He huffed a quiet laugh. “Best gift was the win. Second best would’ve been seeing you clap like a superfan from the garage.”
She laughed, soft and real. “Next time. Promise.”
They talked for a few more minutes—easy and quiet. When they hung up he felt lighter, but not whole.
The team party was in a small club near the track—music pulsing, champagne flowing, engineers and mechanics laughing too loud. He stayed longer than he wanted to: smiled for photos, accepted back-slaps, bought a round when someone called for it. But the high from the win was already fading, replaced by the quiet hollow where she should have been.
He slipped out early, headed back to the team hotel alone. The hotel bar was quiet—low lights, soft jazz, a handful of late-night drinkers. He ordered a beer and sat at the corner table, staring at the label without really seeing it.
That was when she approached. Mid-twenties, dark hair, tight dress, smile too bright. “Huge congrats on the win,” she said,sliding onto the stool next to him. “I watched every lap. You were unreal.”
He gave her the polite grin he reserved for fans and sponsors. “Thanks. Appreciate it.”
She leaned closer. “Buy you a drink? Least I can do for the new championship leader.”
He laughed softly, deflecting. “I’m good, thanks. Just winding down.”
She didn’t take the hint. Kept talking—fast, flirty, hand brushing his arm, compliments growing bolder. He stayed friendly but short, trying not to offend her. Then she moved fast—cupped his face and kissed him. Hard. Wet. Uninvited.
A camera flash popped from the corner.
He froze for half a second, then pushed her back gently but firmly. “No,” he said, voice low and clear. “Not interested.”
She flushed—embarrassed, angry—muttered something and left. He sat there, heart hammering, skin still crawling. The old Jax might have shrugged it off. Not anymore. The thought of anyone else touching him felt wrong. Intrusive. Like a violation of something that had stopped being pretend a long time ago.
He paid his tab and headed straight to his room, needing to call Aria and warn her before the photo hit the internet.
He opened his hotel room door. And froze.
Aria was on the bed—black lace teddy, barely-there straps, legs crossed, propped on one elbow like she’d been waiting for him all night. Hair loose. Eyes dark. Smile slow and wicked.
“Happy birthday, champ.”
He couldn’t speak. She slid off the bed and walked toward him—slow, deliberate—hips swaying just enough to make his mouthgo dry. She stopped in front of him, rose on her toes, and kissed him soft and teasing.
“Sit,” she whispered, guiding him to the armchair in the corner.
He sat—quickly, almost without thinking, legs giving way under the weight of her gaze.
She knelt between his thighs, hands steady as they worked his belt and zipper. A low groan escaped him when she eased him free—already hard, already wanting. She looked up through her lashes, lips parting in a slow, knowing smile, then leaned in and took him into her mouth.
Slow. Warm. Perfect.
Her tongue moved gently at first—soft, teasing strokes that made him sigh, head tipping back against the chair. He slid his fingers into her hair—careful, reverent—as she took him deeper, lips closing around him with easy warmth. She moved unhurriedly—rising and falling, cheeks hollowing just enough to draw another quiet sound from him, a soft hum vibrating through him in return.
“Aria…” he breathed, hips shifting once, helplessly.
She met his eyes again—dark, steady, faintly glistening—and sank further, holding him there for a long, still moment before easing back. Then forward once more—rhythm steady now, one hand joining to stroke in time with her mouth, gentle and sure.
He trembled beneath her—thighs tight, fingers curling in her hair, breath coming faster, ragged. She didn’t falter—kept the same patient pace, the same focused attention, as if this moment belonged to both of them equally. The warmth, the closeness, the way she watched him—it coiled tighter inside him, urgent and inevitable.
“Aria—I’m close—” he managed, voice rough.
She hummed softly—encouraging—and took him deeper still, staying with him as release hit—hard and shuddering, a low groan breaking from his throat, the world narrowing to just her.
She pulled back slowly, pressing a soft kiss to his thigh before rising, eyes bright with quiet triumph.
He was still catching his breath—chest rising and falling hard, body humming from the release—when she climbed into his lap, straddling him. The lace teddy was pushed aside; she settled against him, warm and ready, her weight a welcome anchor.
