Hypersonic
Copyright© 2026 by nyra
Chapter 41
Romance Sex Story: Chapter 41 - 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 The Text
A R I E L L E
“Damn, girl.” Chase says, fingers pulling up the back of my tank top. “Does Hayes have a vampire kink or some weird shit?”
I close my eyes together tightly, mentally smacking myself for forgetting to wear something longer and loose fitting to hide the evidence of last night. I push Chase’s hands off me, yanking the back of my shirt down. However, at this point, there’s no reason to cover the hickeys sucked into my skin by Nate ‘s wonderful mouth.
“Fuck off, Chase. It’s just some hickeys.”
“I didn’t expect it from Hayes. The dude is so ... stale.” He laughs, putting some of the eggs I made onto a plate and turning towards me as he stuffs a massive forkful into his mouth. As he’s chewing, something occurs to him and he opens his mouth in shock—despite the fact that it’s full of half-chewed food—and points his fork in my direction. “Wait a minute ... It wasn’t Hayes!”
I pick away at the food on my own plate, trying not to react to his prying. “What are you on, Chase?”
“No, seriously.” He puts his plate on the island across from me, swallowing and I feel his eyes studying me. “You and Hayes left separately. I mean, I saw him walk you to your car, but you didn’t leave together. He came back and found Zara and me before he left but I made him stay and have another drink. I mean, it was water—since he was driving—but still.”
“Chase—”
“He was with us for another half hour, at least. He didn’t leave until that big cloud rolled through and was all scared to get his precious fuckin’ bike wet.”
It was a wet night.
“So,” Chase says, leaning his elbows on the countertop between us to rest his head in his hands, staring at me with wide eyes like some excited fucking schoolgirl hearing about her bestie’s crush, “spill. Who’d ya’ fuck?”
I hum a no, sealing my lips. As much as I know that I can trust Chase—with my life—I don’t want to go around spreading the truthful rumour that I fucked Nate again. Especially not when I’m supposed to be moving on from him and ever since Hayes and I have begun to spend so much time together.
Not that Hayes and I are—or will ever—date, but somehow, I feel like he shouldn’t find this out. I know that I told him I’m not interested and I’m sure he understood, but I also am aware of the fact that he once stated he was in love with me and he’s still very depressed from his sister’s sudden passing, among other things.
I just don’t think it’s fair should he find out that again, despite hanging out with Hayes, I’ve gone off and slept with Nate behind his back.
Again, I never cheated.
But I can recall how badly Hayes took it when he found out the first time that I was sleeping with Nate and I just don’t think it’s necessary to spread that we’ve slept together. It’s no one’s business but our own. Granted, Chase knows. Even though he hasn’t said so, I can see it in the way he’s looking at me.
“It was Nate, wasn’t it?”
I don’t answer, annoyed that he can read me that easily. Of all the people in my life, he knows how Nate is my one true weakness.
“I thought that was him I saw. Did you fuck him in the bathroom with your date like, twenty feet away?”
“No,” I admit. “And Hayes and I weren’t on a date. We’re not dating.”
“Tell him that. For not being your date, he sure was protective of you last night.”
“We’re friends. He knows that. We had that conversation.”
Chase just laughs. “Ari, he was in love with you. You really think he got over that shit within like a month,” he pauses, deciding to add, “even with you leading the poor bastard on?”
My mouth drops open at his accusation. “I am not leading him on!”
Chase purses his lips. “You were kissing him, holding his hand, grinding against him—I had three people last night that asked me who you were dating.”
“Friends can kiss,” I defend.
“Then why don’t we kiss and hold hands and dry hump each other when we’re out together?” As he points out the truth to me, he finishes up what’s left on his plate, glancing at me with a raised eyebrow.
He has a point.
In all the years Chase and I have been best friends, we’ve never danced in the way Hayes and I did last night. We kissed—once when we were both drunk and never went there again—and we only hold hands when trying not to lose one another in a crowd. I kissed Hayes last night at least half a dozen times.
I’m pretty sure Hayes was fucking hard at one point, too.
I sink my head in my hands, unwanted realization washing over me. “Fuck, maybe you’re right.”
“It’s not a maybe,” Chase says with a chuckle. “I know I’m right. If you’re not interested, take it easy with the affection on the poor dude. He just lost his sister, playing with him the way you are is fuckin’ vicious.”
“Don’t you have Zara to bug?” I reply, desperately trying to deflect this conversation.
“I’m your bestie.” As Chase says so, he approaches me, adding, “I’m supposed to tease the shit out of you and judge your poor life decisions. Now c’mon, gimme’ a kiss.” He purses his lips over dramatically, shoving his face towards mine as a joke.
My palm finds his face, pushing it away from me. He starts laughing and stumbles backwards, tripping over the barstool beside me. I can’t hold back my laughter, standing from the island to clean up my plate.
Chase swears about injuring his toe while I clean up the kitchen. It takes about ten minutes and when I’m done, I head to my room to get ready for the day.
I remove my pyjamas, taking a glance in the mirror. I twist my body awkwardly, fingers brushing over the hickeys that Nate gave me. They’re still a little tender and dark in colour, but I know that was his intention.
“I won’t be satisfied until you can feel me when you’re laying next to him.”
A spark of desire shoots through me, remembering how possessive his voice was as he spoke those words.
He was jealous. He was trying to hide it from me, but he was fucking jealous and I could see it in his movements, in the way he was claiming my body as his, in the tone of his voice.
I get an idea, scurrying to my dresser to change into a lacier pair of panties, making sure I grab a red pair since it’s one of his favourite colours.
I grab my phone off my bed and saunter back to the mirror in only the thong, positioning myself in a sexy pose that shows off my ass in front of the reflective surface. I make sure the bruises along my spine are visible, snapping the selfie.
Bringing up his contact, I click the photo I’ve just taken and begin to type a message to send beneath it.
Arielle: I can still fucking feel you and I can’t wear what I want to. Are you satisfied, Carter?
I’m about to send the text when I second guess myself. Instead, I bring up the Snapchat application and retake the photo, typing out the same caption. Before I can psych myself out, I send it to him.
To distract myself from thinking about his reaction to the photo, I get myself ready—changing into an outfit, brushing my teeth and putting on a bit of makeup.
But my I can’t stop imagining what he thinks of the photo I sent. I set the time to no limit when I sent it, so did he open it and is just sitting and staring at it before tapping his finger and ridding of it forever?
I haven’t gotten any notifications, so it’s not like he screenshot it and that also means he hasn’t responded back. I don’t know why—I never fucking get like this—but nervousness flutters in my stomach and I swallow hard, not being able to stand it any longer. I open the application, noticing that Nate has looked at the photo and not replied.
In fact, he looked at it a few minutes ago, probably immediately after I sent it.
I nearly drop my phone in my hands when there’s a soft knock on the door and Chase’s head suddenly pops in. “I’m heading out,” he informs me and I don’t have it in me to respond with words, so I nod my head. “I won’t be back until late.”
I sit myself on the edge of the bed, sighing at my phone. I listen as Chase leaves the house, glancing down at the device.
Why didn’t he send me something back?
I question why I’m obsessing over it, when it doesn’t mean anything but for whatever reason, it’s bothering me. I mean, I sent him a photo of my ass and Nate of all people is staying silent? It doesn’t add up.
I bring his contact up on my phone, sure he won’t ignore a text message.
Arielle: Nate, babyboy. Come over 😈
I toss my phone on my bed, anxious for his ringtone to echo through my bedroom.
NATE