Hypersonic
Copyright© 2026 by nyra
Chapter 7
Romance Sex Story: Chapter 7 - 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 She’s Rattled
ARIELLE
When I roll out of bed the next morning, there’s a blissful ache between my thighs and I’ve slept a solid eleven hours from the exhaustion of being spent. It reminds me of the evening I had with Nate and how after he was sure I was satisfied—which fuck, was I ever—he left with a swift kiss to my lips and an embrace which ended with my ass squeezed in between his hands.
I could get used to this whole fuck buddy thing.
I end up taking a quick shower and reliving those moments until I know that I have to get out because I have shit to do. Before leaving the house, I grab a muffin from my island and am about to head out to my car before I hear a clearing throat and turn towards the sound, mid bite.
Chase stands there smiling. “Good morning.” He licks his lips, unable to hide the smile on his face. As I sigh and roll my eyes, he slips his jacket on while waiting for my response.
“Morning, Chase.” I ignore the fact that he’s smirking at me. “Were—were you here last night?” My mind rushes with the realization that Nate and I were anything but quiet yesterday evening, and Chase’s bedroom isn’t far from mine. But then again, whenever he’s had a lady friend over, he’s never quiet. In fact, he tends to bring over screamers.
Either that, or he’s really good in bed.
Chase nods his head and then holds his chin in between his thumb and forefinger quizzically. “Yeah, there was this odd banging sound. Did we adopt a woodpecker last night?”
Oh, there was some good wood last night, that’s for sure.
“It was just this incessant banging up against the wall, like maybe a hammer being nailed into the stud—”
Definitely some nailing going on.
“—or maybe somebody was fucked up against the wall.”
I roll my eyes and laugh, “Like you’ve never fucked a girl up against your wall? Or remember that time you had a girl in the shower? She woke me up at four in the morning!”
“Hey, I can’t help that she was very vocal.” He arches an eyebrow. “She put her mouth to good use.”
“I know,” I respond. “I could hear it.”
I bite into my muffin as he continually smirks at the thought of that night. Thinking back on it, I was very unhappy with being woken up to moaning, thumping, and screaming which didn’t end until we had effectively ran out of hot water and they were forced to leave the shower.
When Chase comes back from wherever he was lost in his head, he takes in my appearance, noticing my car keys in my hands and the leather jacket on my shoulders. “You going out?” He asks.
“I have to run to the grocery store,” I respond. “Need to pick up a few things.”
“Can I join? I could use some deodorant and condoms.”
It’s hard to hold back the smile as I laugh at him. “Yeah, sure.” I answer, stuffing the rest of my muffin into my mouth. “C’mon, let’s go,” I tell him with a mouthful.
For what I thought was going to be a quick half hour run to the market, turned out to be an hour roaming the aisles as Chase checks out product after product. We spent a solid ten minutes just going through cereals alone while I was debating stabbing myself with a plastic knife.
I should’ve known bringing Chase along would lead to this, but I obviously wasn’t thinking clearly this morning. Eventually I break off from Chase to grab some boxes of soda while he heads off to grab his own things. Just as I’m putting a box of cans into the shopping cart, he comes around the corner with an armful of items. He approaches the cart and tosses some sticks of deodorant into the cart.
It’s then that he gains my attention by holding out an item for me to see. “I got this for you. Thought you could use it.”
I notice that he’s holding Plan B, so I scoff and toss it at him harshly. “I’m always safe, don’t give me that shit.”
“So, no oopsie babies?” He hands the box back to me as he speaks.
“Shut up,” I mutter tossing it at him again. “Maybe you should keep some in your bathroom.”
“That happened one time!” He defends.
“Yeah, one time where you almost ended up a baby daddy.”
“Hey, I’ve always been a daddy,” he smirks.
I close my eyes and pinch the bridge of my nose, shaking my head. I’d really rather not hear about his sexual preferences, but then again, I already knew that from the shower girl who continually cried out, “Daddy!” while he fucked her.
“Jesus, Chase. Can we just—” I purse my lips and point towards the front of the store.
He stares down at the Plan B container in his hands, before shrugging his shoulders. “Still not a bad idea,” he mumbles and then tosses the boxes into our cart along with his five—yes, five—boxes of condoms.
“I am absolutely not paying for those,” I point at the contraception that seems to litter our shopping cart. I mean, good for him, he’s being safe when it comes to sex with strangers but I’m not funding his sexual adventures. I’m definitely not encouraging him to bring more women home who scream all night long.
I much like my sleep, thanks.
After the weird looks we received cashing out—I swear we probably appeared to be a couple who seriously love to fuck—we finally leave the store. The single major chore I had to do today turned into me running into the grocery store for ninety minutes when it should’ve only been thirty. Then again, that’s what I get for bringing Chase along.
“I need a sugar mommy to fund this shit,” Chase murmurs as he glances at the bag full of condoms and his emergency Plan B kit. “It’s expensive.”
“Maybe stop fucking so much, Jesus,” I laugh back. “I need to take you to Costco or some shit so you can buy in bulk. Lord knows you go through them fast enough they’ll never see the expiration.”
He mock laughs at me and then tosses the bag into the trunk. “Y’know, that’s not all that bad of an idea ... Can we—”
“We’re not going there now! You just bought five boxes, make ‘em last.” I shout at him as I walk around the car, waiting for him to place the final bags into the trunk so we can leave. As he does that, I rifle through my purse until I find my car keys.
Just as I open the car door and lean inside to place my purse on the backseat of my car, there’s a voice behind me.
“Excuse me, Miss?” I don’t pay much attention to whoever is talking because I assume it isn’t to me, but then I hear the footsteps approaching my car, so I turn to look at the stranger.
Much to my surprise, it’s a police officer.
“Can I help you?” I ask. I don’t mean to come off as rude, but my past experience with cops hasn’t exactly been sunshine and fucking rainbows so the hostility is readily apparent with any officer.
“I was just admiring your car. A sixty-seven Firebird, right?”
Chase hears that part and he, too, stands to his full height from the other side of the car where he stares down the officer. The officer is a good-looking man, probably in his forties, not very tall—maybe five foot eight—with dark brown hair and dark brown eyes.
I can’t help but be weary around the man. No cop just randomly approaches you to admire your car. He’s obviously here with ulterior motives, and it’s just a matter of when he’ll reveal said motives.
There are a few officers within the Miami division of police officers that have become familiar with me. They know my car, they know my friends, and they know what I look like. They are aware with what I do in my spare time, and they aren’t exactly thrilled with it.
I’ve been taken into the station a few times in a set of handcuffs. One of which ended in me spending about a month in jail where I befriended some women who were a wonderful distraction until my early release. But being in jail isn’t exactly my proudest moment, and so isn’t something I talk about very often. Ever since that day I’ve been a lot more careful, to say the least.
“Right,” I answer, eyeing him up suspiciously. Not only because he was a cop, but a hot cop at that.
“I’m Lieutenant Sanders.” He offers his hand, taking a step forward as Chase watches from the other side of the vehicle.
I extend my hand to return his handshake. “Is there something I can help you with?” I offer, not even bothering to introduce myself. If he managed to sniff me out, I was fucking sure that he knew exactly who I was. But even if he didn’t know who I was, I wasn’t about to easily give him my name.
“Are you Arielle Hawthorne?” He questions, setting his hands on his hips where they brush against his gun. I’m positive it’s a move to attempt to intimidate me, but it doesn’t work. I’m not as affected by cops as most people—I’ve become much too familiar with them.
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