Open Wheel

by Shey Stahl

  He stared at me, memories flashing in his eyes, softening his hardened expression. “Please, don’t ignore me anymore. I want you so bad, baby. I don’t care about anything else, just give me something.” His hungry lips sought mine, desperate, needing, giving in.

  I was so taken back by the sudden change in him, I lost myself in the moment, caught up with his need, which was most certainly mine too. I kissed him back, my hands on his shoulders over the smooth material of his racing suit.

  Walking backward, my back hit the side of the hauler just as his chest came in full contact with mine. It was a moment of weakness, and I wished I hadn’t let myself fall, controlled by desire I had for him.

  I couldn’t take it any longer, the violent rise and fall of his chest. He really was desperate.

  His reaction was a reminder, though, that we had to stop.

  “Stop it.” I placed my hand on his chest and stepped back, watching his eyes that seemed distracted.

  “Stop what?” He drew back, eyes wild and reckless, everything he was on and off the track.

  “This.” I motioned to my brothers not more than twenty feet from us. “Everyone can see.”

  “Stop backing away from me,” he growled, coming forward again, a soft rumble in his chest as it pressed to mine. His head hit my shoulder, my back against the side of his hauler. The cool metal gave my body a jump and I felt a surge of heat rush through me. It was like a 410 rumbling to life and the roar of horsepower that followed. “I don’t like that I’ve been denied something for so long,” he said, his lips at my ear when his head twisted, breath cool compared to the heat inside me. “It only makes me want it more. I’ve tried to forget it, but I can’t.”

  “Rager,” I pushed back against his chest again, my palms flat, fingertips pushing, feeling the heat from him even over his racing suit.

  “Don’t tell me to stop.” His hand rose to touch the side of my face, his weight pressing forward in attempt to make contact with me again. His right thumb slid over my lips, a memory of him sticking his fingers in my mouth the other night plagued my memory, gave me a chill but flushed my skin with warmth. “You know you don’t want me to.”

  “I just can’t do this right now.” I wasn’t sure what else to say to him. I couldn’t just drop everything and make out with him.

  His hands dropped, trying to decipher my words from his thoughts and what they really meant. “Always when it’s convenient for you, huh?”

  My lids lowered, wanting to sink to the ground where they landed.

  He had every right to say that to me.

  TWENTY MINUTES LATER, I stood inside the hauler searching for the race receiver I knew I left in there when I felt Rager come up behind me, grabbing my hips from behind, his face nestled into my neck. “I didn’t mean it.”

  Turning around, we stared at one another for a moment, and then he stepped forward, his eyes low on my body. Pushing the hair from his forehead, I let my fingers linger on his face. “Didn’t mean it? It sure doesn’t seem like that.”

  “I didn’t mean it,” he repeated.

  “Stop.” I pushed back away from him, just a few inches. “Not right now.”

  “You’re saying no?” He raised an eyebrow and I nodded. “Should I remind you how good the other night was?” Resting his hand along my jaw, he moved it back slightly so his thumb ran over my bottom lip. “Remind you how loud you were screaming for me?”

  His eyes fell, watching the tentative touch, lazy lidded, and then back to mine. He stared at me, memories flashing and then his demeanor softened, gave in a little from the harshness he just displayed. I knew exactly what memories too.

  “Please…” he begged. “I can’t stop thinking about how much I want you.”

  Leaning down, he kissed me, hungry lips seeking mine, desperate, needing. His tongue stroked my lips before pulling it inside his mouth harshly.

  Sighing, he drew back, mouth lingering over the top of mine. “Why do you torture me? Why is this so fucking hard?”

  My body trembled as his fingers weaved into my hair, grasping a handful and pulling as his mouth covered mine.

  “I don’t mean to torture you.” Losing myself in the moment, I caught up with his need and kissed him back. Part of me knew we shouldn’t have been inside the hauler doing this, but nothing could stop us after the taste we got. Nothing.

