Hypersonic
Copyright© 2026 by nyra
Chapter 106
Romance Sex Story: Chapter 106 - Arielle Hawthorne lives for illegal street racing. Fast cars, high stakes, no attachments. Nate Carter races the same streets with reckless swagger and infuriating charm. Rivals by choice and partners by necessity, they’re forced together as rival crews and the police close in. Their chemistry is dangerous, their trust fragile, and falling for each other may be the riskiest move of all.
Caution: This Romance Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa Fa/Fa Consensual BiSexual Heterosexual Fiction Crime Humor Cream Pie Masturbation Oral Sex Sex Toys Body Modification Violence
The One With A Nightmare
NATE
In the middle of the night, I hear some noises and it startles me awake. I’m able to make out some thumping, as well as a voice—it almost sounds as if the person is whimpering.
I rub at my eyes, doing my best to rub sleep from them and focus.
Tossing the comforter off, I suddenly hear a haunted scream and I immediately wake, knowing it has to be Arielle. Nobody else is on this side of the house. I run to her as fast as my legs will carry me, finding her thrashing in bed.
Without giving it any thought, I scurry onto the bed and shake one of her shoulders gently to wake her. It surprises her and she sits up with a gasp. When her eyes meet mine and she sees me kneeling beside her with a concerned expression, she instantly breaks out into tears.
I cradle her to my body, feeling her tears as they wet my bare chest. “It’s alright, I’m here. You’re okay,” I soothe as my throat tightens. It pains me to see her like this, more than I could ever express.
“I—I dreamt—” She tries to explain it to me, but she’s so wracked with sobs that the words won’t leave her mouth. Her whole body shakes and I simply hold her, rubbing my hand up and down her spine to comfort her. With her head still pressed to my chest, she informs me, “I dreamt that—that you died, Nate.” She sniffles, “You were choking on blood and—and I—I couldn’t save you. Just like that night.”
Hearing that is the equivalent of someone viciously cutting my heart out of my chest and stuffing it through a meat grinder or plopping it into a blender and pressing the highest speed.
My throat swells again, as I whisper hoarsely, “I’m sorry.”
I’m fairly positive this isn’t the first time she’s had a nightmare involving me or the events of that night. I vaguely remember her mentioning something about it before.
I know exactly what that’s like. I had them, too. Some were so vivid that I ended up vomiting.
I don’t think Arielle heard me apologize. “You were laying there, blood all around you and I kept wiping my hands on my jeans, but the blood was fuckin’ everywhere.” She leans back, tears staining her swollen and freckled cheeks. “I was doing everything I could to save you, but I lost you.”
I grab her face in my hands, using my thumbs to wipe away the wetness. I swallow hard, feeling my eyes well up as I reiterate, “I’m so fuckin’ sorry.”
Sniffling, she cups my jaw, meeting my gaze. “It isn’t your fault.”
Closing my eyes, I try to avoid her seeing me cry. I can’t control it. After all that’s happened, my emotions are all over the fucking place and to hear that I’ve brought any negativity to her life breaks me.
“It is,” I admit.
She quickly adjusts herself so that she’s closer to my body, “It’s not, Nate. It’s not your fault. This—” she signals between us, pointing out that we’re both crying, “—This is ‘cause of Ezra and he’s paid for it.”
“I don’t want you to have nightmares about what happened. Jesus,” I sink my head in my hands, “that fuckin’ destroys me. I love you, Arielle. All I’ve ever wanted is to protect you. To keep you safe. Not all of this.”
She grabs my face, forcing my eyes to hers. With wetness still gathered along her lower lids, she assures me, “I know.”
“Are you alright?”
She nods her head, leaning forward to press a soft kiss to my mouth. “With you, I know I’m safe,” she whispers, kissing me again. She retracts herself from me and I begin to move off the bed, but when she’s cuddled under the comforter, she reaches out for me. “Come sleep with me.”
I hesitate, unsure if she’s only saying so because we’re both vulnerable right now. “Are you sure?”
“Please, I won’t sleep if you don’t.”
Butterflies erupt in my stomach. I’ve been craving this sort of intimacy for months.
Carefully, I crawl towards her, tucking myself under the comforter beside her. Respectfully, I put a bit of distance between us, laying on my back as I watch the ceiling fan spin above us. However, she scoots herself close, so that her cheek presses to my pec, her hand presses to the right side of my chest, and her one leg stretches over mine where we tangle together.
With my one hand underneath her body, I wrap it around her waist, drawing my fingers up underneath the hem of my shirt so I’m able to draw them against the bare skin of her back. Tracing along her spine, my fingertips ghost across her lower shoulder blades. She’s such an angel—my angel—that I almost expect her to begin growing wings.
Pressing a kiss to the top of her head, I tell her, “Sleep, Angel. I’ll fight off the bad dreams and the demons if they try to come and get you.”
