Racer (Real Book 7)

Lana

The touches don’t stop.

(Lucky meeee.)

Racer looks at me intensely, making me feel as if I’m his. We just reached Belgium. Racer has been relentless these past races—London, Hungary. We are seven races away from the final, in Abu Dhabi, and holding P2 in the points championship.

He sends me well kissed to my room every night. I’m a ball of wanting and lust and love—he’s breaking me down and I know it.

“You look different, Lainie. Very … refreshed.”

“Thank you, Daddy.”

“There’s that twinkle in your eye and glow to your cheeks.”

He’s staring at me with a smile.

“Daddy, come on,” I say, taking a seat as I place our healthy yogurt and granola breakfasts before us.

I love Belgium. The track here—the Circuit de Spa-Francorchamps—is the most beautiful I’ve ever seen. Amidst rolling hills and a world of green trees, it’s also the most challenging track because of its twisted curves and up/down inclines.

“You’re in love,” he says. He looks childlike. Laughing.

“Dad,” I say, frowning as I open my yogurt. But my cheeks feel hot.

“You’re in love, Lainie.” He reaches out and pats my cheek. “Real love.”

“Why do you say that?” I ask.

“I have a pair of eyes. And … a father’s intuition.”

I flush, scooping yogurt and eating granola as I scan the people around the hotel coffee shop to distract myself. My dad is looking at me all this time.

“See, from the moment that boy walked into my hotel room in Australia, I could feel the charge between you two.”

“Dad!” I say, laughing and frowning as I open his yogurt. “Come on, eat.”

“He feels the same,” he says, as if he’s assuring me as he takes a spoonful.

“Is that your dad intuition? Are you his father too?”

He chuckles and licks yogurt off his spoon, pointing at me with that boyish look on his face. “Male intuition. Quite powerful. Plus that boy doesn’t even try to be subtle about it. Hell, he’ll stare even when your brothers throw him a thousand dragons’ fires with their eyes.”

I laugh, then I just stare at my dad, craving for him to tell me more.

“He’s a good kid. A bit of a handful, but you survived your dad and three brothers, so I think you can handle yourself,” he says.

“I’m afraid,” I whisper.

“Why?”

Silence. I just can’t put into words the way it hurts to even be apart from him. The way I crave everything about him, adore everything about him.

“Of getting hurt?” he asks me, peering into my face.

I nod.

“Don’t think that way. If I’d been afraid to open our team because we’d lose, I’d be on a couch somewhere, slowly dying.”

“Daddy, don’t talk like that.”

“It’s true. These past months, I’ve lived more than I had in years with your mom.”

“But see, Daddy … You got hurt. You two thought you’d be together forever.”

“We all get hurt. The question is: Who do you love enough, trust enough, and want enough to give the power to hurt you?”

He looks out at the streets and aims his gaze in the direction of the track.

“You race a car, you can die in an instant. And yet there they are. When you love it enough, it’s worth it.”

“We really had to talk about it in car terms, didn’t we.” I sigh.

He laughs, and I take his hand. “You look well.”

“I’m doing okay.” His eyes shutter as if he doesn’t want to tell me something, and my stomach tightens a little. But he smiles next and starts eating his yogurt, and I relax and eat mine, marveling how well my father knows me …

Also marveling that I can feel this light, this happy, this blissful in my life. I cannot get enough of Racer, of being near him, talking to him, teasing him, looking at him, touching him, kissing him.

Racer appears, and the sight of him in a grey hoodie and comfortable track pants as he walks the line for coffee makes me drool. His hair looks a little spiky today, damp from a recent bath and black as midnight. My knees feel mushy as I hop to my feet and approach him, aware of a pair of girls seated at the far end ogling him from afar and frantically snapping pictures of him.

“Hey,” I greet, a familiar warmth sweeping over me as his eyes flick down to me. “I’ll get your coffee, you go sit with my dad.”

He glances at my dad, then at me, and it feels as if there’s something so hot inside of him that his eyes look like pools of tender heat. “Lana. I want to talk to your dad, formally date you.”

My eyes go wide.

