by Penny Reid
By the end of fourth race I’d basically crawled into Duane’s lap, and I squealed unthinkingly each time the cars rounded a curve. My squeals made Duane laugh and he held me tighter.
As soon as the—five this time—remaining competitors crossed the finish line, Duane peeled my fingers from where I’d dug them into his legs.
“Having a good time?” He nuzzled my neck, kissing it, then set me away and stood.
I turned to him and I’m sure my eyes were huge, as was my smile. “Yes, I’m having the best time. I never thought I’d enjoy all this craziness, but it’s amazing and I’m so glad you brought me.”
He gave me and my run-on sentence a distracted half smile as he pulled out a pair of leather gloves from his jacket. “Good. That’s good.”
I glanced between him and the gloves he was pulling on, felt my own smile wane. He took off his jacket and handed it to me.
“Where are you…?” My mouth couldn’t quite form the question because I already knew the answer. Abruptly, my heart thudded in my chest quite painfully, jumping around like it was trying to break free.
“Oh my God, Duane. Don’t you dare.”
At just that moment movement caught my attention beyond Duane. Devon—the biker from earlier—and a woman I didn’t recognize were walking toward us.
“I’ll be right back.” Duane brought my attention back to him, nudging my legs apart with his knee, and stepped between them. He wrapped a gloved hand around the back of my head and bent to give my open mouth a kiss, and it was a great kiss. It made me feel like I was being tasted, savored, remembered. Or maybe he was trying to impart the memory to me. Either way, I wasn’t going to forget it.
Too soon he straightened, holding my somewhat dazed but also panicked gaze for just a short moment—again, with plans in his eyes—then turned. Duane strolled away before I could think to protest again. As I watched him go, I stood, then sat. Then stood again. I didn’t know what to do.
As Duane passed Devon he shook the biker’s hand, nodded toward me, patted him on the shoulder, and then continued on his way.
I watched the exchange with incredulity, studied Duane’s long strides before he was completely swallowed by the crowd.
“Hey Jess, this is Keisha. Mind if we keep you company?”
My eyes moved to Devon, then to his pretty lady friend, then back to Devon.
My voice cracked as I asked, “He’s going to race, isn’t he?”
The biker flashed me a big smile, like he thought my nerves were funny. “Yep. And I got two hundred dollars saying he comes in ten seconds ahead of the next fastest car.”
“Don’t worry, baby.” Keisha squeezed my arm and gave me a sweet smile. “Red ain’t ever lost.”
I sat back down on the boulder and placed Duane’s jacket over my legs; it was still warm from his body.
He was going to race. And he’d sent a biker named Saint to watch over me.
A chill passed through me despite the added layer of his jacket. The food I’d eaten settled in my stomach like a cold lump. I was no longer having a good time.
I hardly noticed as the pair sat next to me, but I was irritated to hear how excited they were to watch my old man’s race. It was one thing to watch people I didn’t know, didn’t intimately care about, risk their necks. It was quite another to sit on the sidelines and not lose my mind as Duane revved the engine of his Road Runner at the starting position.
I thought about running forward and throwing myself in front of his car. I thought about it…but I didn’t. Instead I prayed and clasped my hands together. They were shaking. I was not okay with this turn of events.
If he hurt himself, I swore to God, I was going to kill him. And if he didn’t hurt himself, I was going to demand he take me home at once. With each passing second my anxiety increased as did my feelings of helplessness.
I didn’t want to watch him race. I was not amused.
By the time the starting shot echoed through the air, I’d worked myself up into a real tizzy, a temper tantrum befitting my bratty past. I wanted to close my eyes, bury my face in my hands, and wait ’til it was over, but I couldn’t.
Duane immediately pulled ahead and my stomach dropped. Devon and Keisha whooped excitedly, both standing. He was the first to reach the turn and every muscle in my body tensed, my nails digging in to the flesh of my palms, and I braced myself for the worst.
