She lets out another whoop, then eases off the speed, bringing us down to a cruise that’s still exhilarating.
“And how doesthiscut costs?” I breathe as I get my lungs back under control.
“Ohthis?Thisis me showing off. Everyone else knows better than to get in a car when I’m behind the wheel.” Her smug grin flashes her canines.
“Well, consider me impressed.”
“We’re not even there yet.”
“Where?”
“You’ll see.”
Deep green pines weave by, and Morgan takes us off the autobahn. A few minutes later, we drive through a gate near a low utilitarian building, then slip past a steel structure and back out into the open.
We’re on a racetrack. An honest-to-goodness racetrack.
Oh no.
Morgan slows the car to a stop, and it purrs underneath us.
“Ready…” She glances over at me, violet eyes bright with thrill. “Set… Go!”
Morgan slams on the gas, and my body presses back against the seat even harder than before. I can’t even breathe past the surging thrill. It reminds me of those roller coasters that go zero-to-sixty in a second, except this is zero-to-two-hundred-something in I-can’t-comprehend-numbers-anymore.
When my lungs move again, I whoop with glee and terror. Morgan whips us around the corner, and it makes the turn from earlier feel casual.
The concrete streaking by is dizzying, so I center my eyes on Morgan. Her face is a picture of focus, and I realize this is the first time I’ve seen her really challenged, working at full capacity.
My whole body tingles with electricity.
The car whips around another turn, and my stomach lurches as the track slopes downwards. There’s no time to settle, to think, between each mind-melting twist.
Something opens up in Morgan’s expression, and for theslightest moment, I see her without the mask. Her violet eyes blaze with raw, ravenous hunger.
The wheels scream as we skid around another turn, and I laugh as Morgan finally completes the lap and slows the car down, rolling to a stop.
My vision swirls.
We’re both panting, Morgan’s hands draped across the gear shift and the wheel, mine pressed across my knees.
Her scent hits me in the tight space—smooth and spicy bourbon.
“Was it as good for you as it was for me?” she croons.
My blood moves again, and it goes straight to my cock. Fuck.Fuck.I shift the thigh closer to her upwards, hoping it’ll hide any evidence of my current state.
I know she’s just trying to rattle me, just likes making me blush. It’s working. My cheeks are on fire.
“You’reinsane,” I breathe.
“I know.” She rolls down the window, and a man in coveralls that I hadn’t noticed before jogs up to the car. “How’d we do?”
“That’s a new personal record, Ms. Hunter,” the man says with a German cadence. “Will you take another lap?”
“I dunno, I think my friend here is spent. How about it, Jamie, are you a cigarette-after or a sandwich kinda guy?”
Fuck.My toes curl in my sneakers.