His eyes sparkle with devilish playfulness as I open my mouth, but I can’t say a thing.

A wave of giddiness washes over me, but I wave it off as I wave off his comment.

“He’ll likely say no anyway, so don’t make any dinner reservations.”

I say this mostly teasingly but Racer teases me right back, leaning forward enough that I quickly sense the girls in the restaurant shooting jealous glances my way.

“Get a sexy outfit ready, I mean to take you out—repeatedly.” He allows me a glimpse of his dimple before he heads off to order his coffee, and I head back to my dad, feeling frustrated that he won’t let me take care of him like all the men in my life do.

“G’morning, Mr. Heyworth,” Racer greets minutes later in his low, deep voice as he joins us at the table. I shove a spoonful of yogurt into my mouth to try to hide the way I’m blushing.

“Well, no rain in the forecast …” my dad begins, because the weather is always such a huge part of a racing weekend. “You glad for that?”

“Wet or dry, I can handle my ride,” Racer answers.

Gosh, I must have sex on the brain because I choke a little and both men glance at me in concern—but then Racer’s gaze seems to shift as he realizes what I must be thinking. And that damn dimpled smile appears as, beneath the table, he reaches out and gives my thigh one tight little squeeze.

I can barely keep my heart from stumbling on every damn beat as they keep talking race cars, and I keep waiting for that look, that stolen touch, that dimple, those eyes, this man.

Racer

“So you, Racer Tate, my number one, want to date my daughter?”

I watch Lana’s father across the desk in his hotel room as he deliberates on what I just asked him. “Yes, sir.”

“Seems to me you were already dating her?”

“I want to do it with your permission.”

I drum my fingers on my thighs. This is fucking important. There’s sweat on my damn neck and I don’t think I ever expected to be right where I am—sitting here, asking for a father to let me date his daughter. He’s my boss, a man I work with and fucking respect. Lana is also crazy about him. So I sit in this damn chair, because when I asked for a word with him this morning, and Lana’s father told me to sit down if I wanted to chat, I parked my ass down and it’s damned well staying here until I get what I want.

“You have my permission,” her father agrees, watching me closely. “On the condition you vow that you won’t lose focus, Tate. What you’ve been doing this year …” He trails off, shaking his head in bewilderment as he motions to me with both hands. “I have never, in my wildest dreams, imagined HW Racing would come this far. I owe that to you—that drive of yours, something I’ve never seen in my lifetime. Even with past champions.”

“Thank you, sir. I owe the opportunity to you and Lana.” I nod, still drumming my fingers.

Heyworth glances at my hands. I stand up and brace my feet apart and cross my arms, trying to steady myself. I hold eye contact, my voice determined. “I care about your daughter as much as I do about the championship, and I won’t fail you in either case.”

“Good.” He stands too and comes around the desk to look at me.

“My daughter …” His expression softens, and his voice changes. “If I ever thought that you’d hurt her, Tate, I would see to it that you never set eyes on her again. Even if I had to sacrifice my team in the process,” he warns.

“I understand, sir.”

“I’ve never seen her this happy. Never. Even before you came along,” he adds, slapping me on the back.

My chest swells like he just blew all the air in the planet into my lungs.

Fuck me.

I make her happy.

“Thank you, sir.” I nod and Heyworth grabs his room key and his sponsors cap. “Okay then. Now back to business. We have a race to catch. Let’s get this show on the road.”

He doesn’t need to tell me twice.

We cross the hotel lobby. Lana waits for us by the car, speaking on the phone—maybe future hotel reservations, or plane tickets, or lunch.

My damn brain gets away from me.

She’s standing in the middle of the parking lot. In the skimpiest little shorts I’ve ever seen on a girl. I can see her breasts under her T-shirt; her ass perfectly hugged by those shorts; her lovely toned legs exposed; her hair up in a ponytail. She speaks on the phone and her lips are moving, but her eyes—yeah, those beauties are on me.

I keep walking. My damn heart kicks faster and harder into my ribs. My hands clench as my mind keeps running away from me.

And it really gets away from me.

