“Oh,” she gasps. “Fuck.”
“If you insist,” I say, smiling and sliding my tongue from her clit and into her pussy. I fuck her that way until she's grinding her hips up to meet my thrusts. Then I go for my real goal. Cupping her ass in my palms, I lift her butt off the bed and angle her just right. She has the cutest asshole—small and pink and puckered—and when I lick it, she practically jumps off the bed. I steady her with my hands and keep up the good work, stroking and probing the tiny opening.
"Owen, god, please." Her voice breaks, half-whisper, half-whimper, all wildness. "Now."
Oh yeah, baby, get freaky for me.
I return my mouth to her clit, giving her more pressure and a faster rhythm than before. She makes a throaty noise that's eager and impatient. Show time. I run my fingers through her slit, which is drenched in a combination of her own juices and my saliva. Just to make sure my fingers are plenty slick, I ease two of them into her pussy and fuck her that way for a little while. She clutches my head, threading her fingers through my hair, and meets my rhythm, her breath hitching as her pleasure climbs. I don't want her to come before we get to the main event, though, so I ease my fingers from her pussy, and push the tip of my index finger against her anus.
Goddamn, she's tight, and my throbbing dick informs me that it would very much like a turn in there, too. Not what she asked for, I remind myself, and slowly, carefully press past in up to the first knuckle. Her muscles clench, resisting the intrusion on instinct, and she exhales sharply.
"Okay?" This is supposed to be fun for her, after all. But even as I’m asking, I feel her relax, and my finger sinks in another inch.
“God, yes,” she sighs. “It’s so bad, but it feels so good.”
I look up at her from between her legs. Everything about the view from down here is perfect: the dark tangle of curls at the apex of her wide-open thighs, wide hips narrowing down to her waist and then back out again at her rib cage, and the round, generous swell of her breasts tipped with those stiff, dusky pink nipples. Her eyes are closed and her mouth is slightly open in an expression of pure pleasure. I withdraw the finger about an inch and thrust slowly back in again, then a second time, a little farther and faster. I get no resistance, only moans of encouragement and an unmistakable gush of wetness from her pussy.
“That’s it.” I press a soft kiss against her slit as I work my finger in all the way to the hilt. “Take it all, dirty girl.”
“Can’t help it.” Her voice is half-whisper, half-sob.
“Can’t help what?”
“Being dirty. Liking bad things.” The confession sounds angry, which makes me think that maybe she’s shared this fantasy with someone before me, and he made her feel ashamed of it.
Fuck that noise.
“Dirty and bad are two of my favorite things.” My first favorite being doing them with her.
I twist my finger and touch my tongue very lightly to her clit. A shiver runs through her, and she spreads her legs even wider, arching her back to force my mouth into closer contact.
God, she’s sweet. Sweet and dirty and bad and so damn beautiful I’m never going to get enough of her.
But I can’t string her out like this forever, so I push out every thought except her pleasure. She becomes the center of my focus, the only thing in the universe. I follow her body’s cues—the catch in her breathing that says I’m putting just a little too much or too little pressure on her clit, the rocking of her hips that tells me I can drive my finger into her just a little harder, just a little faster. She clutches at my head, the muscles in her abdomen going taut. I know she’s trying to ride it out, to stretch the peak that little bit longer, so I gentle the strokes of my tongue and my finger, keeping her there as long as I can.
When she finally lets go and the tremors start, I ramp up the tempo again, sucking her clit into my mouth and plundering her ass for all I’m worth. It pays off because almost as soon as the first orgasm ends, she comes a second time, crying out my name along with a stream of fucks and oh gods and yesyesyes’es. And being the man to do that for her is the best damn thing that’s ever happened to me. It’s a thing I want to make sure keeps happening to me.
After easing her down for a few seconds, I crawl up her body and rest my weight on my arms. My cock nudges her sopping wet entrance, but I wait until she opens her eyes. They’re unfocused and glazed, but she gives me a crooked smile.
