Gridlock: Full Velocity Series - Book 2

by Delaney, Tracie

  She’d given me all the confirmation I needed. I kissed her, gently, taking my time, wanting to savor the sensual connection between us because once we got to her apartment our passion would ignite, and there’d be no going slow. My dick strained against my zip, thick and hot and heavy. I needed inside her so badly.

  Her hand moved south, and she gripped my erection through my trousers. Holy fuck, if it felt like that when she touched me through the barrier of clothes, Christ help me.

  “Let’s go, Tate,” she murmured against my lips. “I’d rather not get arrested on a public highway for having my head in your lap.”

  I couldn’t get out of the car fast enough. We darted into the lift. I kissed her again before the doors even closed. She threaded her fingers into my hair, tugging hard on the roots. I gripped the sides of her dress and pulled the fabric upward, exposing her smooth thighs to my hands.

  When we reached her floor, we were already rumpled and breathless. My shirt half hung outside my trousers, and the lapel of my tux creased where she fisted it as I ground my erection into her, humping her against the wall like a goddamn teenager.

  I took her hand, and we marched down the hallway. Despite Madison being tall, she still needed to put in the occasional skip and jog to keep up with me. By the time we reached her apartment, she already held her key in her hand. She inserted it into the lock, her fingers trembling ever so slightly. The door opened, and we stumbled inside. She planted her mouth on mine and then went straight for my trousers, releasing the clasp and lowering the zip in less than a second.

  Oh hell, she hadn’t been lying about the blow job. Fuck, I would last about three seconds if she put her mouth on me. I drew on every ounce of control I possessed.

  “Wait.” I clasped her wrist. “Hold on a second.”

  “Jesus Christ, Tate,” she moaned, letting her frustration leak out. “You’re not backing out. Not now. Men can be cockteases, too, you know.”

  I laughed. I couldn’t help it. Usually, the guy tried to move fast, and the woman attempted to slow things down.

  “I’m not backing out, but if you put your hand on me right now, let alone your mouth, I’ll come.”

  “So? Isn’t that the idea?”

  “When I say come, I mean like immediately. I’d kinda like to last a bit longer.”

  She caught on and grinned. “That’s good for my ego.”

  “And bad for mine,” I said.

  “I don’t care if you come in one second. We’ve got all night.” Undeterred, she reached for me again, successfully this time.

  My balls tightened, and I groaned. My head lolled back and banged against the door.

  I was done for.

  I closed my eyes. Maybe if I eliminated the visuals, it’d help. She wrapped her lips around the head of my cock and pulled me into the warmth of her mouth. Digging my fingernails into the palms of my hand, I winced when I found my scar. At least the pain gave me something else to concentrate on other than Madison sucking my dick. Fuck, she gave good head. Like, seriously amazing. Maybe her medical background gave her a greater understanding of a man’s physiology. If that were the case, I should have stuck to doctors all these years.

  I didn’t perform too badly in the end. I reckoned I made it past sixty seconds—a minor fucking miracle. As my balls drew up into my body, I thrust my hands into her hair, holding her in place. Not so tight that she couldn’t withdraw if she wanted to. She didn’t. She sucked harder.

  “Oh, fuck,” I groaned, emptying into her mouth. Euphoria rushed through my body, firing up my nerve endings. The feeling of an orgasm was more addictive than any drug, but all too soon it ended. Opening my eyes, I found Madison still on her knees, looking up at me with a strange expression on her face, kind of a mix between a frown and a smile. I didn’t know whether that signified a good or a bad thing.

  I tucked myself away, then dropped to my knees, too, and cupped her face. “So, wow. But more importantly, are you okay?”

  “You should have seen your face right before you came. That may be the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen.” She took my hand and pushed it underneath her dress. “Feel me, Tate. And you haven’t even touched me.”

  Her confidence, her honesty, was my undoing. I bunched her dress up to her waist then eased her back onto the floor. I didn’t even bother to remove her underwear, just pushed them to one side. Perfect. As I’d hoped, she had a full, neatly trimmed bush. Bare pussies made me feel like I shouldn’t be fucking what I was fucking.

