Hard and Fast (Fast Track #2)(60)
Author: Erin McCarthy

Ty sighed. “Damn, I like the sound of that, Emma Jean. And I love you, too. They were right, you know. I just looked at you today, and I knew.”

“It’s indescribable, isn’t it?”

“Yeah. It is,” he said simply, holding himself over her with his forearms. “As is how good it feels to be buried inside you.”

They moved together, slowly and easily, her hips rolling to maximize his pleasure, their mouths brushing over each other, until Imogen had a slow, rolling orgasm that took her breath away. Then within seconds, Ty followed, in a quiet, raw orgasm that had tears in her eyes again as she felt him pulse and shudder deep inside her.

Life had been good before, but now that she knew this, now that she felt so connected, so complete with this man, she would never be the same again.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

IMOGEN was glad she was sitting next to Hunter for the race. Tamara’s daughter kept her abreast of every pertinent move during the five hundred laps, pointing out maneuvers drivers made, who was a lap down, who was in the lead, and who had suffered a lousy pit stop. Trying astutely to listen and absorb everything, Imogen found she had a fair understanding of the sport by the time they were down to the final ten laps, despite the fact that she was finding concentrating difficult.

Her thoughts kept straying back to one thought—Ty loved her. She loved him. They were in love.

It was a giddy little secret that she wished she could shout out to the world. Of course, no one else would care, but she was fairly bursting with the urge to announce how she felt, and maybe mention that she was very sore in a particularly intimate spot after two days of mind-blowing sex, interrupted only by Ty’s driving responsibilities. It was a wonder the man had been able to get behind the wheel, he was so short on sleep, but he was out there, not looking the least bit like a man who had expended huge quantities of energy giving her multiples orgasms.

Watching Ty go in circles made her dizzy, and every time it appeared another car got close to him, or he squeaked out of a tight spot, she went tense from head to toe, but it was more from exhilaration than fear. It was easy to get sucked into the energy of the fans, the roar of the engines, the excitement and awe of the announcers. Wearing the Ty McCordle sweatshirt that she had somehow just forgotten to give back to Ty after their camping trip, Imogen was heartily enjoying herself playing fan girl.

And she and Hunter could sit there mildly smug as they watched the race. Ty was Hunter’s godfather and Imogen was nailing him. Or was he nailing her? Truthfully, that was probably the more accurate descriptive for their relationship given that he was the one who did the inserting. While she had never considered herself a braggart, she couldn’t help but feel a certain amount of petty satisfaction at the knowledge that not only did Ty love having sex with her, he flat-out loved her.

“Did you see that?” Hunter asked, tapping Imogen’s leg to get her attention. The little girl was clearly glad to have a protégée to instruct. “Ty took a pass on the inside. He’s in third place now.”

“I didn’t see anything,” Imogen admitted. “But that’s good. Third is good. How many laps left?”

“Nine.” Hunter leaned over to her mother, wearing an Elec Monroe shirt, a Ty McCordle hat, and a Ryder Jefferson pin. The poor kid was loaded down with the effort of balancing her loyalties. “Mom, chill out. Elec’s having an awesome race.”

Tamara did look slightly ill. “I’m fine,” she insisted. “I just shouldn’t have eaten that hot dog.”

Imogen was fairly certain no one should ever eat hot dogs, but she kept the opinion to herself. Tugging on the strings of her—Ty’s—sweatshirt, she couldn’t help standing up with the other fans as the cars roared down the track, ticking off the final laps as the drivers jostled for position. Two cars spun out in a cloud of smoke, and a half-dozen other cars narrowly missed getting sucked into the accident. In the momentary confusion, the lead cars had pulled away from the pack.

“Holy crap,” Hunter proclaimed. “Look at the top five. Jimmie, Ty, Kyle, Ryder, and Elec. And Uncle Evan is sixth. Sweet.”

Though she had no clue who Jimmie and Kyle were, she knew everyone else and was pleased for them. It sounded like a good thing to her, considering exactly how many cars were winging around the track.

“Very cool,” she told Hunter, taking another glance at Tamara. She must not be feeling well at all if Hunter’s use of the term crap paired with a religious sentiment hadn’t triggered a reprimand from Tamara. “Are you okay?” she asked her.

“Not really,” Tamara said, breathing deeply through her mouth, her chest rising and falling.

Pete was looking at his mother suspiciously. “You’re going to puke, aren’t you?”

“Maybe,” Tamara admitted, her brow dewy with sweat. “Imogen, do you mind if I go back to the coach now? Do you know how to find your way back on your own with the kids when the race is over?”

“Yeah, I can manage. If not, I can ask directions. You go ahead and lie down. Do you have your cell phone?” Despising throwing up herself, Imogen could well imagine Tamara’s urgent need to get back and do so in private.

“Yeah. Thanks.” She took a shaky breath and stood up, grabbing her backpack. “You all have your passes, right? You can’t get back to the coach lot without them.”

“Yes.” Imogen checked and saw Pete and Hunter still had theirs dangling around their necks, and hers was in her purse. “Hope you feel better.”

“Thanks.”

Tamara made a frantic dash down the stairs of the grand-stand while Hunter smacked Imogen’s leg again. “You’re missing it!”

Swinging her attention back to the track, Imogen asked, “What did I miss?”

“Ty has the white flag!”

Like that meant a damn thing to her. “Is that good?” She scanned the track for the sixty car, but she couldn’t see anything other than cars buzzing by in a blur.

“It means the lead car has started his final lap. Ty is in the lead.”

“Well, yes, that would be good, then.” Hunter had scooted forward in the seat, her little bottom bouncing up and down, and Imogen found herself leaning forward as well. “Does Ty win a lot of races?” She assumed he did, though it occurred to her she had never actually inquired as to specifics of his season. That made her a bad girlfriend. Girlfriend. She was his girlfriend. A surge of giddiness rushed through her, even as guilt made her realize maybe she should ask for better details from him. But whenever she asked him how things were going, he always gave a shrug and a Ty answer of “Alright, Emma Jean.”