Tomorrow is his first race back since he broke his leg. I’m petrified for him. He says he’s not scared, but I think he is. He says it doesn’t hurt that bad, but I know it does. He can lie to everyone else, but after sleeping with a man for months, you learn things about him. Things that you only find out after being intimate and letting them into your soul.
“I gorged yesterday. I can’t have much today.” My stomach chooses that moment to growl, showing that I’m the liar now.
“Sounds like you need to eat, yeah?”
“Just a side salad, no dressing.”
“You need more than that, Sugar.”
“No. I’ve been pushing my calorie intake this week. I have to get back to my usual diet.”
“And starving yourself is your usual diet?” he asks, sitting up now and pulling me with him.
“I’m not starving myself, but it is my job to be thin and beautiful,” I say while rolling my eyes. I love what I do, but I hate the stigma and stereotype that us models have and have to live by.
“No,” he shakes his head, “You don’t need to watch anything. You have perfect curves, and if they got curvier, I’d only love it more. You are beautiful, Tatum, but you don’t need to be like everyone else. In case you didn’t know it yet, you’re hot as fuck and every racer and crew member in the IMR, Royal King, and the entire motorcycle world would fuck you. I’m just the lucky bastard who gets to.” He gives me a wolfish smile and then dives between my breasts, pushing them together and kissing me there. Laughter spills out of me as he tickles my sides but quickly stops when he sucks my nipple into his mouth through my shirt.
“Don’t let anyone tell you how you need to look or be. Just be you. Be your sexy self, and everyone else can fuck off,” he tells me as his hand dips between my legs. “I know my father, and he didn’t pick you to be the face of his company because you’re thin. He picked you because you are a walking fantasy.” His hand makes his way up my skirt, his thumb pushing aside my panties, then pushing inside me, making my back arch off the bed. “You fill every one of my fantasies every time you’re with me. And not just when I get to play with my favorite pussy, either.”
“Your favorite, huh? Better be your only one,” I manage to say before he pinches my clit with his fingers.
“Damn right, it’s the only one. Now climb on and let me watch that pretty pussy take my cock, and then I’m going to feed you.”
Gosh, I love it when he talks dirty like that. I never thought I’d liked it, but when words like pussy and cock and fuck come from Benton’s mouth, I wish I could bottle them up and save them for later.
After we’ve watched our bodies unite and are both left satisfied, Benton orders up some dinner for us. He doesn’t push me more on my diet but doesn’t order me a salad, either.
I love how much he looks after me and cares about me. He makes me feel beautiful, which might seem strange that I need that reassurance, but it’s nice to have it feel real from someone, feelings beyond lust.
* * *
Benton won. I don’t have any idea how he did it, but he freaking won. With a broken leg, recovering from surgery four weeks ago, not being able to fully train, he did it.
After his victory lap, he rolls into the bay, where the crew and everyone else from Royal King are going crazy. He lifts his visor and finds me. I’m biting the inside of my cheek to hold back my smile, but I know he can see the slight upturn of my lips. He motions a ‘come here’ motion with his gloved finger, watching me walk toward him as he takes off his helmet, still sitting on his bike. I make my way to him through the crowd of people. Without a moment’s notice, he bends down and pulls the back of my head toward him, crashing our lips together in a sweet victory kiss. At first, I hear everyone around us hoot and holler more, but then it all fades away and it’s only him and me.
“You,” he says against my lips, “you are the reason I did this. Promise me you’ll always be my good luck charm.” He covers my mouth in another kiss before I can respond. “You’re more than good luck, Sugar. You’re everything I need,” he adds when he pulls away again. The look in his eyes is so real, so final.
I open my mouth to respond, but I’m cut off by the crew coming to help him from his bike. I step back and sink into the crowd around me, my heart hammering in my chest from his confession. He didn’t say he loved me, but it was implied in a way that I’ve never heard before. My mouth feels dry, and I don’t know what to think or feel right now.
