I didn't want to only be known as the pretty, blonde daughter of a famous race car driver. I wanted to make a name for myself and I wasn't going to let anyone get in my way. So when I saw the opportunity of a lifetime, I jumped. Being the face of the hottest new racing team in the business was a dream come true.
Until he showed up.
Griffin McGregor. Bad boy star driver. On the track, he's gold. Off the track? He's everything my daddy ever warned me about. Infuriatingly egotistical, explosive temper, argumentative know-it-all...why does he have to be so freaking hot?
It'll be a miracle if we can get this team to the championship title without killing each other. Or worse. Because the last thing I'm going to do is wreck my career by jumping in bed with a race car driver.
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“You may be a decent driver, but you are hell on this team with your attitude on and off the track. Every video clip I found of your races last season ends in you throwing shit or peeling away in your car if you lost, or being a total jerk with celebratory mocking of your opponent if you won. If you care about Paul and the team, you are going to have to change a few things to allow money to flow into the shop.”
“Isn’t that what you’re here for? Why don’t you shake your tits or flaunt your ass and see who throws money our way. I’m here to drive.” Griffin pulls one of the strings on my hoodie until it stretches, then lets it go so it bounces up and hits me in the face.
My teeth are set on edge and I’d like nothing more than to punch him for being such a jerk. I breathe deeply and look up at the thick gray clouds massing in the sky and dig deep for a calm that is escaping me.
“I’ll do whatever I have to in order to help this team. Will you?” I push my finger into his chest to make my point. He grabs my hand, holding it in place against his hard chest, his breathing speeding up under my palm.
What the what? Before I can pull away from him, he steps into my hand more, bringing us closer together. My senses are on fire, battling with the alarm bells that are ringing while I take in every last minute detail about this moment. My nipples harden and my nose flares as I raggedly breathe in the subtle shop scents and the cologne he’s wearing. His eyes are hooded and trained on my face—no, my mouth—and he’s making me shiver in response to his electric and unexpected touch. His lips purse, and I want nothing more than to feel them on my skin, on my face, kissing away the sting my hoodie string left and the hurt he likes to throw my way with every comment.
“You have no idea what I would do for this team, Shelby.” His voice is a soft rumble of distant thunder, warning of trouble. “I won’t let you waltz in here and turn it into whatever it is you think it should be. We’re good on our own, and our performance this season will prove it. We don’t need some hot piece of ass attention whore to get us more recognition. You don’t have the slightest clue what it takes to make a team successful. You’re just a pretty face with no talent. I’m the driver, the one who actually makes a difference here.” With that, Griffin releases my hand and turns on his heels to head back into the garage.
“Yes, yes, yes,” I say in excitement, watching the view count climb on the video series I posted on YouTube an hour ago.
“Practicing for later? Why don’t you add my name and maybe an ‘oh my God’ too.” The silky smooth voice jars me and my mouth drops open when I realize who just said that absurd comment. Griffin is standing in the doorway, a perfectly pleased smirk on his face.
“Uh, excuse you? Maybe you should stop with your sexed up thoughts and run along now. I’m busy.” I’m trying my best to hide my surprise. Maybe this is Griffin “playing nice” because Paul threatened his spot on the team. He better work at it a little harder.
“Admit it, Shelby. You’ve fantasized about me making your pretty little mouth ache from the bad language you’re so prone to. You know I would give you exactly what you need.”
My jaw falls open, but I quickly snap it shut. “What the fuck are you talking about? Where is this filth even coming from?” I set my laptop on the couch and stand, hating the height difference with him towering over me while I sit.
Griffin laughs. “You’re so easy to fuck with. Paul says we’re leaving in twenty. Get your shit and be ready.” A grin still stretches his face when he turns to leave.
Ho-ly shit. That was the most unexpected Griffin interaction I could have imagined. And now that he’s planted the idea in my head, all I can think about is what he would do to my body, to me, with his. As strange as it is to say, I’m turned on by his sexualized comments. And I hate it.
What would he do to my mouth? Punish me for my bad language, evidently. Do I want to be punished for anything? Hell no. But when Griffin said it, the words dripping like warm honey over barbed wire, part of me wanted it. And by it, I have no clue what he had in mind, but my brain is eager to fill in the blanks. I can just imagine his cock filling my mouth, a punishing rhythm established as he uses me to satisfy his needs.
Whoa, what the actual hell am I thinking? I do not want Griffin, cock or otherwise, anywhere near my mouth. Do I?
“If you wanted to dance, sweet thing, all you had to do was ask,” Wyatt says, turning me in his arms and immediately moving us to the beat. “Griff, get over here and give this girl something to grind on. I bet you a thousand bucks it will be the highlight of your night and totally worth it.”
I make to cover my face in embarrassment and move away, but Griffin is there, capturing my wrists in his hands and forcing his thigh between mine. My hands find his shoulders tentatively, and once again I am sandwiched between these guys who want nothing more than to get me off, now that they know they can.
“Just relax, you’re too stiff,” Wyatt says in my ear as he massages my hips. I giggle because it tickles. His fingers dig in further as his thumbs brush softly under the hem of my tank top, finding skin, and suddenly it doesn’t tickle as much. Griffin pulls me close, crushing my chest against him as his fingers play along my waist.
