Hypersonic
Copyright© 2026 by nyra
Chapter 54
Romance Sex Story: Chapter 54 - 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 Where Nate Has A Secret
NATE
Seeing Arielle’s facial expression as they drove me away from her in the back of a police cruiser was enough to tear me to shreds. I could see the heart break written all over her face—the anger, the confusion, the defiance, the desperation. If my situation wasn’t bad enough as it is, seeing her face made it even worse.
Let’s not forget the fact that she definitely didn’t want to go along with whatever the crooked cops were telling us to do. The one guy even hit her across her back and it took everything within me to not jump him and beat him senseless for ever laying his hands on her.
The ride to the police station was long and I nearly had a panic attack twice in the backseat. Every question I asked to the two assholes in the front seat went unanswered. They didn’t even really chat with one another so the only thing I could do was watch our surroundings as they whipped past us and listen to the police radio as they ignored calls while bringing me in.
Then we entered the small jail. I really didn’t know what to expect, but it was obvious these cops are assholes and crooked so I’m sure the entire thing is rigged against me.
I wouldn’t be surprised if QuickDraw has his mates send me to fucking solitary as revenge. Maybe I’d feel safer there, who knows? All I do know is that this is overwhelming, terrifying, anger inducing, degrading and humiliating.
A few processes happen when I’m pushed inside the prison—roughly, might I add—but I shut up and do what I’m asked, not wanting to piss anybody off any further.
Eventually, we arrive at the area where I’m told to empty my pockets. I make slow movements as I remove the items from my jeans, carefully placing each individual thing on the table between me and the woman on the other side of the glass.
She begins reciting the name of each item aloud, writing it down on a piece of paperwork with my name stated at the top, and then placing each thing in a bag with my information on it.
When she reaches a certain article of mine, I swallow hard, trying not to think too hard about what it represents. About the plans that are now completely up in air. Plans that had me excited for the future.
That very same future that—as of now—appears to consist of me staring at a concrete wall while trying to keep to myself.
“One diamond engagement ring,” the woman says, holding up the piece of jewelry in her hand as she admires it under the light. I turn my head, avoiding looking at it. I watch her write the words down on the sheet and then she moves to the next item.
“One wallet with a single twenty-dollar bill inside.”
“An iPhone and a pack of Marlboro cigarettes.”
The items seem bland in comparison but I realize I’m about to lose access to privileges like a personal phone and cigarettes whenever I want. I’m about to lose access to a lot of things that people don’t notice how great of privileges they truly are.
I dig my nails into my palms as the woman stuffs the engagement ring into the bag.
Yes, I was planning on proposing to Arielle soon.
I guess that is going to change. I’m going to be stuck in here for God knows how fucking long, which means that we won’t be getting engaged anytime in the near future. I’m not about to get down on one knee and ask her to spend the rest of her life with me inside a fucking prison.
I love her, and the idea of spending the next few days, weeks, months without her by my side is enough to absolutely shatter my heart. I honestly don’t know how I’m about to survive this. As it is, the things I’ve done just to get to this step have been humiliating, degrading and unsettling.
I’m not comfortable in any way shape or form and I know it’s only going to get worse.
As we finish this step, I continue to think of Arielle. About how she went through all of this—this process, these feelings—and it makes me admire her more, as if that was possible. She’s the strongest woman I’ve ever known. The strongest woman on the face of this earth and it’s a hard pill to swallow, thinking that I may just lose her being inside here.
If I’m stuck here for the next five years, would she wait? Would she promise she’d wait but get impatient and fall in love with someone else? Would she flat out tell me that she can’t spend five years of her life waiting for me to be released?
I really don’t know, but I have a sinking feeling about this entire thing.
And my sinking feelings have never been wrong before.
A R I E L L E
I don’t even really know where to begin with what has happened in the last forty-eight hours.
To start with, I’ve been physically ill ever since I pulled into my driveway in Nate ‘s Camaro. I’ve been vomiting—unable to keep any food down—and incapable of falling asleep. I cried so hard last night that my face is physically swollen but it still hasn’t helped sleep to consume me as much as I could use some shut eye to shut my brain off.