Making my way to the green room area, I grab a bottle of water and guzzle half of it down. My stomach protests the invasion of so much liquid, and I feel like I’m going to be sick. I race to the trash can and lose all the contents of my stomach, thankful that I’m the only in here while everyone else is outside celebrating.
I stay in the room by myself, watching from the television screen, as Benton takes the stage on his crutches at the top of the podium with help from the other Paddock Girl and crew. He’s smiling, but I can tell he’s holding back, and I know it’s because I’m not there beside him. Another wave of nausea flows through me at that moment. Thankful I came back here instead of going up there, I retch again.
“There you are.” I hear my favorite deep voice behind me as I pace the room, hoping that I won’t get sick for athird time. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you.”
“I’m sorry. I got sick. I couldn’t be out there, and I didn’t want to ruin your moment,” I tell him as honestly as I can.
Concern spreads across his face as he hobbles over to me. “You alright?”
“I think so. Must have been that fish you made me eat last night.” I smirk at him.
“Let me take you back to the room,” he says, pushing my hair off my shoulder.
“You can’t leave now; you have more to do. I’ll be fine, Benny. I’ll go back myself.”
“Sugar, I’m not leaving you alone when you’re sick. Let’s get you back, yeah?”
I nod in agreement because really, that’s all I want. I want to go back to my room, take a bath, and cuddle with him.
I don’t know what he did or said, but he managed to get one of the crew members to help us leave without being noticed and drive us back to the hotel. It’s not until we enter my room that I realize he still has on his racing leathers. He’s got to be hot and uncomfortable. The only thing he took off was his helmet and gloves.
“Let me help you get these off,” I tell him, pulling the zipper down his front. “Do you need help getting your boots off?”
He sits on the bed and begins to unzip them, but I see the grimace on his face.
“Benton, let me help you.” I don’t wait for an answer. I drop to my knees and remove the boot from his good foot, then I ease the one off his wrapped leg.
“Thank you,” he says. I look up and meet his eyes, giving him a genuine smile.
“Will you join me for a bath?” I ask, feeling better, as I stand and push my skirt down my hips, leaving me in my black thong and RK crop top.
I watch his Adam’s apple bob as his eyes burn a path from my toes up my body. My smile grows, and I turn for the bathroom to start the water and brush my teeth. I pour in some bath oils and bath salts to help soothe his muscles.
When I go back to the bedroom, he’s pulled his upper body out of his leathers and is about to push them over his hips. I place my hands over his and help him push them down. I don’t miss the fact that his hard dick is pointing straight at me. I swallow and continue pushing the heavy leather down his body. He steps out of one leg and then sits on the bed to pull them off the other. He’s left in tented boxer briefs and a skin-tight, dry-fit shirt. My hands slide up his sides, dragging the shirt up as I go, pulling it off of his hot, sweaty body. This man is a fortress. Toned and muscled, fit and trim, sexy and mine.
Once it’s over his head, he pulls me into him and kisses me hard and unrelenting, claiming me and marking my mouth, lips, and tongue as his, as if I didn’t already know. His hands copy what I did to him and slide up m
y ribs until my shirt is over my head. Reaching back, I unhook my bra, letting it fall to my feet. His hands immediately take my breasts, kneading them and rolling my nipples between his fingers. Shit, I could never tire of him doing this. My head falls back when he takes one in his mouth.
“Benton, stop. I need to turn off the water,” I moan out, not really wanting him to stop at all, but not wanting to flood the bathroom, either.
He lets go with a pop and a mischievous grin. I roll my eyes and help him stand to get into the bath water. His bandaged leg sits up on the side of the tub, and he lets out a groan as the warm water laps at his still bruised skin. I carefully step in with him, sitting between his legs, and lean back against his chest. He feathers kisses from my shoulder up my neck and his hand finds mine, lacing our fingers and resting our joined hands on my hip. A relaxed sigh comes from me as I close my eyes and enjoy the feeling of him around me.