My body has been quickly heated from being this close to her, as if I’ve been stabbed with a shot of adrenaline. I’m aware of everything—of her deep breaths as she lulls herself to sleep, of the shivers she’s eliciting from my fingertips skimming across her back, to the way my pulse is surely thrumming against her ear. I don’t think I’ll sleep a wink. Not when what I’ve wanted for seven long months is so fucking close.
When I wake in the morning, a few things become obvious—first is that I managed to fall asleep, second is that I’m now spooning Arielle, third is that I’m sporting some morning wood.
I’m hard. Painfully so. Why is this my fucking life lately? The fuck is wrong with me?
I shift carefully, doing my best to relieve some of the pressure. Not that it helps in any way because my cock is a fucking traitor that refuses to behave whenever Arielle’s around. To add to it, it hasn’t felt the warmth of Arielle for over seven months now—maybe more, but who’s counting?—and now is his time to shine. He knew he was close. He fucking knew who he was nestled up against.
He’s being a dick. Literally.
I’m just about to scoot off the bed when Arielle wakes, stretching as she does so. It causes my shirt to rise even higher on her body and her back arches, pushing her bare ass backwards and into my erection. “Morning,” she mutters sleepily and I don’t have to see her face to know that she’s wearing a smirk.
She knows, there’s no way she doesn’t.
My voice is hoarse, low and laced with sleep as I reply, “G’morning.”
When I’d first cuddled up with her last night, I didn’t immediately sleep. In fact, I was a bit scared to initially because I didn’t want her to have a nightmare. I ended up thinking about what to do today. I know I want to spend the day with her and though it’s fairly late in the day to do anything substantial, we can still do something.
“Do you wanna’ go out for dinner?”
She sits up twisting to look at me. “Are you asking me out, Nate Carter?”
A smile plays on my lips, “Maybe.”
Teasing, she shrugs her shoulders and moves to get out of the bed—flashing me her bare ass as she does so. “I’ll think about it,” she answers with a sly smile.
We decide to go for dinner together in a place called Little Venice. We found this beautiful restaurant that’s on the water, where the waves crash against the shore near where we’re seated. The sun is setting as we order—I get a chicken gyro with pita bread, tomato, onion, and tzatziki, and some chips, while Arielle goes with chicken chops with country-style potatoes—and Arielle looks fucking stunning, as always.
She has her hair down in soft waves, with minimal makeup. The necklace that bears my name is wrapped around her neck, my bracelet—that she seemingly stole—is still on her wrist, and we’re wearing our matching rings. She also has on a different pair of heels, but these ones are sparkly. She’s wearing a gorgeous and sexy dress. It’s white, adorning various pink, purple, and blue butterflies with a few flowers and leaves. The hem is short, but flowy and I don’t think I’ve ever seen someone as effortlessly beautiful as her.
She looks like someone they would’ve called a goddess. Someone that stories would’ve been written about and statues carved in her honour.
I’m staring at her, even when the waiter comes back to fill our drinks. I munch on a chip as we receive more wine, observing her cut into her chicken. When the waiter finally leaves, she questions me on why I won’t take my eyes off her.
“You’re breathtaking, Arielle.”
She smiles in response and when I feel the toe of her shoe slowly creeping up my leg, my lips curl into a smirk. “You look pretty fuckin’ good yourself,” she muses. Lucky for her, our table is covered with a cloth, otherwise I don’t know that where her foot is trailing is acceptable in public.
As much as I love the sexual tension we’ve got going on, I know there are a few things we should discuss. I plan to give her the notebook tonight before bed.
James’ words have been weighing heavily on me. I was still the tiniest bit on the fence after our discussion—like, literally a pinky toe—but then Arielle had her nightmare and it made me realize that we need to share. In order for her to understand completely and to forgive me, I think it’s possible that she needs to read my notebook.
If I can’t share my deepest and darkest thoughts with her, then who can I?
I continue eating my gyro, a few minutes of comfortable silence falling between us.
“Do you think he’s done?” Arielle interrupts the silence and when I peer up at her, I find her picking away at her potatoes.
“Who?”
“Ezra—do you think he’s truly done?”
With a shrug, I answer, “I honestly don’t know. I mean, obviously I pray he is, but odds are? Probably not.”
She nods in agreement. “He seemed really sick, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t still have the means to do something to us.” Reaching across the table, she steals a chip from my plate.
“Guess it depends on how ill he really is and whether he can convince anyone to be on his side.” Biting into a chip, I inquire, “Have you thought about the Langley thing at all?”
“You mean getting to know him?”
I nod.
“A little,” she says, disinterested. “I don’t think I’m ready for it yet, though. The wound is still too fresh.”
“I don’t know where he stands,” I admit.
Shaking her head, she agrees, “Me neither. It’s a bit suspicious how fast he turned.”
I’m with her on that. I definitely have my caution sign on when it comes to him. Even though I know him better than Arielle, I don’t know him well at all. He was always so composed whenever we were together, that despite the many hours we spent working alongside one another, I can’t recite much more than his name.
