Racer

I can’t move and am paralyzed from the pleasure as I simply watch him, grappling with the urge to duck my head and nuzzle the top of his head, nudge his face around so that his tongue—rather than lick my wrist, is licking inside me, inside my mouth.

I’m salivating for this guy and so wound-up that I’m suddenly doing just that, following the impulse to drop my head and nudge his face around, and as he turns, his hard jaw rasps against my cheek and then … then the softness of his mouth is pressing against mine and I’m pressing back just as hard.

I’m trembling so hard, my body is jerking a little, but my arms wind around his wide shoulders and I press closer, feeling as though he’s the only thing that will center me right now, that will give me some semblance of balance now.

Our mouths move, simultaneously, his opening wider and going slower than mine.

His chest is a wall against my puckered nipples and his strength is like a cloak around him, around us both.

“Eight p.m. tonight, baby,” he says, pecking my lips as a finale.

“Yes, baby,” I whisper back, pecking him back.

His expression slips, and instead of indifference or arrogance, his expression reveals the rawness of his need.

It does something to me; seeing that he wants me like this.

He seems to lose control and pulls me closer, deeper into his arms. “You turn me on like nothing in my life, Lana,” he rasps.

“Not even Kelsey.”

He smirks, eyes dancing. “She’s a close second. But yeah. Not even her. Or Dolly.”

His contagious grin makes me smile and I wiggle free, perspiring head to toe, my toes curling as I step out of the motorhome, watching my brothers watch me walk away. I flip them the bird, seeing their smiles fade as my own appears. Bullies.

Racer

We drive along the streets of London, the wind in her hair, before I park us at a cliff overlooking the Thames.

“All right, come here, Lana.”

She hops out of the convertible and walks forward while I pull out some food and a cooler of drinks from the trunk.

I set them down and pull her down with me. She seems curious as she watches me open a bottle of wine, sized perfectly for one, and gifts me with a damn gorgeous smile when I hand it over to her.

“Time someone took care of you for a change,” I gruff out, dropping a kiss on her lips.

I fiddle with my phone, setting it up to play music via Bluetooth. I scroll through my library looking for one of the ones I know she likes. I play Favorite Record and turn the car volume up.

Her eyes light up when it starts playing, and she seems impressed. “You remember.”

“I pay attention.”

She flushes pink.

“This is such a nice spot.” She looks around at the river and at the city lights of London.

“I told you that you’d go out on a drive with me and never be the same again.”

“Ha.” She rolls her eyes, and I’m chuckling and reaching out to push her hair back.

“I’m into you, girl,” I rasp, shifting to stare into her eyes.

“Yeah?” she breathes.

“You know it,” I say, swooping down to kiss her, but before I do, I force myself to hold back and tease her. “And because I’m clearly sweeping you off your feet, I thought it fair to warn you of some of my more unsavory traits.”

“Oh, wow, thank you, that’s thoughtful.”

I start counting with my fingers. “I’m a very light sleeper, and I like the room to be so damn cold a morgue couldn’t compete. I’m also stubborn as fuck; I always get my way.”

“Are you going to get your way with the championship?” she taunts.

“Watch me get my way.” I grin.

She laughs, her eyes sparkling and flooded with happiness, her cheeks so pink I can notice her flush in the dark.

“We’re doing well with the championship,” she says, setting her bottle aside.

“Second place is not good enough,” I say, staring out at the Thames. “It’s first or it’s nothing, as far as I’m concerned.”

She eyes me in wonder, then out at the city as she draws her knees up to her chin and takes a sip of her wine. “Clark will play dirty.”

I shrug, taking a long gulp of my bottle too as I lean back on my elbows. “I can play all kinds of ways.”

“Did you always want to race?”

“Always.” I wink at her. “Since I was a tiny thing, I grew obsessed with cars. The noise they make, fuck it turns me on,” I growl, and she laughs, her eyes heavy.

“You broke the law for years just so you could get away with racing.”

“I’m not ashamed of it.”

She’s quiet. “Does it help with the BP?”

“I think so, yes.”

She nods and smiles sadly. “The year you were diagnosed, I think that was the year David died.”

Our eyes meet. My girl. She’s MY girl. And she’s still hurting and I can’t make it go away. “I’m sorry,” I say, straightening.

Maybe he was meant to love her for a time, but I’m loving her forever.

I shift my arm and pull her close, and I raise the volume of my phone, and the car volume hikes up.

I pull her to my chest, and she sets her bottle aside and snuggles close to me, and I growl against her hair.

My senses heighten with the addictive scent of her, feel of her, look of her. I just want more. I know that when you’re in a life-or-death situation, your senses clear, your mind is sharp as fuck—every detail stored in your mind because one of those details can mean the difference between life and death.