She got a text a few seconds later.
Schönes Fräulein, let’s get out of here.
Good idea, she texted back.
She raised her head, and their eyes met. He looked away quickly, pretending to be engrossed in what Reece was saying. Viv suppressed a giggle.
Where? she typed. She enjoyed watching his eyes flicker as the text came buzzing in.
Holiday in Wallonia he wrote back.
This time her giggle came out as a snort. Luckily the moderator had just said something funny, and everyone else was laughing, too.
Cleopatra Ballroom 5 min.
• • •
Adam was serious about a mini-holiday in Wallonia. He had a few days off the schedule because the gap between races this time was two weeks instead of one, and Germany to Belgium was a mere bunny hop in comparison to the stretches they’d traveled between the Middle East and the States, and the stretches they would soon be covering between Europe and Asia.
“We can do a tour, visit the estate where I grew up. It’s a guesthouse now, but it used to be a farm.”
She couldn’t hide her surprise. Mini-break? Where he grew up? Their relationship was leaping forward in light years. What did this mean? Ronan had never suggested a mini-break.
“Sounds wonderful,” she said, snuggling into him. And it did.
They took a train from Frankfurt am Main to Brussels Nord, as he had a sponsor meeting in Brussels. Ronan and Maddux wouldn’t have been seen dead in a train; they had to fly everywhere, first class or private jet.
“That’s because they’re not European,” he explained.
“Ronan’s British.”
“My point exactly.”
“I’m British.”
“Well, I’m working on Europeanizing you.” He gave her an ambiguous look over the rim of his café crème in the Speisewagen of the Deustche Bahn ICE train.
“Which entails what exactly?”
His eyebrows quirked. “A certain element of je ne sais quoi mixed in with je ne regrette rien.”
“Well, for your information, ma chérie, I got all that. Some I don’t know mixed in with I regret nothing. Why does it sound better in French? And don’t forget voulez vous couchez avec moi. Look, I know you’re taking the piss at my ballet-terms-only French.”
“I’m excited,” he said. “Qu'est-ce que je ferais sans toi?”
“What will I…?” she deciphered slowly. “No, what would I … do without you?” She smiled as it hit her. “That’s very romantic, Adam.”
“Not at all. It’s the truth.”
She warmed inside and reached for his fingers on the table. The remaining passengers in the café wagon left.
He slid out from his seat and came around the table to sit beside her. Without a word, his mouth slanted over hers, and his tongue darted into her mouth. She slid her hands up under the hem of his shirt and ran them along the hard planes of his back. His kiss was full of want, of greed, and something more. His fingers roamed under her blouse, touching all the parts he could reach, telling her she was as irresistible to him as he was to her.
His hand slid slowly under the hem of her dress, kneading the soft skin of her thigh with his fingers. Probing, teasing, while he watched her reaction.
Before she could think, he pulled back and held her hand to his lips, kissing it. She released a frustrated sigh. The ache he’d started deep inside of her was never going to be soothed with a kiss. But they were on a train so …
He looked speculatively toward the back door of the carriage. “You reckon there’s an empty compartment down there somewhere?”
“Maybe.” She shrugged. “What do you have in mind?”
“Let’s go.” He grabbed her hand, leading her out.
The first two compartments were totally free. Few people traveled in first class at this time of night. He opened the glass door and pulled her in, pushing her up against the window. Standing against him like this, her body molded into his, they started to move together to the rhythm of the train. Her skin prickled with awareness, and her insides sprang to life. Every nerve in her body welcomed him back in a way she couldn’t control. His hands mapped the lines of her breasts, her torso and her hips, and his erection prodded into her softness with every thump of the train.
His tongue continued in her mouth, and his hands sought her bare flesh until she squirmed with need. He reached down and pulled her leg up to his hip, sliding his hands under the hem of her dress. His hand was so close to where she needed it, she let out a whimper.
He grinned and licked along her bottom lip, teasing. She grasped his head tighter to tell him she wanted it, yes, even here in this train carriage. She didn’t care.
His chest rose and fell, and his eyes bored into her. “Try doing this on an airplane.”
“No,” She laughed. “I haven’t, and I wouldn’t.”
He cupped her ass and yanked her into his body, into his hard erection. “Not even with me?”
“Unless someday I fly first class with you.”
“How far are you willing to go on a high-speed train?”
“As far as you’re taking me, hotshot.” She sucked in her breath as he moved his hands up her midriff and stopped beside her breasts. Her body was perched on the edge of need; it responded the moment it got the touch it craved. His thumbs made contact with her nipples, which hardened instantly.
“Come, talk to me,” he said.
She leaned back and grasped a vertical rail, closing her eyes to allow the sensation to overwhelm her other senses with each gentle up and down stroke of his thumb. The rail was the only thing stopping her crumpling in a heap. Her head clouded, all witty comebacks obliterated in her brain.
He leaned in to suck her bottom lip and then pulled back to meet her gaze. “Come.” He sat down on a seat and patted his lap. “Sit down.”
