the glass door.

The last girl in the world I expect to see at five-thirty in the morning at Mega Max.

The only girl I want to see.

Our eyes lock. She doesn’t move. Doesn’t speak. So I open the door and pull her in

Hoodie loose around her frame. Ponytail a little crooked. Folder clutched in her arms like it’s a shield. Her lips are parted, her dark eyes are on me, molten and unreadable, and it’s obvious—she wasn’t expecting me to be here.

And she sure as hell wasn’t ready to see me like this.

She’s not even trying to hide that she’s staring. Not at the sim rig. Not at the screen. At me, with my undershirt clinging to me like a second skin.

So I do what I always do when I’m caught off guard. I grin.

Then, I reach for my undershirt to yank it up, dragging it over my head slowly, letting the cool air sting against overheated skin. Deliberately.

Her eyes follow my movement, tracking every inch, while she stays rooted. I let out a slow roll of breath as I wipe sweat off the back of my neck. Then I drag my headset off before turning it off.

I smirk.

“Didn’t know I had a fan club this early in the morning.”

Her jaw works like she’s searching for something witty to throw back, but all that comes out is a rushed breath.

“Sorry—I didn’t mean to interrupt. I just…” She lifts the folder an inch. “I’m just dropping off my camp report. And suggestions for the program manager.”

She’s not looking at the folder. She’s still looking at me. Her gaze drags down my torso where my hand towel has been.

“Right.” I glance at the folder clutched in her hands. “Let me guess. Constructive feedback. Areas of improvement. Zero mention of how impressive I looked rescuing a crashed influencer.”

She narrows her eyes, cheeks blooming red. “You’re not that impressive.”

I start walking toward her. Not fast. Just… steadily.

“Two hours. Full Grand Prix sim,” I say as I get closer, letting her hear the edge still in my voice, in my breath. “I’ve got telemetry in my inbox that says otherwise.”

June swallows. Her knuckles whiten around the folder when I stop in front of her.

She's flushed. Her focus drops to my chest, my jaw, and the sweat still clinging to my collarbone.

Is she done avoiding me? Or is she here this early hoping to avoid me?

Or... did she walk past the simulation room hoping to run into me?

“What do you want, June?” I ask softly, hoping.

“I told you,” she says, lifting the folder. “It’s for the program manager. I start back at the school in two weeks. So, I just want to get the report to the city because I’ll be helping less around the track.”

I lift a brow. “At 5:30 a.m.?”

“Early bird gets the feedback form.”

“Or maybe,” I murmur, “early bird gets caught staring.”

Her mouth opens. Shuts. Opens again.

“I wasn’t—”

“Sure you were.” I grin. “It’s okay. I’m a lot to take in. Especially stripped down and freshly simulated… and stimulated.”

“Stimulated?” she echoes, voice strangled.

I lean in. Close enough for her to feel the heat still rolling off me and smell the faint trace of soap and sweat and something dirtier beneath it all—like the promise of exactly what I want to do to her if she keeps staring like that.

“Full lap accuracy. Laser-mapped track. Every bump, every drift point, every ounce of chassis flex. And I nailed it.”

She’s breathing harder now. I can see the pulse at her throat. Her eyes flick to my mouth like she’s imagining what else it can do.

So, she likes this kind of dirty talk.

“Good for you,” she says. It’s almost a whisper.

“No,” I say. “Bad for you.”

I reach for the folder and set it aside on the counter behind her without breaking eye contact. Then I step into her space, my bare chest almost brushing her hoodie.

She stiffens but doesn’t retreat.

“Because now I’m not just warmed up. I’m starving.”

She lets out a short, panicked laugh. “You’re so—”

“Careful,” I cut in, my voice low and full of gravel. “Choose the next word wisely, Songbird. Because I’ve had you in my head for two days, and I’m not in the mood for games.”

Her eyes flash. “You walked away last time.”

“You pushed first.”

She opens her mouth, then shuts it, throat bobbing. I watch her process the heat between us, the throb she’s trying not to acknowledge.

She whispers, “This is a bad idea.”

