The Finish Line by Leslie Scott

“Whoo!” I shouted once I was safely back inside, tucked against Jordan. “I haven’t felt this—alive—in a long time.”

“No.” Jordan shook his head when I tried to hand him the money. “Your bet, your win.”

I tucked the bill into my pocket. He was the reason I could feel like this. It was all Jordan’s making, every bit of it. I was happy, free, aroused, and warm.

He was watching me more than he was watching the road, but I didn’t care.

Tension built on adrenaline and arousal filled the air. Making it so thick I had to force my breaths in and out even with the windows down. My skin was sizzling with heat, the faster he drove the hotter I got.

I was on the verge of writhing in the seat when his hand slid up my thigh, a little too high, and back down again. I gasped at the contact. His hand went perfectly still. With my heart pumping fast in my chest, I waited for something, anything. When nothing came, I used my own to guide his hand back up my thigh. I tucked my hair behind my ear and bit my lip against the rush of pleasure.

I turned and pressed myself against him, my lips seeking purchase on the warm skin of his neck.

How could one man be so attractive, so arousing? It had always been like God had made him with special specs for me.

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