Racer

by Katy Evans

  I open and there stands Racer, in black slacks and a white button-down, cuffs rolled up, a small platinum chain I had never seen before glistening on his exposed collarbone. Ugh I can’t take this man. Every time I see him I want to climb him like a tree and wrap my legs around him like vines. I don’t know whether to cuddle him or let him fuck the shit out of me because the look he has on right now tells me he’s thinking of just that.

  His eyes look primal as he stares at my belly, then my breasts, then down to my legs, and up at my face again. I see his hands fist and unfist at his sides and his jaw tick.

  “Fuck, are you trying to kill me,” he growls.

  I smile and do a little twirl, just to rile him up, and I don’t know what happened to me but when I put on this dress and saw him looking so delectable I decided to throw all caution to the wind.

  He’s all I want.

  Tonight’s my night off. And so is his.

  He comes toward me and wraps his hand around my neck, blue eyes staring intensely at me before dropping down to my chest. He places a kiss right at my cleavage and rubs his nose back and forth, before licking a small path from my cleavage up my neck, and jaw, to my lips.

  “Let’s go,” he murmurs.

  We get to Jay’s London apartment and the drivers are already there, mingling and drinking with their dates of the night. Some of these women are over six feet tall and dressed in the latest European fashions. Some of the drivers came solo but most of them came with girls in tow.

  The moment Jay opens the door, I hear the boys basically clamor to come greet the man I’m standing next to.

  “Racer, man, looking good!” They slap him welcome, and Racer tugs me next to him with his hand on mine.

  The drivers are trying to shake his hand all at the same time, so I pry my hand free, noticing him frown down at me as Jay leads him in, patting him on the back. “What’s your poison, Tate? Vodka, tequila, whiskey? You look like a whiskey man, let me pour you some …” He trails off and comes back carrying two glasses filled with an amber-colored liquid.

  “Nah I don’t drink.”

  “Oh, shit, seriously man? Well I mean we have other things to make this night special …”

  Oh, shit, really? What are they going to bring him? Girls?

  Feeling out of place, because I’ve never really spent any time with the drivers—I suppose partying hard isn’t my thing, and I’ve never been interested in one (until now)—I start making my way to the bathroom and turn back to see Racer caged in by some of the drivers introducing their dates and also pushing for him to have a little drink.

  I turn away and get to the bathroom, closing the door behind me and putting my hands on the sink, ducking my head between.

  I don’t know why coming here tonight with Racer has me feeling like a charged ball of nerves.

  I hear the door open next to me and I turn to tell whoever it is to get the fuck out but I see Racer come in. My mouth stops moving and then snaps shut.

  “Racer, I would like a little privacy if that’s okay with—”

  I gasp as he shuts me up with his mouth crashing down on mine. He kisses me out of my mind, until all thoughts and nervousness go silent. He starts making out with me, lifting me by the ass to the edge of the sink and wrapping my legs around him so that he’s nestled right between my legs. I can feel him, hard as steel, through his trousers and I moan into his mouth, bringing him closer to me, wrapping my arms around his neck and nestling my fingers into the hair at the back of his neck.

  He kisses down my jaw and I thrum head to toe.

  “Aren’t we just the epitome of teenage lust right now,” I murmur as my lungs struggle to work.

  “We’re not teenagers and this isn’t lust, baby,” he murmurs back, digging his hands into my ass to bring me closer to him as his mouth works along my jaw and neck.

  I hear Redbone by Childish Gambino play in the background, the low pounding melody pulling all my control along with it, and the sultry vocals making me arch my back as I let myself be in the moment. Carried along with it.

  His mouth comes back to mine and starts to open mine slowly.

  He’s enjoying every second of this, making every kiss feel like the best kiss I’ve ever received until the next one comes, even better than the last.

  There’s a knock on the door. “Hey! I need to pee,” I hear someone call from outside.

  I struggle to catch my breath as Racer eases back and looks at me wolfishly.

  He shakes his head no and starts to slide his hands up my dress, his thumbs caressing my inner thighs.