“That was…incredible. Your turn now. Just give me a second to catch my breath, and I’ll—”
Shaking my head, I cut her off. “Not this time.” My voice is a raspy growl. “I won’t last two seconds.” And I want to be kissing her when I make her come again, because whatever she thinks right now, that’s gonna happen.
“I don’t mind,” she says.
“I do,” I grunt. Reaching over to the bedside table, I grab a packet from the box of condoms and hand it to her. “Open it. Put it on me.”
She nods slowly. “Okay.”
The packet rips, and I keep a tight grip on my control while she rolls the condom over my dick. When she’s done, I lean down to kiss her and sink into her at the same time, in one long, slow motion until I’m balls-deep in the sweetest pussy I’ve ever tapped. She sighs contentedly into my mouth, and I stroke her tongue with mine and start to move. My dick is begging me to pound her, but I keep the pace slow and even, angling my hips so that I brush her clit on each inward thrust. All my concentration is centered on her, waiting for her to catch up with me.
And when she does, everything else falls away, and it’s like we’re one person—one panting breath, one racing heartbeat, one body chasing the same goal. Her kisses turn wilder, more demanding. I fuck her harder, deeper, faster. She grabs my ass and drives her hips up to meet each stroke, and the world narrows even more, my climax curling up at the base of my spine. Or, hell, maybe it’s hers. I’m not sure where I end and she begins. She comes and I come with her, or I come and she comes with me. I don’t know which way it happens, and I don’t care. There’s only the sensation of her pussy squeezing my cock and my answering spurts of cum and the desperate, searing heat of our kisses. Nothing else matters.
I’m hers, whether she’ll ever be mine or not.
Thirteen
Lucy
Owen’s a cuddler. I would not have predicted that. He’s snuggled up against me, spoon-fashion, an arm and a leg draped over me. He strokes my hair and presses occasional kisses to my neck and shoulder, which is almost painfully sweet. I’d be perfectly content to stay here indefinitely if I didn’t have to pee.
And if I didn’t have to text Ella. Talk to Ella. Right the fuck now.
I squirm, and his arm tightens reflexively around my waist. “I need to go to the bathroom.”
He sighs and unwraps himself from me, rolling onto his back to watch me. The way he looks at me is…dangerous. It’s not just the naked hunger that touches his eyes at the sight of my body, although that’s pretty damned alluring. I’m not insecure about my appearance, but that doesn’t make me immune to being desired, especially when the feeling is mutual. But the thing that’s killing me, that’s really scaring me, is the simple affection that softens the sexual heat in his gaze and turns it into something a lot harder to walk away from.
And I need to walk away. This has to be a one-time deal.
Ella will set me straight.
On the way to the bathroom, I discreetly pick up my purse. If Owen notices, he doesn’t say anything, but his gaze tracks me all the way to the door.
Once inside with the door shut, I sit down to do my business and unzip my purse to pull out my phone, which I set on the counter. After I finish and wash my hands, I grab my cell. My hands are shaking a little bit as I open the message app and start thumb typing.
Lucy: I just did a really stupid thing.
It’s a little after nine here, so it’s only six in Los Angeles. Ella should be off work and home by now, which means she should answer me pretty quickly. I hope.
> I lean my hip against the cold counter, chewing my lower lip. Owen’s going to wonder what’s taking me so long if she doesn’t respond soon.
The phone vibrates. Thank god.
Ella: ???
Lucy: I banged Owen Lenart’s brains out. Twice.
Lucy: Or maybe he banged mine out. Both?
Ella: O_o
Ella: Was it good?
Lucy: Oh. My. God. {fireworks emoji}
Ella: So problem?
Lucy: I think I like him.
Ella: This is bad because…
Lucy: My job is to write about him, not fuck him. I’m supposed to be objective. And I don’t want to lose this assignment.
There’s a delay this time. I flush the toilet while I wait. It takes longer than I like for her to answer.
Ella: We need to talk. Like, for real.
Lucy: Yeah. Flying home tomorrow.
Ella: K. Dinner?
