Racer
Page 38
He notices my concern, and his shoulders relax even more as he says, “Yeah,” and he smiles and leans his head to me, and pecks my lips, and I want the kiss so much that I almost break when my body bends in an arch for more.
“Racer,” I breathe. I want you, I need you, you turn me on.
I part my lips, and he steals his tongue inside as if knowing what I need.
“Are you wet, Lana?”
“Yes,” I breathe.
“Wet for me.” He drags his lips against mine, breathing harshly, his body coiled tight and hard against mine as he keeps seductively dragging his lips along mine, both parted, our breaths mingling, my whole body tittering on the edge of losing control.
“Yes,” I breathe. “Touch me, please Racer.”
“Get in my car.”
He looks at me, and I open my mouth to keep ranting, but our eyes lock and I can see the wild jealousy in his eyes as he looks at me.
I climb in the passenger seat, and he climbs behind the wheel, and it’s another convertible. He lowers the top, and the wind flaps on my hair, making me close my eyes as the wind hits me and he blasts the music—Animal by Def Leppard—on the stereo.
He sets his hand on my thigh, and it takes all my effort not to pull it up between my legs and ask him to touch me there. “You have my father to thank for my amazing music taste,” he says.
“Oh. Thank you, Racer’s dad.” I grin.
He grins back.
He’s still looking edgy and restless, and very, very hot.
He screeches down each turn, leaving skid marks behind us and making me feel like I’m on a roller coaster until he parks us at a lone spot where there are plenty of trees as cover, and he climbs out fast, then he comes to open my door and guides me to the clearing. I lie down on a flat spot on the grass and thrum inside when he lowers himself above me. I’m hungry, panting, and Racer grabs my face and presses his mouth down on mine, groaning when I open.
He kisses me and fondles my face with his fingers, his tongue tasting and taking everything while his hands simply hold my face in place—my body lax and breathless, toe-curling, tingling in every pore—as Racer’s tongue moves and takes. And takes. And takes.
“One day soon, I’m going to fuck you bareback, and there won’t ever need to be anything between us again,” he rumbles, pulling off his tee and unbuttoning and unzipping his jeans. “Touch me, Lana.” He plants my hands on his chest and I run my fingers over those rippling muscles.
“Racer.”
“Under my jeans,” he commands, shoving one of my hands under his boxers. Where he is hot as hell. Hard as steel. I slide my fingers up his hard cock, and he groans and nuzzles my nose with his, breathing hard. “Are you playing me, Alana?” he asks quietly, pulling back to look down at me—so gorgeous that the sight of him, messy hair and bare chest and blue eyes above me cause my saliva glands to flood.
“No,” I breathlessly admit.
“I’m trying to be real with you. Level with me, Lana,” he husks out as he grabs my arms and guides them around him, my fingers locking at his nape.
“I’m scared okay.” I take his head and pull him down so that he kisses me, helping him shove his jeans and boxers down to his hips and then lower.
His erection pops out, and I’m burning and clutching everywhere for him.
“You think you can’t ever care for me?” He watches me curiously, blue eyes male and intimate as he rolls on a condom.
“No! It’s …”
“Let me love you.” He presses his forehead to mine, his rough whisper making my heart squeeze. “Love me back, baby.” He cups my face in one hand and asks it reverently, as if he doesn’t deserve to ask but is still asking, and then I curl my legs around him and Racer impales me without even a moment’s hesitation.
He fills and stretches my walls so much I feel like exploding. I gasp and groan, letting him fill me even deeper as he drives in again.
Our mouths fuse and suddenly our hands cannot get enough of feeling each other, our tongues tasting each other. We move together on the grass, his thrusts sure and expert and also possessive. My body arches up like a bow, silently asking for more, my hands clawing at his back, my body wanting just to get closer, to get all of him.
I cannot get enough of him or his kisses, his hot tongue and warm hands.
Especially his eyes. That drink me in as if he cannot get enough of me.
I’m overcome by the passion, the lust, the way he moves in me as if he’s known my body in another life. Oh god …
And he moves, so RIGHT …
so fast … hard … so raw …
his mouth everywhere … hands everywhere … this fucking boy everywhere …
Hands on my hips gripping me as we go off, coming together,
looking into each other’s eyes as we do.
I’m left gaping up at him after. At this sex fiend.
Will it always be like this?
I’m dazed and smiling happily as I catch my breath, and Racer is smirking, looking down at my rumpled form with satisfaction as he treks his eyes along my features and presses a kiss to my nose.
“Why do you like me on the headset,” I breathe as he remains inside me, looking at me as if he wants to do it again.
