by M. Never
“Not a goddamn thing.” He drags me toward the closed French doors before enthusiastically bursting through them. “We’re getting married!” he announces to the whole room. I want to die right on the spot. Cameras flash and people clap as we work our way through the crowd.
I’m a walking ball of embarrassment from all the attention. It doesn’t affect Reese in the least bit.
He steals a bottle of champagne from the bar as we leave. I know, right here and now, my life is about to take a hard turn, and the only thing I can do is gather all my courage and slide through.
I fight for first during the last lap of qualifying, pushing the electronic engine and myself past the breaking point.
What does it take to compete on a world-class level? To be one of the elite? You have to trust yourself and your bike, because when you roll onto that track, it’s just the two of you going to war. How do you survive? Break late, dominate the corner, hit the apex, and stay on the motherfucking machine.
Last, but not least, never stop fighting.
Ever.
I fly up on the rookie who thinks he’s hot shit. Using the low-pressure wake from his Aprilia to reduce the aerodynamic resistance, I take full advantage of the slipstream and twist it full throttle, slingshotting myself right into the lead. Poor kid never saw me coming. Manipulating turbulent flow is my signature move. It’s how I acquired the nickname Phantom and why I wield the biggest, baddest engine on the block.
I open it up down the straight, tucked in as tightly as possible behind the windscreen. I whip through the tunnel of air, topping out at over two hundred miles per hour.
I careen across the finish line with a top-notch time, securing myself second in tomorrow’s start.
Pumped, I return to the pit-box to drop my bike. I dismount the worked Yamaha, unexpectedly drained. In a flash, I become lightheaded as my body burns up. Seconds ago, I was on top of the world—now, it feels like it’s trying to swallow me alive. I strenuously rip off my leathers as I trudge to the back of the makeshift promo room, looking for my black leather backpack, the one I never go anywhere without. I find it in the corner right where I left it. Scooping it up I retreat to the bathroom, my vision blurry and breathing labored. I lock myself inside, then drop to my knees, frantically rummaging through the bag until I find the small slice in the interior lining. I pull the bottle of pills from their hiding place and pop the top with shaky fingers, urgently swallowing down two little blue circles. I suck in air as I crawl to the sink, splashing cold water on my pale, sweaty face, before I collapse to the ground. My naked torso absorbing the cold from the concrete.
I lay there until the dizzy spell passes, vacantly staring at the ceiling thinking about Kayla. I’m supposed to be on my way back to the hotel, not deteriorating on the dirty floor of a bathroom garage. We have dinner plans at the most romantic restaurant in Le Mans. A pre-celebration before our wedding tomorrow morning. With my grueling schedule, we had to accommodate where we could. I booked the most beautiful suite I could find, with a view of the city that’s to die for. We’ll exchange our vows on the balcony at sunrise. Provided, I live that long. The vertigo takes its time to pass, and when I’m finally able to, I pull my limp body off the ground. I splash some more water on my face, stopping to stare at my sunken eyes in the mirror. It’s getting worse. Just like Dev said it would if I kept pushing my body—which I have for years. I’m getting tired more often and losing momentum when I need it most. That’s a dangerous thing for a man whose career is contingent on death-defying speeds.
There’s also Kayla. She’s what’s keeping me going, keeping me sane. Keeping me focused. She changed everything. Gave me clarity, introduced prospective.
I’m going to disappoint her. It’s inevitable. It’s so wrong to keep her in the dark. My conscience is eating both my secrets and me alive. But she’s the last thing I have to live for. She’s my future. Before her, I couldn’t care less if I lived or died. There was nothing beyond racing. But now, there’s possibility as far as the eye can see.
I’m going to marry her. I’m going to give her everything, and I’m going to fight heaven and hell for every possible second together.
I enter the hotel room over an hour late. Kayla is already dressed, waiting for me.
“Jesus!” She rushes across the carpeted floor as I slink into the bedroom and crumple onto the bed. “You look like shit.”
I laugh on my back with my eyes closed.
“Nice to see you too, baby.”
