Revolution: A Driven World Novel (The Driven World)

by Dr. Rebecca Sharp

  “Indianapolis Speedway.”

  Garret

  I FISTED THE TORQUE WRENCH, imagining for the millionth time that I was driving it into that fucker’s face who thought that Kacey should be disqualified because the car couldn’t run the second heat.

  Anger was motivation though. Motivation to get me through the hours after the other guys had left for the night. Motivation to get this damn engine in the car so it was ready to go.

  I had to admit though when the truck pulled up and delivered Donavan’s spare, a thrill of excitement ran through me as I combed over the impressive piece of Chevy machinery. The modifications made by his current engineers were impressive—but there are two kinds of impressive. One kind is the kind where smarts can make the best of a not-so-great situation. The other, as was the case for this engine, was the kind where money could buy you a great situation, but without smarts, you were just starting in a better grid spot but without a better car so to speak.

  I was excited to think about what I could do with an engine like this. With his cars. His resources.

  But none of that held a candle to the thought of telling Kacey.

  The urge was there. With that paper in my hand—the letter signed by Donavan saying he would be providing Voigt with one of their spare engines for the race—I wanted to tell her that this was the lengths I’d go to prove what I was willing to do for her.

  To prove we belonged here together.

  But I knew I’d hurt her. I knew I’d conditioned her almost as well as myself to drown in the pain my past caused.

  And fuck if I wasn’t afraid that she’d refuse to race with the engine if she knew what it cost—that she wouldn’t believe me when I told her it was no cost at all.

  I didn’t want her race—her dream—tarnished with the thought that it came at my expense.

  So, I swallowed the truth. I swallowed my need to touch her—hold her. Beg her. And I locked it away, counting down the hours until the race was over and I could tell her the truth.

  My head snapped up, thinking I heard a car door slam outside the garage before convincing myself that it was just the rain pummeling the old building.

  I reached for a towel to wipe where I’d dropped some engine fluid when the door to the building flew open.

  I shot up, tools clattering to the ground where they’d been resting on a clean towel in my lap.

  “Kacey?”

  My face scrunched in confusion—possibly delusion—as I took in the sight of her.

  Black purse and heels clasped in one hand. The other pushing back the wet strands of hair streaking down her face. The strands continued to drip steady streams of water onto her bare shoulders, her collarbone, and her chest. The drops rolling over her skin like small, slick armies destroyed every dry patch in their path.

  I grunted. The rest of her hitting me like a hard one-two straight to my stomach—and then to my dick.

  She had on this strappy red dress that clung to every curve I savagely thought of as mine. Curves I dreamt of night after night. Curves I ached to hold so bad my muscles burned with their memory. I struggled to breathe with how fast my cock grew impossibly hard. Painful. Straining.

  “Kacey…” I choked out as I stepped closer, my feet landing on towels and tools, sacrificing them in my path to her.

  But the rain… the rain left dark patches and spots in the red silk of her dress making her look like some sort of warrior goddess, wearing the blood of her enemies trapped in the fabric of her clothes.

  And when I looked at her face, it was clear she was out for blood. My blood.

  Her eyes were hard but glistening with tears and sparking with anger.

  “Kacey, what the hell—”

  She dropped her shoes and bag to the floor with complete carelessness, demanding, “What did you do?”

  My head jerked. “What are you—”

  “What. Did. You. Do?” Each word was punctuated with a step of her bare feet against the concrete. The wet slap of skin screwed with my mind almost as much as the way that dress clung and pulled with every step. On her waist. On her tits.

  My fingers dug into my hips, bruising the skin to stop myself from ripping it off of her.

  “How did you get the engine, Garret?” she asked with a low unsteady voice.

  Fuck.

  Donavan wasn’t supposed to say anything. It was part of the fucking deal.

  A deal that didn’t fucking matter right now when she was standing in front of me with the truth bleeding down her chest.

  “I signed a contract with him—with his racin’ team in exchange for the engine.” She needed to hear it from me. I wanted her to hear it from me.