But the worst didn’t come.
In fact, he didn’t take the turn, he attacked it. He was, by far, the fastest I’d seen around the corner, and slingshotted around to the other side completely unscathed. His engine revved, sending thrills and worry to each of my nerve endings.
But after two more turns I realized Duane really knew what the hell he was doing. He was amazing.
Now my eyes were glued to Duane’s Road Runner. Devon and Keisha’s excited shouts faded, as it slid around the last return cone. He was in the lead by several car lengths. Rationally, I knew it was just an old car, but something about the way he drove it turned all that metal into a sexy machine. He drove with swagger, panache, control. How he could be so unbridled on the race track and yet dominate with precision at the same time rang my bell—like, blaring five-alarm fire bell ringing.
But I was still mad at him.
In fact, I was furious.
… Or at least I thought I was.
I felt the roar of his engine as he charged through the finish line, chased by a cloud of dust. The crowd cheered and I was up on my feet moving toward his car. I was still wound up in a tight knot of worry and tension. It was cold outside, yet I was hot all over.
My jaw clenched and worked, and I rehearsed the words I wanted to say:
How dare you make me watch you almost kill yourself! You gave me no warning, you just left me and I’m so angry that I want to…want to…
I couldn’t finish the thought because what I really wanted to do was rip his clothes off, which made no sense. It seemed my main problem centered on the fact that I didn’t know if I was pissed off, turned on, or both.
Peripherally, I heard Devon call my name. I ignored him.
Then I heard snippets of conversations from the horde as my furious walk turned into an urgent jog. These conversations ranged from smart-assed remarks about how he never lost, to frustrated comments regarding how he shouldn’t be allowed to race anymore because he always won, to serious discussions asking why he wasn’t racing professionally.
By the time I reached him, he was out of the car and surrounded by a crowd. I didn’t hesitate to push my way to the front. But once I arrived, and he was there in front of me, safe and sound, I stopped short. Some emotion clogged my throat, one I couldn’t identify.
As soon as he saw me his face split into a giant grin and his eyes—burning brighter than I’d ever seen them—devoured mine. Duane grabbed my hand and pulled me forward, wrapped his arm around my waist and pressed my body to his.
Then he kissed me. Hard.
Caught by surprise, I braced my hands on his chest to steady myself, and I felt his heart thundering against my palm.
And I had only a single thought: I needed him. Right now. I needed to know he was okay, in one piece. My need felt positively feral. I needed to feel the strength and vitality of his body beneath my hands, and I needed his hands on me.
Our kiss elicited several more smart-ass comments paired with whistles, but I didn’t care. I didn’t know these people, and even if I did, it wouldn’t have made much of a difference.
Duane leaned backward and away, though his arms still held me. Undeterred, I kissed his neck, reached under the hem of his navy blue shirt to touch his skin.
He grabbed my hands and he was breathing hard. “Jess, wait a minute.”
“Nope.” I whispered the single word in his ear right before I used my tongue to suck it into my mouth. He stiffened and I heard him release a quiet groan.
“Red, looks like you got to go, son. We can send your cash later.” This sentiment came from somepl
ace over my shoulder. The man who’d said it was laughing, his raspy voice only served to punctuate the meaning of his words.
Duane turned us around, used his strength and size to leverage me onto the bench seat, no longer protesting my liberal pawing. We were horizontal, and he returned my fevered kisses, taking control of my hungry explorations and harnessing them, giving the hot slide of our mouths finesse and purpose.
Although, peripherally I realized he’d shut the driver’s side door, cocooning us inside his sexy machine. I also heard increased/louder comments, whistling, and now banging on the roof of the car.
Kneeling over me, he dipped his head to one side, his beard rough against my cheek and jaw, and growled in my ear, “Jessica, do you think you can give me a few minutes to drive us out of this crowd? Find a private spot?”