Lucy: {thumbs up emoji}
Ella: And girl?
Lucy: ?
Ella: He fine.
Lucy: UR not helping.
Ella: Am 2. Tap that.
Lucy: ;P
But I already know I’m going to.
When I come out of the bathroom, Owen’s sitting up with a couple of pillows tucked behind his back and the sheet over his lap. It’s embarrassing how my body lights up at the sight of his ripped torso. I ache to touch him. To fuck him. Again.
He throws open the sheet and pats the mattress next to him. “Come back to bed.” It’s not exactly a request, but it’s not a command, either.
Nodding, I slide onto the bed and pull the sheet over my legs so we match. I mean, what else am I going to do?
“So, when do you have to leave?” he asks.
“My flight is at ten in the morning. Out of Pittsburgh.”
“So you should be up and out by seven-thirty?”
“Yeah.” It’s a little over an hour from here to the airport, and I have to return the rental car. “What about you?”
“Have to be at The Wick by Wednesday afternoon for registration, and somebody’s gotta drive the beast and our gear up there.” By the beast, I assume he means that monstrous orange team truck he drives. “Darnell has to go home for a couple of days, but it doesn’t make sense for me to fly all the way to Texas and back, too. I’ll head up this morning and stop in the city for a couple of days.”
Meaning New York City, of course. “Have you been before?”
He shakes his head. “Never had the chance. You?”
“Same. But I’ve always wanted to. I’m sort of envious.”
His hand covers mine, a warm, gentle pressure. “You could come with me.”
My heart stutters because there are no words to describe how much I would like that. “You know I can’t. Not only because this…” I gesture between us with my free hand, “can’t happen again, but because I have articles to write and deadlines to keep. I can’t just drop everything.”
Owen gives me a lopsided grin. “Hey, you can’t blame a guy for trying.”
“I can, but I won’t.”
He lifts my hand to his lips and kisses the back of it. “I was never good at math, but I think this means we have about ten hours left. Got any ideas about what to do with them?”
Oh yeah. I definitely do.
The alarm jerks me out of a sound sleep at seven a.m. With a groan, I hit the off button and curl back into the warmth of Owen’s body spooned around me. Just another few minutes before it’s over.
It was a long night. A long, amazing night. I lost count of the number of orgasms after the tenth one, and I’m deliciously sore all over. Never have I been so thoroughly, satisfyingly fucked. Owen is as creative and athletic in bed as he is on the track and completely shameless. If it turns us both on, he’ll do it. And if there’s a thing he can do that doesn’t turn me on, I haven’t figured out what it is yet.
He strokes my hair and murmurs, “Morning.”
“Ugh.”
Chuckling, he draws my hand down to his crotch and places it over his impressive erection. “One for the road?”
“I’m going to walk funny for a week,” I protest. Weakly. Just touching the hard, velvety length of him is enough to make heat coil in my belly. If I were wearing any panties, they’d already be wet. I glance at the clock, do the math. “Ten minutes, max.”
“Sounds like a challenge, but I think I’m up to it.”
He releases my hand and slides his arm around my waist, nuzzling the curve of my neck just below where it meets my ear. Humming with pleasure, I twist my head slightly and our mouths meet in a slow, sweet kiss. His fingers skim up to my breasts, and he brushes my nipples lightly, a touch I should barely be able to feel but that sends a jolt of electric sparks straight to my already throbbing pussy instead.
Damn. Zero to sixty in two seconds. We might not need ten minutes.
I rock my hips impatiently. “Need you now.”
“Got you, baby.” He breaks our kiss to grab a condom from the box—thank god I bought the twelve-count package instead of the six—and quickly dons it. Then he scoots down behind me, lifts my top leg, and slides into me from behind. My eyes roll back in my head. In this position, even more than when we fulfilled his doggy-style fantasy earlier, his cock feels huge. And good.
So. Damn. Good.