And I smile. Slow. Wicked.

“Two weeks isn’t a lot of time, June.”

She flinches like I touched her.

“For what?” Her voice is barely a whisper.

“To convince you to stop running.”

I let that land, and when she doesn’t look away, I add, voice low and certain, “You’ve been running, June… but you keep landing right here with me.”

She lifts her chin just slightly, eyes glinting. “Maybe I just have terrible navigational skills.”

I smirk, brushing my knuckles along her jaw. “Or maybe your inner compass is finally pointing true north.”

She stares up at me, wide-eyed and trembling slightly.

I reach up, slow and careful, and brush her hair back from her cheek.

Then I slide my other hand under her hoodie, fingers gliding along the hem of her T-shirt until they meet skin. She jerks under my touch—but doesn’t pull away.

I glide upward, stroking the dip of her waist, up the slope of her ribs, until my thumbs brush the edge of her bra.

June makes a broken sound in her throat—a sound I feel in my spine—and her hands finally rise.

She grips my arms, nails biting lightly into my skin, her breath stuttering out of her like she’s trying to ground herself. I can feel the hesitation trembling in her fingers—and something else too. Hunger.

So I go slow. Slow enough that she knows I’ll stop the second she wants me to. But deliberate enough that she doesn’t want to.

I press my chest to hers and walk her backward until her back meets the wall. Her hands curl into my shoulders—but there's a flicker in her eyes. A hesitation. Like she’s still deciding if she can trust this. Trust me.

So I pause. Just for a second.

Then, I kiss her.

Not like the last time. Not like I’m claiming her.

Like I’m inviting her to burn with me.

Her moan is soft as she pulls me closer.

I deepen the kiss, my tongue sliding against hers with a low growl that escapes before I can swallow it down.

She kisses me back with that same need I’ve been trying to silence in myself for days—the kind that doesn’t ask for permission or promise forever.

Her hoodie bunches beneath my hands as I slide them up and under, catching the soft curve of her breasts. I cup them, lifting her slightly onto her toes.

I press my hips forward, letting her feel the full weight of my arousal against her core as I lift her, guiding her legs around my waist.

Her breath catches. Her lips part.

“You feel that?” I murmur against her cheek. “That’s all you. That’s what you do to me.”

She nods, helpless. Her eyes are wide, pupils blown, lashes fluttering.

Her head falls back against the wall with a soft gasp, and I take the opportunity to kiss down her neck, licking the line of her throat as my thumbs sweep over her nipples through lace.

She jerks. Not to escape. Just to feel more.

“You’re exquisite,” I murmur, dragging the zip down her top just enough to expose her.

Her breasts are big, perky, and exquisitely round—framed in delicate white lace that looks so soft and innocent it only makes the sight more obscene.

With one hand braced against the wall beside her head, I slip the other hand into the cup of her bra and gently lift one full, perfect breast free. The lace snags slightly against my knuckles as I lift her flesh, the warm weight filling my palm like it was made for it, begging to be tasted, claimed, worshipped.

“From the first moment we met in the garage, I wanted this,” I growl, thumb brushing her pebbled nipple. “Wanted to taste you. Wanted to see if you'd moan the way I imagined—ruined and sweet and completely mine.”

Her eyes meet mine, wide and dark. She swallows hard and gives the faintest unconscious nod.

I dip my head and take her nipple into my mouth, sucking gently, then harder, coaxing a sharp, desperate gasp from her lips.

June's body arches into me, thighs squeezing around my waist, fingers clawing at my shoulders. I flick my tongue over the peak, then suck again, slow and deep, as she writhes between me and the wall.

Her breath comes in ragged pants, one hand fisting in my hair while the other clutches my bicep, like she needs to hold on or she might fall through the floor.

The sound she makes—the soft whimpering—goes straight to my cock. I groan into her skin, licking her again, then dragging my teeth gently over the sensitive tip until her whole body shudders against me.

“Noah—”

I groan against her breast at her mention of my name. Licking and sucking as her thighs keep tightening around me.

“You’re not running now,” I whisper, dragging my mouth up her chest, kissing the line of her jaw. “Because you don’t want to. Do you, June?”

