I want to tip my face up and kiss him. I want him to kiss me. I don’t want anything else in the world but this right now. But he seems incredibly agitated. Fiercely intense.
Something about his protectiveness, his blatant possessiveness, turns me on.
He takes a strand of my hair, pushes it behind my ear, and leans forward. He offers me his glass of whiskey, and I take it, downing a long gulp. He laughs when I do that, then scowls and takes it away. “Be careful,” he warns.
I lick my lips as he draws his glass away, then I lean over, pressing my lips to him. “Racer,” I groan.
I hold my breath as I ease back, and his gaze holds mine in a deadlock.
His nose is flaring, his eyes brilliant as he watches me.
He slides an arm around me and reels me in a little closer. He reaches out, and electricity runs down my spine so hard that I almost arch up against him. He smiles, setting his hands on my waist. They’re so wide and big that I feel a little bit smaller, a little bit like the whole world just reduced to one person. Him.
I lick my lips, unable to take my eyes off him as he starts moving me—moving with me. He lowers his head and I feel his nose sort of nuzzling the top part of my ear. A tremor begins from that sensitive place where his lips are, down my neck, my spine, my legs, to my very toes.
He draws back with this wicked smile, and in his eyes, I can see the blatant heat. It’s as if he wants me to know it. That he’s a man and he’s hungry and he’s not one bit concerned about the fact that he might just be hungry for … me.
Might have been talking … about me.
Everything inside me throbs.
I sort of swallow back any protest because I’m sort of going willingly, my eyes holding his as I crash into him, my lips sort of falling on his dimple.
He groans, turning his head to press a peck to my lips, his tongue sliding out to lick the seam of my lips.
I shiver, licking him back.
“You don’t drink at all?” I breathe.
“I’ve got other vices. Like cars. And you.”
I start to pant a little harder, something I thought would be impossible. He looks at my face, then he sees something there. Lust? Desire? Need? Desperation?
Eyes darkening on me as if he’s marking his territory with a look alone, he’s suddenly pressing me back against the wall as he reaches between my legs and cups me over my flowy skirt. I rock my hips, gasping when he squeezes me a little.
Something flickers in his eyes as if he realizes what’s going on with me.
He cages me in with one arm and leans his shoulder forward, easing his erection between my thighs as he cups me between my legs.
I can’t formulate a single thought or pull in a single decent breath. It’s just Racer all over me—his face and his eyes so close I feel like I’m drowning in a sea somewhere in Tahiti. His arm sliding between our bodies, his fingertip feathering over my wet sex, under the little dress I wore just for him to see me in something other than jeans and a T-shirt, and my whole body shaking in wanting.
I pull in a breath and slide my arm up his hand and along the back of his neck, while Racer watches me through those thick lashes, murmuring as he shakes his head, like he can’t believe what he’s seeing, “You’re so damned gorgeous, Lana.”
I quiver so hard that I want to raise my walls, know that it’s best if I probably headed back to the hotel and just went to bed. But instead I sit here, sick and tired of being wary and on defense against men all the time. So that they don’t hurt me. So that my brothers and father don’t feel disappointed in me. So that I can keep my head on racing and that’s it.
Suddenly I just want to feel. Only that. Just feel.
Feel him.
He lowers his other arm from the backrest and places it on my hips, drawing me a little closer as his lips curve like a devil’s promise.
A fire churns inside me.
I’m aware of others glancing in our direction, Racer tugging me a little closer to him. And there, in his gaze is a fire churning, too, like the fire churning inside of me.
I lean my head and smell him, nuzzling my nose to his shirt.
He uses his nose to nudge my head up, and then his mouth.
His.
Mouth.
It’s covering mine. Pressing and opening mine. And every inch of me awakens when he slips his tongue in my mouth, grabbing me by the back of the thighs and drawing me over his lap as he kisses me, slow and lazy and yet with such hunger and fever that I feel already taken and we’re not even naked yet.
I groan.
He eases back in concern, as if concerned he kissed me too hard.
I can barely open my eyes, I’m so in lust with this guy.
He takes me in. And his expression slips, and instead of indifference or arrogance, his expression reveals the rawness of his need as he caresses me over my panties again.
It does something to me, seeing that he wants me like this.
He slides his hand along the edge of my panties, then eases his fingers through, touching my folds—easing his finger inside me until I feel myself grip him so hard that the pleasure nearly wrecks me.
“Tell me you want my tongue right here,” he rasps against my cheek as he strokes his fingers along my opening.
I picture him naked, moving over me, and cup the back of his head as I press a kiss to his jaw, telling him without words.
He strokes his knuckles down my jaw, his voice thick with emotion. “You’re right to be afraid of me.”