  I parted her folds with my thumbs and slowly slipped my tongue inside. Her pelvis rose from the floor, and her legs writhed, exactly in the way I’d fantasized about a few days ago. I leaned on her inner thighs and, with her clit firmly between my thumb and forefinger, I plunged my tongue inside her over and over.

  She lasted a lot longer than I did, but not nearly long enough for me to have gotten my fill. The taste of her flooded onto my tongue. God, she tasted so sweet, so addictive. I wanted to do this over and over and over again.

  Panting, she leaned up on her elbows. “Okay, now the fast orgasms are out of the way, we can get down to business.”

  I laughed, but then I remembered an important point. “Shit. I haven’t got any condoms with me.”

  She smiled, and it was filled with mischief. “I do.”

  Relief washed over me. I could’ve easily dashed to the shop down the street, but only at the risk of ruining the moment. Similarly, Zoey would have brought me supplies—she’d done it before—but again, it would have taken too long. Great sex was in the moment, and that moment was now.

  I helped her to her feet, then swung her up into my arms. “We’ll discuss the reason you’ve got a stash of condoms later.”

  I strode across the living room, her giggles warming my insides, to the only other door which I guessed opened into the bedroom. Madison helpfully pushed down on the handle, and I carried her inside. The room had been illuminated with soft lighting, setting just the right mood, and the center held a large bed with a thick quilt and pale-pink scatter cushions. All very feminine and, I’d come to realize, very Madison.

  I set her down beside the bed.

  “Turn around,” I murmured.

  She did as I asked. Leisurely unzipping her dress, I let it fall to the floor. I felt more in control of my body now, more able to take my time, to savor every inch of her smooth, soft skin. I slid my hands up her sides, barely touching her, but enough to encourage a groan to ease from her throat. Unhooking her bra, I watched as the straps fell down her arms. The strip of lace joined her dress, followed by her panties. I spun her in my arms, my gaze falling to her firm, pert tits, the pink nipples begging for my mouth.

  I bent my head and sucked. She hissed and arched her back, clinging to my shoulders for support. My jacket came off, wrenched impatiently by Madison’s eager fingers. She tore at my shirt, and a couple of buttons pinged off the bedside table. And then she scored my chest, my back, her fingernails burrowing in deep while I grazed her nipple with my teeth.

  My trousers were still undone from earlier, and I tugged them down. I kicked off my shoes, laces still tied. Naked and free, and desperate. My cock jutted out from between my hips, the tip dark and needy.

  “Condom,” I said because full sentences weren’t possible.

  “Bedside table,” came the reply, Madison’s voice raw and husky, her little panting breaths sexy as fuck.

  I yanked open the drawer. The box of condoms was the only thing inside. I had no idea why that registered, but the oddness of it occurred to me. Tearing a silver packet off the strip, I opened it with my teeth and spat out the sliver of plastic. I slid the rubber on.

  Madison lay on the bed, and I crawled over her. I parted her legs and thrust inside in one go. She breathed a deep, satisfying sigh, as if my cock had pushed all the air from her lungs. She hooked her thighs over my hips, allowing me to bury myself even deeper.

  “Shit,” I gritted out as her inner walls clenched tightly around my dick.
I withdrew slowly, then slammed into her.

  She grunted, and for a split second I feared I’d hurt her, but then she reached above her head, gripped the headboard, tilted her pelvis, and demanded, “Harder.”

  I buried my hands in her hair and gave her what she asked for. The faster her breathing came, the rougher I pounded.

  “So close. God, Tate, I’m so close.”

  I shifted my weight until every push in grazed her clit. She gripped me even stronger now, matching me thrust for thrust. And then she expelled a long, drawn-out groan, her muscles pulsing as she orgasmed.

  I came right behind her, literally seconds later. Unable to hold myself up any longer, I collapsed on top of her, waiting for the violent jerks of my cock to cease. I stayed like that, inside her, panting, sweating, struggling to come to terms with just how fucking amazing that had been.