  Fuck, he just made it so much harder for me to want to get out of this room …

  I open my legs a little more for him and kiss him harder.

  “We didn’t finish last night. I was going to flood your insides with me,” he smirks, his eyes brilliant.

  “I … that makes me a little nervous,” And so hot. “But …”

  He strokes his thumb down my cheek, and I sense him more intense than usual, his eyes blue but a little darker shade of blue, his smile cocky, territorial, possessive, as he leans down to lick me.

  “As much as I want to do that,” he murmurs, seizing the back of my neck to kiss me deeply again and again. “I’m going to wait until you reciprocate before I do.”

  Lana

  The touches don’t stop.

  (Lucky meeee.)

  Racer looks at me intensely, making me feel as if I’m his. We just reached Belgium. Racer has been relentless these past races—London, Hungary. We are seven races away from the final, in Abu Dhabi, and holding P2 in the points championship.

  He sends me well kissed to my room every night. I’m a ball of wanting and lust and love—he’s breaking me down and I know it.

  “You look different, Lainie. Very … refreshed.”

  “Thank you, Daddy.”

  “There’s that twinkle in your eye and glow to your cheeks.”

  He’s staring at me with a smile.

  “Daddy, come on,” I say, taking a seat as I place our healthy yogurt and granola breakfasts before us.

  I love Belgium. The track here—the Circuit de Spa-Francorchamps—is the most beautiful I’ve ever seen. Amidst rolling hills and a world of green trees, it’s also the most challenging track because of its twisted curves and up/down inclines.

  “You’re in love,” he says. He looks childlike. Laughing.

  “Dad,” I say, frowning as I open my yogurt. But my cheeks feel hot.

  “You’re in love, Lainie.” He reaches out and pats my cheek. “Real love.”

  “Why do you say that?” I ask.

  “I have a pair of eyes. And … a father’s intuition.”

  I flush, scooping yogurt and eating granola as I scan the people around the hotel coffee shop to distract myself. My dad is looking at me all this time.

  “See, from the moment that boy walked into my hotel room in Australia, I could feel the charge between you two.”

  “Dad!” I say, laughing and frowning as I open his yogurt. “Come on, eat.”

  “He feels the same,” he says, as if he’s assuring me as he takes a spoonful.

  “Is that your dad intuition? Are you his father too?”

  He chuckles and licks yogurt off his spoon, pointing at me with that boyish look on his face. “Male intuition. Quite powerful. Plus that boy doesn’t even try to be subtle about it. Hell, he’ll stare even when your brothers throw him a thousand dragons’ fires with their eyes.”

  I laugh, then I just stare at my dad, craving for him to tell me more.

  “He’s a good kid. A bit of a handful, but you survived your dad and three brothers, so I think you can handle yourself,” he says.

  “I’m afraid,” I whisper.

  “Why?”

  Silence. I just can’t put into words the way it hurts to even be apart from him. The way I crave everything about him, adore everything about him.

  “Of getting hurt?” he asks me, peering into my face.
r />   I nod.

  “Don’t think that way. If I’d been afraid to open our team because we’d lose, I’d be on a couch somewhere, slowly dying.”

  “Daddy, don’t talk like that.”

  “It’s true. These past months, I’ve lived more than I had in years with your mom.”

  “But see, Daddy … You got hurt. You two thought you’d be together forever.”

  “We all get hurt. The question is: Who do you love enough, trust enough, and want enough to give the power to hurt you?”

  He looks out at the streets and aims his gaze in the direction of the track.

  “You race a car, you can die in an instant. And yet there they are. When you love it enough, it’s worth it.”

  “We really had to talk about it in car terms, didn’t we.” I sigh.

  He laughs, and I take his hand. “You look well.”

  “I’m doing okay.” His eyes shutter as if he doesn’t want to tell me something, and my stomach tightens a little. But he smiles next and starts eating his yogurt, and I relax and eat mine, marveling how well my father knows me …

  Also marveling that I can feel this light, this happy, this blissful in my life. I cannot get enough of Racer, of being near him, talking to him, teasing him, looking at him, touching him, kissing him.