“Reese, I’m serious. You’re as pale as a ghost.”
“Rough day at the office.” I pop my weary eyes open. “Would you be hugely disappointed if we skipped dinner tonight? I’ll make it up to you, I promise. I just want to be on top of my game on all fronts tomorrow.” I wink, fatigued.
“Of course.” The worry in Kayla’s eyes kills me. She’s seen me exhausted before; the physical demands and challenging race environments take their toll, but I’ve never been this bad. I want to tell her everything, but the thought of losing her buries me alive. I’d never survive it. So I keep the underlying reason to myself and let her believe it was just another grueling day on the track.
“Is there anything you need?” she asks, overly concerned.
“Just a bottle of water and you, next to me, naked.” She looks gorgeous with her makeup done and hair pinned back, so different from the hometown girl who fled rural Maryland with me. This high-style, fast-paced life suits her. Better than I expected it would.
My lies corrode me and guilt consumes me as she gazes down lovingly—and worriedly.
She deserves to know, but I can’t bring myself to tell her. Not yet. Not when we are so close to having it all.
“Take your clothes off,” I murmur. “I want to watch, and then I want to feel you.”
With reluctance, Kayla does as I ask, shedding her tight little miniskirt and flowy black top. “Underwear too.”
“I was getting there.” She smirks lasciviously, unsnapping her bra and dropping it on the chair behind her. Her brightly-colored butterfly tattoo flashes in my face as she removes her lace panties next. My chest squeezes with shame as the most infatuating, beautiful, passionate woman climbs into bed next to me. She helps me strip down then molds her naked form to mine, the warmth of our skin conjoining as I trap her against my chest.
This is when I’m truly invincible. Truly a god.
When the love of a strong woman becomes the dark magic coursing through my veins.
When that magic reminds me there’s a reason to live.
Reese has the ability to worry me out of my effing mind.
It’s four thirty in the morning. Reese is still asleep, and I’m in the gym running the frustration out. Besides my future husband’s death-dealing career path, I can’t ignore the fact something’s wrong. With him. He gets tired more easily than all the other racers. Granted, he’s older, but he’s in tiptop physical condition. Last night, he looked like death, walking in with pale skin and bags under his eyes. No matter how many times I ask, he denies anything is wrong, simply blaming his condition on the nature of the job. Maybe it is. Maybe that’s the toll of pushing your body and your mind to intergalactic limits.
The alarm beeps on my phone, alerting me it’s show time. In two short hours, I’m going to become Mrs. Reese Dane. Holy shit. I stop the treadmill and wipe the sweat from my face. The run ramped up my endorphins, and I feel good. Ready.
The suite is dark when I return; Reese still sound asleep under the covers. Le Mans is just as spectacular as he described. It’s an ancient city with a rich history nestled on the shore of the Sarthe River. Reese had a vision, and he’s executing it perfectly.
I take a quick shower before the stylist shows up. I want to look perfect, and in order for that to happen, I need a professional.
Before I know it, things are in motion. Reese is awake, and I’m confined to the bathroom with a freckled vixen curling my hair and applying fake eyelashes. We’re having a simple cerem
ony. It’s just Reese, me, and an American minister we happened to stumble upon, here in France on a mission.
I didn’t have time to go fancy, but I did manage to find a simple white slip dress with a plunging neckline that I love. For some added elegance, I found a rhinestone headband and matching pair of heels. It’s not the princess ensemble I once dreamed of, but it’s perfect for my wedding day. Life is funny. It doesn’t always turn out the way you envision it, but the difference in the details doesn’t make the moment any less significant.
“Kayla?” Reese knocks on the door. “The minister is here. It’s almost time.”
Butterflies flap riotously in my stomach. The stylist, Mara, must sense my unease, because she extends an encouraging smile before she exits the bathroom. I take one last look at myself. Hair and makeup perfectly in place. Dress smooth, nerves frazzled. Yup. All systems go.
I walk out into the bedroom where a restless Reese is waiting. He’s outfitted in a white dress shirt and tan slacks, looking like a badass prince whose coat of arms is a Terminator tattoo and two wheels.
