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“Definitely five-star service,” he muttered.
They were both smiling ear-to-ear as they kissed slowly and sensually. Oxytocin and dopamine surged up and down their spines. Violet knew then and there that she never wanted to be with anyone else in a half-filled hot tub, water soaking the floor below them. No one else but Franco.
SIXTEEN
FRANCO
Franco awakened to the sweet sight of Violet’s outline in his bed, the pale-yellow light of day washing over her skin in gentle strokes. His lion was desperate to have her again.
His alarm was about to go off, so he carefully reached over for his phone and switched it to silent mode. He then turned over, burying his face into the pillow, watching his fated mate at rest.
She was still naked from their frolicking the night before, which had returned to the bed once they had sufficiently mopped up the bathroom floor. While eating late-night burgers and fries in the nude, they talked about her life back in Philadelphia and about her career goals and the loss of her job at Senior Rights. Franco felt like he could listen to her talk all day and all night for the rest of his life.
They had capped off their night by making slow, steady love, with Violet on her back and Franco curled on top of her. Her purrs were gentle as they both reached their climaxes once more, soft billows of ecstasy filtering through the room like a fog.
They had submitted to sleep at an hour that was likely a bit later than Franco had intended. In the past, he didn’t have women around to spend time with, so race nights generally consisted of events he had to contractually attend, and then it was straight back to the hotel and to bed.
However, Franco enjoyed the sweet disruption in his life. Thus far, she had been a sturdy support system rather than a distraction that paid no mind to the goals he had worked his entire life to achieve. She was keenly mindful of them, and that made him fall head over heels even further.
The race was that day, however. As much as he wanted to stay there with her, which felt both foreign and delightful, he had a passion to follow … and he knew she would hate to get in the way of that.
He rose, making the plan for his day in his head. The lingering little tentacle of what had happened the day before remained in his mind, that ominous, black, sinking feeling that he had felt even before the gun had gone off for the race. It remained, slapping at his consciousness.
All Franco could do was get into the meditative thinking that had brought him so many victories in the past. It wasn’t like he had never dealt with roadblocks, literally or metaphorically. They had come in the guise of having sponsors suddenly drop him, minor car trouble, a pit crew and engineers who weren’t on his game level, the advancement of technology, and so much more.
So Franco went into the shower, softly closing the door behind him to keep from waking Violet. He felt well-rested for the amount of sleep he had managed to get, turning on the faucet and letting the heat of the water plow into him.
He closed his eyes as he thought about the day ahead. He could describe every inch of the track in his mind … the more accident-prone curves, the likelihood of being overtaken, and the percentage of crash possibilities. He thought about them all, slowly lathering his body, hovering between dissociation and razor-sharp focus.
It was the sweet spot where he found his groove. He finished in the shower, trying not to think about the person who had somehow sabotaged his qualifying race. He knew it must be someone on the inside, considering the fact that the car, along with all of the other racers’ cars, were in lockup outside the grimy hands of the general public.
The mystery of it all made him disproportionately angry. He dried himself off, moving back into the bedroom as quietly as a mouse.
“Hi.”
Violet was a sight for sore eyes, sitting up in bed with the sheets pressed against her breasts, a long cascade of hair as black as midnight pouring over her shoulders. She looked sleepy and just as delicious as ever.
Franco nearly buckled at his knees.
“I hope I didn’t wake you.”
A subtle smile made Violet’s lips quiver as she shook her head.
“I was dozing for a bit. I knew it would be time to get going for the race soon.”
She astounded him at every moment. He came to the bed, still completely naked, and sat on it, regarding the woman that the mystic gods had chosen just for him. Her eyes glittered with contented surprise when he cupped her cheek, then leaned in to plant a gentle kiss.
Franco felt her breathe deeper when they touched. The anxiety in his gut uncoiled, her arms raising to wrap around the base of his skull.
When they parted, Franco was beaming, his lion roaring.
“You are so beautiful,” he whispered.
“Mmm,” she purred. “Is that so? You can tell me more about it later, once you’ve won the race.”
Franco kissed her again, wild with adoration, but held himself back from utterly devouring her. She giggled when he gnawed at her neck, which quickly evolved into soft moans that thrilled him more than he could ever put into words.
“You’re amazing,” he grunted.
