Accelerated Passion (19 page)

She placed one hand on the hard rubber tire in front of her and the other on the wing. Her breasts hung downward, and her ass jutted up.

Had she ever felt so open, so wanton and abandoned at the same time? She knew, in the hard light of day, she’d be horrified that they’d done this, but right now, nothing could stop it. She wanted Dean to fuck her, while she was like this, and she needed it now.

He gripped her ponytail again and held it firm.

“Have you any idea how fucking amazing you look?” he said as he ran his fingers through the cleft of her ass cheeks. “So hot for it, so perfect.”

She stared at the front of the car and held her breath as he eased two, maybe three fingers into her pussy.

“And so wet for it. Wet for me,” he said. He began to pump, fucking her with his fingers.

“Dean…” she gasped.

“I’m going to make you mine,” he said. “Here, now, over the best fucking car in the world.”

“Yes.”

He withdrew. A hard slap landed on her right ass cheek.

She bit her bottom lip to prevent from squealing as the sting traveled over her buttock and heat rose on her skin.

“Ah, yeah, are you handling it?” he asked.

“Yes.” She could guess what was coming next and hung her head down.

But he pulled her hair harder, forcing her to look up as he delivered another slap, to her opposite buttock this time.

Again, she bit her lip. Fuck, that had hurt. He’d put real male muscle behind it and held her so tight.

“So pretty,” he murmured, smoothing away the pain with his palm. “You’re going so red, the shape of my hand is appearing.”

“Fuck me,” she said. She was so wet, her pussy ached to be filled.

He kind of laughed, but it was strained. “Patience.” He released her for a second.

Frankie glanced over her shoulder and spotted him retrieving a condom from his wallet.

He was behind her again in seconds, once again gripping her hair and checking out his handy work on her ass. He smoothed over her skin, tickling the base of her back and the tops of her thighs.

“I want you to really feel me, really enjoy this fantasy,” he said. “Can I slap you again?”

“Yes, yes…” He could do whatever the hell he wanted. “Just fuck me as well.”

Four swift, hard slaps landed on her ass—two each buttock. She flinched with each one then bucked for more. The pain instantly turned to pleasure, increasing the longing in her pussy. It seemed to heighten the senses in her skin, the way her body felt just with the air on her flesh.

“Hold on tight,” he said, adjusting his stance and aiming his cock head at her pussy. “This is going to be fast.”

“Yes…” She curled her fingernails into the rubber tread and gripped the wing.

“Wider.” He tapped her right ankle with his foot.

She did as he’d asked.

He shoved in. Not a slow, sensual ride, but a rapid thrust to full depth.

Frankie cried out then released the wing and pressed her fist to her mouth. God, he was so big. She was so full. His balls were up against her, and her smarting ass cheeks rubbed on his belly.

Once seated at the hilt, he stilled. He created tension on her hair with one hand and gripped her hip with the other. He groaned long and low.

She squirmed, adjusting to the size of him inside her.

“You okay?” he asked.

“Yes…give it to me, all of it. I’m fine.”

It was as if her words had flicked a switch in him. He pulled almost out then shoved back in. Set up a wild rhythm, fucking her with desperate energy.

She stared at the car, at the shiny surface and the matt black of the tires. Her body was being shunted into but also held still. Each time he thrust to the max, the air was pushed from her. She panted, pulling oxygen in when she could.

He was working her G-spot with the tip of his cock, massaging it, pounding it, driving her toward a deep and satisfying orgasm.

“Fucking hell, babe, this is it…” He tipped forward and set his mouth on her shoulder, kissed, sucked, bit as he continued to pound into her.

She shoved back for more of his cock, seating herself onto him. “Yes. Yes.”

“You wanted to get fucked over the car…not just any car, but this one…mine.”

“Dean, oh…I’m going to.” Her orgasm hovered, a big ball of energy that sparkled within reach. She knew it would take her breath away, catapult her into ecstasy.

“And now you are,” he went on, holding her closer so her back was against his chest. “By me…you’re getting fucked by me, world fucking champion who can’t get enough of you, over the back…of the…damn…car.” He’d punctuated the last words with near violent thrusts.

