Sera could’ve floated.

Not in the dreamy, eyes-closed, love-song kind of way—but in that heart-thudding, I-might-actually-dissolve-from-how-much-I-like-this-girl kind of way. Like every single part of her—every soft, sharp, guarded, dramatic part—was being seen, and not only that, wanted.

Lana wanted her.

All of her.

Not just the curated version, not just the sleepover-fantasy wrapped in a cherry-print tee, but the clingy, chaotic, sometimes-too-much, sometimes-scared girl who still couldn’t quite believe this was real.

And now Lana was in her lap, saying you win, and Sera was seconds from combusting.

She didn’t laugh. She didn’t deflect.

She just leaned forward and kissed her again.

Longer this time. Deeper.

A slow, sure drag of her mouth over Lana’s, like she was trying to memorize the shape of yes—like she was claiming this moment without asking for permission, because Lana had already given it. Every breath, every look, every soft confession—she’d handed it over.

And Sera was going to take care of it like something holy.

When she finally pulled back, she didn’t let go.
Didn’t move far.

Her hand slid along Lana’s jaw, thumb grazing her cheekbone, her forehead resting against hers like she couldn’t bear to break the contact entirely.

“You say that now,” Sera whispered, eyes still closed, lips brushing Lana’s as she spoke, “but wait until you see me yell at the screen and dramatically blame you for every banana peel I hit.”

She smiled—small, warm, and maybe just a little too in love for her own good.
But she didn’t stop herself this time.

“You’re lucky I like you, too,” she added. “Because I would normally never give up the last sticky rice for someone who’s clearly going to try and throw me off a rainbow at 150cc.”

A beat.

“But you? You can have the dumplings. You can have the blankets. You can have me.”

Her voice cracked slightly on the last word, but she didn’t care.
Didn’t backpedal.
Didn’t joke her way out of it.

She kissed her once more—quick and sure—then slowly stood up, legs still buzzing from the closeness, heart still doing backflips under her ribs.

She padded barefoot to the door and turned to glance over her shoulder, one brow arched, eyes glittering with challenge and affection so thick it could’ve made her ache.

"Well?” she asked, voice rich with mischief and warmth. “Are you coming willingly, or am I carrying you to the media room?”

A pause.

Then, with a smirk only slightly cocky:
“Because I will carry you, Hart. Don’t test me.”

She leaned her shoulder into the doorframe, looking every bit the flirt she always was—only this time, it wasn’t a mask.

This time, it was her.

Open.
Loved.
Lucky.

And ready to lose (or win) gloriously at Mario Kart with the girl who’d just undone her, remade her, and somehow made her feel like the future had just walked straight through her bedroom door.

Lana melted.
Not figuratively. Not emotionally. Physically. Like her bones had been replaced with satin and her pride with pudding. Because Sera Vale—absolute menace and softest creature alive—had just said you can have me, and me was sitting in a sleep shirt and sleep shorts, looking like the personification of a slow burn daydream, and not joking.

Lana barely held her breath in.
Didn’t blink.
Didn’t try to hide the way her throat got tight and her chest pulled open like a goddamn paperback novel.

Sera kissed her—slow, sure, perfect—and Lana let herself be kissed.
Let herself be held. Let herself believe it.

And then that idiot—her idiot—stood up, bare feet soft on the floor, and dared to turn around with that eyebrow raise and voice full of mischief like she hadn’t just emotionally set Lana on fire three seconds earlier.

“Oh my God,” Lana muttered, already pushing herself to her feet with the grace of someone trying not to trip on feelings. “You say one devastatingly sweet thing and then threaten to carry me like a dramatic queer fireman. You’re sick.”

She crossed the room with her arms half-crossed and her heart in her mouth.

“You don’t get to say all that,” she continued, pointing a finger at her as she stepped closer, “and then act like you didn’t just ruin me in under ten minutes while also offering me dumplings.”

She stopped in front of her. Real close.
Close enough to catch the way Sera’s breath hitched.
Close enough to feel her own pulse spike just from looking at her.

“You think I’m gonna let you carry me?” Lana said, lifting her chin with mock offense that didn’t hide the blush rising to her cheeks. “Like some swoony, emotionally compromised damsel in distress?”

She leaned in. Let her lips hover dangerously close.

“I am emotionally compromised,” she whispered, “but you’re still not lifting me, Vale.”