“I don’t know if I can wait that long,” I answered honestly, my breathing ragged with excitement even though the progress of my reaching hand had been frustrated by his belt.
Duane made a short noise of disbelief that soon turned into loud, rumbly laughter. The sound succeeded in tugging me somewhat out of my feral cloud. I saw he was smiling at me, his face just inches from mine.
I reluctantly returned his smile. “I’m actually kind of serious. I think if you breathed on me I’d orgasm.”
My confession made his eyes widen as he laughed again; then he squinted at me. “I’m kinda breathing on you now.”
“No, you mistake my meaning. If you were to breathe on me down there,” I glanced down at myself meaningfully then back to him, “I would totally come apart.”
He sat up, his smile now a smirk. “That sounds like a dare.”
“No. It’s not a dare. It’s a truth,” I whispered, lost in his eyes. I realized one of his hands was up my skirt, digging into my bare thigh.
He searched my face in the dark car, as though hoping to read the veracity of my statement. The crowd surrounding us grew a bit more obnoxious and were now peeping through the windows. Duane shook himself. He withdrew his hands and set me away at the same time, lifting me to a more vertical position.
He engaged the ignition, revving it, as he glanced in his rearview mirror. “Put on your seatbelt, we need to move.”
I used the center seat belt, and then snuggled close to him, weaving my fingers into the hair at the back of his neck and using my other hand to stroke his inner thigh. He was tense. His muscles felt tight.
“Duane,” I whispered in his ear, more breath than sound, “I’m not letting you leave this car until we make it to second base. At least.”
He rolled the Road Runner forward slightly, nudging the crowd out of the way, giving me his profile. “Jess, you know how good I am at baseball, right?”
I got the feeling he was waiting for me to answer. “Yes, Duane. I know you’re good at baseball.”
His eyes slid to the side, collided with mine. Again, I saw intense focus, like he had plans and they all involved me.
“Do you think I’d settle for second base if I was sure I could steal home?”
Chapter 14
“As you walk and eat and travel, be where you are. Otherwise you will miss most of your life.”
Gautama Buddha
~Duane~
Jessica James tonguing my ear, stroking my thigh, her knuckles brushing against my hard-on, all while I navigated back mountain roads.
It was a gauntlet.
While I drove, in between kisses she’d managed to pull off my shirt, unbuckle my belt, undo the button and the zipper of my jeans. She was single-mindedly focused on removing my clothes, but had yet to remove a single article of her own—an oversight requiring immediate rectification.
The only sound in the car was our breathing, the roar of the engine, and her soft moans of please and hurry.
But despite my earlier allusions to rounding the bases and her sexy little sounds and touches, the drive gave me the time I needed to gain perspective. I’d made up my mind a long time ago. Our first time wasn’t going to be in a car.
I’d always figured, in the unlikely event Jessica agreed to my courtship, we would wait. I’d decided, likely after we’d confessed our undying love and devotion to each other and were engaged, we’d go on vacation together for an anniversary. It would be someplace I could romance her. Or maybe we would wait until we were married. That had always been my assumption.
My expectations hadn’t factored in her life goals and ambitions.
We weren’t going to have any anniversaries, romantic vacations, or a wedding night. We only had now. Regardless, despite her eagerness to consummate our abridged relationship, I couldn’t completely shake off my years of frustrated hopes. It wouldn’t be what I’d wanted, but I was damn determined to make it meaningful and memorable. Even if she didn’t care about the where and how, I did.
No.
Nothing would be rushed or hurried. I would take my time, several times. We would have all night, not a quickie in my Road Runner.
Now if she would just stop dipping her fingers into my boxers, I’d be able to form a coherent thought.
I pulled into Hawk’s Field. It was closer to The Canyon than it was to Green Valley. I didn’t have the luxury of a forty-five minute drive back into town. And I wasn’t surprised to see we weren’t the only car on the lot. But the field was massive, with several offshoots and dirt roads, plenty of space and cover for privacy.