“Wow.” His eyes widen. “Wow.” It’s as if he’s seeing me for the first time. I smile coquettishly. “You look . . .” Words elude him. Mission accomplished.
“I’m glad you approve.”
“I’m the luckiest man on earth.” He kisses my cheek and takes my hand. “Ready? The minister is waiting.”
I nod, ready as I’ll ever be.
Reese leads me out to the balcony where a gray-haired man dressed in black awaits. His smile is so warm and inviting, it puts my nerves immediately at ease.
Reese hired one of the team photographers to take pictures, so there’s a soft shutter sound snapping as we take our place.
“Good morning!” the minister boasts cheerfully. His name is Robert, and he’s originally from Arizona. Reese and I were elated when we met him, instantly agreeing he would be the perfect person to marry us.
“Good morning,” we both respond in the early morning twilight, the sun just starting to crack over the horizon.
“Please face each other and join hands.” We follow his directions. “Kayla and Reese, I am honored to officiate on this sacred day. Just as the Lord gives light to the world, you give light to each other. Through your love. Your commitment. The union of souls is a sacred sacrament. It’s a promise, a pledge to walk side by side in moments of triumph, and moments of failure, to lift each other in love, life, and spirit. That is why you are standing here today, to forge a bond and express your intentions to the world. It’s a brave and beautiful commitment not meant to be entered into lightly. The vows you take this morning cannot be broken with impunity. Your connection is as strong as the thread that sews you together. What is the material made of? String? Wire? Steel? Only the two of you can decide.” Robert places one of his hands over ours. I sneak a glance at Reese to find him staring blatantly at me, a look of pure elation on his ruggedly-handsome face.
“Rings?”
Reese reaches into his pocket and pulls out two bands, one made of pavé diamonds, the other black titanium. The minister takes both, handing me Reese’s first. I swallow hard.
“Kayla Kincade, do you take Reese Dane to be your lawfully wedded husband? Do you promise to be true to him in good times and in bad, in sickness and in health? To love him and honor him all the days of your life?”
Nervously, I say, “I do.”
Robert nods gleefully. “Repeat after me. With this ring, I thee wed.”
Softly, awash with emotion, while the sun rises, illuminating the gothic buildings and sparkling river, I repeat, “With this ring, I thee wed.”
As I slip the ring onto Reese’s finger, an image of Dev flickers through my mind, causing a momentary relapse of sadness. I may be committing myself to Reese, but a small part of me will always irrefutably love Dev.
“Reese Dane, do you take Kayla Kincade to be your lawfully wedded wife? Do you promise to be true to her in good times and in bad, in sickness and in health? To love her and honor her all the days of your life?”
Without fear or hesitation, Reese replies, “I do.”
I smile tearfully as Reese recites, “With this ring, I thee wed.”
No moment in my life has been more perfect. Once my wedding ring is securely around my finger, I’m whole.
“I am ecstatic to announce, for the first time ever, Mr. and Mrs. Reese Dane. You may kiss your bride.”
Reese doesn’t waste a second pulling me into his arms and kissing me rapturously. The embrace is so hot, I’m positive the minister is blushing.
“You’re finally all mine,” he whispers between flicks of his tongue.
“Yes, I am,” I avow.
After the ceremony, we take an abundance of pictures on the balcony, the city backdrop the main attraction.
By eight-thirty, the festivities have ended, leaving just a few short hours before race time and back to business as usual. It was a magical morning, and I’m sad it ended so soon.
“Hey.” Reese presses me against the window beside the balcony.
“Hey, yourself.” I slide my hands up over the front of his chest.
“I’m not through with you yet,” he informs me.
“You need to go get ready.”
“What I need is for us to consummate our marriage. You may have put this dress on, but I’m the one who’s supposed to take it off.” Reese bunches a fistful of the shiny material at my thigh. I don’t protest—I share his desire.
