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.
“Well, that was easy.” I could hear the laughter in his voice as he pulled to a stop at the finish/start line. “I’m actually honored that you let me teach you instead of Liam.”
“Don’t be,” I shot back, my guard going up. “I never asked Liam. I don’t want to go home, and you’re here, so …”
His eyes narrowed. “For that, I’m half tempted to make you sit in my lap while you drive,” he threatened.
I rolled my eyes and jerked my chin. “It’s raining. You hop out, and I’ll slide over.”
He twisted up his lips in irritation. “Yes, Princess.”
I ignored the barb as he opened the door, a flash of lightning and a roll of thunder filling the car. Biting my bottom lip to stifle the nervous tremble, I swung my legs over the console and grabbed the steering wheel, hauling myself into his seat, still warm from his body.
My fingers wrapped around his thick wheel, and the body heat he’d left behind on the seat spread through my belly and down my thighs. Rain pummeled the roof and hood, and I could barely see anything but his dark shadow rounding the car to the passenger side.