Racer (Real Book 7)
Racer: Chapter 17

Lana

I’m going to his room.

It’s a big deal, but I’m telling myself it’s not.

I’m downplaying it.

Because I don’t dare admit to myself that I want what I want.

I’m not in Florida anymore.

My family is in this hotel, just like his was.

We could bump into them.

But Daddy is asleep after dinner. And my brothers just stepped off on their floor. They’re too high on the win to think of anything else.

So am I.

Higher than high.

I think Racer Tate is higher than high from it too.

The air around us crackles and burns as we step off on our floor. I tell myself I’ll just kiss him for five minutes. One goodnight kiss just because I’m on cloud nine and I need to get down from there. But being with him doesn’t get me down.

Quite the opposite.

And yet here I am, a little bit like a junkie who cannot save herself, no matter what. All because he said he wanted to be alone with me tonight … and because I want that too.

Have wanted that since St. Petersburg—

A shiver of anticipation runs through me as he slides the key into the slot and holds the door open, and I know I really shouldn’t be here, but at the same time I cannot turn back. Something happened, something is happening—every second we look at each other, every breath he and I take.

I walk inside.

He narrows his eyes and looks at me. He towers over me, his hair a little rumpled from the breeze out on the track, and he runs his hand over it as I look at him questioningly.

“I want you. I’m not going to lie. I want you in that bed with me tonight.”

I swallow thickly, laughing and shaking my head.

He laughs too and reaches out, pulling me closer. “You’re not going to spend the night with me, Lana?”

“No,” I breathe as I lean on the shut door. “I just wanted to spend some time with you.”

His eyes darken, and he exhales a sound of frustration. “Go out on a drive with me.”

“Where?”

He touches my cheek, and my reaction is so visceral, so strong, that I arch and moan softly, pressing closer as I whisper his name.

And in that name is the real reason that I’m here.

And in that name is all the pent-up feelings I’ve tried to lock away ever since that night in St. Petersburg where I brought him with me to my hotel.

And then Racer is scraping his thumb along my lip as if he means to destroy it. He scrapes his thumb along my mouth, side to side. And Racer is leaning his dark head. And Racer is pressing his lips to mine as if I’m the petal of a rose and any brush of wind would break it off.

I lose all semblance of control and rationale. I don’t know what’s going on, all I know is suddenly my hands are curving along the back of his neck, and my whole body is trembling beneath the sensual, seductive, barely there graze of his lips.

He eases back to look at me with blue, blue eyes fringed with dark lashes, half-mast over his sleepy-looking eyes.

And then he ducks his dark head again, and his tongue flicks out. He touches the tip against mine, rubbing, back and forth, and his taste swarms me. Cinnamon bubble gum and guy.

Kissing me slow and deep. Lips moving. Tongues stroking, tasting. His fingers bite into my waist as he murmurs that he wants me.

His voice thick as he strokes his hand down my sides, working open my buttons as he sets his forehead on mine and watches my reactions.

“My whole life I’ve guarded against addictions. Driving was my one addiction. Never smoked, don’t drink except socially, eat right, but you, Lana. You’re an addiction I can’t say no to. Don’t want to say no to. If I don’t have you beneath me now I’m going implode on myself.”

I pull his T-shirt up to his neck, and my fingers run along the velvety muscles of his chest, hard and smooth; my lips follow to suck on his nipple. A sound very much like a growl runs up his throat, rumbling against my hair.

The air burns between us. His hands push my racing-team T-shirt off and over my head, leaving me in my bra and jeans. My nails rake along his back as his hungry mouth runs all over my body. My breasts, my stomach, my neck, my mouth. I undulate and press him closer, needing more but afraid to voice it.

He circles his tongue along the tip of my breast, suckling gently. Oh wow. My nipples are always so sensitive when he’s around, but the feel of his warm mouth on them debilitates me. The pull of his mouth causes me to gasp and my whole body to squeeze pleasurably. I’m so wet I can smell myself, and when I see his nostrils flare, I feel myself blush because I know Racer can probably smell me too.

He holds me by the waist, he unzips my jeans and shoves his hand into my panties, then he plays with my wet flesh and I jerk and thrust my hips out—begging for it, begging for him.

He eases one finger inside me.

He moves it slowly in, and slowly out, repeating the motion, watching as I arch up, fighting not to go off too soon, the pleasure too intense. His eyes are like blue lightning pinning me down, his finger-thrusts filling me so much with desire that I cannot take any second more. I start to convulse.

My nails sink into his scalp, a cry leaves me, and he smothers it with his mouth, pumping his finger deeper and harder to keep me there—at the pinnacle of pleasure. His hand moves faster, harder, my own hips recklessly, haphazardly trying to meet his hand-thrusts and keep him touching me forever. Every atom and cell in my body shivering for him, craving him, wanting him, needing him.

My breath sounds raspy when I ask him, “Do you sleep with women after you and she, well after—”

“No. Usually I call them an Uber and send them home.”

“I don’t need an Uber so I’ll head to my room …”

He snatches my wrist. “Stay,” he rasps, his gaze hungry and possessive.

I exhale and ease back to his side. “If I stay I may lose control again.”

“Why is that wrong?”