  Certainly aware of the reasons why we couldn’t do this right now, Rager seemed to fight with that for a half a second before he gave up and started working on getting his racing suit off.

  Gripping his neck, my hands fisted in his hair, tighter, never wanting to let go. He moaned quietly again as our tongues met, a sound that was barely heard over the uproar surrounding us outside. I found myself moving backward at his lead, guided to a resting point against the door that was closed and, thankfully, locked.

  I felt things happening as he pressed against me, keeping me in place against the door with his hips, so strong and forceful I couldn’t move even if I wanted. The burning in my stomach ached with need, my body arching against him in response, wanting him to fulfill that need.

  Shaking, my body curved, bending around his, craving the quiet groans that fell from his lips. “That’s it, give into me.”

  He felt the instant I did.

  His mouth moved hastily from my ear to my neck and down my collarbone, before returning to my mouth.

  Suddenly, Rager stepped back and unzipped his racing suit, pulling it down to his waist and then removing his shirt that was under.

  Rager Sweet with no shirt was just about the sexiest thing I’d ever seen. I would never tire of seeing that sight. Everywhere I looked was hard, taut, tanned muscle begging to be touched and licked.

  With lust-stricken eyes, I grasped onto him anywhere I could, hands fisting in the band of his boxers, which were now peeking out, and then brushing up over his arms and grabbing his biceps, feeling them flex and tighten beneath my grasp as he moved forward.

  “Tell me you don’t want this, and I’ll let you go.”

  I couldn’t say that and he knew it.

  Without breaking the kiss, his mouth was back to my neck when his hips moved against mine. There was no denying what was going on when he rubbed against me.

  My heart hammered, breathing escaping me entirely. I couldn’t help myself, my hips moved, making more direct, persistent contact with his.

  He made a noise in my ear, somewhere between a gasp and a groan, as his body answered mine. “I can’t wait any longer…” he said, moving his hips once more. I clenched my eyes shut at the heightening of every sensation I was already feeling.

  Supporting my weight against the door, his hands crept to my breasts, massaging them with need and desire. My hips pushed against his again, savoring the feeling, but knowing this should be stopped. The sensation, a reminder, jolted through my body like a spark to an engine, like the igniting of a firecracker.

  He was beseeching me without words now, imploring eyes and shaking hands. It was hard to resist. I wanted to be with him again.

  Pressing his lips to mine, he drowned out everything when the trouble-tortured groan left his lips and he reached for a condom kept in a drawer to his left.

  As he did that, I pulled down my jeans, tossing them aside, and then my shirt and bra, leaving me naked. When he turned back to me, he saw I was ready.

  “So goddamn perfect.”

  The fantasy of having sex against a wall is just that. A fantasy. It was never comfortable.

  Knowing that, Rager gave a nod to the table, moving me over there, and then laid me out before him, his hands roaming over my skin. Just then, the eight-minute horn sounded, letting the drivers know they were ready to start lining up for the feature.

  Rager looked at me and winked, but said nothing. I half expected him to say something dirty, but then again, he was too caught up to say anything witty.

  Face flushed and gasping for air as he moved, words rushed from his lips. “Oh God, Arie… fuck, that�
�s so good.”

  I loved the way he spoke my name, and the way it made me feel when he said it, secure, wanted, desired to the point of obsession and exactly what he had now.

  Throwing my head back against the table, Rager’s grip dug into my hips, pounding into me with need, fucking me thoroughly. “You’re not going to be able to walk tomorrow.”

  “Oh God,” I whispered, not knowing what else to say. Dazed by his words, I desperately climbed up his body, he gave me a lift, hands low, holding me there.

  “Say it, Arie,” he begged, his breathing heavy as his hands wrapped tightly around my hair, tugging so my head was angled toward him, eyes locked. “You have to fucking say it. Tell me you want me too. Tell me that you’re mine—” He paused, swallowing with a regretful shake to his head. “I can stop.”

