Just One Orgasm!

The roar reached Kylie long before she reached the abandoned industrial district.

It rolled across the empty warehouses, punctuated by cheers, whistles, and the sharp scream of tyres clawing at asphalt.

"This is insane," she laughed, stepping out of the rideshare.

"I told you it’d be worth it," her cousin Maya replied, grabbing her wrist and pulling her toward the crowd. "Come on! They’re about to start another heat."

Floodlights illuminated the cracked tarmac where dozens of motorcycles idled in loose formation.

Their headlights carved white beams through drifting exhaust while spectators crowded behind makeshift barriers of abandoned shipping containers.

The air smelled of petrol, burnt rubber, and beer.

Kylie loved it immediately. Everywhere she looked, there was a story waiting to be captured.

She pulled out her phone.

"You are not posting this," Maya warned.

"I’m documenting it."

"That’s exactly what you said before campus security nearly confiscated your phone the last time."

Kylie rolled her eyes. "They failed."

Maya snorted.

Kylie only grinned before pointing her camera toward the starting line.

The engines growled louder.

One rider stood out without trying.

His motorcycle was matte black, stripped of unnecessary details, and aggressive in every line. While several riders revved their engines to impress the crowd, he remained perfectly still, and patient.

His black helmet hid his face completely, and only a pair of striking blue eyes were showed through the visor.

Even from where she stood, Kylie noticed them.

"They’re starting!" someone shouted.

The flag dropped, and every motorcycle exploded forward.

The sound was deafening.

Kylie instinctively lifted her phone higher.

"Oh my God..."

The riders disappeared around the first bend in a blur of speed, and cheers erupted around her.

The race lasted barely three minutes before the bikes came tearing back into view.

One after another they rounded the final corner. Then everything went wrong. A rear wheel clipped loose gravel.

The motorcycle fishtailed violently, and gasps rippled through the spectators.

"No—"

The rider fought to recover.

For one impossible second, it looked as though he might. Then the bike slammed sideways.

His metal shrieked against the road, amd sparks burst into the night. The motorcycle skidded across the asphalt before crashing into a stack of old tyres.

The crowd collectively froze.

Someone yelled for an ambulance, and others simply stared.

Kylie didn’t think.

She ran towards the rider.

"Hey!" Maya shouted after her. "Kylie!"

She ignored her.

Her trainers slapped against the tarmac as she reached the fallen rider. The motorcycle lay several metres away, with smoke curling from beneath it.

The rider groaned.

"Don’t move," Kylie said, crouching beside him. "Can you hear me?"

His gloved hand reached up. Instead of answering, he unclipped his helmet.

He pulled it free, and his blonde hair tumbled into his forehead. A thin line of blood trickled from a cut near his temple.

He looked directly at her with his an oyingly calm bright blue eyes. He looked really amused.

His gaze flicked toward the phone still clutched in her hand.

One corner of his mouth lifted.

"So..." he said, his voice rough from the crash, "are you filming me..." His eyes locked onto hers. "...or helping me?"

Kylie froze looking at the familiar face. She stared at him for exactly one second. Then she looked at the plastic cup still in her other hand.

Without a word, she threw the rest of her drink straight into his face. The cold cola splashed over his hair, jacket, and shoulders.

The spectators nearby went completely silent.

Christian blinked once. Slowly, he wiped the drink from his eyes, as though crashing his motorcycle had mildly inconvenienced him.

"Right." Kylie folded her arms. "You looked conscious enough to flirt."

"I wasn’t flirting."

She gave him a look.

A reluctant grin tugged at the corner of his mouth despite the blood still running down his temple.

"You’re violent." He pushed himself into a sitting position with a wince. "You usually assault injured people?"

"Only the cocky ones." She barely gave him a response.

Christian laughed. It echoed through the stunned silence around them.

"You’re such a strange sight here."

She frowned. "What?"

"Most people at these races recognise me."

"I don’t."

His grin widened. "I can tell."

She held out a hand.

For one hopeful moment, he thought she meant to help him stand. Instead, she snatched her phone from where it had landed beside him.

She dusted it off. "My phone survived."

Christian stared at her, taken aback. "You checked on your phone before checking on me."

"You’re talking."

"So?"

"Talking people can wait."

For the first time in years, Christian found himself genuinely speechless.