It tipped her over the edge.

She shut her eyes and allowed the rawness and power of a G-spot climax to overwhelm her. Her limbs shook, but he held her to him, thrusting on and on, steaming in and out of her.

Bliss radiated to her toes, and she curled them on the cool floor. She clutched at the tire that was hard and unmoving. Her pussy hugged his shaft, the pleasure going on and on and on. It was hard to breathe.

“Ah, yeah…that’s it. Fuck, I can feel you…on my dick…so tight.” He lifted up, released her hair, and clutched her hips.

She was aware of him coming, too, pumping into her, releasing his load as he held her just where he wanted her in a tight, possessive grip.

He groaned in a deliciously guttural way that told her he was holding nothing back. He was claiming what he needed, going all the way. Fucking without inhibitions and taking them both where they wanted to go.

She opened her eyes again, stared at the car that would, in a matter of hours, be racing around the track with Dean at the wheel.

“Oh, God…” she moaned. “That’s…”

“So good,” he finished for her, stilling. “Jesus, you’re incredible.”

She let her neck relax and stared at her breasts which held a sheen of sweat. Her nipples were taut peaks.

“Come here.” He pulled out and scooped her close.

She twisted within his arms and settled her face in the groove between his chin and neck. His stubble was scratchy on her forehead. She was breathing fast, her chest butting against his with each expansion of her ribs. She felt empty without him inside her but also wonderfully satisfied.

He stroked her hair and squeezed her closer. “That was wild.” He pressed a kiss to her head.

“Yes, good wild, though.”

“I didn’t take it too far?”

“I would have told you if you had.” She looked up at him.

He crooked his index finger beneath her chin. “You sure?”

“Of course, I’m sure.” She touched his face. “You know me. I’m not the sort of girl to take something I don’t want.”

“That’s true.” He paused. “And do you want me?”

“You know damn well I do.” How could he not know that?

He smiled then set a kiss over her lips.

It was so slow and controlled, delicate and soft, that it was hard to believe it was the same man who’d allowed feral passion to overtake him only minutes ago.

Frankie snuggled closer, held him tighter. She was seeing the real Dean Cudditch. She knew she was. Not the racing driver, the world champion, or even the former playboy. This was the man he’d become—the father, the lover, the person she wanted to be with.

Be with?

He pulled back and looked into her eyes. He stroked her hair, moving a few loose strands. “We’re good together, don’t you think?”

“Yes.” She paused, hoping what she thought she was seeing in his expression was right. That it was the same intensity of emotion as she was experiencing. “I do.”

Could he really be having the same feelings as her? The same longing for this to be more. Much more?

She guessed she’d have to wait and see.

Because, before anything else could happen, Dean had a Grand Prix to not only qualify for but also win.

Qualifying day had the team on edge. They were all suited and booted, and helmets lined up ready for when the time came to wear them.

Frankie took a step back, folded her arms, and watched as the car she had been fucked over the night before was rolled into the pits. Much as she’d enjoyed everything about Dean realizing her fantasy, she was now very much in work mode.

They’d adjusted the wings, opted for super-soft tires again as the weather was so warm. Paul had experienced some problems with the emergency starter, but he’d sorted that now. Enrique had made a fuss about a gauge that wasn’t quite perfect, but, again, that was under control.

Now they just needed Dean to arrive and grab pole position. If he got that, then race day would start with them at an advantage.

She heard him before she saw him and made an effort not to turn and rush up for a hug.

“Yeah, thanks, Paul. I get you on the fuel,” he said. “Makes sense to do that.”

Frankie pulled in a deep breath, checked her expression was neutral, then turned to him.

Fuck. How was she supposed to keep a neutral expression? The guy was so damn hot. His tight outfit left nothing to the imagination and only served to remind her of the sexy body beneath that she knew could take her to such highs.

He looked at her. A look that said he was thinking about last night, right here, with the car.

She pressed her knees together, a tremor attacking her internal muscles at the memory of the intense orgasm. She could still feel the sting on her buttocks. In fact, when she’d looked in the mirror that morning after her shower, she’d had a few tiny red dots peppered over her skin. Far from worrying about the miniscule bruises, they’d made her smile. She liked that Dean had marked her, claimed her.