  She shifted beneath me, and I rolled to the side. I removed the condom, tied a knot in the end, and dropped it on the floor beside the bed. My hand sought hers in the dim light.

  “Fuck, Madison.”

  “Yes, you did.”

  I laughed. Turning on my side, I propped myself up on my elbow. “And when I’ve recovered, I’ll be fucking her again.”

  She mirrored my position, facing me with an arched eyebrow. “And there was me thinking a stud like you didn’t need time to recover. Such a disappointment.”

  I flipped her over so quickly, she didn’t even have time to respond. I cupped her chin, tilting her head, and crashed my mouth down on hers. Sixty seconds of kissing did the trick, and as I circled my hips, my cock hard once more, she smiled against my lips.

  “And that’s why I bought the extra-large box.”

  Madison

  The Hungarian Grand Prix came hot on the heels of Germany, literally a week later. By the time I’d packed up, late on Sunday night, I was dead on my feet. The medical center had been nonstop, fortunately with relatively minor issues ranging from bumps and bruises, a mechanic with a nasty gash in his leg requiring eleven stitches, to a case of heatstroke for a TV presenter after one of the hottest European summers on record.

  I’d barely seen Tate in the last few days. We’d grabbed a quick dinner before we’d left Germany, but apart from that, we’d only managed to snatch the odd conversation here and there, as well as share a sneaky kiss or two. He’d been so focused on the championship. Jared won the race in Germany which meant Tate, being an ultra-competitive beast, scheduled a bunch of extra testing. It had paid off, though, because he’d crossed the finish line at today’s race with ten seconds between him and Jared who’d come in second. It might not sound like much, but winning a Grand Prix race by ten seconds was like a soccer match ending with a score of ten goals to nil.

  At least I’d get some time off now. Three weeks until the next race, which meant two and a half weeks to do whatever I pleased before returning to work. I planned to go home, sleep, then pay a visit to Mum and Dad. And see Tate, of course. At least I hoped so. He hadn’t mentioned what his plans were for the summer break. If they didn’t at least partially include me, it would send a message I wasn’t prepared to hear.

  I’d just finished packing away the last of the sterilized instruments when the door behind me opened, and in walked the man himself. The skin beneath his eyes was shaded, a sign of extreme tiredness, but his irises looked alive with excitement. He gathered my hair into a makeshift ponytail, used it to tug my head back, and kissed me.

  “Did you watch?” he asked, a tinge of hopefulness to his tone.

  I shook my head, avoiding his gaze when disappointment flashed across his face. It was difficult for Tate to understand, but I didn’t want to watch him or anyone else hurtling around a track, risking life and limb for the amusement and entertainment of the cheering crowds. Even after Tate had taken me racing in that two-seater car, and I’d witnessed firsthand his supreme skill, it simply served to remind me of Dean’s accident and the fragility of the human body.

  I hadn’t told Tate yet, but Dean’s birthday was coming up, and I knew it would destroy me. He’d have been twenty-two, with his whole life to look forward to. Instead, apart from my memories, all I had to cling to was a tiny headstone in a cold churchyard where we’d buried his ashes.

  “It’s okay,” he said, brushing my lips once more. “I get it, Mads.”

  And you know what? I really thought he’d started to understand my point of view. What we lacked in time, we made up for in intensity, and not only in the bedroom. Our conversations were deep and meaningful, and I’d begun to hope our polarizing opinions about the sport had edged closer together.

  The other day, I’d watched an interview where he’d spoken, for the first time ever, about how hard he worked, how even he, multiple world champion, Tate Flynn, sometimes experienced an ‘Oh shit’ moment when hurtling toward a tire wall. My heart had soared when I’d watched the interview because I dared to dream that, on some level, his mind had been on me when he’d given it.

  I cupped his face. “I wanted to, but I just…”

  He pecked my lips. “It doesn’t matter.”

  Except it did. I vowed to try harder, although I had a horrible feeling I’d fail miserably. My psychological beliefs that racing was ultimately a death wish were too deeply ingrained.

  “Want to get out of here?” Tate asked, adding, “No helicopters, I promise.”

