Speed sighed, and for the dozenth time he checked his reflection. Hair washed and combed, t-shirt and jeans neat, cheeks freshly shaved with just a hint of cologne.
The garage was spotless, the house straightened. The curtains had been drawn. Everything was in readiness.
So why was his stomach in such a happy knot of nervousness?
Just because this promised to be the hottest day of his life – not counting their first time together, of course.
At the thought, his cock expressed its opinion by throbbing and swelling hard against the constriction of his jeans… oh god, if he came too soon, all would be ruined!
… he’d already jerked off a couple of hours ago in the shower, just so he’d be able to last today.
How come he could control eighteen-hundred pounds of carbon-fiber composite with split-second precision, yet do absolutely nothing about six inches of flesh between his legs?
As if on cue, a faint noise of a vehicle approached, and abruptly his breath caught. That wasn’t Rex’s normal street sedan.
It was the familiar rumble of the Shooting Star’s engine and tuned exhaust. Why would Rex drive the racing machine and risk exposure?
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