“You know, standing on that podium should have been the best part of my day, hell my week, but I think this, right here, is my favorite,” he reveals, squeezing my hand as his other glides across my stomach.
“You’re my favorite,” I tell him as I turn my head to kiss the inside of his bicep.
“I know you said you got sick, but I freaked you out earlier, yeah?”
“Benton, I like what we have. I like you. But it feels fast,” I respond honestly.
“This is new for me, too, Sugar. I just know that I like having you beside me, and it certainly did not feel right when you weren’t there.”
“I don’t like making promises I can’t keep.”
“Then only give me the ones you can, yeah? For instance, I promise you I’ll never stop earning all your smiles.” He kisses my shoulder again, and it makes me smile. “I promise I’ll never hurt you, not on purpose anyway. I promise I’ll make mistakes, but I’ll never harm you.”
“I like those promises,” I admit.
We spend the rest of the day wrapped in each other’s arms, making promises we can keep. As much as it scares me, I want to promise him always and give him forever. I’m just not sure that’s what he wants or if I’m ready for that yet.
* * *
The next few months are a dream. Not only do we get closer, but Benton gets to show me his side of the world. Italy, Germany, France, the UK… I’ve seen places I never thought I would. From the Eiffel Tower and the Mona Lisa to Big Ben, the Berlin Wall, and Michelangelo’s David. I’ve eaten food I shouldn’t, but I know are from heaven. Gelato, schnitzel, crepes, fish and chips. My stomach has never been so full as it has been lately.
I feel my hips growing wider, my stomach stretching, but I find I love the way my body has filled out, and Benton seems to enjoy it, too. I told myself I was alright with putting on five pounds, and I’ve put on ten. Any more, and I’ll need an intervention. I have a hard time saying no to Benton, though, and he seems to love feeding me. Some of the rich foods have made me sick, some days so sick I can hardly do my job. You’d think from throwing up so much I wouldn’t be gaining as much weight; but my butter-and-heavy-cream-starved body is latching on to every calorie it can, storing up for when I cut it all out again.
I just threw up for the fifth time today. This is getting ridiculous. I run my hand over my stomach as I lie down on the bed. Then I feel a little flutter. It’s not like gas or a cramp. What the hell? It happens again, and I feel it under my hand.
Oh. My. Gosh.
Suddenly I sit up in a panic. When was my last period? I’ve never been regular, so I didn’t think about it. Before now. How could I be so stupid?! Sick from the rich food? This much? I grab my phone to look at the calendar. One, two, three, four… I haven’t had a period in four months. Four fucking months.
I run my hand through my hair, frustrated and scared. How did this happen? We always use a condom. I guess one was defective? Holy shit! How do I tell him? How do I tell Benton?
A test. I need to make sure. I grab my bag and go to the hotel lobby to look for a pregnancy test. I find one, thankfully.
I step onto the elevator and look up to see the last person I need to see right now. Matthew King. His eyes drift from my panicked face to the box in my hand back to my face. His eyes widen, and mine fill with tears.
The elevator doors open behind me and I turn to leave, but he catches my arm. “Don’t tell him,” he says. I look up then, fire in my eyes. How could he say that? “I’m not saying ever. Just… not now. He’s got four races left, and if he does well, he’ll win. I need his head in it. I need him to not be distracted.”
I swipe at the tear that escaped. “Then I can’t stay here. I need to go home.”
“No, that will upset him, too.”
I let out a breath. “I can’t stay here, being with him, and not tell him. Either I stay and he knows, or I leave and he doesn’t. Pick one,” I say with a raised brow and clenched jaw.
“I’ll send your flight information to your room in an hour,” he tells me. I want to hate him for this, but I can’t. We both want the same thing: for Benton to win.
I nod in understanding and step out. I reach my room, and the door closes behind me before the tears fall freely down my face. They continue to fall as I see those two pink lines show in less than thirty seconds. And when I think they’ll finally stop, I get my flight information confirming that I’m leaving. Leaving my job. Leaving the father of my child. Leaving the man I promised I wouldn’t leave until he won.