Then she grinned, grabbed her hand like it was second nature now, and started pulling her gently down the hall.

“But I am coming willingly. Obviously. Because I’m not about to let you make this media room moment into some fake rivalry arc where you win, like, one race and claim the title forever.”

Her voice tilted smug.

“I will destroy you. Kindly. With grace. And garlic noodle-fueled vengeance.”

She tugged Sera into step beside her, fingers tightening just once between them.

And in that moment—bare feet, cherry-print sleepwear, the faint promise of chaos and comfort ahead—Lana didn’t feel like she was being swept away anymore.

She felt like she’d arrived.

Sera followed, but only barely.
Because it took everything in her not to melt against the wall and just watch.

Lana—half-grinning, still flushed, already tugging her down the hall like she'd always had the right to—was quite literally dragging Sera Vale into the sapphic slow burn fantasy she didn’t even know she’d been starving for.

And Sera?

Sera was ruined.

Utterly.
Delightfully.
Willingly.

Lana’s hand was in hers, firm and warm, and all Sera could think about—between the lazy swing of their arms and the ghost of her last kiss still clinging to her mouth—was how easy this felt. How stupidly right.

She let herself be pulled half a step behind, half on purpose, just so she could keep looking at her.

Her girl.

God, her girl.

Still smug. Still talking shit about Rainbow Road. Still pretending she hadn’t just confessed something that Sera would absolutely replay in her head every night for the rest of her life.

“You’re ridiculous,” Sera muttered fondly, bumping her shoulder into Lana’s as they rounded the corner. “You say I ruin you, and then you give a full rom-com monologue about vengeance and garlic noodles like it’s not the hottest thing I’ve ever heard.”

Lana glanced at her over her shoulder, grin sharp and radiant.

Sera swore her heart actually tripped.

“Just so we’re clear,” she added, voice dipping lower now—teasing, reverent—“if you had let me carry you, I was gonna say it was for the bit. But let’s be honest.”

She leaned in just enough to brush her nose against Lana’s temple as they walked.

“I just wanted to hold you again.”

It came out quieter than she expected. Less cocky. More true.

Sera didn’t apologize for it.

Because yeah, maybe she was soft.
Maybe she was in way over her head.
Maybe she’d fallen in love somewhere between a dressing room and a rice noodle declaration of war.

But God, she was happy.

They reached the media room—low lights, soft couches, a projector that had seen more vintage movies than most of the town’s teenagers combined—and Sera let Lana step in first, still holding her hand like it was a lifeline she had no intention of letting go.

She squeezed gently. Tethering.

“Pick your player,” she said, voice back to full mischief as she moved toward the console. “But don’t say I didn’t warn you—this cherry t-shirt? Statistically increases my win rate.”

She glanced over her shoulder with a look that was 10% flirty, 90% completely, catastrophically in love.

“And you already gave me your heart,” she added, shameless. “Might as well give me the trophy, too.”

God, she was done for.

Lana didn’t need to look back to know Sera was staring at her like she hung the stars and hand-stitched the moon. She could feel it—that charged, humming kind of gaze that crawled up her spine and took root somewhere behind her ribs. Heavy. Electric. Addictive.

She didn’t say anything right away. Just kept tugging her down the hallway like she wasn’t seconds from combusting herself.

Because Sera Vale was behind her. Trusting. Glowing. Flushed and a little wrecked and still somehow teasing her like she hadn’t just dropped the emotional equivalent of a meteor onto Lana’s chest.

It was unfair.

It was perfect.

When Sera bumped her shoulder and muttered “you’re ridiculous,” Lana bit her bottom lip and smiled hard enough to feel it in her ears. And then—then—she said it. That thing.

That quiet, slow, offhandedly devastating thing: “I just wanted to hold you again.”

Lana’s breath caught so hard she almost missed a step.

It was a miracle she didn’t collapse right then and there. Because Goddamn it, Vale. She said things like that with zero warning. Just dropped them casually, like little grenades with satin bows, and expected Lana to keep functioning.

She didn’t respond right away. She couldn’t.

She just squeezed Sera’s hand tighter—anchoring herself in the feel of her. Letting that be the answer for now.

They reached the media room, and Lana stepped in first, the dim light catching in the curve of her cheek as she let go reluctantly to flop down onto the couch.

Sera’s voice followed, full mischief again—talking about win rates and cherry t-shirts and trophies like she wasn’t casually rewriting every soft-touch daydream Lana had tried to talk herself out of for weeks.

