Oh. This is the second time he’s mentioned watching them. I didn’t even think he had the time to see them, but he must have checked out my movie and spa day posts.
“Sometimes you need a day off.”
“You took two.” The back of his hand strokes my face. When did he get so close? And why does that feel amazing?
I shut my eyes at the incredible contact.
The same hand wraps around the back of my head and pulls me forward. My eyes snap open. His clean scent surrounds me and muddles my thoughts. He doesn’t give me another second to think before his mouth is on mine, soft lips pressing against my own.
At first, the kiss is soft and sweet—innocent and unexpected from a man like him. He plays, leaving behind gentle pecks.
His teeth graze my bottom lip, rough with a bite of pain. I gasp at the sensation. His tongue takes the opportunity to invade my mouth and stroke against mine, a relentless exploration demanding everything from me. He tastes like mint and champagne, a shockingly wonderful combination. Kissing him is a mind-numbing experience. His hands roam over my body, pulling me into him as his mouth stifles my moan. An impressive erection pushes against my jeans. One of his hands runs through my hair while the other grips my face, making it impossible for me to get away. Not like I want to. Oh, no, when I commit to being bad, I’m all in.
My heart hammers in my chest. I wrap my arms around Noah's neck, pulling him in closer, giving in to our attraction. His hair feels soft and smooth beneath my fingers as I run them through his strands. Knees threaten to buckle. I try to make sense of all the sensations happening inside me, experiencing the best kiss of my life—both intoxicating and exhilarating. My body feels like putty in his hands, begging to be touched.
“Why is my door locked? Hello, Maya, are you in there? Open up.” My brother’s voice hits me like an ice-cold shower. Pounding fists against the door beat alongside my heart.
I break apart from Noah’s mouth and take a few steps back, nearly stumbling over the couch. A disheveled mess of hair makes me smile. His eyes stare at me, wild-looking and hazy, and his pants have a prominent swell. I can’t deny the pride that surges through me about doing that to him.
Go me.
He holds up a finger to his mouth. One side of his mouth tips up, and his eyes shine, swirling shades of blue I’ve come to like. How is he always so unaffected? It seems unfair. I look back down at his pants to double-check.
Nope, he’s affected.
The doorknob rattles, guilt replacing the pride I felt seconds ago. Santi would kill me if he found me in here with Noah.
“Carajo. How is my room locked? Who has the key?” My brother’s voice fades away with the sound of his footsteps.
“You need to go now. I’ll make sure he left.” I push past him.
He grabs my elbow and pulls me back toward him. A quick peck silences me. My brain hasn’t caught up to my body yet, leaning back into him like we can continue what happened.
“Relax. He doesn’t have to know.” His wicked eyes graze over me one more time before he exits the room.
I plop myself down on the couch, running a hand down my face. What the hell did I do? I can’t do this to Santi. Can I?
Why did one kiss feel like it opened me up for anything?
Two weeks have passed since The Kiss. I needed to take a temporary leave of absence from the race schedule, which meant I skipped out on the Canadian Grand Prix. Santi begged me to come, but I made up an excuse about wanting to go home. Lying to him made me feel worse, my stomach in endless knots as I packed my bags and purchased a ticket to Spain. I told him the traveling exhausts me. Which isn’t far from the truth; I can’t help how the man we travel with tires me emotionally and physically. Life’s all about semantics.
Sophie pled with me too, but my mind was made up. I needed to clear my head.
Jax took home the trophy for the race with Liam being runner-up, and my brother placing third. For the first time this season, Noah didn’t make it to the podium.
Sophie must have given Noah my number because he sent me multiple texts last week. I made an incognito contact name for him, just in case Santi gets a hold of my phone. Blame reading Harry Potter during my race hiatus for the contact name.
He Who Shall Not Be Fucked （06/10 5:00 p.m.）： Are you flying in late? Santiago is here but you aren’t.
He Who Shall Not Be Fucked （06/11 2:37 p.m.）： Found out from your brother that you’re not coming. Isn’t he superstitious? You’ve been to every race so far.
He Who Shall Not Be Fucked （06/13 4:56 p.m.）： Didn’t place on the podium. Maybe I’m the superstitious one.