“Because …” I flush. My eyes run over him and I can barely keep my hands at my sides. Because I really want to touch him, taste him. I want to run my fingers over that gorgeous chest, look at him without a stitch of clothing on in ways that I didn’t dare look at him when he stripped at the pool.

“I’m about hanging on by a thread myself,” he husks, gaze heavy-lidded as he keeps staring down at me.

“Really?” I breathe. Surprised that he seemed to read my mind.

He nods somberly, his eyes twinkling before they become engulfed in some dark lustfulness.

“Do you want to touch me. Huh,” he prods, reaching out to tug me closer.

My heart turns over in my chest while the rest of my body clutches wantonly as he guides me to the bed. “I … yes.”

At the edge of the bed, I see him tug his shirt over his head in one easy jerk of his hand, then he unzips and strips his jeans.

I’m staring—wide-eyed—and salivating as he pulls the sheets off the bed, then pulls me down on the bed with him, and something is growing and growing under the sheets, and before I know it the whole damn bed sheet is tented.

Racer grins, his eyes predatory as he wraps one arm around me, locking my chest to his chest.

He sets his forehead on mine and guides my hand to his cock. “Here.” He groans as he drags the tip of his nose along my temple with a rumbling sound as he guides my hand under the sheets, to the very warmest hardest part of his being. “It wants your touch.”

Oh god. He’s so big.

So smooth.

So HARD.

My hand runs over him tremulously, and he exhales roughly through his nostrils as he watches my expression of awe. “God, baby, those little fingers feel good on me.”

He smiles down at me, and my throat is tight with desire as I bite down on my lips and I start to flutter my fingers more greedily over his thick length.

He’s huge, so thick he pulsates under my touch. I can feel the thick veins on his cock and the way the crown is fully stretched and swollen. I couldn’t wrap my fist around him if I tried, he’s too thick, so I just envelop what I can and skim my hand up his hard length, up and down, up and down, my body tightening with wanting when little drops of arousal start to seep out of the tip of his cock.

His face is raw with need, his forehead still on mine as he scans my face and brushes my hair back. “You’re driving me crazy,” he rasps, rocking his hips up to my hand, the pre-cum wetting my fingertips as I brush them over the top of his cock.

I’m breathing hard, and he’s breathing harder, grabbing my face to hold me still as he begins to kiss me like crazy, tongue thrusting into my mouth, swerving side to side to taste every nook and cranny, rubbing to arouse my own to fierce and thirsty action.

I move my fingers faster, addicted to the way he’s kissing me—the hunger there, the way his hips roll up commandingly to my hand, the way his tongue mates with mine, and the way his cock keeps pulsing in my hand and obviously wanting more of my touch.

He reaches down to grab my hand, squeezing it around his cock, and murmurs, “Do you want to taste me too, huh. You want to taste me?”

As I start to breathe out yes he picks up a drop of cum from the tip of his cock and slides his thumb into my mouth, where I taste him.

I’ve never tasted a guy, and there is something about his taste that makes my pussy water.

“You like that,” he rasps, slipping his hands back into my hair to kiss me deep, with his taste in my mouth, as I keep moving my fingers over his cock.

“I want to feel you when you come,” I admit, breathless as I keep moving my hand, craving to see him—see that he has a reaction to me, that he loves me touching him the way I go crazy when he touches me.

He goes off almost instantly, shooting off so hard I feel a splat of cum fall on my chin and jaw, more coming out as I keep trying to squeeze and work my fingers, his cock jerking powerfully as he shoots off another eight times.

I gasp, and he groans and licks my mouth, cleaning my jaw of his cum with his thumb and then pressing it on my mouth. I groan, starting to move my hips, needing to come again too.

And that’s when I feel him reach out to my partly open jeans and shove his hand gently into my underwear and rub his fingertips, still with some cum on them, along my opening and my pussy folds. Surprised by my lightning-fast reaction, I cry out as a thousand and one shudders wrack me, making me cry out.

I lie in a daze as Racer goes clean up—dazed at the sight of that RT tattoo on his firm buttocks. When he returns and slips his strong arms around me, I slip my arms around him too.

My eyes drift shut, and I feel him look at me.

He’s completely naked in bed.

And I’m completely hormone-filled.

And my ovaries hurt looking at how gorgeous and masculine he is.

Boyish and yet at the same time, so male.

He presses his thumb into my palm, smiling. My heart speeds up with a mix of longing and dread to what I feel. I am falling. It feels as if my ribs have just collapsed in my chest, crushing my lungs. “You okay?”

“Can’t sleep.” He stares at me.

“Racer … I’m not ready for anything.”

He smiles, stroking his hand down my cheek. “I know. I was there where you are.”

“What happened?”

“You crashed my car.” He grins. I feel my stomach tingle from the inside out, and I open my lips and raise my head to kiss him, and he doesn’t need to be asked twice, he crushes my head back down as he starts to kiss me in ways I never knew a human being on this earth could be kissed, a kiss that touches every part of me, my lips and body, my mind, my heart, my very soul.

“I’ll take it easy with you.”

“Please,” I say, and he shifts to lie down beside me, the most hot, handsome man I could have ever imagined in bed; kissing me like I’m the only girl he’s ever wanted in his.