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My anticipation sparking again, I drive through into the airport.
“Here. Stop the car.”
A little confused, I follow Alastor’s instructions and stop the car where he’s indicated. My confusion is compounded when he unbuckles and opens his door, getting out of the car and rounding the front to the driver’s side.
“Out,” he commands upon yanking open my door. “Huh?”
He quirks an eyebrow at me. “You think I’m lettingyou
drive any faster than you already have?”
I’m pretty sure there’s an insult in there somewhere
and I bristle at it. “I was doing fine.”
“Just go sit on the other side.”
Knowing he’s not going to budge on this—stubborn
arse—I grudgingly get out of the car and move around it to the passenger side. Alastor has already settled in the driver’s seat and is adjusting its position by the time I climb in.
He reaches for the centre controls and flicks a few buttons. And then AC/DC’s “Thunderstruck” starts blasting through the sound system, the seats vibrating with the pounding of the bass.
I glance up from fastening my seatbelt, eyes narrowed at Alastor. “I thought you didn’t want music?”
“Only when amateurs who can’t afford any distractions are driving.”
Before I can issue a retort, he releases the handbrake, shifts gears and stomps down on the accelerator, rocketing us forward with a speed that makes my stomach drop.
Bloody fucking hell. Okay, yeah, there’s no way I’d have been confident enough to hit this kind of speed. But Alastor is clearly an incredibly skilled driver. He could give the blokes competing at Bathurst a run for their money.
We do a few laps of the tarmac, and then Alastor pulls the Falcon to a stop back where we started.
The second he stops the car and turns off the engine, I’m scrambling over the console and straddling his lap, my lips seeking out his with a desperate hunger that surprises both of us.
I’m not entirely sure where this is coming from. I’ve never even been that much of a car person before. Or a speed fiend for that matter. But my adrenaline is on over- drive now. And something about Alastor behind the wheel, expertly manoeuvring around the tarmac, pushing the Falcon to its limits, both of our lives in his hands was just so insanely hot and I’ve completely forgotten that I’m supposed to be angry with him and that I decided we weren’t going to have a repeat of the other night.
“Jesus,” Alastor murmurs against my lips, clearly a little surprised. He doesn’t shove me off him, though, instead reaching down for the little lever next to the seat so he can slide further back and give us more room.
He tugs me closer against him, hips bucking up to meet mine, his mouth frantic against mine. I groan against his lips as our bodies move together. Fuck, I want to be closer. I need more.
I tug my t-shirt over my head and prompt Alastor to do the same, my hands and lips roaming eagerly over his bare skin.
“Fuck...wait,” he groans. And then the driver door opens, and he pushes me out, following close behind.
“What’s going on?” I ask as he tugs me toward the back end of the car.
“We’re not getting cum on the seats.”
I let out an exasperated huff. “Seriously?”
I don’t have time to be annoyed for long, though, because Alastor is kissing me again. He hoists me onto the boot, and I immediately wrap my legs around his waist, pulling him closer. I’m definitely not about to point out that there’s just as much of a risk of getting cum on the paint job.
All my hopes that Saturday night was just a wild fluke are completely thwarted as we grind against each other on the boot of the car. Alastor was right; there’s an insane kind of chemistry here, and I can’t ignore it anymore. I’m nowhere near strong enough to deny myself the kind of need that’s burning through me right now.
He pushes me back against the car, his hands tearing at the front of my jeans. And then they’re being tugged down my legs and before I know it, I’m spread out naked on the back of Alastor King’s bright orange Falcon, my entire body trembling with need.
Heat burns fiercely in his eyes as they roam over my body, sending a shiver through me. I was so self- conscious the other night, but I guess I didn’t need to be. I can’t even remember the last time someone looked at me like that. Maybe it should freak me out that it’s Alas- tor, of all people, but right now I’m too turned on to care.