  Could he? I didn’t think he could. Not really. If you took one look into Rager Sweet’s eyes, you understood stopping wasn’t something he was capable of.

  Sometimes you had to ask for something you wanted, and Rager was fixated on making me do just that. He wanted me to tell him what he so badly desired to hear from me.

  “I’m yours...”

  And it was the truth. Always had been.

  “Arie...” Again, my name, his weakness, a prayer, spoken against my lips, as if he was claiming me. He knew as well as I did there would never be another.

  His hands ran up my thighs to my hips, until they reached my ribcage. With his hand splayed out between my breasts, he pushed me back down so I was laid out before him. “Don’t deny me the sight of your body.”

  What? Oh. Wow. The way he was so demanding in bed was just like I’d always envisioned him to be.

  My eyes snapped shut when he slammed into me again, filling me, over and over again.

  Once he was inside of me, it seemed like he was rushing for the win. With every thrust of his hips, the table beneath me shook.

  I wanted to slow it down, but I knew we couldn’t, he wouldn’t. We had five minutes. My sounds mixed with his sounds was all it took to get lost for me, and with every thrust, every moan, I was pushed over the edge until I was falling with him.

  No, literally falling, onto a stack of tires off the table.

  Rager caught us by falling to his knees, never pulling out of me. Instead, his hands wrapped under and over the tops of my shoulders, slamming me down on him, over and over again.

  It was quick, and then Rager groaned, his body shaking as he let go, strangled words fell from his lips, his head thrown back. Watching him in the midst of his orgasm was enough for me. I didn’t need to get off to get pleasure out of that. When his body stopped shaking, I wondered what he was going to say to me next.

  Leaning back to see his face, I let a hand drift, running my fingertips along the edge of his cheek, and for a split second, he opened his eyes to me.

  I wanted to see warmth and the connection reach his eyes. And when I didn’t see it, I felt a hint of fear as I realized all I saw was sadness. His lids fell shut again, and he began kissing me harder.

  He didn’t believe me that I was his, and kissing me like this was his way of begging.

  Under that sadness—the vulnerability and the emotion—was something in the way he looked at me, like I was all he’d ever wanted. I felt beautiful in the harsh light of that hauler, alive, consumed by what had just happened between us. With one last kiss, his mouth parted from mine.

  There was a sting as he slid out of me, both in my body and my heart. My breathing evened out, he was gasping, hands in his hair, swallowing over and over again, trying to gain control. “Fuck…” he breathed out when I stood.

  Drawing back, he stared at me as he stood, too, almost confused, his breathing remaining heavy.

  His head slumped forward as he panted in harsh breaths, pulling his racing suit back up and over his shoulders.

  With the knock on the door, reality slowly returned, and the weight set in as he looked at me nervously. “I gotta go,” he mumbled, so low I had to strain to hear him.

  My cheeks broke out into a fire, waiting to see what he’d say. Finally, he drew in a deep breath and looked over his shoulder at the door.

  And then he smiled and bent down to retrieve my clothes for me. “I owe you one now…”

  “Yeah.” I bit my bottom lip, relaxing slightly and reached for my shirt. “You do.”

  His brow went up, and he planted a gentler kiss on my cheek, his damp hair fell against my face. “Sorry,” he whispered, for what I had no idea.

  Maybe because I didn’t get off.

  Leaning his forehead against mine, he admitted, “That wasn’t exactly what I—”

  “Rager!” Lane yelled, pounding on the door with his fist. “Come on, man! They’re ready! Get the fuck out here!”

  He glanced over his shoulder at the door again. “I’ll be right out!”

  Moving back, he shifted away completely, righting his racing suit and reaching for his helmet. His eyes moved to mine, glassy, before looking away.

  “I’ll be back.” He leaned in, his lips pressed to my forehead, staying there for what seemed like forever. When he retracted, his eyes fixated on mine. “Meet me back here?”

