Page 105 of On The Edge

“This is—”

“Being a driver is about learning how to drive under duress.” His fingers dip back into me as the heel of his hand connects with the hub of nerves. “With distraction all around you.” He leans down and laces an open-mouth kiss on my neck, his tongue licking there as his fingers keep working me over.

In. Out. Slide over my clit. A little more friction till I tense up and then back into me again.

“It’s always hot. Something is always bothering you.” He tugs on my earlobe and the sensation is like a mainline to my core where his fingers are now slick with my arousal. “Having to focus on anything but the pressure building in your body from outside sources.”

I ease on the throttle as my body burns so hot I can’t focus. I definitely shouldn’t be driving right now. My head falls back against his shoulder as my body begins the weird dichotomy of soaring and falling at the same time.

“Why aren’t we moving?” he asks as I buck my hips into his hand, my own hands tightening on the handles for leverage.

“I can’t concentrate.” I moan the breathless syllables out. His chuckle against my skin only heightening my hyperawareness of him.

“Come for me, Madds. Gush for me.” He shifts so that his rock-hard shaft is against my lower back as his fingers work me over.

Again and again.

Until my body tenses.

And the orgasm washes over me.

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

Maddix

“So we’ll get to see you?” My mom’s voice rises in pitch with each and every word. I can imagine her standing in the kitchen, her dog, Bo, asleep at her feet, and where she’s practically bouncing up and down in excitement.

“You will. We’re coming for the race in Austin.”

“You know it wouldn’t kill you to stop on home any other time.” She chuckles but I know that sound. The one that says she has tears in her eyes and is trying not to show it. “I’m kind of missing my girl and am not particularly fond of Kevin sending you away on this work trip and of Cruz for keeping you there.”

“He’s not keeping me anywhere, Mom. You say that like I’m a hostage.”

“Well . . . people have weird kinks these days. You never know—”

“Say no more. I’ll make sure he brings his whole portable BDSM chamber with him when we come home.”

Silence. My words are met with it. Then she bursts out in laughter. “Fine. Point made. Although I would like to hear about my daughter’s adventures with her new beau herself instead of seeing them on her social media pages.”

“Beau? Who says that anymore?”

“I’ve been on a historical romance reading binge. Go with it.”

Leave it to my mom to insert historical romance in her everyday life. It doesn’t hurt that I love her madly for it.

“But things are good? He’s good to you? Beyond the diamonds at palaces and fancy dresses? He’s really good to you?”

My smile is automatic. The past few weeks with Cruz have been . . . incredible. We’ve hiked the hills of Monaco. We’ve gambled in the Monte Carlo casino—my kisses on his dice the good luck he needed to win several thousand dollars that he in turn donated to charity.

We’ve challenged each other at game after game of checkers until our stubborn streaks resulted in us knocking the board to the floor and having sex on the table where the board had been. We’ve watched movies and made meals that tasted so horrible we had no choice but to order out.

And we’ve laughed. God, how we’ve laughed. In bed. Walking hand in hand through the town. Across the room as I worked and he studied his opponents’ latest moves.

I left for this adventure thinking the memories I’d be making would be solo. Me out exploring as we pretended to date. But it seems that I can’t think of a single memory I’ve made over the last two months that doesn’t involve Cruz. Not one. My phone is full of pictures of them.

And many of those images are for my own use. For my memory bank, not to be posted to perpetuate this farce that doesn’t feel like a farce anymore.

Is he good to me?