I see her in my place at St. Pete. I see her with my kids, our kids. I see her in bed every morning. I see her sleeping in my arms, every damn night. I see her driving my car, laughing because I can’t stop giving her instructions on how to shift gears right. I see her and cannot stop seeing her. I see her smiling, laughing, her lips shaping my name as I feed her everything in me and of me and about fucking me.

I exhale and shove my hands into my jeans as we reach her. Hell I’m trying to get a grip of my damn dick which responded to all that, which knows shit about manners considering her dad is next to me.

“Good morning, boys!” she greets us.

“Morning,” her dad says with a smile, kissing her cheek.

She glances up at me next. Her smile even more fucking extraordinary than the last. Every muscle in my body engages. Every fiber of my body and synapse in my brain fires the hell up with her near.

I nod at her in a good morning and head up to open her car door, taking the keys her father extends out to me as he takes the passenger seat.

She slides in and brushes my hand with hers as she does, and my hands itch to touch her so much that I shut the door and clench them in fists as I come around to take the wheel and take us to the track.

Once we arrive the guys are working on the cars, and I watch Lana disappear into the motorhome, giving me a look. I follow after her.

Lana

“What did my dad say,” I ask the man who’s taken over my every thought as I hear him come in behind me.

“You’re mine,” he whispers, pressing in behind me, his hands all over me all of a sudden.

The vibrations coming from his low, manly groans are transferred over to me through his hot mouth. They make me tingle all over. His fingers start to play with the low hem of my shorts and I feel his erection through his racing suit. I almost laugh against his mouth because those suits are made of thick stuff. But apparently he’s made of thicker stuff …

I tilt my head back and feel my eyes roll towards the back of my skull as he lazily starts to suck the side of my neck.

“You better not give me a hickey,” I breathe. As if he would ever listen.

“Hmm, really? That makes me more determined to give you one,” he murmurs mischievously.

He’s been so cocky. So territorial. So … hot for me.

I feel his hand up my shorts, and his fingers start to rub my lips against my panties. My breath catches in my throat. I feel my panties getting soaked and his satisfied male groan tells me he likes my body’s reaction to his touch. He reaches up to tear my tee over my head and my shorts off my body so that I’m standing naked in front of him except for my thong. Which he immediately takes care of, ripping the fabric and tossing it to the side as he pushes my legs apart.

“Racer,” I breathe, burying my face in his neck, feeling exposed.

He kisses the top of my head and leans back a bit, boosting me up on his arms and carrying me to the small office in the back of the motorhome.

“Shh baby, let me see,” he croons as he sets me down on the desk and shuts the door behind us.

I’m so wet I think I’m going to leave a wet mark on the desk. I tell Racer this and he curses, “Fuck that’s hot, baby.”

We’re in the motorhome at the track.

And funny thing is, Racer seems to think this is his own personal home at the track.

He immediately pushes the team’s laptop to the side of the desk, leaving the desktop empty except for a small lamp, and me.

He closes the blinds a half an inch more than they were already closed, the sunlight stealing through the slats, cutting lines of light across his handsome face.

“Racer, someone can come in and I’ll be naked,” I warn.

He clucks, and I know he locked the door, but still …

“Whoever does decide to come in here is a very, very stupid and unlucky man.”

I laugh at his protectiveness and arch my back against his hand, which is now rubbing the inside of my thigh, dangerously close to my pussy. Yet so far away at the same time.

He looks sinfully hot in his tight black undershirt and racing suit with the sleeves tied at his hips. His blazing blue eyes pinning me down to the desk and his hot mouth begging me to kiss it.

He leans down towards me and kisses me deeply, stroking the inside of my mouth with his tongue, “You’re so gorgeous,” he tells me right before I feel a finger push inside me. I moan, pretty loudly, against his mouth and he just takes this as further invitation to keep doing what he’s doing. He brings my legs up so that my feet are on the edge of the desk, with my knees spread apart framing him in between. His finger pumps in and out of me and I can feel him hitting the sweetest spot.

Hitting it every single time.

