I barely lifted my head, licking the taste of her off my lips. Manson watched me, his eyes narrowed with sadistic glee as he murmured to her, “Tell him he’s a good boy.”

He grinned at me like he knew how wicked it was to tell her that. Sadistic fuck. But I still shuddered when her soft lips formed the words, “Mm, good boy.”

My fingers dug into her thighs, my teeth bared as I loomed over her. Crushed between Manson and I, she looked vulnerable but also far too clever. She knew exactly how to get what she wanted, and we knew exactly how to deliver.

“You’d better be very careful using those words with me,” I said, and she nodded rapidly, her pupils dilating.

“I’ll be careful, sir,” she said, but there was mischief in her eyes.

I tucked myself away and gathered my things, stuffing my wallet and keys into my pocket. I had no idea what expression was fixed on my face, but Jess giggled in a way that betrayed both fear and excitement before she stepped out of the car after Manson, slinging her bag over her shoulder.

I didn’t know if I wanted to spank her or fucking kiss her again.

Probably both.

Definitely both.

Jess walked ahead of us as we made our way to check in. The Fairgrounds Speedway was surrounded by trees on all sides, with a convention building at the forefront of the property that held merch and concession booths. Beyond that, the track occupied the rest of the property, with bleachers overlooking it. Vincent and Jason had driven the Bronco down to the pit, a curved expanse of asphalt right next to the track, where all the drivers and their crews were gathered to prepare for the day’s competition.

The warm air was tinged with the scent of burned rubber and cigarettes, and I took a deep breath. I didn’t feel comfortable in many places, but I was comfortable here. It was my home away from home, but we weren’t only there for moral support; Jason needed mechanics to ensure the Z made it through the day. Drifting was hard on a car, and without maintenance, the Z wouldn’t last past the qualifying rounds. We had our equipment in the back of the Bronco; tools and any necessary items for repairs. If something went wrong on the track, we had to fix it quickly or forfeit the competition.

“Amazing that you can scowl after a blow job like that,” Manson said, walking beside me. Jess was far enough ahead of us not to overhear — or so it would seem. But I could have sworn I saw her head turn slightly toward us, trying to listen in.

She was too clever. Too observant.