Lana reached for a controller, flipping it into her palm without looking.

She didn’t smile yet. Didn’t joke.

Not right away.

She glanced up at Sera—fully, deliberately—soaking in the sight of her standing there like she already owned the room. Like this was just hers now.

And Lana?

Lana was very okay with that.

“You don’t get to be adorable and cocky and soft all at once,” she said finally, voice low and smooth, like she was trying to stay casual but failing beautifully. “That’s cheating.”

She turned on the console, watching it flicker to life.

Then she added, quieter now—almost like a dare, but also a promise:

“You want my heart? You already have it.”

A beat.

Then her smirk returned, sharp and alive again as the character screen popped up.

“But the trophy?” she drawled, bumping Sera’s knee with hers as she pulled her down onto the couch beside her. “You’ll have to earn that.”

She tossed her a controller and let her leg press against hers, steady and sure.

Game on.
Hearts surrendered.
No one leaving.

Lana’s arm tightened around Sera just a little, fingers drifting in lazy, absent circles over the fabric of her shirt—barely-there movements that said more than words ever could. Not rushed. Not expectant. Just touch for the sake of closeness, the way someone traces familiar constellations they already know by heart.

Her hand moved slowly—over Sera’s waist, the curve of her hip, the rise and fall of her ribs—like she was mapping her, grounding herself in the warmth and weight of here. It wasn’t about anything more than being close. Feeling her. Reminding them both that this moment was real.

“You’re so warm,” Lana murmured into the quiet, lips brushing the space just behind Sera’s ear. “I might actually stay here forever.”

Sera let out a soft sound—half laugh, half sigh—and tucked herself closer, threading their fingers together over her stomach like an anchor.

Outside, the house was still.
Inside, under the blankets, under the hush of low light and steady breathing, everything was soft.

Safe.

Exactly where they wanted to be.

Lana didn’t mean to move.

Not really.

It was instinct—familiar now—the way her hand slid gently along Sera’s waist, fingers curling into the fabric like they could hold onto the moment a little longer. Just a brush. A breath. The smallest shift.

But God, she felt it.

That pull.

That ache.

Not urgent. Not wild.

Just… full. Brimming. Like her chest couldn’t quite hold everything this girl made her feel.

Sera shifted slightly, molding into her like second nature, and Lana let her thumb trace a lazy arc just above the waistband of her sleep shorts—nothing bold, nothing demanding. Just closeness. Just the hum of want wrapped in reverence.

Her breath caught.

Not because she wanted to take more.
But because this was already so much.

The warmth of Sera’s skin under her palm. The steady beat of her heart where their bodies touched. The way it felt to be allowed this—this intimacy, this softness, this stillness.

Lana closed her eyes and pressed a barely-there kiss to the back of Sera’s shoulder, lingering like a promise she wasn’t sure how to speak aloud yet.

Not now, she thought.

But soon.

For now, she stayed exactly where she was—curled around Sera like gravity, hands steady, breath even—and let the ache of wanting more settle somewhere deep and quiet between them.

And somehow, even the longing felt like love.

Sera was so close to making a truly terrible decision.

Like—abandon-the-game-console, forget-the-takeout, kiss-her-stupid kind of decision.

Because Lana was touching her like that.

Soft.
Steady.
Fingers skimming her side in those light, absent circles that felt less like flirting and more like belonging. Like a private language Sera hadn’t known she’d been aching to learn until now.

And the worst part?

Lana wasn’t even trying to seduce her.

She was just holding her.
Like she wanted to.
Like she could.

Sera exhaled, slow and tight, like maybe if she focused hard enough on setting up the game, she could distract herself from the fact that she’d never wanted anyone this much in her life—and not just the hot kind of want, but the full-body, full-heart, what-if-I-just-made-her-breakfast-tomorrow kind of want.

And God, that was dangerous.

So she did what she could control—turned on the projector, adjusted the input, flipped the controller into her lap, and scrolled through the character screen like she wasn’t seconds from dissolving under Lana Hart’s hands.

Focus, Vale.

You can do this.
You’re a competitive disaster with perfectly sculpted eyebrows and a legacy to uphold.
Do not let her distract you with affection.

Then Lana whispered, you’re so warm, and Sera’s brain short-circuited completely.

