The Driven Series

by Bromberg, K.

  I know my head’s fucked up but I’m in overload mode again and then she speaks and lets light into my darkness.

  “You can do this, Colton. We can do this together, okay? I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere.”

  I don’t deserve you. Your faith in me. Your belief in me.

  “Are your hands on the wheel?” The confidence in her voice staggers me when I feel anything but.

  “Mmm-hmm … but my right hand—”

  “Is perfectly okay. I’ve seen you use it,” she says and the thought flickers through my head of just how she saw it the last time we had sex.

  “Is your foot on the pedal?” she asks.

  “Ry?” I want to stay in these thoughts of her, don’t want the fear to ride the wave back into my psyche.

  “Pedal. Yes or no?”

  “Yes …” But I’m not sure I can do this.

  “Okay, clear your head. It’s just you and the track, Ace. You can do this. You need this. It’s your freedom, remember?”

  She knows the words to pull me back from the edge. I take a deep breath and hold on to the confidence that she has to try and override the fear crippling my thoughts with images and sensations of tumbling into the wall. The wall that looks exactly like the one to the right of me.

  Surrounding me.

  C’mon, Donavan. Engage the motor. Prevent it from dying. The engine revs and a part of me sighs at the progress.

  “You know this like the back of your hand … push down on the gas. Flick the paddle and press down.”

  I make myself focus on her voice, hold on to the thought that she came back to help fix the broken in me. And the car starts to move down the backstretch and into turn three.

  “Okay … see? You’ve got this. You don’t have to go fast. It’s a new car, it’s going to feel different. Becks will be pissed if you burn up the engine anyway so take it slow.”

  I push a little harder, accelerator unsteady, but I’m starting to move around the track. I pass the point similar to where I went into the wall in St. Petersburg and I force my mind to tune out the unease and focus on listening to the car talk to me.

  “You okay?” I can’t answer her because I may be trying to engage mentally but my body is still owned by the fear. “Talk to me, Colton. I’m right here.”

  “My hands won’t stop shaking,” I tell her as I look at the gauges and realize I’m going faster. And with speed I need to concentrate on the feeling of the track beneath me, the pull of the wheel one way or another, the camber when I hit the corners. Routine items I can diagnose without thinking. Because I don’t want to think. Then doubts come, fear creeps.

  I shake the thought and sigh, knowing how much shit I’m going to get from Becks since I’m not focusing like I should on the task at hand. “Becks is gonna be pissed because my head’s fucked-up.”

  She doesn’t respond and I start to crawl back in my own mind for a moment when she clears her throat. She has my attention now. Is she crying?

  “It’s okay … watching you out there? Mine is fucked-up too … but you’re ready. You can do this.” Something about her willingness to be vulnerable to me when I know she’s standing around all the guys hits places inside I’m glad I can’t analyze right now.

  “Aren’t we a fucking pair?” I laugh, finding it rather humorous how screwed up we both are.

  “We are indeed,” she says, and the little laugh she emits tells me so much. I press the accelerator down some. I’ve never needed approval from anyone, but right now I need it from her. Need her to see that I’m trying, both on and off the track.

  “Hey, Ace, can I bring the guys back on?”

  “Yeah,” I reply quickly. I hit turn four again and feel a little more confident, a lot more sure that I can do this. And I know how a large part of that is because she’s here. Shit, even after I was an asshole to her, have put her through hell with the paparazzi chasing her, she’s still here. “Ry … I …” My voice fades but my mind completes them.

  I’m sorry.

  I race you.

  Thank you.

  “I know, Colton. Me too.” Her voice breaks when she says it, and I feel like I can breathe again, like my world was just somehow set right when it’s been inside out the time without her.

  THE CAR ENTERS THE PITS and rolls to a stop. Beckett’s at its side in an instant while I fidget behind the wall, wanting to see Colton face to face to make sure he’s okay. He removes the steering wheel and hands it to Becks before unbuckling his helmet. Becks helps him unfasten it from the HANS device, and when he pulls it from his head, removing the balaclava with it, the crew erupts into a roar of cheers.