She shakes her head. Whispers, “No. I was trying not to want this.”

I shift her weight just enough, my hand sliding higher to her other breast—the one still caged in lace. I bite gently through the fabric, just enough pressure to make her jolt. She gasps, sharp and shaky, her fingers tightening in my hair.

Her hips rock against me, needy and instinctive, and I feel the slick heat of her through the thin barrier between us. I suck and bite again, dragging my tongue over the nipple beneath the bra, feeling it pebble hard against the pressure.

She makes a desperate noise—almost a sob—and I groan into her, loving the way she falls apart with nowhere left to run.

Her body presses against mine, soft and insistent, making it impossible for me to think straight. Her core pulsing against me with every grind of her hips.

My cock twitches hard beneath her, desperate for friction, desperate to slide inside and feel that velvet heat clench around me.

I want to rip the rest of her clothes off, hoist her higher, and take her right here—fast, hard, deep—but I hold back. Just barely.

Because I want her to fall apart wanting it first. I want her begging for it with her whole body, shaking and slick and gasping my name like a prayer.

And just as I slide my hand between us, fingers skimming the waistband of her jeans, her thighs twitch around me, instinctively tightening, like her body’s already begging me to take her.

My cock throbs so hard I see stars for a second, and all I can think about is how tight she’ll feel wrapped around me, how wet she already is just from this.

I grip her hip with one hand to steady her as the other dips lower, fingers hooking into her waistband, ready to tug—

The door creaks open.

June lets out a startled scream as I lower her legs fast, not dropping her, but damn near. Her heels hit the floor with a stuttered thud. I whip around in a blur, sliding in front of her like instinct—the kind only a man who lives at 200 mph has.

Behind me, her body trembles against mine. I feel her hands clutch the back of my shoulders like she half-thought a SWAT team was about to burst through the door.

Blocking her from the door, adrenaline burning hot under my skin, my arms are out slightly, ready for anything—security, staff, a teenager with a camera phone.

I glance hard at the glass door. But there's no one there. No footsteps. Just that faint hum and blinking light behind the glass, the moment stretching until I realize what it is.

The glass door swings open slowly. A low mechanical hum grows louder, and then something rolls around the corner—a commercial-sized cleaning bot, almost waist-high and built like a mini Zamboni. Its lights flash blue as it scans the floor, completely indifferent to the fact it just interrupted one hell of a scene.

June lets out a squeak behind me. "What the—is that a cleaning robot?"

The machine beeps cheerfully, like it's acknowledging June's question, and begins its wide sweep of the room. It's oblivious. Efficient. Unbothered by the half-naked chaos it just rolled in on.

June whispers, horrified, "Do they have cameras on those things?"

I flash a grin. "Not this one."

Before she can protest, I turn and kiss her again—deep, fast, and full of heat. Her fingers clutch my shirt, and she kisses me back like she's still dizzy from it all.

The bot gives a final beep, spinning in place.

And we both break.

Laughing.

Because it's pretty ridiculous.

Out of breath, off-balance, and completely hysterical in the best way.

Yah. We both lose it.

It's perfect. And honestly? We need the laugh.

I help her zip up and smooth out her hair while she reaches up to clean the lipstick smudges off my face. She giggles, this breathless, surprised little sound that tugs something loose in my chest.

For a second, we’re just standing there in this absurd little bubble of laughter, heat, and total, reckless joy.

I nudge her nose with mine and murmur, “You okay?”

She nods, still smiling. “Yeah… weirdly, yeah. I haven’t laughed like that in forever.”

“Good,” I say, brushing a thumb across her cheek. “Because you deserve to laugh. And be seen. And touched like you’re the most exquisite thing.”

June looks up at me, eyes glossy but soft, and for one suspended second, I swear the rest of the world doesn’t matter.

There’s hope in her eyes. Like maybe this isn’t just heat anymore.

It’s something worth holding onto.

And for the first time in two days, I’m sure of something.

She wants me.

Now, I just have to convince her she can keep me.

Easter Egg!