Page 42 of Raced (Driven 3.50)
And then she stops and looks at me, lust in her eyes and evidence of her arousal on her hands. “I know exactly what it’s going to take to get me to the finish line.”
“Oh, so you like to race dirty, huh? Break all the rules?” I ask, fingers trailing up her thighs, leaving visible goose bumps in their wake, her body angling toward me the higher I go. Fuckin’ A straight. She can play the aloof card all she wants but she can’t deny that her body readily submits to me when I want it to. And fuck, how I want it to right now.
“Oh, I most definitely can handle dirty,” she taunts as she trails a finger up my chest and rubs some of her moisture across my lips. My tongue darts out, unable to resist the temptation to taste what I’m craving and fuck me if it doesn’t make me want to flip her over, cuff her hands over her head, and fuck the defiance out of her until she’s screaming my name and owning my heart more than she already does.
She grinds her hips down, that smarmy smile still teasing the corners of her mouth as she rocks back and forth over me. She leans forward, her breath a taunting whisper against my ear. “Being a seasoned pro such as yourself, you just might have to show this rookie exactly why they say rubbing’s racing.”
She’s playing the temptress card and passing with flying fucking colors. I don’t even have time to recover from the notion that her pussy’s wetness is starting to soak through my boxer-briefs when she rocks her hips again. I try to remain unaffected, play her game, but I have to grit my teeth to prevent my eyes from closing at the rocket of sensation that just shot through me.
When I look from her hand back up to her eyes, she raises her eyebrows in the final coup de grace. “Big bad professional race car driver like you afraid to show a newbie how to drive stick, huh?”
And I can’t take it anymore. Fuse lit and control shot. Within a beat, I’ve pushed her back up to sitting, pulled her feet flat on the bed beside my ribs and knees spread wide, because
if I’m watching the feature presentation, I better have a goddamn front row seat.
“I’m shifting gears, sweetheart, because I’m the only one allowed to drive this car.” My hands slide up again until they reach the juncture of her thighs. My thumbs brush over her tight strip of curls before I readjust and tuck my fingers into her. She cries out, her tight walls flexing around me and milking against my fingers as they stroke the nerves within. And between her wetness on my fingers and the memories of her gripping my dick has me pre-coming like a fucking adolescent school boy but fuck me, I’ll take it. I’ll take anything I can from her because Rylee? She’s fucking everything.
She doesn’t take long to climb because she’s so addled with pent up need—and the fact that it’s only for me is not lost in the frenzied moment. Her fingernails score my skin, body tenses, and pussy convulses as the broken cry of my name fills the room around us.
My name moaning from her lips. God-fucking-damn is that not the sexiest sound I’ve ever heard.
I give her a moment to gain her breath, the senses I’ve just finger-fucked out of her, and when I think she’s coherent enough, I let her know that even though she’s just come, I’m the one who just won the race.
“Hey, rookie?”
She lifts her head forward and looks at me from beneath weighted eyelids heavy with satisfaction. “Hmm?” is all she can manage and I fucking love that drowsy just-been-fucked-right look on her face. The one that only I can put there.
“I’m the only one that’s allowed to drive you to the motherfucking checkered flag.”
She just throws her head back and laughs, cheeks flushed, tits jiggling.
Fucking gorgeous.
Like I said, she’s everything.
The Holy motherfucking Grail.
What was Colton thinking the first time he stepped back in the car after the accident? He’s pushed Rylee away because of the bullshit Tawny has laid at his doorstep, he received a dress down from his dad the night before, and now he has to face the one demon he can to gain back the freedom he needs to outrun his other ones on the track.
And he has to do it without Rylee, the one person he desperately wants to be there.
Or does he?
Fear is a brutal bitch to face.
It squeezes your lungs so you can’t breathe, locks your jaw to bear the brunt of your stress, and cinches your heart so your blood rushes through your body.
The guys are at my back pretending to be busy. Ignoring the fact that I’m standing in front of my car, staring at the cause of my biggest fucking fear right now and my greatest goddamn salvation. I need it more than ever between the bullshit Tawny hit me with and not having the one person I want most but don’t want to taint any further around.
Rylee.
She said she’d he here when I got in the car for the first time. I need her here, need to know she’s here to come back to at the end of the run. The salve to my stained soul. But how in the fuck could I call her and ask her when I’ve pushed her so far away?
So here I stand, surrounded by my crew but battling the shit in my head all alone. And of course my mind veers to the vultures at the gates that shoved cameras in my face and spewed Tawny’s bullshit lies about Rylee when I left the house earlier. Then it slides back to Rylee and how much I want her here right now.
Fuck this, Donavan. Quit being such a pussy and get in the goddamn car. You’ve faced shit ten times worse than this. You’ve got this. Man the fuck up and get in the car.
I take a deep breath and squeeze my eyes shut momentarily as I lift my helmet and push it down on my head. My silent acknowledgement to the guys that I’m ready to tackle this.
