Throttled (Dirty Air 1)

Santi and Jax pour champagne all over Noah. The crowd screams as champagne sprays all over them, the sticky alcohol making the air smell like a classy frat party. The podium area is a mosh pit of alcohol and cheering fans.

Noah notices me from my spot behind the blockades, shooting me a panty-melting grin. He tips his big champagne bottle to me before he chugs. I smile back at him and give him a thumbs up, incredibly proud of him. The sight of his lips wrapped around the bottle brings naughty thoughts to the forefront of my mind.

Sophie joins her dad in the celebrations with the pit team while I head back toward the suites to chill while Santi does his other interviews.

I wait in the suite, surprised when the door opens earlier than I thought.

“Hey, you’re back earlier—” I stop mid-sentence when Noah smiles at me.

He recently took a shower. His hair is slicked back, no evidence of his hands raking through the strands yet. A new Bandini shirt presses against the tight muscles of his chest. I lick my lips as my eyes roam over the rest of him, taking in expensive looking jeans that cling to his legs.

“What are you doing here? Your suite is next door.” I don’t like the mischievous grin plastered on his face at the moment. Not one bit.

He closes the distance, shushing me by pressing his finger up against my lips.

“I came to collect my post-race winnings.” He drags a calloused finger from my lips to my throat.

“Uh, I’m pretty sure they already gave you the trophy,” I whisper huskily.

Noah’s grin widens as his blue eyes pierce mine. The air in the small room feels heavy, like all the oxygen was sucked out of it. He’s a hurricane catching me in the eye of the storm, giving me a false sense of security before the winds pick up again. A catastrophic and relentless disaster in the making.

He steps away from me. The click of the lock sounds loud, sending a shiver up my back.

“This isn’t funny, Noah. Go to your own suite.” I take a step back while he takes a few steps forward, eliminating the gap.

“I’m not trying to be funny. You’ve been avoiding me.”

Uh, yes, I have. After the fashion show I’ve made myself scarce around here. I don’t trust my urges around him, but I don’t say anything because his ego gets fed enough.

“Not sure what you’re talking about. I’ve been busy.” I’d probably sound ten times more convincing if my voice wasn’t rasping. My body betrays me, unable to keep up with Noah’s persistence.

“I follow you on Instagram. I’ve seen your stories.”

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.