Devour her slowly with kisses. Rock against her slowly, letting her absorb my length. Run my nose along her neck so my breath leaves a path on her skin that my tongue will soon trace. I want to memorize every scent, the one on her hair, her neck, her ear, her skin, her abdomen, her sweat, her sweet wet pussy.

Fuck.

I want her to teach my mouth what to do with her, what she likes, trace her goddamned shape.

But I promised her I’d take it slow, so here I am, in the back of the motorhome, shutting the door to the bedroom, stripping down my racing suit to my waist and shoving my hand into my boxers.

I pull out my hard cock, moving my fist over it, harder and harder. The door outside slams. Fuck. I let go as a spurt of cum shoots out. There’s a knock on the door.

I pull up my racing suit to my waist and stand as the door opens, and I look at her. “Everything all right?”

“Yeah.”

She moves inside and stops.

She glances down at me. I clench my fists at my sides, wanting to give it to her hard.

She notices the front of my pants and the large cum stain.

“Prepping before the race?” Her lips quirk.

“De-stressing some.”

Her eyes look heavy, as heavy as mine feel.

She approaches me slowly and feathers her hand over my dick. I just came some, but it goes from semi-hard to hard the moment she touches it.

“Look at you having fun all by yourself,” she breathes, looking up at me with lusty, gorgeous green eyes.

I shove my thumb into her mouth and make her eat the cum I have on my fingers from my blast, and she cups part of my cock, making me lean down to take her mouth and kiss her fiercely.

“I want you alone tonight for a while after the race,” I rasp, cupping her face.

“Okay,” she breathes, and my heart shudders in my chest as she suddenly kneels at my feet and sets a warm, soft kiss right on my dick before she rises back up.

“Okay,” she says again, her smile wide, her eyes so lusty for me I’m a dead man and I’d never been happier about it.

“I’m getting first place,” I gruff out, pecking her lips and stealing a taste with my tongue as she murmurs, yes.

Lana

Out by pits, Racer’s eyes meet mine before he lowers his visor and climbs into the car. Once the cars are heading into the track, Clayton hands me the headset. “He wants you.”

I don’t know what it is about the words that make something do something in me. It’s confusing, and irritating, and it makes me march up to grab the headset. I put it over my head.

“You’re pushing it, Tate.”

Silence.

I press my lips together and focus as the cars gear up to start.

And then … they’re off. Instead of holding position at fourth—his starting position—Racer immediately eats one spot with an impressively fast start. “You’re P3 now, and gaining on P2,” I say. “Clark is 0.2 seconds ahead of you.”

“Got it,” he replies.

I feel chills hearing his voice on the headset, and I try to isolate my reaction and stay focused on the game.

“Louis Day, Clark’s second driver, is creeping in behind you.”

“How close.”

“Too damn close.” I check the stats. “0.07 seconds.”

“He’ll eat shit in a bit,” he growls.

I hold my breath at the determination in his voice as he overtakes second place, and suddenly he’s gaining on first.

“You’re P2 gaining on P1,” I say, trying to keep my voice level even as the excitement threatens to overtake me.

Two laps later, I watch Racer Tate overtake the first place in the most killer maneuver on the riskiest turn on the track.

I hear my brothers yell like crazy behind me, the crowd yelling, and the announcer yelling even louder, “AND THE NEW RACE LEADER IS U.S. ROOKIE RACER TATE! In a pass that is almost impossible to manage! What a surprise this year has been with this young, talented driver …”

I exhale in disbelief and whisper into the headset, “P1.”

Racer doesn’t respond.

“P1!” I yell excitedly, just to hear myself say it. “P1 … Clark is … he’s trailing two car lengths behind.”

I check how many laps remain.

“Hold steady for fifteen laps, champ, and you’ll be the tallest man on the podium tonight.”

I remain on the headset, watching him draw a clean line.

“You’re currently holding the fastest track lap,” I say, still disbelieving as Racer hangs tight and leads Kelsey to another perfect lap—and then, straight and at full speed past the waving checkered flag.

The first checkered flag HW Racing Team has ever seen in Formula One Grand Prix.

“What a stellar pass from rookie U.S. driver Racer Tate! Racer Tate, who jumped from starting point four to lead nearly the entire race …” the announcer is saying.

“Holy shit,” I breathe, my eyes wide as I take off the headset and turn to see my dad.

I feel my dad squeeze my hand, and his smile? It could brighten a whole sky; it’s like the sun.

We’re both silent, smiling at each other, before I launch myself at him and he catches me, laughing gregariously.

“P1!!!” Drake yells, coming over to lift my dad in the air.

“Careful, Drake!” I call worriedly, but my dad couldn’t care less. His whole face is pink with excitement.

Oh god.

Is this really the same team that was scrambling to make it just a little while ago?

And as the car pulls into pits, it feels as if I hold my breath for an eternity, because my lungs ache the moment Racer leaps out of the car, onto his feet, his fist pumping the air in pure devil’s pride.

I take a ton of pictures as he goes up to the podium to get recognized for this achievement. “And this year’s surprise, U.S. rookie Racer Tate, with his first first-place trophy here at the Grand Prix …”

The crowd cheers, and his dimple is on full display, and I can’t get enough pictures as I snap, snap, snap my phone and wish I had a professional camera—but I know professional photographers are taking these shots and I’ll be hounding for them online; our team will get tagged with them for sure.

“Hope you enjoy P1—that’s going to be my place from now on,” I hear Clark say as he comes up beside him.

Racer scoffs. “Not if I nudge you towards a wall.” A razor-sharp smile touches his lips.

I feel chills rise up my arms because Racer sounds quietly determined, and I don’t think I’ve ever heard anyone stand up to the Clarks before. They’re legends around here, and usually everyone kisses their ass, hoping one day to enjoy even half of the support the Clarks do. Well. Racer Tate doesn’t seem to know whom to treat nicely here, or maybe he just doesn’t care.

“Sir,” he says as he brings up his huge silver trophy.

Dad is grinning ear to ear as Racer hands him the trophy.

“I can’t believe we have two podiums and already a first place,” Adrian says, congratulating him.

They make a great team, Racer and Adrian. Racer seems to know exactly what he wants the car to do and Adrian is good at giving it to him.

I also step up to congratulate him, and I shake. Just completely shake with anticipation. And when his strong, lean-muscled arms embrace me as my arms go around his wide frame, the shakes increase tenfold. “Congratulations,” I tremulously say, feeling as if the whole contents of a volcano have been poured into my veins and muscles.

He stares down at me with those magnetic, male, satisfied blue eyes, his dimple so close I could rise up on tiptoes, lean forward a few inches, and lick it.

As soon as we’re able to pack up, we head to the hotel.

In the elevator, Racer and I stand close to each other, while my dad hugs his trophy and my brothers keep making plans for subsequent races. Racer’s breath is warm on the top of my head as he stands behind me, all of us sort of crammed in here. My heart pounds as someone else steps in, and I take a step back, nearly tripping on his feet.

“Sorry,” I breathe, turning my head a bit to meet his gaze.

He looks at me with the most intense expression on his face.

I suck in a breath and turn forward again, aware of his hand curling around my hip. I want to close my eyes, and I want to turn and draw his arm closer and tighter around me. I want my lips on his and I want to share everything that I know and am with him, and I want him to share all of himself with me too.