Dear baby Jesus, I was so close.
I’d been so close to another explosive orgasm even before he started rubbing my clit. It was just something about the wayhe touched me that had my body on the edge of coming and coming.
The man had a gift.
That was for damn sure.
He then paused before he unwrapped my legs from around his waist and maneuvered me into a new position. His arm snaked under the crook of my knee and he pumped, sliding in and out, slowly. His mouth found mine, and he quickened his pace, snapping his hips to slam hard into me, banging me against the wall. His grip on my knee slipped onto my thigh and tightened, and squeezed hard enough to make me withdraw my face from his and throw my head back to cry out. He took that opportunity to attack my neck once again, running his teeth over my sensitive skin. His free hand gripped my breast and kneaded it.
One of my hands slide between us, searching for my clit. I rubbed furiously while he licked his way up my throat, adding fuel to the fire of my oncoming orgasm. I was on the brink. My toes curled as my pussy flexed and tightened. I knew I was about to unleash a scorching orgasm as every part of my body coiled in anticipation.
“Oh yes!” I panted, feeling the familiar tension rise in my body right before I let loose a scream as the most powerful orgasm crashed over me, forcing my body to vibrate around him. I heard liquid splash to the floor and knew I just squirted, if his strangled groan was any indication. His thrust grew staggered, faster even, while his hand on my breast stiffened.
The telltale sign of his jerking cock inside of me told me he pumped copious amounts of cum deep into my womb. His head fell to the crook of my shoulder while he caught his breath as he released his hold on me, but still kept our bodies intertwined. His lips found mine again, and he gave me the sweetest little kiss, only this time there was no tongue invasion or even teethin the way. Then the kiss slowly died out, with him pulling away. He smirked at me before tucking his monster cock back into his jeans and heading for the door.
“Thanks for the fuck. Hit me up next time you’re in Rosewood and I’ll put those lips of yours to good use.”
Huh?
WHATtheACTUAL FUCK?!
Chapter One
Trip
One week before Christmas...
“Everyone, find a seat,” King grumbled before taking his place at the head of the table, glancing at me, getting right to the point. “I received a call last night from Ansel Edwards.”
Stiffening in my seat, I shook my head. “No.”
“Trip. He just wants to talk to you.”
“No,” I said more firmly as I stood. “Got love for you, King, but this is one fucking order I will fucking ignore. You want my cut, say so now, but I’m not changing my mind.”
“Someone wanna tell me who in the hell is Ansel Edwards?” George asked, looking around the table.
“He’s the owner of the car Trip used to drive for when he ran the NASCAR circuit,” King muttered, leaning forward and placing his elbows on the table. “Trip and Ansel came up in the circuit together until a crash took Ansel’s leg. Ansel’s family came from money and to stay in the game, he and Trip designed the current engine Ansel’s cars use today.”
Gunner nodded and added, “But when Trip got in that accident some years back, Ansel walked away, throwing Trip to the wolves. Even though NASCAR absolved Trip of all wrongdoing, Ansel burned that bridge, and Trip’s never been in a car since.”
“So what does Ansel want, King?” Frank asked.
“Right now, just to sit down and talk with Trip. He wouldn’t give me specifics, but I had Scribe do some digging as to why he reached out.”
Scribe nodded and flipped open a folder. “Ansel’s got a problem. A big one. Either his driver has a death wish, or someone on his team is fucking with the engines because the last two practice runs have ended in disaster, with the last one almost taking his driver’s life. It was a bad one, King. Car was a total loss and the driver just got out of the hospital a week ago.”
“Who’s the driver?” Banks asked, looking up at me.
Scribe looked at the folder. “C.C. DuBois. Hails from New Orleans. Some up-and-coming hot shot with the need for speed.”
I scoffed, shaking my head.
King raised a brow at my reaction but didn’t comment. Scribe, however, looked intrigued. “What’s your problem with DuBois?” he asked.
I sat back down and leaned back in my chair, crossing my arms. “No problem with the driver specifically. It’s Ansel I don’t trust. He’s got a knack for picking talent, sure, but he’s also got a talent for throwing people under the bus when things go south. If there’s trouble brewing, you can bet he’s looking for someone to take the fall.”
Frank rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “So you think he’s setting his driver up?”