“I feel like you’re there with me.” He looks down at me, his eyes a little dark and vivid with intensity. “I like racing, because it’s a very independent sport, there’s only you and the car when it comes down to it. I like the feeling of being alone.” His sharp blue gaze seems to dig right into me as his cock begins to thicken again. “Never wanted anyone to share that until I met you. I don’t want to be alone anymore.”
He grins at me, starting to move inside me, starting to kiss me and heat me back up, and he’s irresistible, the grin, the boy, all of it.
Racer
My dad once said I could feel it coming when I felt myself swing, like a pendulum, from one side to the other.
I’m the freaking embodiment of a pendulum right now.
We flew to Italy; during the flight I hunkered down with my music, trying to get my damn focus back.
Thoughts keep racing in my head nonstop now—preventing sleep. Preventing any peace of mind. It’s been two hours since I dropped her off at her room, and I’m blue as fuck.
It’s been building up, the mood swings, first, the high on my power and my strength, the high of fucking claiming her as mine.
And now the damn low is coming.
The monsters telling me, I’m an asshole. That she has enough worries with her dad, enough pain having lost the boy she loved, enough pain for me to bring mine on.
And yet I can’t fucking keep away.
Those damn eyes call to me like a siren song, every piece of her magnetizes me.
I fucking crave her like air.
I’ve been piling up the championship points. I’m currently second place between the two Clark drivers, and I need another first to knock my prime competition out of P1. I can’t fucking afford to go dark now.
Exhaling, I pull out my rope and jump on it, something my father does to calm himself down when he’s “speedy,” as my mom calls it.
Jumping rope doesn’t help. From manic I’m swinging now to depression, replacing the former urge to go to her room and wake her up, steal her away into the damned sunset, take her to church and fucking marry her, to now wanting to disappear from her life and save her from me.
FUCK.
I rummage through my duffel, stare at my pills, wondering if I should take them. Makes me slower. Makes my thinking slower. Makes me feel dead.
And I know, sure as fuck, that it won’t help to take my damn pills now. I’m immersed in this shit now—it’ll have to be something jammed up my veins to balance me out.
Tell her you’re having trouble …
No. Fuck, that’s not what I want.
Lana has been hurt before. And a part of me keeps niggling at me, telling me I’m a bastard for wanting her for me when I’m not good enough for her.
But deep down, I know I am.
I know she’s mine.
I know she was meant for me; that she’s the one for me.
I’m fucking good enough.
But when an episode looms it’s hard to believe that I am.
“Racer,” I breathe. I want you, I need you, you turn me on.
I part my lips, and he steals his tongue inside as if knowing what I need.
“Are you wet, Lana?”
“Yes,” I breathe.
“Wet for me.” He drags his lips against mine, breathing harshly, his body coiled tight and hard against mine as he keeps seductively dragging his lips along mine, both parted, our breaths mingling, my whole body tittering on the edge of losing control.
“Yes,” I breathe. “Touch me, please Racer.”
“Get in my car.”
He looks at me, and I open my mouth to keep ranting, but our eyes lock and I can see the wild jealousy in his eyes as he looks at me.
I climb in the passenger seat, and he climbs behind the wheel, and it’s another convertible. He lowers the top, and the wind flaps on my hair, making me close my eyes as the wind hits me and he blasts the music—Animal by Def Leppard—on the stereo.
He sets his hand on my thigh, and it takes all my effort not to pull it up between my legs and ask him to touch me there. “You have my father to thank for my amazing music taste,” he says.
“Oh. Thank you, Racer’s dad.” I grin.
He grins back.
He’s still looking edgy and restless, and very, very hot.
He screeches down each turn, leaving skid marks behind us and making me feel like I’m on a roller coaster until he parks us at a lone spot where there are plenty of trees as cover, and he climbs out fast, then he comes to open my door and guides me to the clearing. I lie down on a flat spot on the grass and thrum inside when he lowers himself above me. I’m hungry, panting, and Racer grabs my face and presses his mouth down on mine, groaning when I open.
He kisses me and fondles my face with his fingers, his tongue tasting and taking everything while his hands simply hold my face in place—my body lax and breathless, toe-curling, tingling in every pore—as Racer’s tongue moves and takes. And takes. And takes.
“One day soon, I’m going to fuck you bareback, and there won’t ever need to be anything between us again,” he rumbles, pulling off his tee and unbuttoning and unzipping his jeans. “Touch me, Lana.” He plants my hands on his chest and I run my fingers over those rippling muscles.
“Racer.”
