“Harder,” she gasped, pushing back against me.
I obliged, gripping her hips hard enough to bruise, driving into her with everything I had. Her inner muscles clenched around me, milking me, pulling me closer to the edge.
Too close. Not enough.
I needed to see her face.
Needed her to see me.
I pulled out. She whimpered at the loss. “Turn over.”
She collapsed onto her back, chest heaving, eyes dark with need. I crawled over her, settling between her thighs, groaning as I pushed back inside her. Her legs wrapped around my waist, pulling me deeper. I braced myself on my elbows, cradling her face.
“Look at me.”
Her eyes met mine, wide and vulnerable. Raw. I started moving again, slower now, deeper, our gazes locked. Every thrust felt like a confession. I love you. I need you. Don’t leave me. Her fingers dug into my back, her breath coming in short gasps against my lips. The connection was terrifying. Intimate. More than bodies joining. Souls bared.
“Griffin...” My name was a plea on her lips.
“Come for me, gorgeous.” I shifted angle, hitting that spot inside her that made her cry out. “Let go.”
Her climax ripped through her, silent this time, her body arching off the bed, mouth open in a soundless scream. The sight undid me. My own release crashed over me, wave after wave, spilling into her as I buried my face in her neck, muffling my groan against her skin.
We collapsed together, limbs tangled, hearts hammering against each other. I traced idle patterns on her sweat-slicked back, breathing in the scent of her, sex and vanilla and Violet.
Mine.
For now.
She tilted her head back to look at me. “What happens when we land?”
I traced the line of her jaw. “We walk into the paddock. I drive the fastest fucking laps of my life. And then...” I kissed her, slow and deep, pouring everything I couldn’t say into it. “Then I find you. And we do this again.”
She searched my eyes. “Just... be careful. Please.”
“Always am.” I grinned, rolling her onto her back, settling between her thighs again. Her eyes widened as she felt my cock, already hard again, pressing against her stomach. “Mostly.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
VIOLET
“She’s burning up.” I checked Hazel’s temperature for the third time in twenty minutes, the digital numbers glowing like a verdict: 38.3 degrees.
It had been three hours since we’d landed in Austin. Countless hours since I’d abandoned Hazel to a flight attendant and let Griffin have his way with me at thirty thousand feet, and now she was paying for my selfishness.
“Should we call a doctor?” He pushed his chair back and rushed across the suite, his work forgotten. The moment his fingers touched her cheek, his face paled. “She’s like a radiator. That isn’t normal, is it?”
“No, but?—”
“We need to get her to a hospital.”
The raw panic in his voice made my stomach drop. Griffin never lost control—not in interviews, not during crashes, not ever.
“Griffin—”
“Now. Right now.” He was already reaching for his keys. “What if it’s meningitis? What if her brain?—”
“Stop.” I caught his arm, my fingers wrapping around his wrist. His pulse hammered against my thumb. “She’s not dying.”
