Page 17

Chapter 17

Breaking Ground

Noah

L ap 61. Final lap. Singapore night race.

I downshift into Turn 18 and take it tight, close enough to kiss the wall. The car skims clean, and I’m already prepping for the corner after.

My hands are steady, heart a hammer in my chest. Sweat’s running down my back, sticking my fireproofs to my spine. I’m soaked and locked in—and loving every breathless second of it.

My engineer’s voice crackles in my ear, calm but urgent. “Gap to first: one-point-eight. Tire temp holding. Fuel’s clean. Eyes up, Verelli—bring her home.”

I blink once. Breathe. Then shift again.

Turn 19 punches toward me and I take it fast, a brushstroke of control and chaos.

This circuit is brutal—hot, slick, and unforgiving—but I eat it alive. The Marina Bay lights blur past in a silver-yellow haze, but I don't blink. Not now. Not this close.

She’s watching.

June.

I can feel her near the pit wall. Even through layers of carbon fiber and chaos, I feel her like a pull in my chest. My Songbird, under the lights. Mouth probably parted in concentration. Eyes locked on my car like she knows every heartbeat that’s going into these corners.

She said she couldn’t wait to see me tear it up under the lights. So I am. For her.

I’m still chasing every inch, pedal to the floor, hunting the ghost of first place like it still might crack under pressure.

But tonight? It’s not just about the top step on the podium. It’s about proving I’m that guy—fast, ruthless, relentless. And earning the right to climb that barrier, pull June into my arms, and kiss her like I already won.

Turn 21. Clean. Downshift. Straight. Brake.

One more.

I dive through Turn 23 and let the throttle sing, full power down the straight. My car howls across the tarmac as I cross the line. Second place. P2.

The roar in my headset is instant. Applause. My team cheering. Raf yelling “Hell yeah, that’s a podium opener!”

I coast into cooldown, chest tight and throat raw. I rip the helmet off and the floodlights blind me—but I’m already looking.

She’s there.

Leaning over the barrier, team headset around her neck, face lit up brighter than any podium lights. Hair pulled back, cheeks flushed, eyes glassy.

She’s laughing. Clapping. And then—her hand flies up, fingers pressed to her lips like she’s catching a breath she forgot to take.

I swing the car into park, barely remembering protocol. A crew member grabs me and gives me a sweaty hug. Cameras flash. My name gets shouted. But none of it matters.

I climb the barrier. I don’t wait.

She meets me halfway.

I kiss her right there—hard, public, and perfect. Flashbulbs explode around us. The crowd goes wild.

But all I hear is her. All I feel is this.

Her fingers in my hair. Her lips against mine. The way she breathes me in like she’s waited her whole life to.

And I realize—I’ve never been more proud of second place. Because she’s my first. My always.

And tonight, the whole world knows it.

Later that night, after the podium spray, media rounds, and one too many handshakes, we finally made it to the suite high above the city at Marina Bay Sands.

I press June’s body to the floor-to-ceiling glass window, the lights of the circuit still glowing below us like a second sky.

My pulse is still riding the high from the race—adrenaline buzzing just under my skin, the ghost of the final lap humming through my veins.

All night, even while debriefing, I’d been half-distracted. Because ever since I checked into this suite, I’ve imagined this exact moment: June, bare and gorgeous, spread out in front of this window, while I take her from behind with the city watching.

We’re so high up, there’s no way anyone could see us—not really. But that doesn’t matter. The fantasy’s always been about the thrill. The possession. The knowing that she’s mine and I’m buried so deep inside her no one else could ever come close.

I push her gently forward until her palms brace against the cool glass, our reflections catching in the window—her flushed cheeks, her eyes blown wide, lips parted like she’s on the edge of worship.

And me—jaw tight, muscles flexed, every line of my body taut with need as I watch myself slide into her, again and again, like I can’t get deep enough. Like I’m trying to mark the moment into both our skins.

With one hand gripping her hip while the other trails up to her chest, I cup her breast, thumb brushing over her nipple, watching it pebble under my touch.

"These—" I murmur into her neck, voice rough, "have been driving me crazy all night. Bouncing in that paddock tee like they knew what they were doing."

She moans, arching into my hand. "Does it excite you enough to drive faster back to me?" she pants. "Cause maybe I’ll go braless for the next race. Might shave off a tenth just thinking about it."