  Racer appears, and the sight of him in a grey hoodie and comfortable track pants as he walks the line for coffee makes me drool. His hair looks a little spiky today, damp from a recent bath and black as midnight. My knees feel mushy as I hop to my feet and approach him, aware of a pair of girls seated at the far end ogling him from afar and frantically snapping pictures of him.

  “Hey,” I greet, a familiar warmth sweeping over me as his eyes flick down to me. “I’ll get your coffee, you go sit with my dad.”

  He glances at my dad, then at me, and it feels as if there’s something so hot inside of him that his eyes look like pools of tender heat. “Lana. I want to talk to your dad, formally date you.”

  My eyes go wide.

  His eyes sparkle with devilish playfulness as I open my mouth, but I can’t say a thing.

  A wave of giddiness washes over me, but I wave it off as I wave off his comment.

  “He’ll likely say no anyway, so don’t make any dinner reservations.”

  I say this mostly teasingly but Racer teases me right back, leaning forward enough that I quickly sense the girls in the restaurant shooting jealous glances my way.

  “Get a sexy outfit ready, I mean to take you out—repeatedly.” He allows me a glimpse of his dimple before he heads off to order his coffee, and I head back to my dad, feeling frustrated that he won’t let me take care of him like all the men in my life do.

  “G’morning, Mr. Heyworth,” Racer greets minutes later in his low, deep voice as he joins us at the table. I shove a spoonful of yogurt into my mouth to try to hide the way I’m blushing.

  “Well, no rain in the forecast …” my dad begins, because the weather is always such a huge part of a racing weekend. “You glad for that?”

  “Wet or dry, I can handle my ride,” Racer answers.

  Gosh, I must have sex on the brain because I choke a little and both men glance at me in concern—but then Racer’s gaze seems to shift as he realizes what I must be thinking. And that damn dimpled smile appears as, beneath the table, he reaches out and gives my thigh one tight little squeeze.

  I can barely keep my heart from stumbling on every damn beat as they keep talking race cars, and I keep waiting for that look, that stolen touch, that dimple, those eyes, this man.

  Racer

  “So you, Racer Tate, my number one, want to date my daughter?”

  I watch Lana’s father across the desk in his hotel room as he deliberates on what I just asked him. “Yes, sir.”

  “Seems to me you were already dating her?”

  “I want to do it with your permission.”

  I drum my fingers on my thighs. This is fucking important. There’s sweat on my damn neck and I don’t think I ever expected to be right where I am—sitting here, asking for a father to let me date his daughter. He’s my boss, a man I work with and fucking respect. Lana is also crazy about him. So I sit in this damn chair, because when I asked for a word with him this morning, and Lana’s father told me to sit down if I wanted to chat, I parked my ass down and it’s damned well staying here until I get what I want.

  “You have my permission,” her father agrees, watching me closely. “On the condition you vow that you won’t lose focus, Tate. What you’ve been doing this year …” He trails off, shaking his head in bewilderment as he motions to me with both hands. “I have never, in my wildest dreams, imagined HW Racing would come this far. I owe that to you—that drive of yours, something I’ve never seen in my lifetime. Even with past champions.”

  “Thank you, sir. I owe the opportunity to you and Lana.” I nod, still drumming my fingers.

  Heyworth glances at my hands. I stand up and brace my feet apart and cross my arms, trying to steady myself. I hold eye contact, my voice determined. “I care about your daughter as much as I do about the championship, and I won’t fail you in either case.”

  “Good.” He stands too and comes around the desk to look at me.

  “My daughter …” His expression softens, and his voice changes. “If I ever thought that you’d hurt her, Tate, I would see to it that you never set eyes on her again. Even if I had to sacrifice my team in the process,” he warns.

  “I understand, sir.”

  “I’ve never seen her this happy. Never. Even before you came along,” he adds, slapping me on the back.