He slides his hand from my hip to my face and holds my face within it, his thumb on one cheek, the finger of his other hand inside me as he’s forcing me to meet his stormy blue gaze.
“I can be a lot to handle sometimes, but do you know how much I want you, Lana? How good I want to make you feel? How often I think of you?”
His eyes, bright and blue, watch my face as he eases one finger inside me and dips his thumb into my mouth. I can’t remember ever feeling this hot, ever feeling as if I’m on a track going 1000 mph and about to burst through a finish line marked with a wall of flames.
I feel myself blush at my own thoughts and how fast this has been escalating.
He leans his head, and kisses me hard now, one of his hands so big it’s framing my face with his thumb on one side, and his four fingers on the other, as he tongues me, quite hard and so erotically that as he strokes me under my panties, I come like a rocket, gasping against his mouth. Shuddering between him in the booth, completely undone by his touch.
He growls softly as he eases back, and he tugs my panties back into place and helps me straighten, all the while watching me.
“I …” I brush a sweaty tendril of hair back, feeling awkward now that it’s over. “I got carried away again …”
His eyes gleam raw. “Don’t make excuses. Tell me you want this. That you feel this.”
He’s looking intense—his blue gaze really piercing. I swallow and don’t know that I have the courage to admit it, because what will it gain me? Really?
“I needed that, so thank you,” I say with a little grateful smile, as far as I could let myself admit.
He smiles too, then reaches out to tug my dress back down. “Spend the night with me, Lana,” he rasps, nuzzling my face.
“I’m not sure either of us would rest, and you need to rest.”
“That’s not what I need.” He smirks as he eases back.
How I want to kiss him again, kiss the smile on his gorgeous face, grab his face and kiss him all night. In his bed, feel his arms around me, no clothes between us. Feel his hardness against me—no jeans, no underwear, nothing but his sex and mine.
I feel myself blush and think of what it would be like to spend the whole night with him, in his arms, having my way with him … letting him have his dirty, sexy way with me.
“We’d better go,” I breathe, jumping to my feet and watching him slowly come to his and set a couple bills on the table.
He opens the door of the car for me, and as he’s strapping the seatbelt around me, our eyes are holding, his intent and glimmering as if he knows what I really want and am not voicing.
“I want this, but … the team. My brothers and my dad, and …” I don’t even know how to explain it.
“You always sacrifice yourself for the team?” he asks, he sounds patient, but intent as he comes around the car, gets behind the wheel, and ignites the engine.
Something about his protectiveness, his blatant possessiveness, turns me on.
He takes a strand of my hair, pushes it behind my ear, and leans forward. He offers me his glass of whiskey, and I take it, downing a long gulp. He laughs when I do that, then scowls and takes it away. “Be careful,” he warns.
I lick my lips as he draws his glass away, then I lean over, pressing my lips to him. “Racer,” I groan.
I hold my breath as I ease back, and his gaze holds mine in a deadlock.
His nose is flaring, his eyes brilliant as he watches me.
He slides an arm around me and reels me in a little closer. He reaches out, and electricity runs down my spine so hard that I almost arch up against him. He smiles, setting his hands on my waist. They’re so wide and big that I feel a little bit smaller, a little bit like the whole world just reduced to one person. Him.
I lick my lips, unable to take my eyes off him as he starts moving me—moving with me. He lowers his head and I feel his nose sort of nuzzling the top part of my ear. A tremor begins from that sensitive place where his lips are, down my neck, my spine, my legs, to my very toes.
He draws back with this wicked smile, and in his eyes, I can see the blatant heat. It’s as if he wants me to know it. That he’s a man and he’s hungry and he’s not one bit concerned about the fact that he might just be hungry for … me.
Might have been talking … about me.
Everything inside me throbs.
I sort of swallow back any protest because I’m sort of going willingly, my eyes holding his as I crash into him, my lips sort of falling on his dimple.
He groans, turning his head to press a peck to my lips, his tongue sliding out to lick the seam of my lips.
I shiver, licking him back.
“You don’t drink at all?” I breathe.
“I’ve got other vices. Like cars. And you.”
I start to pant a little harder, something I thought would be impossible. He looks at my face, then he sees something there. Lust? Desire? Need? Desperation?
Eyes darkening on me as if he’s marking his territory with a look alone, he’s suddenly pressing me back against the wall as he reaches between my legs and cups me over my flowy skirt. I rock my hips, gasping when he squeezes me a little.
Something flickers in his eyes as if he realizes what’s going on with me.
He cages me in with one arm and leans his shoulder forward, easing his erection between my thighs as he cups me between my legs.