Greedily, he pulls my dress up and over my head, exposing my white satin thong and matching strapless bra. He drinks me in reverently as he slowly sinks to his knees regarding me as if I really were a virginal bride. My breathing quickens as he kisses his way across my stomach, worshiping every inch as he leisurely and steadily moves his mouth down to the apex of my thighs. “I love your body.” I push myself against the glass as he savors me over the silk of my thong. Pressing his face firmly against my damp pussy, he inhales my scent sharply, running the tip of his nose over the smooth material. I tangle my fingers in his dark hair as he ups the ante, throwing one leg over his shoulder before sliding the scrap of silk over to the side. Indulgently, Reese spreads my folds, reveling in what he’s truly after, my tingling pink flesh. He flattens his tongue against my overexposed clit, stealing a gluttonous taste. I nearly buckle as he works his mouth, taking slow pleasure in circling his tongue around the prickly bundle of nerves my clit has become. He strokes and skims and explores my slit painstakingly until I’m moaning insufferably and soaking fucking wet.
“Reese, please,” I pant as I slide down the glass, the strength in my legs depleting. In response to my desperate plea, he sucks on my clit one last excruciating time before he releases it and then rises. I watch, a heaving mess as he punctiliously unbuttons his shirt, and then his pants, revealing the tattooed god underneath. He’s as heart-stopping as a gunshot.
There’s no disinclination as he lifts me off the ground and secures my back against the window. Wrapping my legs around his waist, he immerses his cock straight into my sopping entrance. The contact is heavenly and just what I need. Yearn for. This man, inside me, for the rest of our lives.
With his fingertips stabbing into my ass, we find an earth-shattering rhythm and the soul-searing connection Reese was after. We never break eye contact, as together we dash to the pinnacle. The ache between my legs intensifying ten times over, demanding only Reese.
“That’s it, baby, let go.” I screw my eyes shut and press my forehead to his, with an impenetrable grasp on his face. “Let go and let your husband watch you come.”
The sobering effect of his statement forces my eyes to spring open. The severity hitting me like a wrecking ball. My husband. We lock gazes once again, the two of us possessed by pleasure. Our climaxes collide like a car crash, and I just can’t seem to get enough. I want him harder, deeper, faster, force feeding me every inch of his swelling cock until I bruise. Until it’s only him I feel lingering inside me.
&nb
sp; I scream and thrash brazenly in Reese’s arms as I spiral out of control. Spinning and spinning until I finally hit a wall.
I come around, still pinned against the window with Reese breathing forcefully, floating back down from his own high.
“Shit, baby.” His words are muffled. “Shit.” His buries his face deeper into the curve of my neck. Our chests expanding and contracting avidly.
“I’m going to give you the whole world, Kayla,” he vows.
I cling to him, fastening my arms around his neck. “I don’t need the whole world, Reese. I just need you.”
Race days are insane. Just sayin’. The crowds that flock to these events are diehard. I’ve never experienced anything like it. The energy is electric and the fans’ enthusiasm is off the charts.
I peek out the window of Reese’s motorhome parked in the paddock, fiddling nervously with my heartbeat necklace. News of our nuptials traveled around the world faster than we consummated our marriage, thanks to Reese’s sole Instagram post. A barrage of people is outside just waiting to get a glimpse of me and their beloved champion. But the pressure of the newfound spotlight pales in comparison to my worry for Reese. Race days never get easier. This is my third, and although Reese looks worlds better than he did last night, my anxiety hasn’t abated. Every time he rolls onto that track, he places his life in danger. He pushes his body and his luck. I knew what I was getting into when I said ‘I do,’ but for forty minutes and eighteen laps, I become a devout disciple of God.
I catch Reese zipping up his colorful leathers adorned with sponsor logos. He’s a wicked mix of fighter pilot and walking billboard, wearing nothing but a pair of boxer briefs underneath. By the end of a race, he’s drenched in sweat and literally peeling the graffitied kangaroo hide from his skin. The soft, thin material doesn’t feel like much, but he assures me it provides more protection than it lets on.
I can only take his word for it.
“How are you feeling?” I ask as he stretches in the small space.