I didn’t think I’d have to break that promise. Turns out I was wrong.
Chapter Twelve
Benton
I’ve looked everywhere for Tatum today and haven’t seen her anywhere. I know she keeps getting sick from all the food I make her try, but she usually sends me a text to let me know if she’s staying in. Now that we’re in the Asian countries her stomach started to let up on her, but she still has days when it gets to her.
I finish up training for the day and knock on her door, but when she doesn’t answer I start to get worried. Something seems off. I dial my dad to see if by chance he knows what’s going on. The phone starts ringing as I reach my room. Something on the bed catches my eye: a piece of paper torn from her journal.
A pretty page from the book of notes and letters she’s written to her mom. I only know because the first time I wrote in it, I read the last one she’d written about how excited she was to have this job. I never asked her about it, though, and she never offered to share. It’s an unspoken thing between us. She never leaves without it, and it’s always close to where to she is.
I hear my dad answer when I drop the phone and begin to read what she wrote. I don’t read it all; I just see words like sorry and leaving and done. I pick the phone back up before my dad hangs up. “What did you do?” I seethe into the phone.
“Benton, what are you talking about?”
“Tatum. She left. She had to have had help. What did you do?”
“She was sick, and she wanted to leave. I helped her go. I’m sorry if she didn’t say goodbye, but there will be other girls—”
“No” I cut him off. “No! There will not be other girls. She was the girl. What aren’t you telling me? She wouldn’t leave this far into the season if she didn’t have to.”
“I’m not lying, son. She was sick and wanted to go home. I helped get her a ticket. She left last night.”
“Fuck!” I throw my phone so hard it breaks the lamp it hit into a hundred pieces. I run my hands through my hair and then down my face, frustrated that she didn’t come to me. Was this all a joke to her? I pick up my phone and manage to call her through my shattered screen, but it goes to voicemail. Over and over again. I leave her message after message, text after text. I need to know that she’s alright. She can tell me to go to hell if I messed up, but I need to know she’s OK.
I pace my room, racking my brain trying to figure out what could have happened. We didn’t fight, I haven’t cheated or given any other girl a glance, she hasn’t been with anyone else—at least that I’m
aware of. Things have been good. Shit, they’ve been better than great. I don’t understand why she’d leave like this. What the hell, Sugar?
I’m in fucking Japan, and I race in five days. I just got to remove all my bandages last week. As long as I make the podium these last four races, I’ll win the entire thing. But all I want is to fly to Graves, Illinois and check in on my girl. Is she my girl? I thought she was.
I let out a frustrated yell and throw myself back on my bed. The bed where I made love to her just two days ago.
Fuck it. I open my laptop and buy a ticket to leave tonight. I throw a few clothes into a backpack and call the front desk for a car to take me to the airport. Three hours later, I almost missed my flight, but I’m on the first plane of four that are going to take me to her. I just need to see that she’s alright.
Thirty-six hours later, I’m rolling through Graves in a rental car. I found the garage, Pretty Girl Garage, she told me her stepdad owns and where she works when she’s home. I pull up and see that they are nearing the end of their day. A little red-headed girl runs out the entrance with a big smile and glittering blue eyes. I know she has to be Penny. Tatum had shown me pictures, but it’s not the same as seeing her in person.
Stepping out of the car, I smile at the little girl. She stops and looks up at me with wide eyes. “Did you know you have holes in your ears?” she asks. Not what I was expecting, but I can work with that.
Bending down to be on her level, I smile at her again. “I did know. I grew them myself.”
“You can grow holes that big?!” She sticks her finger through one.
“Well, I had to slowly stretch it. It started as a regular piercing. Do you have your ears pierced?” She shakes her head. “It was like that, and then I got bigger and bigger earrings until it got to this point. I find them quite fun, yeah?”
“Can I tie a ribbon through it? Wait! You talk funny,” she says with a hand on her hip and her head tilted to the right, reminding me of her older sister.
Always Series Box Set Page 42