With an uncertain glance out the compartment’s glass door, she hiked up her dress and placed her knees on either side of him, lowering her center over his lap.
A secretive expression flitted across his face, making her want to cradle his desire and to own it, control it, to devour him. With his dark eyes fixed on her, he inched the hem further up her thighs. Her lips parted in anticipation, and her eyes darted to the door.
“Stop watching the door,” he said. “We’ll hear if it opens. I’ll hear.” He squeezed her thigh. “You just relax and tell me what you want, because I want to feel you inside. His fingers brushed over her, sending a jolt of electricity to her sex.
“I—I—”
“I want to be inside of you, to feel you all around me, to hear that sound when you give it all up to me.”
She nodded wordlessly, and then he gave her what she needed, capturing her mouth with his, parting her lips and taking control over her every shiver of reaction. He pulled aside her damp underwear with his thumb and touched her clit. A wave of pleasure coursed through her, and her moan was smothered when he covered her mouth with hers. She panted out her desire in quick spurts.
While his mouth captured hers, his fingers parted her cleft and teased the skin there so that every part of her hummed with pent up need. Still caressing her, he slipped two fingers in, waited for her gasp of acceptance and pushed in deeper.
She groaned at the exquisite sensation, desperate for more. She flexed her hips, opening herself to him as far as possible. Her head lolled back.
“You’re so ready. I want you like this when I enter you.”
His words edged her closer to that cliff. His fingers thrilling her flesh made her forget they were on a train, speeding through Belgium’s flatlands. The risk of being caught like this only heightened her arousal. They wouldn’t be able to stop if the pope himself walked in.
His fingers worked up the stimulation her clit needed to send her soaring to the highest point, then the intense, deep wave of heat enveloped her, as her body disintegrated into a sparkling cloud dust of ecstasy.
He withdrew his fingers and pulled out a condom
from his back pocket, pulled down his zipper and positioned himself at her entrance. She took the condom from him. If there was one thing he couldn’t do, it was open a damn condom quickly enough. He flashed a tense, grateful smile. She smoothed the rubber onto his erect cock, and he then guided her hips so he had access to her entrance.
When the tip of his cock entered into her, her body threatened complete meltdown, of connectedness, of wanting him. It obliterated thinking; only sensations mattered.
She sank slowly onto him, feeling every solid inch of him as she maneuvered herself fully onto him. His voiceless growl and his fingers digging into her hips were all the response she needed. She leaned forward and covered his mouth with hers, grinding against him in time with the train.
His whole body tensed and she tightened around him in response, sliding up and down. With her tongue she coaxed his mouth open and demanded for him to take what he wanted, what he needed, because she sure as hell needed all of him.
Soon his body demanded to move in his own rhythm, a faster rhythm, faster than the rocking train. She watched his face, fascinated by how the cheek muscle tightened and the veins on his temples pulsed, a sure sign of imminent climax. He thickened inside of her, and her body exploded in warm pleasure again and she rocked against him. Gripping her hips , he held her in place as his orgasm let rip though his body. He slammed his head back against the wall of the carriage. He let out a moan that was swallowed up by the noise of the train.
She kept watching his face, the sweet release, the slackening of his chiseled jaw for just that brief moment, and the warmth and vagueness filling his eyes. He sat like that for some time, staring back. Then he gathered her to his chest for a sweet moment and kissed her lips softly.
“Qu'est-ce que je ferais sans toi?”
• • •
As they left the flatlands, driving south in a rental car from Brussels, the terrain started to change, becoming greener and hillier with every passing kilometer. The clouds broke up and allowed some of the high-June sunshine through. Instead of turning east at Liège for Spa-F they headed west toward Namur and their final destination, Rochefort.
He was letting her drive. This was definitely a first. Her F1 exes would rather have been buried alive than to allow that. At first, she worried that Adam would be a terrible passenger, but he seemed at ease and didn’t once comment on her driving. That was because she was an excellent driver. It was nice to be able to prove it for once.
The car was quiet for stretches of the journey. She didn’t know about him, but she was still reeling from that amazing sex on the train. She’d never be able to travel by rail again without thinking of that. She was still all fired up. At least the task of driving kept her attention off his body.
This mini-break was going to be heaven if it continued like it’d started. And she was flattered that he wanted to show her his old family home. Especially as he never talked of family. She knew no more now than she did before about his childhood in Belgium or of his youth and coming of age in Santa Ynez. Maybe this trip was his way of telling her something, without having to tell her?
His sister Saskia called frequently, but from his monosyllabic responses afterward, she knew not to go there. Given the chance, he tended to take those calls in another room or skip answering altogether. She had to give him time on that one. Why bring up contentious issues when they had so little time to talk at all?
“Where has this been all my life?” she asked, slowing the BMW down on the empty road to gaze at the hills with their dense green covering, villages huddling on meandering rivers with bridges. “I mean, I thought Spa-Francorchamps was picturesque enough, but this is … amazing.”