“Is this what you want?” he asks softly, his lips near my ear.
“Maybe,” I manage, my eyes closing and chill bumps rushing from my neck to my fingertips with the hot breath he puffs against my skin. I like this feeling of being completely crushed between their weights and held like I’m precious. A little too much.
“I bet you wish it was just me making you feel good,” he whispers just loud enough for me to catch what he’s saying. He draws his lips along my jaw as he pulls away.
Is Griffin looking for validation that I’m attracted to him? That I’ve fantasized about what he would do with me? That I don’t need Wyatt? I pretend to not hear, because there is no way I can answer that. I shouldn’t even be here dancing with them like this. It’s hard to concentrate on the reasons why I shouldn’t when they keep up their pace grinding me between them, their hands wandering across my torso like they’re blind men discovering the sensation of touch.
A breathy sound escapes my lips as my piercing catches the friction of Griffin’s leg. They’re going to do it again, and I don’t want it to stop, even if it’s wrong. I feel Wyatt’s face buried in my hair as Griffin drags his lips softly along my jaw. This isn’t dancing. It’s dry humping vertically, and I’m just along for the ride, caught up in the sensation of hands and legs. It’s probably indecent and not fit to do in public, but that’s partly the appeal. It’s dangerous and bound to get me in trouble and just like my street racing days, it gives me a high I can’t deny. Wyatt uses his hands to angle my hips, sliding me harder against Griffin while he buries himself against my ass.
“Oh God,” I breathe, feeling my body reaching for that peak to free-fall from. Griffin takes my earlobe between his teeth, pulling lightly. I let my face fall into the space between his neck and shoulder, my arms grasping him tightly as waves of pleasure overtake me. Inhaling his spicy scent of cologne, soap, sweat, and even a little bit of tire smoke with a ragged breath, I work to not scream my pleasure. It’s even better this time around.
He grabs my wrist and stops me. His hand is cool and dry, but causes my body to burn like dry tinder in an instant. My lips part as he slides his fingers up to cradle my head. I let him, like this is our usual. Why, Shelby? Because I can’t freaking stop myself when he touches me.
“No. I need to kiss you.” His hands tangle in my hair, his lips crashing against mine and pulling me into his hard body. I am sucked into his needy kisses, the hungry way he pulls at my lips and swirls my tongue. I couldn’t stop him if I wanted to. I guess I don’t really want to at all, with the clenching in my core and how I rise to meet his mouth harder.
This. Oh my God, this. His hot mouth leaves mine, traveling along my jaw and biting my earlobe. How he can know what would turn me on so fully is beyond me, but I am on. So on. My hands tangle around his shoulders as he kisses my neck, biting gently and licking the pain away. I moan and it seems to be all the encouragement he needs to haul me up around his hips and back me into the wall.
Oh no. That’s the wall I share with Wyatt, and if this is going down, I don’t want him to hear, of all people.
“Not here. Bedroom,” I manage as he rocks his hips into mine and sucks on my neck.
I hold on to him as he walks us to my room and lays me on the bed I just crawled out of. The bedside lamp casts light on his profile as he studies me, nearly naked beneath him.
“Griffin, I don’t—”
He cuts me off with his mouth returning to mine, his hands on my boobs, pinching my nipples through my thin tank top until I forget what I wanted to say and just gasp my pleasure into his mouth. He works the tank up and over my head, finally releasing my mouth. He sinks on top of me, barely holding his weight off me with his elbows, and takes my nipple into his hot, wet mouth. I cry out as the pleasure mixes with the pain of a sharp bite, but pull him closer so he’ll do it again.
“Oh, Shelby. You’re so sweet. So goddamn sweet. I want to taste all of you. Touch your skin and make you writhe. Fill you with my cock and hear you cry my name. I want you to beg for me, baby. Do you want that?”
“Don’t push your luck. I don’t beg,” I manage as his hand finds me through my damp panties. His fingers take up a leisurely pace tracing over the material, lightly skimming over my piercing and back down. I might just beg, if he keeps touching me like that.
“You like that, baby? You like when I touch you?” This cocky asshole sure likes to hear when he does something right.
“Yes, now touch me like you mean it.”
He chuckles, pulling my panties over my hips and down my legs. He glides his hand back up my leg, along my inner thigh and so close to the target I’m shaking with anticipation and need. He brushes my piercing and groans along with me.
This is weeks of build up. A kind of foreplay that, for us, was slinging insults that mean “I want you” instead of “you’re a dick.” It’s the looks we stole. The dances we made do with when we wanted so much more. It’s that one burning hot kiss in a crowded room that made us realize we needed so much more. It’s the forbidden that feels so right.
Adrian R. Hale is a whirlwind of energy and optimism, just as ready to tell you about her books as she is to invite you over for cookies. She is a big dreamer and believes in chasing them down with speed and enthusiasm, much like the characters she writes. You can find her cycling around Austin, TX, running trails, baking gourmet cupcakes, beautifying people for weddings and photo shoots, and traveling all over the country in pursuit of those interests. Once upon a time, Adrian went to college thinking she would be a journalist, but dropped out to go to beauty school. Her first published novel ended up being about a hair and makeup artist. Things have definitely come full circle! She loves hearing from her readers at firstname.lastname@example.org.
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