  The words fell between us like spilled oil, dark and slick but carrying something that was essential to our moving parts.

  I caught the way her stomach caved in and her chest fell, the subtle part of her lips and the slash of pain across her gaze. She’d known the truth but she’d been fighting it until this moment.

  “Why? How could you?” She stopped inches in front of me.

  My breath came out in a rush. “Why? Are ye jokin’?” I blurted, reaching up and cupping her face.

  “I did it fer you, lass.”

  “And I told you we couldn’t be because this is what would happen! You, having to come back to racing or me, having to give it up.”

  I ached because each word looked like a knife she was drivin’ in her own chest.

  “And I told ye I would prove that yer the only thing that matters,” I said, locking my fingers on her chin and forcing her head up roughly. “I swore I would. It’s no’ my fault yer too daft ta believe me.”

  “Daft?” She gasped. “You don’t get to do this, Garret!” she cried out, banging her fists angrily against my chest. “You don’t get to sacrifice for me—for my dream—for my mistake.”

  “Why?” I growled, grabbing her wrists and imprisoning them with one hand. “Tell me why I don’t get ta do what I want fer the woman I love.”

  She froze. Her eyes closed and stayed closed even though tears continued to leak out from them.

  “Because I didn’t want you to,” she murmured, but the only thing I heard was a lie.

  “Why? Because ye dinna want me?” I taunted, dropping my head closer.

  I watched her gulp. Watched her eyes slip wide. And then I watched her consider it—considering lying to me about this because she thought she was saving me.

  “Garret, we need to talk.”

  And that was where I drew the line.

  “The most important things in life, lass, are the things that canna be said.” With a growl, I slanted my mouth harshly over hers, swallowing her gasp, drinking down her small cry, and then gorging myself on her want.

  Tongues clashed. A war of desperation, anger, and need.

  I kissed her viciously, but Kacey… Kacey kissed me back savagely—like loving her was an attack she had to defend herself from. Like being enough for someone was somethin’ unconscionable.

  So I met every stroke—every slash of her tongue—and I returned it, a laugh and a groan boiling in my chest.

  Reaching around to where her hair was pulled back, I wrapped it around my hand and fisted it tightly before tipping her head and giving me deeper access to her mouth. And there, she lost the battle—the battle to convince me she really thought otherwise. To convince me she didn’t want this.

  The battle to convince me that she was truly upset about the engine and what I’d done.

  I tasted the truth on her tongue. Sweet and tart and pure. She may have picked a fight with me, but the only person she was warring with was herself.

  And it became easy to lose a battle when you had no desire to win the war.

  I sunk my teeth into her lower lip, sucking along the plump flesh, sugar-coated with the saltiness of her angry tears and glazed with rain. My cock throbbed, reminding me that I wasn’t leaving this garage alive tonight if I didn’t find my way back inside her.

  Inside h
er body and inside her heart.

  With a groan, I pulled my mouth from hers, our harsh breaths invading the space between our lips.

  “Of course, I want you,” she panted angrily, words bleeding into wanton whimpers. “Fuck talking, Garret, but know that I love you, you daft Irishman. I loved you before you went and saved my car… my dream.”

  “Well, that’s a good thing then, lass.” My finger trailed down the side of her neck, along the strap of her dress to the edge of the fine fabric. Catching my finger on the silk I tugged, testing its strength.

  “Why?” A breathy laugh turned into a shudder, feeling my finger tease the top of her tit. “Are you going to give up on it, now?”

  “No.” My eyes flicked to hers, a devilish smirk tugging up the corner of my lips. “But I am goin’ ta fuck ye on it.” My cock throbbed painfully, watching her eyes and lips widen. “And with ye lookin’ like this, all red and ripe ta be plucked, I can’t promise survival.”

  “Don’t destroy my car.” Her voice pleaded one thing, her eyes and body, another.

  “Fuck the car, lass. I’m talkin’ about me.”