She turned her head slightly—just enough to catch Lana’s mouth near her ear—and swallowed a sound that might’ve been a whimper if she weren’t so deeply, stubbornly proud.

She reached for the controller again with trembling fingers, selected her go-to racer—Rosalina, obviously, because elegance and vengeance could co-exist—and let out a laugh she didn’t quite mean to.

“Okay,” she murmured, voice dangerously low now, “so two things.”

She twisted slightly, shifting just enough to meet Lana’s eyes over her shoulder.

“One: if you keep touching me like that, I will forget this game exists and show you what winning actually looks like.”

A pause.

Then—
“Two: if you ruin me by being this perfect and then beat me at Mario Kart on my home turf, I’m never emotionally recovering.”

She smiled. Soft.
Flushed.
Wrecked in all the best ways.

“But I’m still letting you try.”

Sera turned her head the last inch and kissed her—slow, deep, no fireworks. Just gravity. Just lips and heat and affection pressed like a signature against Lana’s mouth.

When she pulled back, she leaned their foreheads together briefly, letting her breath even out, letting herself have this.

Then, reluctantly, she untangled their fingers with a lingering squeeze and scooted forward on the couch to properly set up the race.

“This is me being responsible,” she said without turning around, voice slightly breathless but proud. “Because food’s on the way, and I plan to be far too busy worshipping you after dinner to deal with interruptions.”

She clicked the final settings, controller still shaking slightly in her grip.

Character selected.
Course loaded.
Thighs pressed tight together like it might help her stay upright.

She tossed a look over her shoulder, grinning through the nerves now, heart pounding.

“Get comfy, Hart. You’ve got three minutes before I absolutely decimate you.”

But she already knew—
Win or lose—
She’d never felt more like she’d already won.

Lana didn’t move right away.

She watched Sera from behind—shoulders squared like she was preparing for battle, fingers tight on the controller, jaw clenched in that dangerously cute way that said do not underestimate me even as her ears were still a little pink.

God, she was trying so hard to be good.

Which, of course, made Lana want to ruin her focus just a little.

“Three minutes, huh?” Lana murmured, leaning forward with slow, deliberate grace. “That’s plenty of time.”

She pressed her chest lightly to Sera’s back, lips near her ear, fingers ghosting over the top of her thigh—not bold, not inappropriate. Just present. Just enough to make Sera’s breath hitch again.

“You know, I could be really distracting if I wanted to,” she whispered, voice low and sugar-slick. “Like… say the word, and I might not even let you finish the first lap.”

Sera made a noise—something between a laugh and a threat—and gripped the controller tighter, but Lana didn’t pull back.

She rested her chin on Sera’s shoulder, eyes flicking to the game loading on screen. “You’re really gonna try to win a race,” she drawled, “with me right here… whispering things I absolutely mean?”

Her fingers traced a lazy pattern against the seam of Sera’s shorts, feather-light, all suggestion and absolutely no pressure. “I’m just saying,” she added, “if your kart starts spinning out, it’s not because of the banana peels.”

Sera groaned—wrecked and fond and absolutely flustered—and Lana grinned against her neck like she’d already won.

And maybe she had.

Sera’s shoulders twitched—just slightly—but she didn’t pull away.

Didn’t push Lana off.
Didn’t tell her to stop.

She just adjusted her grip on the controller like it might save her from the slow unravel Lana was orchestrating with nothing but a breath and a fingertip.

God, she was beautiful like this.

Focused. Flustered. Fighting to stay composed while her sleep shorts rode up just enough to reveal more of that soft, golden skin Lana had absolutely no business admiring this much mid-Mario Kart.

But here they were.

“I can practically feel you thinking,” Lana murmured, brushing her lips just behind Sera’s ear—not quite a kiss, just air and warmth and wicked intent. “Trying so hard to pretend I’m not sitting back here fantasizing about messing up your whole strategy.”

Her fingers slipped just a little lower, gliding along the hem of those dangerously unfair shorts—still feather-light, still fully innocent if anyone asked—but her grin curved darker when Sera’s breath caught.

“You sure you picked the right course?” she teased. “Because baby… this is starting to feel a lot less Rainbow Road and a lot more sudden death.”

Sera made another sound, and Lana felt it more than heard it—like heat under her skin, like gravity pulling her closer.

But still, she didn’t push.

Just let her hand settle lightly on Sera’s knee, thumb stroking idle circles, grounding them both in the fact that the teasing could always stop. Would stop, if Sera so much as blinked wrong.