How do we truly know that this isn’t some set up by Ezra? He could easily be his inside man, trying to do whatever he can for his father. It would be the simplest way for Ezra to take his shot at us.
She appears to be done with her meal, so she pushes it forward, sipping on her wine. Eventually, I flag down the waiter, ask for the bill and lean back in my chair, doing the same as I admire her.
“You wanna’ take a walk on the beach?”
She nods, “That sounds nice.”
A few minutes later, the waiter comes to clear our plates and he hands me the bill. After slipping the cash into the little book and placing it to the table top, I pull out my phone. “I want a picture of you—in this dress, with the sun setting behind you.”
She poses with her wine as I snap a photo. Fuck, she looks stunning. I never want her to take off this dress.
But at the same time, fuck do I ever. I know the heaven that lies beneath the hem of it.
I toss the rest of my drink back, moving to stand. I extend a hand in her direction, helping her to her feet and intertwining our fingers as we exit the patio and head towards the beach.
We’re only maybe a ten minute walk from the house we rented, so taking the beach will make it a quick route home for us. As we near the sand, I aid her in slipping her heels off and we slowly head back home.
As we walk, hands entwined, and waves crashing against the sand, she asks, “Can I tell you something?”
“‘Course, you can tell me anything.”
“Do you remember when we talked about getting married and having babies?”
I do my best to hide the tension that washes over me. “I do.”
“And I told you that I wasn’t ready for either.” She pauses, glancing out at the sunset. “While you were gone, I had a bit of an incident.”
Please tell me she doesn’t remember what James told me last night.
“I was working at a car expo and I saw this man—fuck, he looked exactly like you—and he was with his pregnant wife.” She takes a controlled breath, as if she’s mustering up the courage to utter the next words. “I fuckin’ lost it. Something about it triggered me. It reminded me of how we had that pregnancy scare. All I could think was that if I had been pregnant, then I would’ve had a piece of you with me always.”
“Why are you telling me this?” I don’t say it in a mean tone, but a curious one. I’m doing my best at ignoring the way my chest aches.
“Two reasons. One is ‘cause I feel like if I share some of what I went through—without using it to guilt you or make you feel bad, but ‘cause I think it’s important you know this shit so you can understand my feelings—you might want to open up to me. Keep in mind, I don’t expect you to.”
She’s on the same page as me. She’s finally ready to open up about her experience and the specifics of it, while I’m ready to gift her my notebook when we get back. Even the thought of the notebook and what its pages hold makes my heart race. I’m nervous as fuck for her reaction to it.
“Second, is that the whole incident helped me to change my mind. It became the classic I wanted what I couldn’t have and I want to spend the rest of my life with you and I want to witness you being a father.”
My heart leaps in my chest because this is incredible fucking news! Even though she went through something traumatic to figure it all out, I can’t help that the sound of her being open not only to marrying me, but to carrying and birthing my children makes me happier than I think I’ve ever been.
“I’m proud of you,” I admit. “Thank you for telling me.”
This is what I wanted. This is why I held off on pressuring her. I wanted her to tell me at her own rate, on her own terms. Not because she knew I desired to hear them.
I can see the house in the distance. “I have a gift for you when we get back.”
“Yeah?” She smiles, letting go of my hand to skip a few steps forward, looking ethereal as she does so.
I yank my phone out of my pocket again, asking her to pose for me. She smiles, positioning herself in front of the sky—which matches the butterflies and flowers on her dress perfectly—and I take several pictures.
Then, I extend an arm in her direction, urging her to the house. She interlaces our fingers together as I lead her straight to her bedroom. I can hear the others partying in the game room, but I don’t think they need to be aware of what’s about to happen. This is an intimate thing between her and I.
I ask her to change and sit on the edge of the bed while I head to my room. Rifling through my luggage, I find the notebook, jamming a fallen picture back into the spine. By the time I get back to her room, she’s washed off her makeup, thrown her hair up messily, and is wearing my shirt again.
My heart swells when I see her, looking beautiful as she waits patiently for me.
The closer I step to her, the more anxious I get, but I swallow down the nerves, knowing that I’m doing the right thing. I seat myself beside her, as she glances at the gift I have for her with curiosity.
I take a moment to steel my nerves. “Ever since I’ve been back, you’ve been asking me what it was like for me. I told you that I’ve been hesitant to tell you ‘cause I want you to go through your own natural process, not base it off my experience.”
She adjusts herself as she listens, moving to a cross-legged position.
Pressing a palm flat to the worn cover, I tell her, “This is my notebook. I wrote in it every day that we were separated. In it, reads my experience. The highs, the lows—all of it. I want you to have it. To read it. That was always my intention.”
I hold it out towards her, still anxious as fuck about how she’ll react to it.
She’s staring at me with a softened expression in her green eyes. She appears grateful that I’m finally choosing to be vulnerable, like I was with her earlier. As she gently takes it from my hands, her voice is light, “Thank you, Nate.”
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