He reached out and rubbed the back of her neck with his strong fingers. He didn’t comment on her little swerve, but kept kneading those muscles so they were humming for joy.
“Where have you been all my life,” she moaned.
“Drive on, you haven’t seen the best part.”
The way the dull-colored houses hugged the roads so tightly, packed together in each narrow valley, lent the place a sense of community and an age long forgotten. With its low clouds, Belgium did bleakness in a way no other country managed, elevating it to a grim kind of beauty.
They arrived after an hour at Rochefort and Adam’s instructions came faster and faster as they departed the main road and trundled down country lanes.
They finally stopped at a large estate of rolling lawns and thickets of trees The gray stone house perched at the top of the low hill commanded a view over the surrounding countryside, which consisted of more and more of those forested hills. The more-distant trees appeared a shimmering gray-blue.
“That’s it, isn’t it?” she said in an awed voice. “That is where you were born and grew up?”
“Yes.”
“What is it now?”
“A guesthouse.”
“Will we stay there?”
“Nah. That would be weird, although the Bertrands who run it now are very pleasant.”
Didn’t he want to stroll memory lane on his mini-break?
They got out, and he took her hand in hand to walk the grounds.
“Was it a vineyard back then?”
“No.” Adam pulled her in and kissed her on the lips. “My mother … she was a diplomat in the EU Commission who transferred from the US State Department and specialized in American-European trade agreements. This place is almost equidistant from Brussels and Strasbourg, so it was perfect for her. The little fruit farm that my father maintained behind the house was just a hobby really. His job was to maintain the house and look after us kids. That’s where I learned to get up early—fruit picking.”
“So why did you all move to the States?”
“Well, even the Commission downsized. She lost her job. My father had always had a dream of running a winery. My mum’s from near Santa Ynez, and she had parental pressure to come back and I think she missed home. So, they upped and left when I was fourteen and bought a small vineyard with the money they got by selling off this place.”
“That must have been quite an adventure for you kids.” Viv stroked his hands with her thumb as they walked. She couldn’t help feeling she was in interview mode, but she desperately wanted to know. “I mean, you were in the middle of secondary school at that stage.”
“I hated it. I had to leave my car here. My karting club.”
“And your friends …?”
“There weren’t many.
She squeezed his hand. He didn’t look at her. What kind of fourteen-year-old missed a car more than his friends? Come to think of it, what kind of fourteen-year-old even had a car, not to mention one that he’d built himself?
“I spent all my free time with … my brother.” His expression hardened.
“Eddie,” she said in a low tone.
“Yes.” He was crushing her hand and no doubt didn’t realize he was doing it.
“Come on,” he said. “We should get to our guesthouse so we can relax in peace and quiet for once.”
“I like the sound of that.”
• • •
It didn’t take them long to find themselves lying together on the white-linen-covered bed, from where they had a view of a country garden in early summer bloom.
“It’s nice to have some privacy.” Viv was hungry for him. Before he could make a move, she slid her hand up inside his T-shirt and trailed her palm down his hard chest, relishing the sensation of hard muscle and hair across the taut pectorals. Her insides melted; he was an addiction, and she was getting her fix.
Adam’s hand curled around the back of her neck and brought her mouth to meet his. All her pent up frustration, which had built up since the train, exploded within her. He slid his tongue into her mouth, stroking her own and then teasing her teeth and lips. Of all things French, the kissing was the best part.
His fingers moved to her breast, and she gasped as more parts of her body stared to fire up. She inched forward to get more of hi
m, and his other hand held her in place, cradling her shoulder blades in his long, tough fingers. She pressed into him, rocking against him to get closer.
Now his kisses were fierce and hungry, his mouth moving over her jaw and neck. He gently pushed her back.
She lay back on the cool linen, and he undid her jeans and cast them away. He undressed and slid back onto the bed beside her, leaning on his elbow. He let his gaze drift over her body, naked from the waist down. His hand traced her stomach, teasing her in a slow circle around her navel. Then he moved down.
“Every part of you is exquisite,” he said softly, moving down to stroke her sex in languorous sweeps, leaving a trail of fire in their wake. “I don’t know where to go next.” She had no answer for him. Her brain had frozen up, and the only message coming out was … don’t stop.
But his fingers knew where they were going. She panted as they entered her, driving her mad. He studied her face as she gave in to pleasurable moaning. Her desire for him was unceasing, primal.
A groan escaped from deep in his throat. He seemed to get as much pleasure from giving as receiving, especially when he’d found some new way to make her lose her head. As he was doing now, kneading some spot inside.
“I want you ... now,” she managed to press out.
His fingers eased out, and he grasped her by the hips and turned them both around so he was on the bottom, holding her crushed into the length of his entire body.
“Then take me,” he said, smoothing his hands over her buttocks.
Her hands slid down his biceps, enjoying how her weight could restrain him, or at least pretend to.
“With your T-shirt still on, I can’t see anything,” he complained when she sat up to roll on a condom. “Come on, off with it, we’re not on a train.”
High Octane Page 51