  Chills dance at the celebratory sounds as Becks helps him out of the car. I step over the wall with the rest of the crew, unable to stay at a distance any longer because now Colton stands there hot, sweaty, and oh my God sexy. Pride tinged with desire spears through me at the sight of him.

  Attending to the car is forgotten as his crew pats him on the shoulders and welcomes him back. Beckett just looks at him with a shit-eating grin on his handsome face. “I’m proud of you, dude, but fuck, your lap times sucked.”

  Colton laughs again, slinging an arm around his friend. “I can always count on you to knock me down a few pegs.” He goes to say something else and then stops when he sees me.

  I have a déjà vu moment, Colton standing amidst the whirling chaos of his crew, eyes locked on mine, sexy-as-sin grin wide on his lips. Time stops again as the world falls away and we stare at each other.

  I know there are so many things we need to talk about—need to figure out from the last time we spoke—but at the same time I need this connection with him. Need the carnal physicality between the two of us that hits me like a shock wave as it crosses the distance between us and crashes into me before we can figure the rest out.

  And I know he feels it too because within a beat Colton strides toward me with purpose. Within an instant of reaching me, my legs are wrapped around his waist and our mouths are on one another’s with a frenzied need. My hands grip his shoulders. One of his grabs my backside while the other grips my neck, holding my mouth to his, so he can take everything I am offering, and then some.

  “God, I fucking missed you,” he growls into my mouth between kisses. And without preamble we are on the move. His powerful legs stride beneath me, and strong arms hold me secure while his lips bruise mine in unbidden possession.

  Noise filters back. Hoots and hollers of the crew ring through the empty stadium as Colton makes no apologies for walking away without a second thought. Someone shouts “Get a room!” and I am so overwhelmed, so desperate to sate the desire unfurling within and shocking through my system that I answer before Colton can.

  “Who needs a room?” I say before my lips crash back against his, hands fisting in his hair, hips grinding into his as his erection rubs against me with every step.

  Laughter rings out followed by catcalls, but they’re only background noise to the freight train of desire bearing down on us. “Hurry,” I tell him in between desperate kisses.

  “Fuck,” he mutters as he tries to find an open door at my back without wanting to take his mouth from mine.

  “Oh, you better plan on it,” I reply as I pull back so he can find the handle. He belts out a laugh as my tongue glides to his neck, the taste of salt on my tongue, the vibration of his laughter beneath my lips.

  We’re on the move again, up a set of stairs in a darkened corridor, and I have no clue where we are. I hold on for the ride, laughter bubbling up, relief flowing through me as my body tenses with the anticipation of what’s to come.

  We’re suddenly bathed in a muted light, and I turn my head and blink my eyes to take in our surroundings. We are in one of the luxury boxes on pit row: plush couches, a concessions bar on one side, a table spanning the length of the wall of tinted windows that looks down on the track, where his crew is tinkering with his car.

  That’s all I have time to take in because Colton’s lip
s find mine again, his mouth a toxic concoction of need and lust. My legs fall from his hips, feet dropping to the ground, as we move toward the counter in a clumsy choreography of steps. We reach the lip of the counter, and I lean my hips back against it, as Colton’s hands roam down my torso, before I feel bare hands beneath my shirt on my ribcage.

  And I’m not sure if it’s the heightened arousal from the adrenaline of the race track, or our reconciliation, but I feel like I can’t get enough of him—his touch, his taste, the sound in the back of his throat, my name on his lips. I reach up and unfasten the Velcro against his throat so I can pull his zipper. And even this small action pains me because I have to pull away from his lips. But the minute I yank the zipper down, my mouth meets his again. Our hands unfasten, arms pull out of our sleeves, fingers shove down my shorts and underwear, clothes thrown haphazardly to the floor, our mouths never leaving one another’s.

