Page 84 of Crash Course

“And how much of this”—I gesture between us—“is because Theo wanted me first?”

Jameson’s fingers thread in my hair, the strands tangled from the wind. “Who says he wanted you first?”

He takes his time as his mouth drags along my skin. I want to memorize him—his scent, his hands, the way he can shift from demanding to gentle in a heartbeat.

The rain has nearly stopped. There’s only the occasional drop that cools my heated skin.

“The first time you rode on this bike with me,” he says, pulling back an inch, “I couldn’t think of anything else all week.”

“Really.” Forget aerodynamics, Jameson Ashford confessing how long I’ve been living rent free in his head is my new favorite subject.

“That and how you told me off. At my own damn house, no less. How’d you get so brave, Townie?”

I shift over him, trailing a finger across his shoulder, feeling the muscles jump underneath my touch. “You call it brave, I call it surviving. I’ve always had to look out for myself. My dad and I, we had to look out for each other.”

He searches my face, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. “I would’ve kept your secret.”

The way he says it hits as hard as the words.

I usually have a response to everything, but now, I’m at a loss.

Jameson’s lips tug up, and mine do, too.

If antagonizing him is a thrill, it’s nothing compared with the high of being on the same page.

“What you did at that race, worrying about me,” he goes on, “no one’s ever done that. People like my name or what I can do for them. With you, it doesn’t feel that way. It’s never felt that way.”

“Your name is inconvenient at best,” I assure him.

He’s holding my ribs, thumbs stroking just under my breasts. When he catches the underside on the next pass, a jolt of pleasure has me pressing closer.

I roll my hips, feeling the hard ridge of him between my thighs through our clothes.

He exhales a hiss of breath.

A car streaks by on the road. Neither of us looks up.

“I’ve had these dreams lately,” he murmurs against my skin. “The party after the first race. The fireworks. What we could’ve done if we’d had more time.”

“Wait. Don’t tell me you wanted to get off, too?” I blink up at him with my most innocent expression.

Jameson mutters something I can’t hear and drags me up to him.

When he kisses me, I’m already breathless. His fingers tangle in my hair at my nape, dragging my head back as if he’s finally had enough of our bullshit.

Maybe I have, too.

He cups my breasts through my shirt, my nipples hard from the cold and his touch. He twists one in his fingers, light at first. The sensation tugs through my entire body.

He grinds into me, and the friction sends delicious shivers down my thighs. I hiccup a breath. It’s like being struck by lightning. Everything with him feels next level.

I want to see what color his eyes turn when he’s crossing the finish line.

With a groan, he yanks my shirt down and latches onto my breast.

The rain soaked both of us but I’m not cold. His skin is hot under his wet shirt, my fingers greedy for every part I can reach.

“Easy,” he murmurs.