  I nodded, and he stood there staring at me for a moment, the rush of everything sinking in.

  The air changed, and I felt it. It was in the confused expression of his brows and the way he ran his hand over the back of his neck. He hesitated at the door, as if he couldn’t decide if he wanted to say something else to me.

  Waiting for me to get dressed, I did so quickly, and then made the few steps toward him to cradle his face between my hands.

  The corners of his mouth twitched into a half smile, my eyes drifting closed when he pressed his warm lips to mine one last time. “You’re mine,” he stated, making me taste his words.

  Drawing back, he cracked a small, yet sad smile, waiting for my reaction to his statement of possession.

  “It’s about time.”

  Something flickered in his eyes, though, a realization I could see. Of what, I didn’t know. But I did see he feared this would always be this way.

  “I’ll be here waiting,” I told him, hoping he understood I wasn’t going anywhere.

  Giving me a fleeting look, he then turned and left, slamming the door behind him.

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  “I’LL BE HERE waiting.”

  I would be waiting.

  For once, I’d be right there when he returned from the feature race.

  When I reached the announcers booth, I couldn’t wipe the grin from my face when they announced Rager. “Starting sixth from Bartlett Tennessee, the Solar Seals, number ninety-nine of Rager “The Sweet Spot” Sweet.”

  All I could think about was the next time and what meet me back here meant. I knew what I wanted it to mean.

  I wanted everything this man could give me. And I knew he could give me all I’d ever wanted, whether it be physically or emotionally.

  The action started quickly with my dad and Axel on the front row. Rager came on strong and had three cars past by the time lap five rolled around, but his car had nothing on Axel’s. He pulled out to a four car lead over my dad and stayed there through the all-green feature event. The track had dried out halfway through, leaving one line and a cushion that seemed bitter.

  I went down trackside, trudging through clay with flip-flops and cut off frayed jeans and my black JAR Racing flowing tank, to interview Axel when he won.

  I was careful not to mention anything that would set him off, or give away the fact I really couldn’t wait to get the interview over so I could find Rager again.

  I also didn’t care for doing interview
s. Speaking into a microphone wasn’t my thing.

  Two hours later, the guys were still partying in the pits, though Tommy had disappeared already. Probably too drunk to function. Those who said Tommy wasn’t affected by Jack dying were wrong. So wrong. He drank more now than ever to cover up the pain and the guilt he felt.

  During the first part of the season, when Axel won, both he and Tommy would disappear. Axel would talk to fans, smile occasionally, but being his usual self that interacted with everyone, he wasn’t that guy anymore. Grief changed people in some unexplainable ways.

  After two beers, I was starting to wonder if Rager and I were going to be able to sneak away. He was watching me, longneck in hand, signing autographs and relaxing in a chair about fifteen feet from me.

  Even with the distance between us, the heat of his stare was burning my skin. It was like he could convey his want, his need through his eyes.

  And I knew the power those eyes held.

  Women flocked to him, surrounding, pushing their tits in his face and their children at him in attempt to say, “My little girl loves you.” When in reality, it was their mother who was wet by just his smile.

  When they would lean in for a selfie with him, he’d give them a thrill by wrapping his arm around them, giving them a little something to take home.

  It didn’t bother me as much as I thought it would, though, there was a pang of envy when the brave ones would kiss his cheek. What I cared about most was that later; I’d feel that arm wrapped around me.

  There was a part of me that was jealous for the fact that I couldn’t go over there either. I couldn’t let on that I was in love with him and desperate to climb on his lap.

  Woman after woman walked past me after getting photographs with Rager, or my brothers. Each one gushing over things like, “Did you see how blue his eyes are up close?”

  And after meeting Casten, “That tattoo on his forearm is hot.”

  Casten had an engine, very detailed I might add, tattooed on his arm. It looked good, but I wouldn’t call it hot.

  Then, after meeting Axel, “Wow, he doesn’t talk much, but it’s so sad he lost his son.”