SCORE (A Stepbrother Sports Romance) (34 page)

“You’re a racer?” she asked.

“I am.”

“But…you’re so big.”

I smirked and was glad no one else was listening to our conversation. “And that’s why I’m not one of the title contenders.” I smiled.

Donald came over. “I see you’ve met James Spence, one of the privateer riders,” he said. I liked Donald well enough, but there was no profit for him in schmoozing me or riders like me that don’t have big factory contracts. “Are you okay, Summer?”

“Yes, thanks, Donald. I wish everyone would stop worrying over me,” she replied.

“How do you know each other?” I asked.

Before Summer could say anything, Donald piped up, “Summer’s going to be handling the PR for Dunlop’s Motorcycling Concerns.”

So much for us keeping it anonymous. I wanted to get her alone for just a few minutes, but it didn’t happen. She was taken away through the other garages, even though Sam and Marc hadn’t returned yet with the glass of water, and I had to head back to my garage because it was thirty minutes to race time.

***

The last few minutes before a race were always tense. Always. Lined up on the grid, helmet on, a pretty girl keeping the sun off of me with her umbrella, camera crews and reporters from various countries wandering up and down the grid. Keith was right—staring at Blake’s ass as he sat on his bike in front of me got very old, very fast. I tried to distract myself by looking at Suzi’s delicious butt as she stood next to him, keeping the heat off him, and that was better. But the more I looked, the more I thought about Summer again. My brain was completely occupied by her. I thought I’d never see her again, yet she had been on the track today. My heart had leaped when I’d realized who I was holding, and my mind had raced with the possibilities of us enjoying each other again.

Now, though, sitting on the grid, I was thinking about all the ways it could go wrong. The awkwardness that would inevitably ensue when we realized we have nothing in common, no matter how many times we fucked. I should probably forget about any kind of repeat performance with Summer.

I got off my bike and walked up to Blake.

“What the fuck do you want, Spence?” he snapped at me. He was really taking this rivalry too far.

“I need a word,” I told him, “with Suzi.”

His face fell as I turned my back on him. “Missed you last night, sexy,” I whispered to Suzi. Obviously I didn’t, because I was with Summer. I was just trying to screw with Blake.

“Missed you too, baby,” she purred back.

I could hear a grumbling behind me. “Why don’t you piss off, mate?” Blake barked as the klaxon announced to prepare for the parade lap. “Some of us are here to race, not pick up girls.”

“It’s not like you wouldn’t if you could, would you?” I teased him, “It’s just a shame you’re so ugly. Gotta go.” I winked at Suzi. She blew me an air kiss as I dashed back to my ride.

“I’ll fucking get you!” I thought I heard Blake wail behind me as Ray started up my motor.

It was a fun race. I liked the track, and I managed to avoid Blake locking his brakes and crashing at the hairpin in front of the Dunlop hospitality garage. I nearly crashed straight after, like a lovestruck idiot, thinking about whether Summer sat in there watching me or not.

Crowds gathered in the pits to see the top riders take their places and receive their trophies. Little Marc won. I actually scored a point for fifteenth place, and was on a pretty good high from that. Blake was unhurt from his little get-off, which made it the second time I’d beaten him this season. But as I watched Marc, Ducati’s Andrea Dovizioso, and the legendary Valentino Rossi on their podium spraying champagne across the eager fans below, I didn’t see Summer anywhere. Disappointed, I retired to my trailer to shower and change into some real clothes before I tried to figure out what the team wanted to do tonight.

The rock band Cheap Trick was playing the main arena after the race, which could be fun. Keith and Ray wanted to go, and Nick and Other James had never heard of them but were willing to tag along. I wanted to go to the Dunlop after-party, obviously, but I couldn’t interest them in it.

I took the team to the show, got them backstage so they could watch from the wings, then snuck away to the Dunlop suites. And there she was. As I headed out of the auditorium, I crossed under the tall tower and saw Summer stepping into a red Mustang convertible. She hadn’t seen me, so I jogged up to the car and talked to her through the open roof.

“So it was you?” I snapped. She jumped a little.