  “Ry,” he says between kisses, one hand gripping my hair tightly while the other tests my readiness for his entrance. Foreplay isn’t an option right now. We’re so pent up, so desperate to right the wrongs of our last conversation that without speaking, we both know we need this connection. Talking will come later. Cuddling and niceties later. Right now desire consumes, passion overwhelms, and love takes hold. “Fuck, I need you right now.”

  “Take me.” Two simple words. They’re out of my mouth without a second thought, but within a second of saying them, Colton has me flipped over, hands braced on the counter, his hands gripping my hips, his throbbing cock lined up at my entrance from behind. He rests the crest in between my folds and then slides it up and back causing my body to tense and a moan to fall from between my lips.

  And there’s something about this moment, about Colton on the precipice of taking me without asking, that has every part of me aching for release, begging for more of his touch. “Please. Now,” I pant as my sex quivers with need, body so in tune to his every action that my body automatically responds, opens, invites.

  I rear back and try to take him on my own, trying to demonstrate the need spearing and spiraling throughout my every nerve, robbing my rationality, and making my senses crave more. “Behave!” He chuckles out a laugh of pure male appreciation as one hand fists in my mane of hair as his other lands smartly on the left side of my ass. The sting shocks my head back but has nothing on the assault of sensation that occurs as he enters me in one slick, earth-shattering thrust. I can’t help the hitched breath followed by a soft sigh that falls from my mouth as sensation ripples and my walls convulse around him.

  He pulls on my hair, angling my head back, so when he leans forward his lips are at my ear. “That is the sexiest fucking sound in the world,” he growls before his lips find my bare shoulder, stubbled beard tickling the usually forgotten erogenous zone of my back. His teeth nip my shoulder followed by the press of his lips as his hips grind into me, and I moan in pure rapture as the scrape of his beard moves down my spine.

  And now it’s my turn to enjoy the sounds he makes as we start to move in rhythm with each other. Goose bumps appear despite the heat spreading through my body. One hand grips the flesh on my hip, controlling each pleasure inducing drive in and subsequent withdrawal tantalizing every single nerve. My body quickens, overtaken by the animalistic nature of his hold on my hair and my body.

  “Oh God!” I pant, needing, wanting, not being able to take any more all at the same time. My hands start to slide on the surface of the counter as they dampen with sweat.

  “Fuuuuccckkk!” he grates out, his desire to control his tempo apparent in his voice. And call it a challenge, or me just channeling the inner vixen he’s helped me find, but I want to break that control. I want to push him harder, faster—to take with reckless abandon—because my God, the guttural sound in his throat, the fullness as he seats himself to the hilt when he thrusts into me, the clockwise motion of his hips as he moves within me pushes me harder, faster, than I’ve ever known. Makes me want to bring him an ounce of the pleasure that his body gives me.

  I reach a hand down between my legs, fingers sliding over the temptation to caress my own clit, and instead grab a hold of his balls as he grinds his hips into me again. Fingers caress, nails tease, and hands cradle as he pulls back tighter on my hair. I can hear the sounds he’s making, know he’s clenching his jaw, that he’s riding that razor-thin edge of being controlled versus relinquishing to the carnal nature of the act. To take for himself without thought. And it eggs me on, tempts me to push him harder, force him over that edge that much quicker, because fuck if he’s not driving me there in the process.

  I get lost in the feeling, the sounds of his body smacking against mine, the feel of his hand possessing my hip, the fall of my name from his lips and without realizing it, I’m there, teetering on my own razor thin edge. I crash into the endless free fall of bliss as my climax overwhelms me, my body an inferno of warring sensations.

  “Colton!” I cry, over and over as he slows his pace, sliding his tongue up the plain of my back to help draw out my orgasm.

  I can feel my muscles pulse around him still within me, moving slowly, and then a feral cry fills the air as he can’t hold back anymore. His hips thrust a few more times before his arms suddenly wrap around my torso and hold my weight as he pulls me to a standing position, his front still to my back.

  In an unexpected move of tenderness in complete contrast to the thorough dominance of my body, he squeezes me back into him and buries his face into the curve of my neck. We stand like this for some time, absorbing each other, accepting the silent apologies.