She just wanted to claim him now. Walk up to him. Throw her arms around his neck. Kiss him until they were both breathless. Forget there was anyone else there.

But, of course, she didn’t. It wouldn’t do for the team to know she was screwing the driver—even if it did feel like so much more than a quick screw.

“How’s it going?” he asked, walking over to her and passing his helmet from one hand to the other.

“You’re all ready.” She nodded at the car.

“Wing position set?” He raised his eyebrows a fraction.

She tipped her head. “Yes, perfect position.”

His mouth twitched as though he were holding back a smile.

“Hey, Cudditch, you’re on,” Jake called.

He stepped away.

“Be careful,” she said then pressed her lips together. Why had she blurted that out?

He paused and looked at her again. “Always.” He raised his hand, as though about to cup her jawline or perhaps stroke her cheek the way he often did.

She stepped back and gave a small shake of her head.

He dropped his hand and pulled in a breath. He turned and walked toward Jake.

Frankie pressed her fingertips over her mouth and stared at his broad shoulders. Damn it. She couldn’t do this. Instinct was telling her to go to him. Hold him. Make sure he was in the zone. He had to be focused, thinking of nothing but the twists and turns of the track.

And was he?

Or was he thinking of her now?

She frowned.

“You okay?” Paul asked, resting his hand on her shoulder.

“Fine.” She glanced at him then back to Dean. “I think.”

“Want to talk about it?”

“No.” She shook her head. “Nothing personal, Paul, but no. I really don’t want to.”

“Well, if you change your mind, you know where I am.”

Qualifying started soon after. There was a good crowd, and the noise coming from the stands a constant hum, which acted as background to the squeal of the engines.

Dean was fourth up.

He crept from the pits and pulled to a halt in the starting grid.

Frankie listened to the engine revving. She pictured the track in her mind and tried to beat down a wave of nausea growing in her guts.

Why the hell was she feeling this way?

“There he goes,” Paul said unnecessarily as Dean tore away.

Frankie stepped into the workshop to watch on screen. She placed a set of headphones on so she could listen to the commentary, though she left one ear off so she could hear the mechanics, too.

Paul came and stood behind her and did the same with his headphones, as did Jake and Enrique.

“And he’s away.” The commentary started. “Three-time world champion Dean Cudditch has everything to drive for. He came second earlier this month in Great Britain, despite a pole position, so he needs these points. More than needs them, they’ll put him in the running for another world championship.” The commentator paused. “And that’s the first turn. He’s fiddling with his visor, seems to have a problem.”

A camera panned in on Dean. He was touching the side of his helmet, driving one handedly.

“And that’s a distraction he doesn’t need,” the commentator went on. “Sometimes they vibrate. They move so quickly in the airstream, and it’s just annoying. He needs to get that sorted.”

“Shit,” Jake muttered.

Frankie folded her arms, digging her fingers into her biceps.

“I should think it’s noise not visibility that’s bothering him,” Jake said. “He’ll be fine.”

“And McLaren really need this. That’s him out of the second bend, the backend shifting a bit but really not too shabby. Now for the straight. He’s on twenty-two seconds, now under the bridge. It goes dark here for a moment.” The screen darkened then lit again. “And he’s riding this S bend well, hardly any bounce, no wasting time for the car to settle.”

“Is the visor okay now?” Frankie asked.

“Yeah, I think so.” Paul peered at the screen.

Frankie released a small sigh of relief.

“He’s going well now, great time,” the commentator said. “If he can maintain it, he’ll be in a top finish position so far today. Certainly, he’s going to be up there with the Ferraris and Renaults regardless. But here we go for the next set of corners, the ones where a driver has to keep his wits about him. He’s looking good, though, nice and steady. Not sure what his fuel is, but it’s working for him. He may have gone a bit lighter.”

Frankie found herself gnawing on the inside of her cheek.

“And into the hairpin, and it’s one hell of a time. He’s really going for it, but… Oh, my God, he’s lost it. The back end has swung out. It was just too much…”