Her veiled reference to her losing her mother worried me. Taking a seat next to her again, I asked, “Is there something you’re not telling me—something the doctor told you?”
“No, but I was afraid I might have what my mother had and that made me realize I don’t want to waste a minute of the time we have together with each other or our kids.”
“Speaking of that, you know it’s going to be a very long time before it’s just us again. At least eighteen years. We’ll be nearly fifty by the time the twins are off to college and we’re back to being just the two of us.”
Nina leaned back on her elbows and looked up at me mischievously. “What makes you think we’ll just have two children, Mr. Stone? Maybe I want more.”
I raised my eyebrows in not-so-fake surprise at the thought of a houseful of children. “You’re talking to a man who until quite recently never thought he’d have any kids. Now it’s more than two?”
“You’re the perfect kind of man to be a father, Tristan. You say very little and when you do speak, it’s usually some kind of order or something else serious. You’ll be great!”
I leaned over to kiss her, loving the feel of her soft skin beneath my lips as I made my way over to her ear. “You make me sound like I’m no fun at all.”
Nina ran her fingers through my hair and held my head where it was near her neck. “Mmm…I never said that. What you’re doing right now is pretty damn nice.”
Running my tongue over the shell of her ear, I nipped it with my teeth. “Well, I think we should see what else might be pretty damn nice. Don’t you?”
Her hands traveled down my back, her fingernails gently raking my skin. In my ear, she whispered, “I like the way you think. Anything in particular you have in mind?”
I raised myself up on my hands and hovered over her as I slid my hard cock over the front of her already damp panties. Staring down into her eyes full of need, I smiled. “A few things. Maybe I can change your mind about being that serious guy.”
* * *
The Jag felt good, like I hadn’t been in the driver’s seat for ages and now I was back where I belonged. Every inch of the interior shined like new, and I slid my hand over the console to the paddle, ready to take this perfect blend of machine and beauty on the ride of my life. The highway stretched out before me begging to be mastered. The engine revved as I stepped my foot on the gas pedal, but I needed more speed. Wanted more speed. I shifted into third gear and the force of the car lurching forward pinned me back in my seat, the leather enveloping me as I pushed the speedometer past ninety toward a hundred miles an hour.
Nothing in this world—not money, not sex, not anything—made me feel this alive. The Jag hugged the road, eating up the asphalt as it flew by cars like they were standing still, each one a different colored blur as I raced toward some unknown destination.
Music played on the car’s stereo, but the sound of my heart pounding from pure excitement drowned out whatever song was on. Every ounce of me melded into this machine to make us one. It controlled me as much as I controlled it. I pushed it past a hundred and ten miles an hour, and the car took me along, holding me in to feel the rush of power as the wind slid over the roof, no match for the Jag or me.
I watched out the windshield as we passed trees that looked more like green and yellow streaks against the perfect blue sky that never moved. It alone held dominance over our speed. My hands gripped the steering wheel tightly, but tiny beads of sweat formed on my palms as my brain screamed, “Too much! Slow down! You can’t handle this!”
It didn’t matter if I could handle this. The Jag could. I shifted into fourth gear and the car topped a hundred and fifteen. Never before had I pushed it so hard to go so fast. I didn’t know where I was going or why. All I knew was that I needed to go faster.
Over the sound of my heart pounding in my ears and my brain screaming warning after warning, I heard a tiny voice say my name. It was so quiet, but like a gentle whisper, it sounded like it was part of me.
“Tristan.”
It repeated my name, adding, “Don’t let us get hurt.” I took my focus from the road for a mere second and looked to my right to see Nina sitting in the passenger seat. Her belly swelled from pregnancy, she looked up at me with those soft blue eyes, and even though I expected to see fear, I saw trust in them. She trusted me not to hurt her or the babies.
I opened my mouth to tell her she couldn’t be there now, that I was driving too fast and one slip up could kill us, but before I could, I felt the car begin to lose control. What had been the smoothest ride I’d ever experienced quickly ended as the tires rode over rocks and gravel on the side of the road. We were out of control.
I was out of control.
Nina sat quietly as I fought to correct the car, but it was too late. The front bumper hit the guardrail, sending us into the air. She never screamed or cried. All she repeated again and again were the same three words. “Don’t hurt us.”
I didn’t know how long I got to sit there staring into her eyes so full of trust and belief in me. Everything that had been so fast now seemed to move in slow motion. I reached out to touch her, knowing it would be the last good thing either of us would feel in this lifetime, and as I took her hand in mine, she whispered, “Tristan, save us.”
The black Jag lay in a mangled heap in front of me. I had no idea how I could be standing there in one piece after the accident. Was I dead? My eyes quickly scanned every inch of the remnants of the car for Nina. She didn’t seem to be anywhere in the car, but I couldn’t move from where I was standing. My feet were like two blocks of cement.
“Nina! Where are you?”
She didn’t answer. Was she out of the car somewhere like I was? Were we both dead? I lifted my right foot to take a step, and to my surprise, I could move it. Tearing around the tangled mess that was the Jag, I searched for her. Blood covered everything where she’d sat in the passenger side, and I stumbled back in terror.
“Nina! Don’t leave me like this. Where are you?” I screamed but got no response.
I stood staring at the wreckage knowing what I’d done. Nina was dead, and I’d killed her. I’d denied her the one thing she’d asked.
People suddenly appeared surrounding me and the car. A man in a police uniform began to ask me questions about the accident. Was there anyone else in the car with me? What was my name? Was I hurt?
His words jumbled in my mind, and over and over I tried to respond but nothing came out. I cried out in pain, pointing at the blood on the car, but he simply walked away as he casually muttered words that chilled my heart. “Whoever it is, you killed them. You and your need for speed killed them. Happy now?”