I can’t formulate a single thought or pull in a single decent breath. It’s just Racer all over me—his face and his eyes so close I feel like I’m drowning in a sea somewhere in Tahiti. His arm sliding between our bodies, his fingertip feathering over my wet sex, under the little dress I wore just for him to see me in something other than jeans and a T-shirt, and my whole body shaking in wanting.
I pull in a breath and slide my arm up his hand and along the back of his neck, while Racer watches me through those thick lashes, murmuring as he shakes his head, like he can’t believe what he’s seeing, “You’re so damned gorgeous, Lana.”
I quiver so hard that I want to raise my walls, know that it’s best if I probably headed back to the hotel and just went to bed. But instead I sit here, sick and tired of being wary and on defense against men all the time. So that they don’t hurt me. So that my brothers and father don’t feel disappointed in me. So that I can keep my head on racing and that’s it.
Suddenly I just want to feel. Only that. Just feel.
Feel him.
He lowers his other arm from the backrest and places it on my hips, drawing me a little closer as his lips curve like a devil’s promise.
A fire churns inside me.
I’m aware of others glancing in our direction, Racer tugging me a little closer to him. And there, in his gaze is a fire churning, too, like the fire churning inside of me.
I lean my head and smell him, nuzzling my nose to his shirt.
He uses his nose to nudge my head up, and then his mouth.
His.
Mouth.
It’s covering mine. Pressing and opening mine. And every inch of me awakens when he slips his tongue in my mouth, grabbing me by the back of the thighs and drawing me over his lap as he kisses me, slow and lazy and yet with such hunger and fever that I feel already taken and we’re not even naked yet.
I groan.
He eases back in concern, as if concerned he kissed me too hard.
I can barely open my eyes, I’m so in lust with this guy.
He takes me in. And his expression slips, and instead of indifference or arrogance, his expression reveals the rawness of his need as he caresses me over my panties again.
It does something to me, seeing that he wants me like this.
He slides his hand along the edge of my panties, then eases his fingers through, touching my folds—easing his finger inside me until I feel myself grip him so hard that the pleasure nearly wrecks me.
“Tell me you want my tongue right here,” he rasps against my cheek as he strokes his fingers along my opening.
I picture him naked, moving over me, and cup the back of his head as I press a kiss to his jaw, telling him without words.
He strokes his knuckles down my jaw, his voice thick with emotion. “You’re right to be afraid of me.”
He slides his hand from my hip to my face and holds my face within it, his thumb on one cheek, the finger of his other hand inside me as he’s forcing me to meet his stormy blue gaze.
“I can be a lot to handle sometimes, but do you know how much I want you, Lana? How good I want to make you feel? How often I think of you?”
His eyes, bright and blue, watch my face as he eases one finger inside me and dips his thumb into my mouth. I can’t remember ever feeling this hot, ever feeling as if I’m on a track going 1000 mph and about to burst through a finish line marked with a wall of flames.
I feel myself blush at my own thoughts and how fast this has been escalating.
He leans his head, and kisses me hard now, one of his hands so big it’s framing my face with his thumb on one side, and his four fingers on the other, as he tongues me, quite hard and so erotically that as he strokes me under my panties, I come like a rocket, gasping against his mouth. Shuddering between him in the booth, completely undone by his touch.
He growls softly as he eases back, and he tugs my panties back into place and helps me straighten, all the while watching me.
“I …” I brush a sweaty tendril of hair back, feeling awkward now that it’s over. “I got carried away again …”
His eyes gleam raw. “Don’t make excuses. Tell me you want this. That you feel this.”
He’s looking intense—his blue gaze really piercing. I swallow and don’t know that I have the courage to admit it, because what will it gain me? Really?
“I needed that, so thank you,” I say with a little grateful smile, as far as I could let myself admit.
He smiles too, then reaches out to tug my dress back down. “Spend the night with me, Lana,” he rasps, nuzzling my face.
“I’m not sure either of us would rest, and you need to rest.”
“That’s not what I need.” He smirks as he eases back.
How I want to kiss him again, kiss the smile on his gorgeous face, grab his face and kiss him all night. In his bed, feel his arms around me, no clothes between us. Feel his hardness against me—no jeans, no underwear, nothing but his sex and mine.
I feel myself blush and think of what it would be like to spend the whole night with him, in his arms, having my way with him … letting him have his dirty, sexy way with me.
“We’d better go,” I breathe, jumping to my feet and watching him slowly come to his and set a couple bills on the table.
He opens the door of the car for me, and as he’s strapping the seatbelt around me, our eyes are holding, his intent and glimmering as if he knows what I really want and am not voicing.
“I want this, but … the team. My brothers and my dad, and …” I don’t even know how to explain it.
“You always sacrifice yourself for the team?” he asks, he sounds patient, but intent as he comes around the car, gets behind the wheel, and ignites the engine.