Instead, Sera shifted—just an inch—but it was enough.

Lana leaned in, nuzzling her nose gently against her jaw before whispering, “Still feel like playing to win?”

Because God… Lana could.
But she was also perfectly fine losing.
As long as she got to lose like this.

Sera’s whole body thrummed.

Not from nerves. Not even from the thrill of the competition she was pretending to care about more than she did.

But from Lana.

Her Lana, breathing against her neck like a sin dressed in silk, whispering distractions that could unmake her with a single word.

She gripped the controller tighter, thumbs hovering over the buttons, like maybe if she focused hard enough, she could keep it together. She could stay responsible. She could at least finish the first lap before they burned the house down.

And then Lana said sudden death in that voice.

And touched her just a little higher on her thigh.

And Sera broke.

Not all the way.
Not yet.

But enough to lose whatever shred of self-control she’d been clinging to like a prayer.

“Okay,” she breathed, voice pitched somewhere between a warning and a dare.

Then—still watching the screen, still poised like a gamer girl with a grudge—she reached down, found Lana’s hand on her knee, and guided it.

Higher.

Slowly.

Like gravity didn’t rush here.

Sera’s breath hitched as her fingers curled around Lana’s and dragged them inch by inch—up the curve of her thigh, over soft skin that burned beneath every touch—until she stopped just above the hem of her sleep shorts, pressing Lana’s palm gently against her heat through the thin fabric.

Then she let go.

Just like that.

Like a match being dropped.

“You wanna be distracting?” Sera said, voice a little too wrecked to pass as casual. “Then prove you can keep up.”

She lifted her chin, turned just enough to meet Lana’s gaze over her shoulder, and smirked.

It wasn’t polished. It wasn’t perfect.
It was real.

Flushed cheeks. Wild heartbeat. Lust and laughter tangled together like they were two halves of the same spell.

“I bet I can still beat my high score,” she whispered, “with your hand exactly where it is.”

A pause.

Then, eyes glinting with fire and want—

“And if I do, you’re feeding me every bite of dinner while I gloat.”

The race began. Music flared. The screen lit up.

And Sera?

She hit the gas like a girl possessed.

Because sure, she was competitive.
Sure, she played to win.
But this?

This was her favorite kind of challenge.

Worshipped from behind, heat pooling between her thighs, breath stuttering every time Lana’s fingers shifted even slightly under her shorts—
And still determined to come out on top.

If she lost?

God, she hoped she lost.

But if she won?

There wasn’t a single part of her that wouldn’t make Lana feel it.

Lana didn’t care about the game anymore.

Not really.

She was still holding the controller, still half-aware of the flashing lights and countdown beeps filling the room, but it could’ve been static. White noise. The hum of a distant planet.

Because Sera?

Sera had just grabbed her hand like it meant something. Like it always had. Guided it—slow and unshaking—up her thigh and left it there like a dare wrapped in velvet. Like trust.

And Lana forgot how to breathe.

The way Sera’s voice curled around the word distracting. The heat in her gaze. That glint of challenge—like she was made of wildfire and mischief and Lana’s name whispered on a fault line.

Lana’s pulse pounded.

She could feel it in her fingertips, in her jaw, in every place Sera’s skin touched hers. The game blinked on screen. A race was starting. Somewhere, a countdown hit zero.

But Lana was no longer playing.

She was watching the girl in front of her—controller clutched like a lifeline, muscles tight with focus and defiance, daring Lana to break her and knowing exactly how close she already was.

And God, Lana wanted to.

Not to win.

Just to witness her. To match her. To give her every ounce of heat she was holding back and see what happened when neither of them blinked.

Her thumb twitched. Not a move. Not yet. Just pressure. Gentle. Reverent.

A silent I’m here pressed into the soft fabric between them.

And then—softly, dangerously—Lana leaned forward again, lips brushing just behind Sera’s ear, and whispered:

“You drive.”

I’ll follow.

Wherever this goes.

Sera’s inhale shattered somewhere halfway up her throat.

Not because she wasn’t ready for Lana to say something like that—
But because she was.

Because she’d wanted it. Hoped for it. Burned for it.

And now here Lana was, mouth a breath away from her neck, hand pressed there like a vow, whispering you drive like she meant every syllable. Like she belonged there. Like she’d never not been part of Sera’s story.