  I grinned. “Don’t tell me the mighty Tate Flynn travels commercial?”

  He stared at me in mock horror. “Erm, hell no.”

  I laughed. I knew Tate owned a private jet, although I hadn’t traveled on it yet. I couldn’t blame him for the extravagance. Using commercial airlines posed restrictions on times, dates, availability. He needed more flexibility than that to do his job. And for all the glamor, the money, the perks and privileges, in the end, that’s what it was. A job.

  Tate spent a large proportion of the drive to the airport on the phone to his assistant. As I listened in on his conversation, it struck me how many demands there were on his time. If he wasn’t attending the post-race interviews, or signing autographs, the factory required his presence, to speak to the staff members, all of whom played a crucial part in his success. And that excluded the many events his sponsors demanded he attend. They didn’t pay him millions of dollars per year for nothing. Add to all that, the hours testing on the track, the strategy meetings, the time he spent with his team principal, his race engineer, and his lead mechanic. All in all, it didn’t give Tate very much free time.

  The car stopped at the bottom of the steps to his plane with Tate still speaking on the phone. Excitement nipped at my gut as Tate took my hand, and we walked up the metal staircase. He gestured for me to go in first.

  As I did, my mouth dropped open. This was luxury on a grand scale. I remembered once splashing out to travel business class to attend a bachelorette party in Las Vegas. I could only get three days off work, and so I knew I’d need to sleep on the way home to have any chance of making it through a shift at the hospital. I thought that had been the epitome of comfort and extravagance. How wrong I’d been.

  Two large sofas upholstered in charcoal-gray leather sat on either side of the plane. Each one had a dark-colored coffee table in front, and bookending them were matching high-backed chairs that clearly reclined. On the back wall hung a massive TV screen, and beyond that a doorway, which I guessed led to the bathroom facilities. Even the floor had wall-to-wall carpeting.

  “Thanks, Zoey,” Tate said behind me. “I think that’s everything. We’ve just got on board now. I’ll call you when we land.” His arms came around my waist, and he rested his chin on my shoulder. “Sorry about that. I’ve neglected you horribly.”

  “This is… this is…” I twisted in his arms. “Wow.”

  Tate grinned. “It’s probably over the top but…” He shrugged.

  “What else are you going to do with all that cash you make?”

  His face darkened, and his smile drained away. He tried to hide it
by lowering his head and kissing my neck, but I’d clearly said something to sour his mood. But when he met my gaze once more, his usual sunny demeanor had returned. “Have a seat. We’ll be taking off soon.”

  I almost asked him what was wrong but changed my mind at the last minute. After today, I didn’t know when I’d see him again, and drilling into an obvious, if confusing, source of pain wasn’t how I wanted us to spend these last couple of hours together.

  After a smooth takeoff, we reached cruising altitude within twenty minutes. Tate fetched me a Coke and grabbed a bottle of water for himself. I’d still never seen him touch a drop of alcohol. I envied his control, probably a key contributor to his success. I’d learned that not every driver maintained such discipline with their vices, hence they weren’t on track to win the world championship for the fifth time.

  “Two and a half weeks off before you have to prepare for the next race,” I said, snuggling into his side. “What are you going to do with all that time?”

  He draped an arm around my shoulder and hugged me close. “Sadly, I don’t get all that time off. I’ve still got a couple of sponsorship events to attend.”

  I pulled a face. “You work too hard.”

  He laughed. “Says the girl who, until a few weeks ago, thought of me as a complete waste of space.”

  I couldn’t deny it, so instead, I kissed his cheek. “You won me over with your natural charm and your talented dick.”

  Tate arched an eyebrow. “Talented, huh?” I found myself beneath him, his lips no more than an inch from mine. “Well maybe, if you’re game, my talented dick and I can spend a little of our summer break with you.”

  It was exactly the response I’d hoped for, but before I could respond, he kissed me.

  “There’s a bedroom just through that door,” Tate murmured against my lips. “And ninety minutes until we land. Hmm, I wonder if my talented dick can still perform to your exacting standards at thirty thousand feet?”

  He didn’t need to wonder for long.