Page 96 of First in Line

He doesn’t seem to mind, grunting my name as his hold tightens. Especially since my hand strokes the half I cannot take in, up and down motions that mirror my lips. Using my tongue, I explore his shaft, getting reacquainted with it. He’s so thick that my jaw starts hurting after barely a minute. This, too, I learned to get used to.

With every whimper and groan he lets out, I give more, hollowing out my cheeks further, taking him deeper, pumping him with my hand faster… He’s slick with my spit, and the wet sounds of my efforts fill up the space, barely covered by the engine and the road below us.

More and more precum seeps out of his tip, and I swallow it all down, drinking him in.

“Fuck, Evie… You’re still so fucking good at this…”

I can feel the involuntary pulses of his length in my palm, which tells me he’s getting dangerously close. Part of me wants nothing more than to give him the satisfaction of a release, to remind him how good it feels to come down my throat this way.

But another part remembers this was meant to be my playful revenge for the way he’s teased me for three hours straight.

So, when light floods the car again as we come out of the tunnel, I release him with a loud pop and straighten up, abandoning his hard, angry length entirely.

“What the hell?” he mutters, his breath slightly ragged.

“Sorry, Hot Wheels. Time’s up.”

His incredulous gaze is almost comical, but I bite back my grin and look outside instead.

“Evangeline, are you fucking serious right now?”

“I told you I wanted to be discreet. This,” I say, motioning at the cars and trucks surrounding us outside, in bright daylight, “isn’t discreet.”

When he understands I won’t, in fact, be finishing the job, Jackson lets out a caustic chuckle that I find both threatening and strangely alluring.

“You have no idea what you just did to yourself, Evangeline,” he lets out, shoving his hard, swollen length back into his pants. “The whole fucking hotel will have heard you scream my name by the time I’m done with you.”

The pulse between my legs returns, stronger, more demanding. I don’t answer his threat, but the satisfied look on my face must betray the way I feel about it.

As long as no one knows who’s the woman screaming out his name like a banshee the entire night, I really don’t care.

CHAPTER

EIGHTEEN

Jackson

“Are you sure you have everything?” Evie asks, voice uneven from her high emotions.

“Yeah, I’m good, princess.”

“You’ll call me as soon as you land, right?”

“Yes. And during my layover in Washington.”

“Good,” she approves with a nod.

Her eyes are still red from crying in the car on our way here. I hate doing this, leaving her behind like this. But it’s just for a few months—ten, to be precise.

After taking me into his F4 team here in the US, Wesley Pryce is giving me a chance at Formula 3, after all. I’ve signed a very strict contract, which comes with a lot of obligations regarding training and public appearances. And they’re taking me in a lot earlier than the usual preseason period, which I take as a good sign. I’ll get to train for a couple of extra months, and it will give me a greater chance of catching up with the F3 veterans.

Not only am I motivated to succeed so that I can get closer to my dream, but also because it means Evie will get to join me faster.

Racing itself won’t bring much money, not enough to sustain our lives there. But sponsorships will. And to get that, I need to win. The more, the better.

This early schedule means I’ll be missing Christmas, though, which I didn’t expect. It was hard to digest at first, but we both know it’s for the best. There is a long break in May, and if I’m good enough and can afford the plane tickets, I’ll be allowed to spend three weeks of it wherever I want. Hopefully, I’ll be able to return and spend it all with my wife.

“I don’t know how pretty Belgian girls are, but you’re not even allowed to look at them,” she says in a very serious manner, jealousy veiling her pretty face.