Burn: The Fuel Series Book 3

by Scott, Ginger

  My thighs sting with the snap of the ribbons against them. Dustin trails his mouth down the inside of my thigh and nibbles at the garters around my leg, unsnapping them with his teeth until they’re free and he’s able to slip the belt and my panties down my thighs.

  The cool air hits my center and teases me, but Dustin warms me with his mouth in seconds, his tongue working up and down my swollen folds and bringing me near climax before stopping.

  “Not yet,” he commands and I bite at my fist, loving the torture but desperate to fall over the edge.

  I’m getting my money’s worth with this lingerie as Dustin worships me slowly. First sucking my nipples raw through the lace then pressing his tongue into them bare to soothe my skin. I arch into him, my body naked minus the belts around my thighs and the shoes on my feet, and Dustin finally works his body free of his shirt. I reach for his pants, but he holds my wrist down then kisses my belly. He drags his tongue over every inch of me until I’m writhing and can no longer stand it, then to make it worse—better—he unzips his pants, pulls out his cock, and paints my slick folds with the tip of his length.

  For an hour, by the warmth of the dwindling fire, he brings me to near climax then pulls me back again. My stomach muscles tighten then relax, my hands grab then give in. He enters me, but never fully. It’s torture. Sweet, blissful, hot torture.

  Just as I drop my hand down my stomach, desperate to touch myself for relief, Dustin slides into me fully. I cry out his name and he pulls back out completely then enters me again. This rhythm goes on for minutes, his hard chest a tease against my fingertips, his mouth taking hungry bites of my lips, my neck, my tits.

  When I’m nearly numb from it all, he moves his hips faster, eventually holding my hips and pulling me into him, chasing his own pleasure, taking mine with him. Our bodies pulse and fire around one another as Dustin groans into the crook of my neck, his hips pumping as he empties himself inside me.

  Satiated and exhausted, we lie together, him still inside me, until the clock over the fireplace strikes midnight.

  “Are you going to turn into a pumpkin?” he teases, rolling to his side and slipping out of me. Our bodies stick to each other as we lay amid our discarded clothing and sex-wild hair.

  “Depends on what this is going to turn into,” I joke, holding my hand up in the air and admiring my ring.

  “Ring pop,” he quips.

  I bring the diamond down to my lips and taste it with my tongue. He draws me into him and presses his mouth to mine in a long, sweet, chaste kiss.

  “You make me better,” he breathes out, closing his eyes and nuzzling his nose against mine.

  “No, I don’t. I just believe in you. You’re the best that ever was. Always will be.”

  And I mean it.

  Epilogue

  Ten years later

  It’s not the same kart I started in, but it’s pretty close.

  Thanks to my father-in-law and his penchant for hoarding, well, everything fit to store in his massive garage, he had a lot of the old parts from my first kart still hanging around. With some help from Tommy and Douglas, we were able to work this into a pretty bad-ass kart for a pretty bad-ass driver. Now, if I can only get her to keep her damn helmet on her head.

  “So what’s the deal with the limiter again?” Bristol is nervous, though she pretends not to be. I wonder where she gets that from?

  “You don’t have to worry about the limiter. It’s not something you have to do anything with.”

  “But if I need to go faster than forty-two, I can’t . . . because of the limiter.” Fists on her hips, helmet dangling at her right side, she snaps her gum in her mouth like one of the Pink Ladies from Grease.

  I push my tongue into my cheek.

  “That is correct, though there is a little flexibility.” I don’t want to put the idea of going faster in her head, mostly because she’s my kid, and for whatever reason, seeing her speed around anything makes my heart flatten against my ribs and nearly explode. I’m proud, but damn—I don’t breathe the entire time.

  “Explain flexibility.” The gum snaps again. She’s beefing up her attitude. It’s an intimidation technique she’s picked up. Another thing I wonder where she learned. Me. That’s where she learned all of this bad shit. Me. Right here. I’m ground zero.