Sera’s fingers twitched on the controller, missed a turn. She bit back a sound that wasn’t quite a moan and wasn’t quite a laugh—something suspended in the quiet between restraint and the collapse that was coming for her anyway.

She could feel Lana behind her, not urgent, not pushy—just present. Solid. Steady. Letting Sera burn slow, letting her choose.

And God, that was the most devastating part of all.

Sera’s chest was tight. Full. Drenched in heat and something quieter—something that curled under her ribs like reverence and want so deep it felt sacred.

The game buzzed in her lap like an afterthought.

She kept driving.

Banana peels. Booster pads. Bright, dizzying turns. But it all blurred. The track didn’t matter.

What mattered was this.
Lana’s hand.
Lana’s voice.
Lana’s permission.

Her breath shook. Her thighs pressed tighter. Her body arched the slightest bit more into Lana’s touch, and still she held the controller like it was the only thing keeping her tethered to the earth.

But her voice?

That was Sera Vale again—raw and velvet, dangerous and so soft it almost hurt.

“I don’t want you to follow,” she whispered, barely audible over the sound of rainbow chaos and thunderclouds on screen.

She turned her head just slightly, enough for her temple to brush Lana’s.

“I want you right here.”

Her hand reached back—shaky, instinctive—and caught the curve of Lana’s thigh behind her, fingers digging in just enough to say don’t you dare move.

“You’re the reason I’m even getting anywhere.”

A beat.

A breath.

And then, smirking despite how wrecked she was, Sera added—

“So if I beat this score with your hand between my legs, I’m renaming this course after you.”

Her next turn was flawless. Clean. Sharp.

And yet—

Her hips rolled ever so slightly forward. Barely-there friction. Desperation in silk.

And still, she drove.

Because Lana had said you drive.

And Sera was going to take them all the way.

Lana's breath, a soft, humid whisper against Sera's ear, trembled as she absorbed the layered daring of Sera’s words. The trembling reached her hand, the one that had found a home beneath Sera's shirt, teasing her nipple with a firm tug that pulled a shiver from Sera's core, a silent testament to the fire Lana stoked within her.

Sera's challenge—spoken in that velvety, raw tone that was all Sera Vale—ignited something fierce and reckless within Lana. She couldn't help the predatory curl of her lips as she leaned in, her voice dropping to a sultry murmur that was as much a caress as her fingers. "*Between* your legs?" Lana echoed, her thumb rolling Sera's nipple with deliberate intent, coaxing a moan that mingled with the soundtrack of the racing game. "Or would you prefer it... *on* them?"

As if to punctuate her words, Lana's other hand began its own journey, skating smoothly beneath the waistband of Sera's pants. Fingers explored the forbidden contours of Sera's hip and lower, drawing a pattern of goosebumps along her skin. The game's frenzy receded into the background, replaced by the more compelling thrum of Sera's heartbeat beneath Lana's touch.

Lana's fingertips brushed against the dampness of silk, the fabric a thin barrier to the heat and longing that pulsed there. Her voice was a low, heated rasp, dripping with promise. "I have other ideas for this hand," she breathed, her fingers dipping beneath Sera’s panties and tracing the delicate folds with a feather-light touch, "ones that involve a lot less driving and a lot more..." She paused, letting the tantalizing words linger, the unspoken promise of other rhythmic, passionate motions hanging in the charged space between them.

The game's sound faded entirely as Lana's fingers continued their teasing exploration, each stroke a deliberate stoking of the inferno she was building inside Sera. The room seemed to hold its breath, waiting for Sera's response for the next move in their dance of desire.

Sera's breath hitched, her concentration torn between the game and Lana's increasingly bold touch. Yet her grip on the controller remained firm, symbolizing her resolve to reach the end of the track—metaphorically and literally. Lana's words and touches were a siren's call, pulling Sera away from the digital race and into the real, visceral race of their bodies against each other.

Lana's fingers continued their slow, torturous dance, her voice a constant, velvety purr that spoke of nights stretched out in breathless pleasure. "Drive, Sera," Lana whispered, her fingers now pressing with intent against Sera’s center, coaxing her hips into a gentle, rocking motion. "But know that every turn you make, every speed boost, every moment you hold on, I'm right here, waiting to take us over the finish line."

And as Lana felt Sera's body respond, her breath catching on a gasp that was part plea, part challenge, she knew they were both in for a ride that would leave them wrecked, but in the best possible way.