He takes a few more seconds to adjust our relative positions so that he can stroke my clit while he fucks me, and I feel an orgasm rushing up on me almost immediately. Too fast. Too soon. I want the whole ten minutes now, damn it.
Owen must sense it, too, because he whispers, “I’ll give you two. Let it come.”
Before last night, I would have said there was no way I could come twice inside of ten minutes, but I know better now. I’ve come twice in two minutes. More than once. And it’s not like I really have a choice in the matter. Between his fingers and his cock, I hit the peak almost instantly and come hard, the pleasure as sharp and bright as a lightning strike.
While I float on the thundercloud of bliss, he gentles his movements and feathers his lips across my back and shoulders. His tenderness stirs a pang of such intense longing in my chest, I have to choke back a sob. This is what I want. Not just tonight, but every night. Not just the sex, but the acceptance, the affection, the sweetness. Something that seems an awful lot like love.
And now that the word has entered my head, I can’t make it go away. Love. I love this. Love him. I don’t know how that’s even possible. How can you fall in love with someone you barely know?
You can’t. You didn’t. It’s just infatuation.
But I’m lying to myself. Every instinct I possess tells me this is the real McCoy.
Deciding to sleep with him was a terrible, horrible mistake. I should have guessed that one taste would be enough to make me an addict. But I can’t bring myself to regret the error, because Owen’s picking up the pace again and his fingers have found just the right spot again and he’s somehow managed to angle his head so he can kiss me and…aw hell, he’s not just fucking me. He’s making love to me, and he knows it as well as I do.
So I do the only thing I can do. I make love back, pouring every ounce of myself into these few, precious minutes because they have to be the last ones. We move together, breathe together, come together.
When I return to my senses, I glance at the clock.
Nine minutes and forty seconds.
MotoRacer Magazine
LENART MAKES LEMONADE FROM SECOND PLACE FINISH
by Lucy Salcido
All of this weekend's NMA 450 heats at High Point Raceway outside of Mt. Morris, Pennsylvania began in the manner we’ve come to expect. Owen Lenart shot into the lead at the first turn—with reigning champ Tyler Biggs and fellow rookie Alex Herrera swapping second and third places throughout each race—and proceeded to build a substantial lead.
But things didn't go on that way. In Saturday's heat, Lenart's bike began to slow as the result of a flat tire, a condition he attribu
ted to picking up a nail somewhere between the paddock and pre-grid. Although he managed to wrestle his Yokohama to the finish line, Biggs, Herrera, and Nick Womack all passed him in the final two laps to take first, second, and third respectively in the heat.
In Sunday's first heat, Lenart returned to form, winning easily with Herrera in a distant second and Biggs close behind him for the third slot. But in the second heat, after taking a commanding lead, the unimaginable happened: Lenart laid his bike down while attempting what should have been a routine pass on a slower rider. By the time he got moving again, not only had Biggs and Herrera passed him, but so had nearly half the field.
But Lenart is nothing if not tenacious. Over the course of the next twenty minutes, he reeled in and picked off every rider who had passed him but one—Biggs, who managed to hold a slim lead to the finish. In the process, Lenart not only crushed the track’s official record but made it evident that no one currently on the circuit can match him for sheer talent and technique. He did not merely outrun the field; he utterly outclassed them.
Readers may find it surprising, then, to learn that Lenart credits much of his success not to his own skills, but to those of his mechanic, Darnell Lewis.
[…]
Fourteen
Lucy
“Are you sure your editor would pull you off the story if he found out you and Owen were dating?” Ella sits across from me at a two-person table near the front window of our favorite French bistro in Pasadena. Since the last time I saw her a few weeks back, she’s had her formerly long, straight black hair cut into chin-length, asymmetrical cut that really flatters her heart-shaped face but also keeps falling over her right eye. Her solution to this problem is to attempt to blow it away, which fogs up her glasses. This amuses me because Ella is the smartest person I know—a literal rocket scientist who works at JPL—but she can’t seem to figure out a way to keep her hair out of her face other than blowing at it.
Holeshot: A Motocrossed Romance Page 7