Kylie walked away before he could think of a comeback.

Christian watched her disappear into the crowd. Most people lingered after a crash hovered, and asked if he was alright.

They offered help he hadn’t asked for. This girl had thrown a drink at him and walked away.

His mouth twitched.

One of the race marshals jogged over. "Christian! Are you hurt?"

"I’m good."

"You slid almost twenty metres."

Another rider wheeled his damaged motorcycle toward the side of the track.

"You’ve got a death wish."

Christian barely heard him.

His attention remained fixed on the woman weaving through the crowd, phone already raised again as though the crash had simply become another interesting clip for her camera roll.

His blonde hair fell into his eyes. He shoved it back impatiently, then he started after her.

"Kylie!" He called. "Kylie, right?"

She didn’t turn.

He frowned. "Kylie!"

Still, she said nothing.

People stepped aside as he walked through the crowd.

"Kylie!"

She continued talking to her cousin as though she hadn’t heard a thing. By the time he caught up, she had almost reached the food trucks.

"I called your phone."

She kept walking.

"I called you multiple times and you ignored me."

Without slowing down, Kylie lifted one hand lazily over her shoulder.

"I warned you I wouldn’t respond to you!"

Her voice carried clearly above the noise of the crowd.

Christian stared after her for a second. "Oh, you’re making this difficult." He closed the remaining distance in a few long strides.

Before Kylie realised what he intended, he plucked her phone neatly from her hand.

She stopped so abruptly that Maya nearly walked into her.

"Excuse me?"

Christian ignored her.

Instead, he unlocked his own phone with practised ease.

Kylie blinked. "What are you doing?"

He glanced up with complete innocence. "Fixing a communication problem."

"My communication is perfectly—"

He pressed a few buttons, and his own phone began dialling. Still holding Kylie’s phone securely in his other hand, he waited.

A second later, her phone vibrated.

Christian looked at the screen, and a slow, satisfied smile spread across his face.

Still holding her phone, he swiped to answer the call himself.

He lifted her mobile to his own ear. "Hello?"

He paused dramatically before replying to himself.

"Oh, hello, Christian."

He paused again.

"Yes, this is Kylie."

He looked directly at her, his blue eyes dancing with amusement.

"I’ve finally answered your call."

He ended it, then he grinned.

"Perfect." A quiet chuckle escaped him. "I finally got a response from you."

Silence rested between them. Complete silence. Kylie simply stared, dumbfounded, with her jaw on the floor.

She wasn’t even angry anymore.

She was trying to decide whether he’d suffered a concussion or had always been like this.

Her mouth finally opened. "You need to get your head checked."

Christian placed a hand over his chest. "That was unnecessarily honest."

"I’m being serious." She responded firmly, with her brows drawn together in genuine concern.

"You think I’m crazy?"

"I think you need professional evaluation."

Maya snorted so loudly she nearly choked on her drink.

Christian looked between them.

"You know," he said thoughtfully, "most women ask for my number."

Kylie folded her arms. She glared at him. "I already regret knowing your first name."

"I haven’t told you my surname yet."

"I’m trying to preserve what little peace I have left."

He laughed again. It was infuriatingly attractive.

Kylie hated that she’d noticed.

"Can I have my phone back?"

"No."

Her eyes narrowed. "No?"

"I’ve only just got you to answer me."

"You answered yourself."

"Details."

She held out her hand. "My phone."

Christian looked at it, then at her. He quietly slipped the phone into the inside pocket of his leather riding jacket.

Kylie lashes fluttered with more disbelief. "You did not just do that."

"I absolutely did."

She took one deliberate step toward him. "So we’re stealing now?"

He held her gaze. "I’m borrowing."

"Without permission?"

"I’ll return it." He promised.

"When?"

"When you agree to save my contact."

She laughed. He sounded so absurd. "You genuinely think that’s happening?"

"I do."

"You’ve clearly hit your head harder than I thought."

Christian leaned slightly closer. "So that’s now your concern."

"It is not my concern."

"It sounded like your concern."

"It was a medical observation."

"I’ll take it."

She rubbed a hand over her face. "Lord..." Then she looked him dead in the eye. "If you don’t give me my phone back in the next five seconds..."

He raised an eyebrow. "What?" He challenged. "Kiss me?"

She smiled sweetly. "I’m going to show you what the first drink was really for."

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