Raced

“Slippery and wet, huh? Danger has never been more fucking tempting,” I tell her, my eyes watching as she pulls her fingers from between her very fuckable lips and follows the descent back down south. She adds torment to her tantalization by parting her seam with one hand so I can more than handily see her other fingers add the friction her sighs say is more than pleasurable.

Fuck me this is brutal to watch and not partake in when all I want is to do is urge her hips closer to my face and have her sweet taste on my tongue again. For that alone, it’s time for me to mess with her a little more and knock her out of the pleasure inducing coma that’s darkening the violet in her eyes.

“You know, sometimes in a race, in order to reach the finish line, rookies like you have to tag team to get the result you want.”

Her head snaps up, lips parting, and eyes flashing with shock momentarily until she regains her composure. Perfect. Threw you there didn’t I, sweetheart?

“Sorry, but this engine seems to be doing just fine running solo.” She smirks at me, so arrogant that she thinks she dodged the proverbial bullet. Too bad I’m holding the only gun allowed to shoot that shell. And fuck me, she’s sliding her hands back down to my place between her thighs, her moan of pleasure when she finds purchase—my own personal Heaven and Hell.

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.