I groan, teeth grazing the shell of her ear. “Is that your fantasy, June? Me shaving seconds off just to get back to your perfect, braless tease? Because I swear, I’ll floor it every damn lap if it means seeing you like this at the end of it.”

I roll my hips forward again, firmer this time, grinding her into the glass just enough to make her whimper.

I rumble low right against her ear. "All of Singapore could be watching and I still wouldn't stop. Because this—" I thrust again, deeper, harder—"is mine. Every inch of you belongs to me."

June grunts into my thrusts and then surprises me—pushing me back a step while we are still joined.

Then she bends lower than before, until her back curves beyond ninety degrees, hips tipped just right. Her thighs spread, her ass arched, her clit grinding perfectly against the base of my cock, offering everything, and I can’t look away.

She looks over her shoulder, her raven hair falling around her beautiful face that's wearing a sexy pout.

"Ahh, I love the way your cock grinds against my clit. " My growl is guttural, primal. My hands tighten on her hips like I’m anchoring myself to reality—because this woman, this sexy, stunning, brilliant woman—is everything I’ve ever wanted.

Deeper and harder I pound. My jaw locks, breath caught, focusing just on her wet tightness around me.

The city disappears. It’s just her—soaked, flushed, welcoming. And me—slamming into her slow and punishing, watching our reflection blur with heat and movement.

I swear, I’ve never wanted anything more than to stay buried inside her forever.

"Say it, June. Say you love being taken like this. Say you love how filthy I get when it’s just us."

She pants through a grin, breath hot against the glass. “I do. I love it. I love how wild you get for me.”

Then she moans again—head dropping, voice husky. “And if you keep doing that thing with your hips, I might just tell you my filthiest fantasy next.”"

I groan, barely holding back. “Tell me.”

She shifts under me, breath hitching as she pushes back harder against my cock.

“I want you to keep me like this. Pressed to a window. Somewhere new every time. Tokyo. Monaco. Silverstone.”

Her voice goes low, full of need.

“Let the world think I’m your quiet little girlfriend in the paddock—when really, I’m yours like this. Bent over glass. Shaking. Coming so hard I forget my name.”

“I promise,” I rasp, every word a vow in her skin. I pull her up against me, her back flush to my chest, and kiss her neck, her shoulder, and back.

Then I start again.

My fingers slide back between her legs, circling her clit with more pressure now, more urgent purpose. My other hand rolls her nipple between my fingers, tugging harder—just the way she craves it. The sensory overload makes her cry out, her body arching into my hands, into everything.

“I love how your little body responds to me,” I groan, my fingers working her clit faster now—relentless, rhythmic, precise.

I watch her reflection as she bounces on my cock, frantic and desperate, chasing after every thrust that's pushing her higher, every slick circle of my fingers dragging a louder cry from her throat.

“I love how greedy your body gets when I give you just the right pressure?”

I pinch other her nipple again, twisting just enough to make her panting louder.

“Every twitch. Every sound. Every time your pussy pulses against my cock, you're perfect for me.”

My chest is hammering, not from the race anymore—but from what I feel.

“And I promise to love you, June Kennedy.” My voice cracks a little, but I don’t care. “So tell me, Songbird—will you marry me?”

She freezes for a split second—mid-gasp, mid-moan. She’s trembling like her brain is catching up to what I just said. Then she lets out a choked sound, half laugh, half sob, her body still shaking around me. Her hands slide up the glass like she’s bracing herself against the weight of it—of the moment, of the question, of me.

When she turns her head just enough to meet my eyes in the reflection, there’s something raw and stunned there—like I just gave her the one thing she never thought she was allowed to want.

Her lips part, breath catching. "You mean it? Here, like this?"

I pound into her slow and hard. “Yes. There’s no version of my future that doesn’t have you in it. And I want the world to know—like I know right now—you’re mine. Forever.”

Her whole body jolts against me, a strangled moan spilling from her lips. Her thighs tremble, her back arches harder, and I feel the flutter of her walls clutching around me.

"Yes, yes, YES! Noah! To your proposal, and ... to this!"

She shudders violently, a cry breaking loose as her climax tears through her—hot, fast, and completely overwhelming. Her legs quake, fingers scrabbling at the glass as she gasps, “Noah—Noah—” like my name is the only thing tethering her to earth.

I don’t stop, coaxing every last wave out of her, and then I feel it—my own climax breaking free. My body locks, jaw clenched, as I pulse deep inside her, the pleasure crashing through me in waves. It's like falling and flying at once, grounded only by the feel of her— gripping me like I’m all she’ll ever need. I thrust one last time, hard and deep, and groan her name like it’s the only word I’ll ever need.