I can’t help it. I was so fucking worried about Nate and it doesn’t help that I didn’t hear from him. I tried phoning the prison that I assumed he’s gone to but I didn’t get anywhere. I’ve been basically sitting around, waiting for Nate to get his one phone call so that I’m able to talk to him and know that he’s okay.
Until about an hour ago when I finally got a call from an unknown number and was able to talk to him.
The thing is, I thought that hearing from him would make me feel better but it didn’t.
Not even fucking close.
When he started talking to me, I barely recognized his voice. He sounded defeated, broken down, depressed and angry. I know exactly what he’s going through—the fear, paranoia, the unknown, the humiliation—and so I can empathize.
I only talked to him for about ten minutes this morning before he was forced to hang up but it was still nice to know that he’s okay. Maybe not mentally but at least I know that he can muster through everything he’s going through. He’s a strong man and I know that he’ll do good in court. He will fight this bullshit charge and prove that Hayes is clearly behind this on his dumb fucking vendetta against me.
The biggest thing Nate was concerned about on the phone was whether or not I was okay. He saw when that cop shoved my back and he was worried that I’d been injured.
I had. There was a fair sized deep purple-almost black bruise on the curve of my back that ached in various positions but I wasn’t about to tell him that. It’d be yet another thing he’d be freaking out about and has no control over.
He didn’t say all that much to me on the phone and I really wasn’t sure what to say to him, in all honesty. He’s in one of those situations where there isn’t anything I could say to him to make things better. I tried to remind him that we’ll fight this and he’ll only be in there for a few days, as well as repeating I love you to him several times but I think it went in one ear and out the other.
I can’t blame him. I understand deeply how it feels.
People will tell you things will be alright but they’re just empty words. It’s something someone says out of courtesy; it’s one of those infamous phrases in the English language that humans tend to say more for their own comfort than anything else.
At least, that’s how I felt when I was in prison.
Granted, I never had anyone on my side except Chase. I don’t have any family and the friends I had before going in all scattered—afraid that hanging out with a convict would send heat their way, I guess. In a way it was good, since it showed me exactly who those people truly were but it was extremely shitty at the time to not have people to rely on.
Nate, on the other hand, has many people in his corner. He has me, he has Chase, he has his family and he has all of his friends. Despite all of the shit being thrown at him, he always is just a phone call from someone there to support him.
I would’ve fucking killed for that.
“Do you want me to come in with you?” Chase asks, breaking me out of the daze I was in.
I’m brought back to my surroundings—the inside of the prison—and I try to shake the feelings of anxiety at being inside this fucking place. I can’t control the way that my pulse races and the way my muscles involuntarily fight against my brain, signalling me to move in the opposite direction and leave.
Now.
“I think he’d like to see you too,” I answer truthfully.
“Do you want time alone with him?”
I swallow hard, trying to hide my reaction. I should say yes, but I need Chase there to crack jokes and lighten the mood a little. I honestly don’t even know if I can muster up the courage to step deeper inside this hell hole. When I left the women’s prison all that time ago, I never expected to have to come back to one of these buildings.
There’s just one too many horrid memories that I’d love to wipe completely from my mind.
“No, it’s okay. I can always kick you out.”
One of the guards begins leading us down a hallway as I try not to focus on my surroundings. He eventually leads us to a small desk where Chase and I are forced to write our names on a sign in sheet and wait a few minutes as the woman behind the desk checks our backgrounds to approve visitation. I don’t miss it when she second glances at me—I know it’s because of my record—but she continues reading on until I’m sure she sees the part where my record was cleared, considering I was only acting in self defence and the crooked, fucked up system was the only reason I was ever inside.
Just like it’s the only reason why Nate ‘s inside.
Fucking cops.
Eventually she gives us visitor tags and explains a few rules—an embrace cannot last longer than thirty seconds, no excessive PDA, don’t speak in loud volumes, and if a guard says stop, then stop, along with a few other ones—and then we’re heading through a metal detector, being patted down, surrounded by a drug sniffing dog and ultimately led down another hallway of large metal doors until we arrive at a common area.
I try not to stare too long at other inmates with their loved ones. It’s a habit instilled in me from my own time amongst them.
Chase and I sit side by side at one of the empty tables and I force myself to take a moment and control my breathing. Tears have welled up in my eyes as I tighten my fists and stuff them between my thighs to distract myself.
