The kart felt alive under her—twitchy, responsive, vibrating through her bones. She took the first corner too wide, clipped the kerb, and nearly spun. Her heart slammed against her ribs. Jax’s voice crackled through the in-helmet radio.
“Easy on the exit. Breathe. You’ve got this.”
She gritted her teeth and pushed the throttle again. Second lap was better—straighter lines, less panic. By the third she was laughing inside the helmet, the fear turning into something giddy and bright. The wind tore at her suit, the engine sang, and for once she wasn’t thinking about headlines or schedules or the careful version of herself she usually wore in public.
When she finally pulled into the pits, Jax was waiting, arms crossed, proud grin splitting his face.
“Not bad, superstar.”
She yanked the helmet off, hair sticking to her damp forehead. “I almost died three times.”
“You almost died zero times. That’s progress.”
He pulled her out of the kart and into a quick, sweaty hug that smelled like adrenaline and sun-warmed skin. She laughed against his shoulder, high on the rush, the noise of the track fading behind them.
“Again?” she asked, breathless.
His eyes darkened just a fraction. “Careful what you ask for.”
They stayed until the sun dipped low, turning the sky bruised orange. She improved—faster lines, cleaner apexes, the kart responding to her like it finally trusted her. Jax rode beside her for the last few laps, matching her speed without effort, occasionally nudging her kart with his in playful little bumps that made her shriek and laugh through the radio.
By the time they left the track, her legs were jelly and her cheeks hurt from smiling. In the car on the way back to the condo she kept stealing glances at him—profile sharp against the late-afternoon light, one hand loose on the wheel, the other resting on the gearshift.
She liked this version of him best: unguarded, in his element, teaching without making her feel small.
She liked how he looked at her when she got something right—like she’d just won something bigger than any race.
Back at the condo, Nan had already turned in early. “Old bones need rest,” she’d said with a tired smile, pressing kisses to both their cheeks before disappearing down the hall.
The guest room door clicked shut behind them.
Jax locked it.
Dimmed the bedside lamp to a warm amber glow.
And continued her lessons.
He started slow.
Pulled her into a deep, unhurried kiss that melted her against him, fingers threading into his hair. The white sundress she’d changed into was already half-unbuttoned—easy to slip off her shoulders. He tugged it down her arms, let the soft cotton pool at her feet, leaving her bare under the warm lamplight.
He picked up the dress again, a slow smile curling his mouth.
“Close your eyes,” he murmured.
She did.
He draped the folded fabric over her eyes like a blindfold—soft, still warm from her body, tied loosely at the back of her head so it blocked the light but didn’t press too hard. Her breath hitched instantly, the sudden darkness sharpening every other sense: the faint salt on his skin, the low hum of the air-con, the rustle of sheets as he guided her back onto the bed
???
Jax
He lay down behind her, pulling her close so they were spooned together—her back flush to his chest, his arm drapedpossessively over her waist. One big hand slid up to cup her breast, thumb circling the nipple slowly until it pebbled under his touch and she arched with a quiet sigh. The other hand drifted lower, fingers tracing lazy patterns across her stomach, then slipping between her thighs.
He found her already slick and swollen, and stroked gentle circles over her clit—light at first, teasing, then firmer, matching the rhythm of his thumb above. She pressed back against him, a soft moan escaping her lips as his hardening length nudged insistently against her ass.
He kissed the side of her neck, teeth grazing her pulse. “Feel good?”