She’s everything. Wild, brilliant, beautiful and utterly mine.

And somehow, she makes even my wildest dreams feel tame.

“I’m yours, June. Always have been, always will be.”

Three months later

The warm glow of late afternoon spills through the windows of the temporary trailer on our land in Cedar Falls as June spreads out the blueprints, her fingers tracing the lines of what will soon be our home.

The lake glitters just beyond the tree line, and outside, it feels like the entire town is here to witness our house ground breaking.

But I know, everyone's here to bid farewell to their favorite Middle School Science teacher, Beautiful Town Mechanic, their very own Miracle Child.

June's hair is in a messy bun, a smudge of dirt on her cheek from walking the property earlier. I don’t say it, but I want to lock up the trailer, keep everyone out while I lay her out across those plans.

“You know I’m not great with patience. Seeing you bent over these plans like this? It’s testing me.”

She glances up, eyes sparkling. “Good. Maybe it’ll teach you some discipline.”

She taps the page. “You got to focus, Verelli. If you’re going to be racing around the globe while I’m buried in Italy for my internship, we need a place to come back to. A home.”

“A home,” I repeat, the word settling deep. “You’re right.”

She laughs, the sound light and easy. “God bless my mom and dad for being willing to watch over the construction project! When you said the house had to be big enough for your ego—and maybe a couple kids. I didn't think you meant this!”

“Kids? Pretty sure you penciled that in.” I step in behind her, sliding one hand around her waist as I lean in close. Her tank has slipped just enough to reveal the soft swell of cleavage—bare, flushed, irresistible.

“You really expect me to focus on floor plans,” I murmur, brushing my nose along her neck, “when you’re serving up this view?”

My hand rises, fingers slipping just inside the neckline, knuckles grazing the tops of her breasts.

She stiffens—just a little—then breathes, “Noah, there are guests outside.”

“Which is the only reason I haven’t dropped to my knees,” I whisper back, lips ghosting her ear. “But when they leave…”

She swats my hand half-heartedly, cheeks flushed, pupils blown.

“You’re insatiable,” she mutters.

“Only for you, Songbird.”

She blushes but doesn’t flinch. “Maybe later. If you’re lucky.”

“Oh, I’m lucky,” I murmur, kissing the curve of her neck.

She spins in my arms, eyes twinkling. “Noah Verelli, focus! This is going to be the start of everything for us,” she proclaims excitedly.

“Damn right.” I grin. "Have I told you how proud I am of our plans?"

She points a finger. “That reminds me—you’re officially banned from calling Dante just to humblebrag about our floorplan..”

“Deal.” I kiss her, quick and dirty. “As long as you promise to go braless for the first walkthrough—when our house is done—strictly for aerodynamic testing purposes.”

She swats my chest, laughing. “Only if you’re running toward me with that big, precision-engineered tool between your legs.”

I pull her in tighter, lips at her ear. “And you’ll love every second of it.”

We laugh over our own brand of humor.

I tug her back to the blueprints. “Now let’s make sure there’s room for a track out back. Something tells me our kids will need somewhere to burn off all that energy.”

“Track?” she echoes, eyebrow arched. “You’re already planning on racing our kids?”

“If they’re anything like their dad…” I trail off with a smirk.

“Then they’ll win,” she finishes.

Outside, we hear Dante's voice rings out. "Where's Verelli? I've flown a few guys here to congratulate them."

I grin. “I think Dante’s warming up to the town’s chaos.”

June grins back. “Or maybe just to a certain Miss Bello .”

I raise a brow. “Now that would be a race worth watching.”

So, we step out of the trailer, hand in hand, and walk down to where Vicky’s holding the gold-painted shovel like it’s her third child. Mack gives me a nod, June a wink, and the whole town starts cheering before we even lift the thing.

We break ground together. One shove. Two. June leans into me, dirt on her jeans and joy in her laugh, and I kiss her temple like I already know every brick of this house will hold that sound.

The crowd claps again, but all I see is her.

She rolls her eyes, laughing as the dirt scatters around our shoes.

The future’s already begun.

And it looks damn good from where I’m standing.

For so long, it was always the next track. The next race.

But now? It’s her. It’s home.

It’s this.

A future with roots—and I want to build every inch of it with her.