CHAPTER 6
K.C.
The Loop was the town’s unofficial racing ring. Frequented throughout high school by every guy with a car to race or money to bet, it was nothing more than a dirt track circling a very large pond on the Benson Farm property.
Or it used to be.
“Jax, I think you should just take me home,” I said, trying to hide the bite from my voice as we turned onto the long driveway leading only one place.
I hated the Loop.
I hated cars. I hated not knowing about cars. I hated that my ex-boyfriend had met another girl here in high school. I hated that everyone was comfortable here except me.
And I hated that I was so insecure and ignorant that I was no more than wallpaper during events here.
“I’ve got you alone,” Jax teased. “And you’re not looking at me like I just pissed on your Prada for once,” he continued. “Let’s have some fun.”
I scowled. “Um, unless your plan is to get me naked—which won’t happen—I can’t imagine why you thought this would be fun for either one of us. I mean, what am I supposed to do here?”
“Drive.”
My heart pitter-pattered. “Excuse me?”
“You heard me.”
What? But … how? I couldn’t drive a stick! I tapped my feet, ready to dive out of the car, and I barely noticed that the crackle of gravel had disappeared under the tires.
I sucked in air, trying to fucking decide which battle to fight first. “Is the track paved now?” I blurted out.
The track now sported a concrete foundation, and it had been doubled in width. A few small sets of bleachers sat off to the side, and where viewers had once parked on the grass to the sides, now there was a set space.
“Jax?” I mumbled, taking in what I could through the blur of the rain. Were those stoplights at the finish line? And I looked off to the left. Was that a stand for the … announcer? Seriously?
“What’s happened here?”
“Look at me,” Jax ordered, ignoring my damn question.
I turned and met his eyes, forgetting my own damn question.
He pulled to a stop and set the parking brake. “How many guys have you had sex with other than Liam?”
My eyebrows did a nosedive. “Are you for real? Just get me out of here.”
What the hell was he doing?
His voice stayed light, with the hint of a laugh, as he held up his hands in defense. “I’m not trying to piss you off, Precious,” he teased, leaning his head back against the headrest and peering over at me. “I’m trying to make a point, okay? Driving a stick is like sex,” he stated.
“Every person you’re with is different. They’re like a code that needs to be broken.” He turned and ran his hands up both sides of the steering wheel, slow and smooth. “What parts like to be touched.” His sensual voice started stirring its way through my body. “Licked. Sucked. Bitten.”
Holy hell.
“Hell, some people don’t even need to be touched,” he pointed out. “Looking, teasing, playing mind games—everyone has that spot that jacks them into sixth gear, K.C.” And I stared, watching his every move as he turned and looked at me, speaking softly. “And this car is no different.”
“First, you have to find the clutch,” he instructed, and I yelped when he slammed his foot down, pushing in the lever. Jesus.
Releasing the parking brake, he placed one hand on the wheel and the other on the stick in sweet, luscious perversion.
“Then you have the gas.” He smirked, and his eyes stayed on me as he revved the engine but didn’t go anywhere. “Working the two together, you find the sweet spot. The point where she lets you take control.”
She?
“Push it.” He tapped the leg pressing into the clutch, and I licked my lips frantically, because my mouth was so dry. “And then accelerate her slowly”—he tapped the gas leg, and I heard him rev the engine again—“as you release her clutch … slowly.”
His legs moved, one coming up and the other moving down.
“Give-and-take,” he continued, eyes still holding me. “If I push her too fast, she crumbles.” He released the clutch, and I bobbed with the car as it died.
He pressed in the clutch and the brake and turned the key to the ignition again. “If I don’t push her fast enough, she’ll never move.” And he held in the clutch, unmoving, as he revved the engine with no success. “Push and pull. Accelerate and release.” I watched his legs work, releasing the clutch and accelerating the gas.
With my legs throbbing under me, I stared wide-eyed as Jax released the clutch and pressed the gas, vaulting down the track.
Grabbing hold of the dash, I peered outside at the vacant lane and let a small smile creep across my lips. It was definitely more fun being in the car than off to the side as a spectator. But I wanted to drive. I’d always been in awe of Jared and Tate, and I’d always wanted to learn, too.
“Eyes on me,” Jax barked.
I twisted my head over to him and sat back.
“Manual transmissions are like sex to get them going, but they’re also like sex to keep them going. Sometimes you have to change gears, speeding up or”—he turned his head to look at me—“slowing down when you need to.”
He jammed in the clutch and yanked the shifter down, released the clutch, and gassed it again. As we powered ahead, he did the same thing again, only he shifted up and to the right this time.
“Every time you change gears, you simply need to press the right buttons and find the magic spot again. When you want to speed up, shift up. When you want to slow down, shift down.” And he tapped the head of the shifter, indicating the diagram to where the levels were.
He circled the whole track, slowing down and shifting down when he rounded the corners and then speeding, shifting, and then speeding more when he accelerated. His legs, long and powerful, were in complete sync with whatever his arms were doing, and even though the car swerved in the rain and even spun out a little on the slick turns, Jax was like a conductor, pressing, releasing, shifting, and pushing.
Pressing, releasing, shifting, and pushing. Over and over again with my body jerking every time he yanked it up a notch.
My ass and thighs vibrated under me in time with the engine, and I warmed everywhere.
My gaze fell to his face, and a light sheen of sweat on the hollows of his cheeks made his olive skin even more beautiful.
I heard him laugh. “Stop looking at me like that, K.C.,” he warned. Shit. I blinked, clearing my throat. “My turn,” I changed the subject.
Turning to look out the front windshield, I rubbed my thighs together to dull the burn between my legs.