As soon as I had the car in park and the lights off, I grabbed her hands and pulled them away from my body. I needed to think, and feeling her stiff nipples through her soft dress wasn’t helping my state of mind.
“What—what are you doing?” she asked, sounding breathless.
I didn’t answer. I made the mistake of releasing one of her hands so I could slide mine under her dress and she brought it down to my groin, stroking me through my boxers.
“Take off your pants,” she ordered, her nails clawing at my jeans and redirecting the blood flow from my brain.
Again, I had to grab her wrist. “Jess—”
“I want you,” she pleaded, biting my neck.
“Take off your dress.”
“I’ll take off my underwear. I thought I could just hike up my dress and climb on your lap,” she said in a panting whisper.
The image her words conjured elicited an involuntary groan from the back of my throat, but I managed to say, “No fucking way, and we’re not debating this. Take off your dress.” I fingered one of the buttons at her back.
She freed one of her hands again and seemed to be trying to touch every inch of my bare skin on her way south. Her dress was already hiked up to her upper thighs because she was climbing onto my lap, rubbing herself on my leg. Basically, I was losing my mind.
“Duane, please. I need you. Please just let me—”
“I need your skin.” I released her wrist and slid my hands from her knees to her hips, hiking the material up higher, revealing a scrap of white lace. But I didn’t stop, I kept pushing the dress up, needing the weight of her bare breasts in my hands; not exactly sure what we were doing, where this was leading, and hoping I had enough sense once she was naked to rein myself in.
“Wait, Duane, wait.”
The dress bunched up and became bulky. For the first time since we entered the car, her hands moved away from my body voluntarily as she tried to withdraw them from her sleeves. I attempted to take advantage of the moment by unclasping her bra, but underneath the sweater material of her dress was a slip of some sort, and it was tight around her ribs and chest, restricting both our movements.
Not helping matters, she’d tried taking an arm out of her sleeve and her elbow was now caught between her body and the dress, immobilizing the hand. Her other arm was up and at an awkward angle, hitting the roof of the car.
I tried pushing the dress higher, but that just complicated matters, bunching it beneath her ribs.
I looked at her, and her face was red. I could tell by the set of her jaw she was frustrated. Jess was basical
ly trapped in the material, straddling my hips, and flailing her torso from side to side as she tried to get free.
Then she started to cuss. She looked like an enraged kitten.
I couldn’t help it. I laughed.
I gripped her hips, brought my forehead to her stomach just under the bunched fabric, and laughed against her bare skin.
“Duane Winston, are you laughing at me?” she growled, huffing a bit as she struggled with the dress.
“Yes. I am laughing at you.” I couldn’t stop laughing. I felt tears gather in my eyes. She looked so ridiculous and adorable, trapped in her dress. And I was relieved. Because the moment of brevity had a sobering effect.
I heard her laugh a bit too, but it sounded irritated. “Well, if you could trouble yourself to stop laughing long enough, maybe you could help me out of this straightjacket. I’d really appreciate it.”
I leaned back against the bench and studied her. “What can I do?”
“First of all, wipe that grin off your face.”
I tried, I did. But instead I laughed again.
“Oh good Lord!” She paired her exclamation with an eye roll.
“Fine.” I held my hands up, showing my surrender. “Fine. There are buttons?”
“Yes, but, I don’t think we’ll be able to unfasten them with me in this position. Can you pull the dress back down?”
I nodded, concentrating on helping her untangle herself even as I mourned the loss of her skin. I pulled the slip down first, then the bulkier sweater fabric next. Her elbow was still caught, so I reached around her and tried to unbutton a few inches at the center of her back. She held my shoulder for balance with her free hand as I worked.
Pretty soon I realized I was going to need to see the buttons. They were round and small and slippery, and I couldn’t get a good grip.
“Jess, you’re going to need to get off my lap and turn around. I can’t work these through the loops like this.”