“Was me what?” she demanded. She had her hand on her heart, as I'd frightened her. Man, that amazing hair, those beautifully defined cheekbones. I felt like she grew more beautiful every time I saw her.

“It was you that cut me off this morning,” I said. “I nearly got sideswiped by a hot girl in a red Mustang spinning her wheels on the grass by the track entrance.”

“Sorry about that.” She smiled demurely, teasing me.

“Are you leaving?” I asked her.

“Yeah, I’m done with Donald,” she replied. She had those big sunglasses on, so I couldn’t quite tell where she was looking. But I felt like she was smiling at me. “He’s started on the scotch again, and I’m not interested in a repeat of last night.”

“I don’t know.” I gave her an exaggerated grin. “There was quite a lot of last night I would love to repeat.”

She smiled. Surprisingly, she seemed a touch bashful and turned away. Maybe she felt more for me than she was letting on?

“We agreed, I thought, that there would be no complications, no ties, and no apologies. That’s why I didn’t kiss you. I thought we were on the same page.”

“We were,” I explained, “but there was nothing in what you just said that means we can’t get a drink right now.”

She laughed at that. “That’s true enough.” I persuaded her to come back inside with me for a drink. She was guarded and adamant that she didn’t want to commit, but she seemed to like me, or at least the sex we’d had. I didn’t want to commit either. I didn’t. I definitely didn’t. I just couldn’t get her out of my head, and I couldn’t stop the feeling—the longing—to be with her again.

Summer

James opened the door for me and we headed back into the hospitality suite. In the half-light, I could make out waiters carrying trays between round, white-topped tables. I grabbed a couple of scotches from one as he passed and handed a glass to James, then sat down at a free table. He sat in the chair next to me, turning it to face me.

“Cards on the table,” he said with a smile. “I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you. I don’t care what you say; last night was probably the most amazing night of my life, and I think you are the most beautiful, sensual, sensational creature it has been my pleasure to…pleasure.”

That was quite a little speech. I could feel my face warming up and my pussy moistening. I hoped I wasn’t blushing too much. “I’m flattered,” I began, staring past him. “And believe me, last night was fantastic for me, too. But I don’t want to see you again. I mean, I do, but I don’t want a relationship. I’m not good at them. I don’t want to commit, and that always hurts the man I’m with, regardless of how much he says he wants the same thing in the beginning.” I looked at him—his sexy smile, his kind eyes, his strong jawline. “I like you. I do. Which is why I don’t want to hurt you.”

He took a sip from his drink and recoiled at the taste. It was not a good scotch. “I know what you’re saying,” he said, putting his glass down on the table with a slow, deliberate movement. “I promise I feel the same way. I’ve never been able to commit to a relationship either. But I’m a few years older than you, so I’ve had much more practice at not committing. I think I can handle a little more.”

A loud “Ha!” popped out of my mouth. “Do you know how many times I’ve heard a line like that, only for the guy to whine six months later that I won’t move in?” I actually sounded quite resentful. In my mind, I looked like my mother during a screaming match with my father. He must have made her so angry and so miserable at the same time. “And,” I continued, talking over whatever he was about to say, “like I could commit to a juvenile racer anyway, someone who earns his living driving around and around in circles, then parties the rest of the time, fucking anyone who’ll agree to have him.”

I didn’t raise my voice, thankfully, but my vitriol surprised us both. James leaned back in his chair, his hands raised in mock surrender. The poor, innocent, needlessly attacked look on his face softened my bitterness.

“I’m sorry, James. I didn’t mean to be so aggressive.” I lowered my face, bit my lip, and looked up at him coyly. “Especially when you were so…nice to me.”

I dropped my shoe and gently ran my foot over his shin and knee. I felt really bad about letting loose on this guy. I did like him, after all, more than I cared to admit. I needed to make it up to him. He knew I was playing with him, but he seemed to like it.

“Well, you’ll be pleased to know,” he said, leaning back and letting me stroke my foot further up his leg. Thank god the table covered our laps. “I don’t race for the money. If I did, I would have been forced to give it up years ago. I pay my own way in racing, using my own money. I don’t answer to anyone, professionally or personally, and that is the way I like it.”