I can’t control my noises at this point as I move my hips against his hand. His fingers leave me and I look up to see him take his glistening middle and index finger and put them in his mouth, sucking them and looking at me possessively.

I vaguely hear him say “yummy” before he sticks them back inside me, this time giving it to me faster and harder. Just when I’m about to come he stops and takes a step back.

“Racer, are you serious!” I half-heartedly protest.

He smirks and kisses the inside of my thigh. “Let me do what I want. I promise you’ll love it.”

He strips off until he’s all naked except for his tight white boxers, which are basically ripping at the seams with his erection.

My heartbeat stalls as I take him in, all muscle, tanned golden skin, with a face so strikingly beautiful it would make any angel fall in love, and every devil fall in lust.

This time, when he comes back to me, he falls to his knees, wrapping his arms around my thighs.

My breath and my heart both stop when I realize what he’s about to do and my only thought is holy fucking shit.

Something tells me this man can please a woman like none other and I don’t even know if I’m ready for what he wants to give.

“I … Racer, are you sure you want to … right now, I mean we’re …”

He looks up at me with his beautiful, dangerous blue eyes. Which right now look like they are on fire with need, turning a deep dark hungry blue.

“I’ve wanted to do this ever since I saw you step into the elevator wearing your little pink skirt and wearing your little racing hat and I knew I wanted you spread out in front of me, just like this, with my head buried between your legs and you screaming out my name.”

He stops and reaches out to squeeze my waist, planting a kiss by my bellybutton, rubbing his nose back and forth against my skin and then groaning, “Please let me do this to you.”

If I was wet before, I am soaking now, and I have never wanted anything more than him to do just that.

I nod and spread my legs further and he gives me a little smile, flashing me his dimple, as he dips his head.

I expect him to go right to it but instead he turns his head and licks the point where my inner thigh joins my pelvis, right where my panty lines go.

My body joints at the feel of his hot wet tongue on the sensitive skin there. I moan a little and grip the edges of the desk.

He kisses and sucks there, and I hear him murmur devilishly, a gruff tone, “I think this is where I’ll give you your hickey …”

I can’t even laugh at that because it feels so good I am nothing but sensations.

His tongue on my skin, his hands gripping my hips, his hair grazing my stomach, my back touching the mahogany wood below me, my hair dangling down the edge of the desk, my nipples hard against the cool air.

He switches to my other leg, and start to lick and suck along my hip and inner thigh. It’s so close to my clit I want to scream with frustration but I also never want him to stop.

Just when I think I can’t take another second he moves closer to where I want him to go and starts to lick my outer lips, stopping occasionally to suck a little bit when he finds a spot he likes.

I’m dying at this point and he hasn’t even done anything to me directly.

He slips a finger inside and I do just what he wants me to. I say his name. Really loud.

His tongue starts to lick from where his finger is to my clit and I arch my back, losing all control at the feel of it.

I look down to see his manly hand wrapped around one of my legs, his dark head of hair bent down over me, nestled between my open legs, his lips wrapping around me, sucking, releasing, kissing, licking, and then repeating—I’ve never seen anything so hot in my life.

He looks like he’s eating chocolate cake.

He spreads my legs out even more and keeps slowly fucking me with his finger, his mouth basically making out with my clit.

He’s just as into this as I am and that makes me even hotter as I feel myself getting so close to the edge. My muscles clench and release against his fingers. I gasp and shake. I feel vulnerable and just as if he can read my mind, I feel his other hand gently pry my fingers off the edge of the desk so that he can hold my hand.

Meanwhile his face is buried between my legs, making me feel my blood pulse harder and my heart race.

I can’t take it anymore and I arch my back as I come with a scream, my legs shaking and my muscles clenching.

He stays there and kisses me softly before standing up and looking at me with his deep blue eyes, his chin wet with my juices, and the sight makes me melt.

He is so damn sexy I don’t even know who could create such a being.

I suddenly crave him closer. I need his kiss, so I wrap my legs around his hips and bring him to me, opening my arms up to him like a child, letting him know I need him here.

