Kensie
My adrenaline had been in overdrive since that sexy-ass man stood by his car waiting for me at the airport. We were like two exuberant kids fighting to tell our stories after being apart for three days. I’d been surprised that we’d gone back to the house on Fisher Island, and all that he wanted to do was hold me instead of bringing in his thirtieth birthday with a bang. Then to witness his joy after beating Gabriel’s time, the pure happiness and pride that emanated from him warmed another layer of my fast-thawing heart.
The brush of his lips on my neck brought me back to the present. I rubbed the waves in his hair. “When did you have time to get a haircut?”
“Wealth has its privileges.” He held his glass of champagne in the direction of the glass wall that opened up to the crowd dancing below us. We were finally alone in a private suite after a night of celebrating with Ferrari, the team, Gabriel, and Malcolm. “I don’t have the right to complain about anything.”
“I can sense a ‘but.’” I took the glass out of his hand and sipped.
He shrugged, and the darkness of the club partially shadowed his face. “Today is my thirtieth birthday, and sometimes, I wonder if I’ll ever be satisfied. I keep pushing and pushing myself to be the best. I remember being seven and racing with the boys on the playground. Once I beat boys my age, I challenged the older boys. It’s what I do. I approached school the same way. Needed to be the top student. Always. Became a billionaire by twenty-four, and still, I hunger for the next challenge. What happens once I win this race, and I legit will be considered the best in the world? What then?”
“You enjoy right now.” Straddling his lap, I wrapped my arms around his neck. “Stop focusing on tomorrow.” He gave me a half smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “I guess that’s easier said than done. I can probably relate more than you think. I’ve always worked hard to be the best. Yet, most days, I feel like this poser, and I hate it. My life’s work has become relationships, and I can’t allow myself to be vulnerable. I can teach and preach all day that love is a necessary risk, but I’m too scared to live it. What happens when people start to realize I don’t really know what I’m talking about?”
Canaan sighed and rested the side of his face on my cleavage. “You do know what you’re talking about. Just haven’t found that man who makes you feel safe enough to be vulnerable.”
His words were a gut punch that he didn’t consider himself that man, though I know it was his truth. I rubbed my hand over his curls. “And you haven’t figured out your why. Once you know why you feel that void, then your soul can rest.”
He chuckled. “That sounds like I have to die to find peace.”
“It does sound like that.” I laughed and caressed his nape as we comforted each other. “That’s not what I meant, Canaan.”
“I know.” His hands encircled my waist. “I also know you better stay away from Gabriel. I didn’t like how he was looking at you.”
“All this jealousy and don’t want to claim me.” I tilted his chin to look at me. “What if he asks me out after our little agreement is over?”
“Hell . . . Fuck no,” he growled, and his grip tightened. “I don’t care if I’m married with ten kids. I’d better not see you with him.”
“Ten? You want ten babies from one woman? Then I better holla at Gabriel,” I teased him, and before he could protest more, I playfully pressed his head back against my chest. “I’m kidding. I like my men with southern twang and island lilt.”
The warmth of his face and the scratchiness of his growing beard teased my nipples through my dress. He had to feel their rigidness and how my lower half, almost on its own volition, swayed against him to the pumping music. I hiked up my dress to feel his growing erection. His strong hands gripped my waist, and he kissed the swell of my breasts, visible from the cut of my dress. Canaan could do whatever he wanted to do to my body in this room, which surely had cameras. But tonight was his birthday. I slowly slid down his body to my knees and reached for his zipper to release his stiffening manhood.
His hand stopped me. “Whoa . . . What are you doing?”
“Had to show a certain part of you some love on your special birthday. Give you a little release.” I gazed up at his handsome face, tight with desire and longing. His erection strained against his pants, and I licked my lips in anticipation of sucking and swallowing. “I don’t even care if there are cameras.”
“We said we were waiting.” His statement contradicted the removal of his hand, the widening of his legs, and the closing of his eyes.
“And we are.” I proceeded to unzip him. “If Bill Clinton doesn’t believe oral sex is really sex, then who are we to argue?”
“Good point.” Canaan stretched his arms across the back of the sofa and let his head fall back, while I showed him why I was the best gift.
Chapter 18
Canaan
The loud growl of my 1995 Ferrari V12 hummed through my headphones. The wind initially whistled past, then wheezed, and finally was silenced as my speed increased. I needed more practice on the track than in the simulation booth. Gabriel argued that I still trained like I was preparing for NASCAR, whose cars were bigger and clunkier and similarly designed to everyday vehicles. Formula One cars were specifically designed for racing and were more claustrophobic. I hadn’t expected to feel trapped the first time I slid into an F1 car last year during an exhibition race. As the car engineer droned on about the vehicle’s specifications and its ability to dominate any race, I had to beat back the rising panic that began in my stomach. I’d missed most of what the designer said by the time I fought and won the overwhelming experience of anxiety.
Even after seven weeks of practice, waves of panic would occasionally rear as I raced around the makeshift track on the land that Ferrari had bought for their team’s practice. When the anxiety attacked, it would break my flow and affect the time. My pride interfered with being honest whenever Malcolm or Gabriel questioned me about my performance. I vowed to grind harder and increase practice time from eight hours to ten hours until I conquered my anxiety . . . only to return to my beach house and review the tech notes for my father’s company back home. As much as I pretended not to care, I still longed for my father’s approval and had committed to being a consultant when he’d called and needed my expertise on blending natural and synthetic oil.
And no matter how dead-ass tired I was, I had to have Kensie time. After dinner with the team and Ms. Murielle, we’d sit cross-legged in bed facing each other, taking turns chatting about our day. Kensie made sure that we were in bed by eleven, so I could wake up at five in the morning and start the grueling schedule all over again. In the last week, she’d been waking up with me as a sign of support and would drink morning smoothies with me. Then she would listen to her ASMR while I meditated, helping us begin our day harmoniously. We were becoming the couple I never thought possible.
As I pulled into the pit, Malcolm awaited alone with a frown. “I don’t get you. I thought we were on the right track when you beat Gabriel, and now, you’re almost back to square one. If you can’t handle this track, how are you going to handle the street? Those steep curves can kill you, and Miami isn’t the toughest Formula One course. Gabriel is convincingly beating your time every single race, and you’re not even placing in the top twenty. You’re supposed to be the fav, not him.”
I exited the car and removed my helmet. “You don’t think I know that? Gabriel has only known Formula One, and I’m used to NASCAR. He hasn’t had to make the adjustments I’ve had to make. I can’t bump another car to get ahead. The cars are smaller. My wheel moves in all directions, not just to the left, and I keep crashing during the simulation because my reflexes are fucked up.” My fist pounded against my chest. “Yell at me all you want. It’s mylifeon the line when I let thoughts interfere.”
“Fuck all those excuses. You’ve always risen to the occasion. Whatever obstacle you’ve faced, you beat. No one thought you could win NASCAR, and you’ve won three times.” Malcolm crossed his arms and snapped, “Stop thinking about that woman you brought with you.”
“Her name is Kensie. I won’t repeat myself,” I warned.