“Under my jeans,” he commands, shoving one of my hands under his boxers. Where he is hot as hell. Hard as steel. I slide my fingers up his hard cock, and he groans and nuzzles my nose with his, breathing hard. “Are you playing me, Alana?” he asks quietly, pulling back to look down at me—so gorgeous that the sight of him, messy hair and bare chest and blue eyes above me cause my saliva glands to flood.
“No,” I breathlessly admit.
“I’m trying to be real with you. Level with me, Lana,” he husks out as he grabs my arms and guides them around him, my fingers locking at his nape.
“I’m scared okay.” I take his head and pull him down so that he kisses me, helping him shove his jeans and boxers down to his hips and then lower.
His erection pops out, and I’m burning and clutching everywhere for him.
“You think you can’t ever care for me?” He watches me curiously, blue eyes male and intimate as he rolls on a condom.
“No! It’s …”
“Let me love you.” He presses his forehead to mine, his rough whisper making my heart squeeze. “Love me back, baby.” He cups my face in one hand and asks it reverently, as if he doesn’t deserve to ask but is still asking, and then I curl my legs around him and Racer impales me without even a moment’s hesitation.
He fills and stretches my walls so much I feel like exploding. I gasp and groan, letting him fill me even deeper as he drives in again.
Our mouths fuse and suddenly our hands cannot get enough of feeling each other, our tongues tasting each other. We move together on the grass, his thrusts sure and expert and also possessive. My body arches up like a bow, silently asking for more, my hands clawing at his back, my body wanting just to get closer, to get all of him.
I cannot get enough of him or his kisses, his hot tongue and warm hands.
Especially his eyes. That drink me in as if he cannot get enough of me.
I’m overcome by the passion, the lust, the way he moves in me as if he’s known my body in another life. Oh god …
And he moves, so RIGHT …
so fast … hard … so raw …
his mouth everywhere … hands everywhere … this fucking boy everywhere …
Hands on my hips gripping me as we go off, coming together,
looking into each other’s eyes as we do.
I’m left gaping up at him after. At this sex fiend.
Will it always be like this?
I’m dazed and smiling happily as I catch my breath, and Racer is smirking, looking down at my rumpled form with satisfaction as he treks his eyes along my features and presses a kiss to my nose.
“Why do you like me on the headset,” I breathe as he remains inside me, looking at me as if he wants to do it again.
“I feel like you’re there with me.” He looks down at me, his eyes a little dark and vivid with intensity. “I like racing, because it’s a very independent sport, there’s only you and the car when it comes down to it. I like the feeling of being alone.” His sharp blue gaze seems to dig right into me as his cock begins to thicken again. “Never wanted anyone to share that until I met you. I don’t want to be alone anymore.”
He grins at me, starting to move inside me, starting to kiss me and heat me back up, and he’s irresistible, the grin, the boy, all of it.
Racer
My dad once said I could feel it coming when I felt myself swing, like a pendulum, from one side to the other.
I’m the freaking embodiment of a pendulum right now.
We flew to Italy; during the flight I hunkered down with my music, trying to get my damn focus back.
Thoughts keep racing in my head nonstop now—preventing sleep. Preventing any peace of mind. It’s been two hours since I dropped her off at her room, and I’m blue as fuck.
It’s been building up, the mood swings, first, the high on my power and my strength, the high of fucking claiming her as mine.
And now the damn low is coming.
The monsters telling me, I’m an asshole. That she has enough worries with her dad, enough pain having lost the boy she loved, enough pain for me to bring mine on.
And yet I can’t fucking keep away.
Those damn eyes call to me like a siren song, every piece of her magnetizes me.
I fucking crave her like air.
I’ve been piling up the championship points. I’m currently second place between the two Clark drivers, and I need another first to knock my prime competition out of P1. I can’t fucking afford to go dark now.
Exhaling, I pull out my rope and jump on it, something my father does to calm himself down when he’s “speedy,” as my mom calls it.
Jumping rope doesn’t help. From manic I’m swinging now to depression, replacing the former urge to go to her room and wake her up, steal her away into the damned sunset, take her to church and fucking marry her, to now wanting to disappear from her life and save her from me.
FUCK.
I rummage through my duffel, stare at my pills, wondering if I should take them. Makes me slower. Makes my thinking slower. Makes me feel dead.
And I know, sure as fuck, that it won’t help to take my damn pills now. I’m immersed in this shit now—it’ll have to be something jammed up my veins to balance me out.
Tell her you’re having trouble …
No. Fuck, that’s not what I want.
Lana has been hurt before. And a part of me keeps niggling at me, telling me I’m a bastard for wanting her for me when I’m not good enough for her.
But deep down, I know I am.
I know she’s mine.
I know she was meant for me; that she’s the one for me.
I’m fucking good enough.
But when an episode looms it’s hard to believe that I am.