He bends down and embraces me completely, enveloping me in his warmth. He kisses my neck and showers kisses along my collarbones, my jawline, and then my mouth.

“Please fuck me,” I beg.

I already came but I need him inside me. Now. More than ever.

He swiftly takes off his boxers and slowly pushes inside me, stretching me out and filling me up so much I feel like he’s going to pop put of my stomach.

I gasp because he feels so good. He wraps his arms around me and holds me up at an angle before he starts to slide in and out of me. And it feels so good, hitting just the right spot, I basically come again. He pounds in and out of me and I tilt my head back, unable to control my moans.

He lays me back down on the desk, bringing my hips right to the edge and then wrapping my legs around his shoulders. Then he leans forward a bit, bringing my legs towards my chest, and thrusts deeper and I scream his name again because he is in so deep I don’t even know if I can take it.

His jaw clenches as he keeps pounding into me, little beads of sweat glistening on his collarbones.

I gasp, “God, Racer, I’m there …”

He starts to pound faster and I come, clenching around him, my body pulsating after my release. He scoops me up in his arms and sits down on a leather chair by the window, completely enveloping me in his warmth, his mouth whispering sweet things into my ear. That he’s crazy about me, that nothing turns him the fuck on like me …

It’s then I realize his erection is still pulsing fiercely against my bottom and I look up at him, confused.

“Tate … did you not? Why didn’t you finish?” I ask, confused and breathless, and before I can have a complete freak-out thinking I had done something terribly wrong he just smirks, flashing me that sexy dimple of his and he says, “I’m denying myself until I finish the race. I want to be pumped up and full of adrenaline—and amped to take on the Clarks.”

He then plants a warm kiss on my breast. “And nothing gets me riled up as much as you do.” He winks.

Wow. My mouth hangs open. I simply cannot believe this man has the willpower to fuck me senseless, give me multiple orgasms, and then not let himself finish—all so that he can use all that pent-up energy on the race track.

“Are you for real?” I laugh.

“I’m fucking high on you. On how fucking amazing it is to be me.” He pulls out of me—his dick so thick, long and hard that I can trace the bulging veins running up his throbbing length—and he maneuvers it into his boxers and zips up his racing suit, cracking his neck from side to side. “I’m never coming down from this high.”

“Is that right?” I say, giggling as I watch him.

“That’s right,” he assures, giving me a wolfish grin.

I laugh, giddy.

Sighing, I ease up to a sit, fixing myself up too.

He starts coming over, grasping the back of my head and murmuring at the top of my ear. “You look good enough to eat,” he rasps, sliding his hand over my cheek and pressing his smiling lips to my jaw. He nibbles on me.

“Racer … Racer 2.0 …” I giggle and moan. Lately he just seems like Racer Tate on steroids. A version of him in double the intensity (if that’s even possible) … Racer 2.0.

“Yeah,” he croons, and he starts to kiss me, and I can tell he needs me, that he wants to come inside me so bad, because his kiss is crazy hot.

My lips swell, and it’s a good swell. A great swell. And my heart follows. Something in my chest shudders and grows. I know deep in my gut that something isn’t quite right. He’s a little sexy and reckless and crazy right now, being more territorial, more demanding, tireless. I’m not supposed to like him like this, but the truth is that I do. I should be concerned, making sure he’s okay, but he’s so sexy and charming … and happy. I love seeing him so happy, and it’s impossible not to get caught up in it … in him.

He makes me want him more, want to have him and protect him, and be there for him when he needs me because I always seem to need him.

I embrace him to me and kiss his dimple, whispering, “You’re okay, Racer?” and peering into his gorgeous face.

And gosh, it’s a gorgeous face. Wearing the most gorgeous dimpled grin.

He pecks my lips as he helps me to my feet, his eyes roaming over me, looking at me in a really sexy and territorial way, and I run my fingers along my inside upper thigh, touching the hot little hickey he left me as he says, “Yeah,” keeping his glinting blue eyes on me for a long time.

I watch him finally charge out as if he’s on steroids, and I drop my hand from the mark. It’s a small mark, really, compared to the chunks he keeps biting off my heart.