“You okay?” Chase asks quietly, placing a hand on my back.
I don’t trust my voice and so I simply nod, aware that he likely knows what’s going on with me by now. Thankfully, he’s deciding not to pry too much.
It’s strange being on the other side of things—to be sitting alongside Chase while visiting Nate, instead of entering the room in my jumpsuit to meet with my own visitor. Chase used to visit me every three days and he’d try his damndest to make me laugh every time, but it never worked. I love him for attempting, though.
He was just doing his best to distract me from my life in hell.
The sound of a buzzer fills my ears and it’s as if everything around us slows. The door across the room opens and Nate walks into the room in his olive coloured uniform, effectively taking the breath from my lungs.
The tears I’d thought I’d suppressed threaten to spill and I choke back a sob when he’s close enough that I’m able to carefully take in his appearance. It’s obvious that he hasn’t slept since I saw him last; the skin beneath his eyes are dark and he looks wired. His gaze is both paranoid and exhausted and I know that look all too well.
He appears starkly different without his nose ring and other jewelry, as if a part of him is missing.
It’s been a day and his spirit appears broken and that’s the worst part of it.
I stand from the table, wiping tears from my cheeks as he crosses the room to me. “Arielle—” My name falls from his lips in merely a whisper and it only makes me break down further. I’m sure by this point that people are glancing at us and that I’m making a scene, but I really don’t fucking care.
I want to strangle Hayes for doing this to him.
The fact that he knows what I went through when I went to prison and then he goes and does this to Nate to get back at me? To put Nate through the living hell that I went through for weeks? It’s the absolute deepest fucking blow he could’ve ever done.
I don’t want to, but I pull away from him for fear that a guard will yell at us. Nate seems reluctant to let me go as well, except I think he understands as he gives me a soft gaze and uses his thumbs to remove the wetness on my cheeks. He gives me a weak, forced smile and then grabs my face in his hands, pressing his lips to mine.
I melt beneath his touch like I always do and for a moment, it feels like we’re anywhere but here.
When we separate, Nate kisses my forehead and then urges me to sit down.
“Are you okay?” Is the first thing out of my mouth. It’s a stupid question and I realize that after inquiring because of course he’s not fucking okay. He’s in prison for something that he didn’t fucking do. His whole life has been flipped upside down because of a bunch of crooked cops.
In all honesty, it’s been flipped upside because of me.
Ever since he arched me over the hood of his car his life has gone to shit.
“I’m fine, babe.” Nate says the words, but it’s an obvious lie.
I’d like to encourage him to be honest with me, however I get it so I decide not to pry.
“This whole thing is bullshit, man,” Chase speaks up as the two of them shake hands.
“I know,” Nate laments, “What am I gonna’ do?”
“This is all Hayes’ fault,” Chase hisses, “This has his snake ass written all over it. He pulls some strings behind the scenes and has you sent away—never does anything to your face. Fuckin’ little asshole.”
Nate balls his hands up into fists and presses them to the table, glancing away momentarily. He sighs, dragging his hands over his face.
“What’s the situation with your trial?”
“I don’t know much,” Nate admits. “It’s too soon, but the lawyer I chose said things aren’t looking good. I met with him this morning and it sounds like they’re planning on rushing me through the system.”
“Rushing you through the system?”
“The fuck does that mean?” I inquire right after Chase.
“Basically a quick trial in a couple weeks, no jury—they’re pushing me through it as fast as they can. Someone doesn’t want me to get out of here.”
Hearing that shatters every bone in my body. It causes an incomprehensible amount of rage to surge throughout my entire body. I should’ve expected it because we know who we’re dealing with and we know that he has connections but I just never even thought about it.
I’ve been avoiding the reality of this situation and how fucked up things can truly get.
“You’ve gotta’ be fuckin’ kidding me,” Chase exclaims. “How can a system that’s supposed to protect people do this to them?”
“It’s not protecting people,” I answer, fighting off memories of my own case.
“There has to be something we can do,” Chase glances around us at the other inmates meeting with their loved ones. “Do you think you could talk to Hayes?”
“I don’t want her going near him,” Nate interjects. “Even if it gets me out, he’s too dangerous and unpredictable and he should stay the fuck away from her.” He pointedly jabs his index finger against the top of the table a few times while speaking the last few words.
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