  THE SILENCE DESCENDS AROUND US as we pull our clothes back on. Now that we’ve had our way with each other physically—now that our bodies are no longer connected—my mind worries about how we’re going to connect verbally.

  Because we can’t leave things as is. And we can’t ignore them. Hopefully the miserably lonely time apart has helped us so we can move forward.

  But even if we can, where exactly do we go from here?

  I steal a glance over at him as he zips up his fire suit and looks through the tinted window at the crew below, and I just can’t get a read on him. I pull my shirt over my head and lick my lips as I try to figure out how to start this conversation.

  “We need to talk,” I say softly as if I’m afraid to disturb the blanket of silence smothering the room.

  “I’m putting the Palisades house up for sale.” He speaks the words quietly, never once looking my way, and I’m so focused on him and his lack of emotion, it takes a moment for his words to sink in.

  Whoa! What? So that’s how we’re going to play this? Classic avoidance?

  Even though he’s not looking at me, I know he’s aware of me so I try to visibly hide the shock from the words he’s just hit me with, as well as the ones he hasn’t said.

  “Colton?” I say, his name like a question—one that asks so many different things. Are we going to address this? Are we going to ignore this? Why are you selling the house?

  “I don’t use it …” he answers my unasked question, sliding a glance over at me, before he looks back at his guys down below. And the way he says it, almost apologetically, makes me feel like this is something he’s doing to tell me he’s sorry for everything that’s happening—Tawny, a possible baby, the space he needs.

  When I don’t respond and just watch him patiently, he turns and faces me. Our eyes lock and we stare at each other for a moment, asking unanswered questions without words.

  “I don’t need it anymore,” he explains as he watches me for a reaction.

  And as much as there is unresolved drama between us, what he’s just said tells me he’s really in this for the long haul. That even with everything thrown at us over the past week that might turn his world upside down, he’s selling the one place I’d vowed never to return to. That I mean enough to him that he’s willing to get rid of a place signifying his old way of life full of stipulations and mitigations.

  “Oh …” It’s all
I can manage to say because I’m at a loss for words, so we just continue to stare at each other in this room that still smells like sex. I can see him thinking, trying to figure out what to say—how to go from here—so I begin. “What’s on your mind, Colton?”

  “Just thinking,” he says, pursing his lips and running a hand through his hair, “about how I didn’t realize how much I needed to hear your voice today out on the track until you came through the headset.”

  The gentle sigh of satisfaction comes from every part of me, warming me inside and out, as it weaves its way around the hold he has on my heart. And the old me would have rolled my eyes at his comment and said he’s trying to get on my good side, but the old me didn’t need and miss Colton as much as I do now, didn’t know all he had to offer.

  “All you had to do was call me,” I say softly, reaching a hand out and placing it on top of his beside me. “I promised you I’d be here your first day back.”

  He emits a self-deprecating chuckle with a shake of his head. “And say what? I’ve been an asshole—haven’t called at all—but I need you on the track with me today?” The sarcasm is thick in his voice.

  I squeeze his hand. “It’s a start,” I tell him, my voice trailing off. “We agreed to figure our shit out, get our heads straight, but I would’ve been here in a heartbeat if you’d called me.”

  He sighs, angling his head out toward the track beyond. “I’m sorry for what I said to you … the things I accused you of … I was an ass.” Emotion causes his voice to waver, which makes what he’s saying that much more endearing.

  I don’t want to ruin the moment, but I have to let him know. “You hurt me. I know you were upset and lashing out at the person nearest to you … but you hurt me when I was already torn apart. We struggle day to day with our pasts, and then something like this happens and … I …” I can’t find the right words to say it, so I just don’t finish my thought.

  Colton steps toward me and reaches out to grab my hand, pulling me gently toward him so the only barrier between us is our clothes. “I know.” He draws in a shaky breath before he continues. “I’ve never done this before, Ry. I’m trying to figure it out as I go and fuck, I know the excuses are getting old and pretty soon aren’t going to be excusable, but … fuckin’ A, I’m trying.” He shrugs.