  I sign the parent waiver as the kart inspector looks over our ride, then turn to face my daughter, placing my hands on her shoulders and pushing her back a few steps.

  I give her wide eyes to signal that she probably shouldn’t show off her brand of swagger in front of the guy who stamps us with the “OK to Race” sticker.

  “Flexibility means a mile or two faster, on occasion. If you push it too much, the motor will fail on you, like a kill switch.”

  “Can we take out the kill switch?” Her head cocks to the side and my eyes blink slowly and then open wide. She reaches forward and punches my chest. “I’m kidding, Dad. I got it. I won’t overdo it.”

  I blow up at my hair and look at the sky. I deserve every second of life with a teenaged girl, especially one exactly like me.

  Bristol steps up on her toes and looks around me, so I spin to see what has her attention. Hannah’s holding our youngest, Fallon, at her side while Brody kicks at the dirt behind them. My mom stands next to him and rolls her eyes at her grandson’s bitter, childish behavior.

  “Someone is mad he’s not old enough for juniors yet,” my mom says.

  “I’m nine! She’s literally only four years older than me. That’s nothing!” He punches the dirt with his toe again and Hannah bites her lip in an attempt not to laugh. I’m not so gracious, however, and I rock back in hysterics.

  “It’s not funny!” Brody pouts, slapping his hands around his chest and tucking them under his arms. Wow. Nice show, kid. Nice show.

  “One, I rue the day you learned the word literally. It’s annoying,” I say, leaving Bristol to handle the rest of kart check-in behind me. “And two, four years is an entire lifetime. Trust me.”

  I kneel so our son is taller than me, which I’ve learned gives him a feeling of power when he’s utterly powerless. He stares at me, working hard to keep the resentment etched into his face, but eventually softens and glances off to the side with a huff.

  “Fine. I’ll wait. But when I’m thirteen I want a better kart than her.”

  I stand and ruffle my hand through his hair. He looks just like me when I was nine.

  “We’ll see.” I chuckle.

  “Fallon’s going to need to nap soon,” Hannah says as I lean in and kiss her cheek. Our third child was a surprise, but it never gets old seeing the glow that motherhood puts on my wife’s skin. Fallon will be one next month, ensuring that the rest of our life is pretty much taken up with child-rearing. I can’t imagine a life any other way than blossoming our beautiful family. Each of our children is born with a touch of my fire and Hannah’s courage, yet so distinctly themselves. They are all going to leave marks on this world.

  Hannah checks her watch. “Looks like it’s race time. We’re going to head up and sit with my dad. You got this handled, crew chief?”

  “Yeah. Tommy’s on his way down. Bailey’s at home with the twins.” One of the perks of our surprise third child is she’ll get to grow up with two boys looking after her. Tommy and Bailey went through the IVF process to get pregnant, and when they were blessed with twins I guess the universe decided we needed to give those rambunctious boys a job. Fallon will be in good hands. My best friend will raise hellions for sure, but they’ll be gentlemen too, and family will always be first and foremost.

  “Okay, we’re going up.” Hannah runs her hand along my cheek and hits me with her crystal blue eyes one more time. I always thought I could see the future in those things. I reach up and touch her chin, urging her close enough to take her bottom lip between both of mine.

  “Gross!” Brody whines, kicking the dirt again. Hannah and I laugh against each other’s lips.

  “See you after the ra
ce,” she says, jerking her head to our son and urging him to lead the way into the stands.

  My mom steps in and gives me a kiss on the cheek then pats the same spot twice.

  “You make beautiful babies, Dustin, but they’re mouthy.”

  I shake my head with my lips in a straight line, but truthfully? I wouldn’t want my kids any other way. We’re a loud family. People hear us coming. The kids at school know my kids’ names before they set foot in the hallways. They have reputations that, yeah, are a little mysterious and maybe have some bite to them, but they’re also strong and vocal and they know what’s right.