He stumbled over the last word as my foot reached his crotch. I pushed my toes lightly over his package, and I could feel something firm up. I didn’t know why I was touching him. We fucked, it was fantastic, but I didn’t need him anymore. Maybe I did want to be with him one more time. Maybe I felt bad about denying him what he seemed to want really bad right now. I could feel my pussy throb as I imagined him inside me again, but I knew that if I let him, I wouldn’t be able to stop.

“Come with me,” I whispered to him. I stood and walked off, not looking to see if he followed.

***

It was not the most romantic setting, but the handicapped restroom of the facility was clean, unlikely to be needed, and a lot more private than the first place we’d fucked. I heard him follow me in and lock the door. I turned and faced him, looking up into his big blue eyes, and grabbed his shirt and pulled him closer, wrapping my leg around his waist. Our faces were only six inches apart, our bodies pressed hard together, and it felt so right. But I couldn’t have sex with him again. I was afraid if I did, I’d never be able to stop. He was about to lean in and kiss me on the mouth, so I put a finger on his lips.

“No,” I whispered. He looked despondent, so disappointed. I kept my fingers on his mouth and pressed my lips to it. His hands groped my chest, wrinkling my blouse as we almost kissed.

He smelled so strong and masculine as we pressed our lips together, my fingers the only thing keeping us from touching. I pulled my head back and we broke apart. We both wanted more, but I needed to keep him at a distance—which was much easier said than done. He opened the buttons of my blouse, pulling it out of my skirt, and pushed the cups of my bra up over my tits. My breath caught in my throat as his fingers grazed my nipples, instantly hardening them to stiff points.

I lifted my skirt a little, enough to slide my hand under it. I glided a finger over my slippery, wet hole as he kneaded and caressed my breasts. I slipped two fingers easily inside my pussy and pulled them out, wet and glistening. I pulled his face to mine again, my slick fingers between our lips. The smell of my sex, right under our noses, intoxicated us as we almost kissed again. This time, licking at my sticky juices, our tongues occasionally made the lightest of contact.

“Fuck…” He groaned as we pulled apart again. I could feel him hard against me, stiff through his pants, through my underwear, and I was suddenly aware that I’d been grinding my aching pussy against him. I licked his face to suck on his earlobe for a moment. He groaned again.

“No matter how bad I want you inside me, I can’t let you fuck me again. I can’t trust myself if I do,” I whispered.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” he breathed back. I spun around and lifted my skirt. I pushed my butt hard against him. I could feel his firm length slide into the space between my buttocks, even through his pants, to rub against the G-string of my underwear. I pulled his hands back onto my eager breasts and ground my ass slowly against his cock.

“We can dream, though,” I gasped. Even clothed, he felt good against my skin. He was hard and hot, and I could feel him throbbing through the material. “Feel your hard cock pushing at my soft, wet pussy lips?” I teased him, rubbing my butt against him harder. “Feel my hot pussy open to take you in?” He twitched against my ass, every movement of his pulling my thong hard against my clit, sending little shivers through my whole body. “Do you feel my warm, willing pussy massaging your stiff rod? My soft, velvet pussy walls enclosing around your big cock, sucking you in deeper?” He groaned again; he pushed his dick hard against my ass, desperate for entry, desperate for release. “How good would it feel to shoot your big load deep inside my aching pussy? Huh, baby? Do it for me…” I kept grinding against him. “Dump your big load in my waiting pussy…” I could feel him twitching more urgently. “Please, fill my eager pussy with your hot spunk…” One more push. “Shoot your cum deep inside me; pour in everything you’ve got…”

He gasped and groaned, almost pushing me through the bathroom wall with his hips. His hands mashed my tits, and I felt him tense and explode against my butt. Feeling his cock pulsing, I knew he must have coated the inside of his pants with streams of hot, white cum. When I felt him blow his load against me like that, a smile curled across my lips. It felt good. It felt good to use that power.