  Kacey

  HE LOVED ME.

  He got an engine for the car and put me back in the race.

  He did it without warning. Without prompting. Without expecting anything in return.

  Me.

  Because I was enough.

  He knew my weakness and fought to show me my strength. Sacrificed to prove it to me.

  Just like he promised.

  Because he loved me.

  I stared up into the blue brimstone of his eyes, losing myself in the friendly fire and letting it burn through the layers of excuses I’d worn like fire suits over so many years.

  “Garret…” I put my hands up and he pushed them down and behind me, capturing my wrists and transferring them into a single grip, causing me to arch against him. “Not the—”

  “Don’t argue with me, lass,” he said roughly, yanking me against him. “Not when yer standin’ here, tellin’ me ye love me, and wearin’ that dress.”

  I sucked in a breath, my nipples hardening against the tape as desire rushed between my legs.

  “Never.” My pulse hammered. The anticipation of a race about to start. Every breath. Every moment. Hanging on the precipice, suspended and aching with desire…it consumed me.

  “Do ye like to torture me, lass?” My eyes widened as his mouth dropped to my neck, biting and licking down the side.

  “I like what happens when I torture you,” I confessed, arching against him.

  “Well, I hope that means ye don’t care fer this dress.” As he spoke, I felt his finger, the one tracing along the neckline of my dress, cinch into the fabric. And before I could process what he’d said, the melodic swell of silk ripping echoed up between us and his finger stopped right around my belly button.

  His eyes snapped to mine, hard lust eating away at the edges.

  “I didn’t care for the dress.”

  “Good.”

  His hand splayed over my stomach, sending a tremor out through all my limbs. Tipping my head back, I arched toward him, needing his hot touch against my breasts that were exposed—on display.

  Pulling me with him, we moved until he was against one of the front wheels of the car.

  “How many people saw these tits tonight?” he demanded, sitting on the wheel as I stood between his legs, like a sacrifice.

  My dress was split down the front to my hips, the halves of red fabric fluttering to the side like vibrant wanton wings, barely holding on to the straps over my shoulders and leaving my chest right at his eye level.

  I shuddered, his ravenous, restrained gaze gnawing at my need as moisture seeped between my legs, sticking my thighs together.

  “Garret…”

  Plucking the stickies off my breasts, he tossed them onto the floor, revealing the red, peaks underneath. “How many?”

  “I was wearing clothes over them,” I retorted, ending on a gasp as he bent forward and locked his teeth on my left nipple and pulled.

  I reached for his head, my finger tangling in his hair as I held on for dear life. That first touch had been painful, but even more brutal was the pleasure that rocketed through me, searching for release.

  “That wasn’t clothes, lass. It was hardly a sheet. Hardly covered…” He trailed off with a ragged growl, too hungry to continue his reprimand as his mouth began to devour my breast.

  His other hand settled on my chest, kneading and pulling at the heavy weight while I fought to stay upright.

  Moaning, I pulled his head tighter and tried to inch toward him, my lower parts needing—demanding attention. I rubbed my legs together, but it was like trying to use a bottle of water to put out a house fire.

  “Half o’ me just wants to suckle yer perfect tits until dawn, lass.” He dragged his tongue around the border of my nipple before forcefully flicking it over the hardened peak. “Wants ta use my mouth. My tools. My cock. I want ta checker yer chest red and white with my marks and my cum.”

  “Garret!” I cried out, my pussy clenching with the need to orgasm but having nothing to hold onto—nothing to take me there except his words.

  “Green fer start.” His teeth set on my nipple again, sucking hard and letting it pop from his mouth. “Black and white fer finish.” Suck and pop. “Red and white fer all-fuckin’-mine.” This time, he sucked and rolled his tongue over the taut peak, and I felt it. I felt each brush as though it was on my clit and I swore I was going to come, standing right there, in the middle of the garage, with only his mouth on my breasts.