  My chest swells like he just blew all the air in the planet into my lungs.

  Fuck me.

  I make her happy.

  “Thank you, sir.” I nod and Heyworth grabs his room key and his sponsors cap. “Okay then. Now back to business. We have a race to catch. Let’s get this show on the road.”

  He doesn’t need to tell me twice.

  We cross the hotel lobby. Lana waits for us by the car, speaking on the phone—maybe future hotel reservations, or plane tickets, or lunch.

  My damn brain gets away from me.

  She’s standing in the middle of the parking lot. In the skimpiest little shorts I’ve ever seen on a girl. I can see her breasts under her T-shirt; her ass perfectly hugged by those shorts; her lovely toned legs exposed; her hair up in a ponytail. She speaks on the phone and her lips are moving, but her eyes—yeah, those beauties are on me.

  I keep walking. My damn heart kicks faster and harder into my ribs. My hands clench as my mind keeps running away from me.

  And it really gets away from me.

  I see her in my place at St. Pete. I see her with my kids, our kids. I see her in bed every morning. I see her sleeping in my arms, every damn night. I see her driving my car, laughing because I can’t stop giving her instructions on how to shift gears right. I see her and cannot stop seeing her. I see her smiling, laughing, her lips shaping my name as I feed her everything in me and of me and about fucking me.

  I exhale and shove my hands into my jeans as we reach her. Hell I’m trying to get a grip of my damn dick which responded to all that, which knows shit about manners considering her dad is next to me.

  “Good morning, boys!” she greets us.

  “Morning,” her dad says with a smile, kissing her cheek.

  She glances up at me next. Her smile even more fucking extraordinary than the last. Every muscle in my body engages. Every fiber of my body and synapse in my brain fires the hell up with her near.

  I nod at her in a good morning and head up to open her car door, taking the keys her father extends out to me as he takes the passenger seat.

  She slides in and brushes my hand with hers as she does, and my hands itch to touch her so much that I shut the door and clench them in fists as I come around to take the wheel and take us to the track.

  Once we arrive the guys are working on the cars, and I watch Lana disappear into the
motorhome, giving me a look. I follow after her.

  Lana

  “What did my dad say,” I ask the man who’s taken over my every thought as I hear him come in behind me.

  “You’re mine,” he whispers, pressing in behind me, his hands all over me all of a sudden.

  The vibrations coming from his low, manly groans are transferred over to me through his hot mouth. They make me tingle all over. His fingers start to play with the low hem of my shorts and I feel his erection through his racing suit. I almost laugh against his mouth because those suits are made of thick stuff. But apparently he’s made of thicker stuff …

  I tilt my head back and feel my eyes roll towards the back of my skull as he lazily starts to suck the side of my neck.

  “You better not give me a hickey,” I breathe. As if he would ever listen.

  “Hmm, really? That makes me more determined to give you one,” he murmurs mischievously.

  He’s been so cocky. So territorial. So … hot for me.

  I feel his hand up my shorts, and his fingers start to rub my lips against my panties. My breath catches in my throat. I feel my panties getting soaked and his satisfied male groan tells me he likes my body’s reaction to his touch. He reaches up to tear my tee over my head and my shorts off my body so that I’m standing naked in front of him except for my thong. Which he immediately takes care of, ripping the fabric and tossing it to the side as he pushes my legs apart.

  “Racer,” I breathe, burying my face in his neck, feeling exposed.

  He kisses the top of my head and leans back a bit, boosting me up on his arms and carrying me to the small office in the back of the motorhome.

  “Shh baby, let me see,” he croons as he sets me down on the desk and shuts the door behind us.

  I’m so wet I think I’m going to leave a wet mark on the desk. I tell Racer this and he curses, “Fuck that’s hot, baby.”

  We’re in the motorhome at the track.

  And funny thing is, Racer seems to think this is his own personal home at the track.

  He immediately pushes the team’s laptop to the side of the desk, leaving the desktop empty except for a small lamp, and me.