  I gasped loudly, drowning in the noise as he released my flesh and rested his forehead on my chest, locks of his hair teasing my sensitive skin, as I fought to process being left dangerously close to the cliff of release.

  “But I need ye…” His voice was strained. He pulled back, his hands pressing firmly into my skin as they wrapped down around my waist and locked into the flesh of my ass.

  I stared down, drinking in the sight of him in pieces. The sheen of sweat on his brow making his hair cling together in waves. The pull of his shirt over his shoulders and biceps which held me firmly. The rough punch of his chest forward and back with each harsh breath. And the thick bulge of his arousal trapped along the side of his thigh.

  “I need ye,” he murmured again, bending forward and placing an open mouth kiss to my stomach right above where the fabric of my dress was still intact.

  His right hand skated down the outside of my thigh until he found the leg slit of the dress, skimming underneath it up to where I ached for him.

  Without any more warning than his thumb flicking the fabric of my thong to the side, he pushed two fingers deep inside me.

  Gasping, I curled over him, my arms clasping around his head, holding him to my stomach and using him for support as he twisted and twined his fingers inside my clenching pussy, curling them against my front wall.

  Explosive shots of pleasure made my knees weak causing me to impale myself farther onto his hand as my legs threatened to give out.

  “I dream of this cunt, lass,” he rasped against my quivering stomach. “I dream of her hot wet grip around me, yer moans the sweetest lullaby.”

  I wasn’t breathing. I was only feeling.

  His fingers. His breath. His words.

  There was only him.

  “I dream of fuckin’ ye and lovin’ ye until the end of time.”

  “Garret,” I breathed his name raggedly. “Please. I need—I can’t—”

  “I know, lass.”

  I cried out registering his fingers slide from me before I realized I was in the air, lifted by one arm around my waist, carrying me around to the front of the car.

  Stepping over the front wing, he grounded his feet on either side of the nose between the wing and control arms that held the front tire.

  I sucked in a quick breath, clinging to him and holding his fiery gaze as he lowered me down onto the car, laying me along the narr
ow nose with my upper back raised by the Aeroscreen and my legs draped to either side so my feet could support me.

  Making sure I was stable, Garret lifted himself slightly to grip at the end of his initial tear and, with a grunt, severed the rest of my dress in two. The red fabric spilled down over the sides of the car, leaving me lying naked on top of red silk like an erotic racing goddess.

  “Christ, lass, ye sure do know how ta make a man suffer just by breathin’,” he grumbled, standing up and yanking his shirt over his head, tossing it on the floor somewhere to the side of the car.

  Letting his eyes continue to feast over the sight of my naked body, sprawled over his creation, he reached for the waist of his pants.

  “Move yer feet onto the control arms,” he commanded, eyes flaring.

  Biting my lip, I smiled slightly at his grunt, before I complied, lifting one foot and bending my leg to rest it on the control arm that jutted out from the nose to support the wheel. Repeating the movement with my other leg, my ass scooted up to where the nose met the screen. I watched his eyes darken as the position spread me wide open for him, baring my slick, swollen sex to his gaze.

  His breaths grew labored and his arousal, growing even larger, pushed his pants down under its weight.

  Pain creased his features as he frantically freed his cock and rid himself of the rest of his clothes. Curling his fist around his erection, he stood in front of me, dragging his hand in long, tight strokes, as a drop of cum collected at the engorged and purple tip.

  My head tipped back as I dragged in a needed breath, realizing I never dreamt I’d ever be in—on a race car like this.

  I never dreamt about a lot of things before I met Garret.

  Bending over me, our breaths clashed in greeting before his mouth fused to mine. Instantly opening, I welcome his tongue inside as he rubbed his cock over my clit before wedging it at my entrance.

  “Hold on,” he growled into my mouth, and I reached for his shoulders just as he slammed inside me, his shout mingling with my cry.

  With my legs up and my core soaking, it felt like he drove all the way into my stomach. My tight, aching muscles spread wide by the width of him.