  “Love you, Mom,” I say as she laughs at my expense and catches up to Hannah.

  My daughter coughs behind me, signaling that it’s time to give her my full attention. She holds out the stamped waiver. I fold it and push it into the back pocket of my jeans, then glance down at her helmet, which is still not on her head.

  “I’m putting it on,” she huffs. Five seconds pass before she actually does.

  “Sorry I’m late,” Tommy says as he runs up from behind me.

  “Right on time, brutha.” I hold out my hand for him to take. We pull each other into a hug then Tommy goes to work looking over every inch of the kart one more time. He can’t change anything since we’ve already gone through inspection, but he can make sure it’s safe. When it comes to my daughter, that’s the most important thing for me.

  “Dad, I have to go.” Bristol has one foot in the kart and she’s twirling her finger in the air, signaling for us to hurry up.

  Tommy slaps his palm on the front of the kart a couple times and points to his niece.

  “She’s good to go. What do we say?” He holds his fist out for her to pound.

  “Eat my dust!” she grits, punching Tommy’s fist with hers. They each pull back their splayed hand and make the explosion sound before my daughter tugs down her visor and climbs completely into the kart. It’s already running, so in seconds she’s off to the starting area, and I’m left in the fumes.

  This isn’t her first race. She started at seven, like I did. This is her first junior race, though, since she turned thirteen last week. We bought her a new helmet. And Hannah painted the kart with the awesome brushwork that makes it look like flames. I’m not sure she’ll win, but she will definitely be in the sweetest ride out there.

  “How are you holding up with this?” Tommy motions to the cluster of karts gathered around the first turn of hay bales about a hundred yards away. The air smells of old gasoline and dirt. We built this track as an add-on about six years ago when I realized we needed something between the youth course and the big track the teens and adults use. I guess I also wanted my daughter to be able to race close to home.

  “It’s weird in a way, isn’t it? I mean, that was just us. I swear, it happened so fast.”

  We both laugh at the memory.

  “Remember when Hannah punched that kid in the eye because he said you were a slow poke?” Tommy recalls.

  I bend over with more laughter.

  “I do! And then I lapped that dude—twice!”

  “Bad day for him, man. Baaaaad day.”

  We simmer in our memories for a few minutes. We’ll watch the race upstairs, close enough to hop down to the track if anything happens but high enough for a good view. And three weeks from now, the roles will be reversed as Bristol sits in the booth with our family and I start my fourteenth season on the circuit. It’s a big year for me. I’m four wins away from passing the all-time record. I’ve still got a lot of years in my body, plenty of time to make that record stick—make it impossible to take down. I’m sure Quin will try. He’s got his work cut out for him, though. He’s gotten used to coming in second.

  I haven’t slowed at all, but sometimes I want to. It’s not that I want to stop racing. God, I don’t think I’m capable of that. But I don’t want to miss the other things. I want to spend weeks at the beach with the kids. I want to fly off for a weekend with my wife and worship her at some resort that doesn’t allow kids because damn, that woman needs a break. I want to put on the Santa suit and climb the damn mountain every Thanksgiving; take over the duties full-time from Tom when he’s done playing the role.

  We’ll get a good break in a few months when Hannah’s show opens in Phoenix. The last one she held sold out on opening night. The gallery commissions twenty new pieces, and I think these are better than the others. She’s found her niche, creating mixed media that is so unique and like looking at life through her eyes. It’s youthful but timeless the way she blends black and white photography with plaster and light. Her work is in about a dozen restaurants around the state, and even though Vegas offered to feature her in the Bellagio, she turned them down. We just don’t have a taste for that place.

  “They’re getting started. We should go up,” Tommy says, nudging my shoulder and pulling me from my thoughts.

  I smile and nod, motioning for him to head up.

  “I need a minute.”

  He gives me a look that says he understands then turns to head up the outdoor steps to the viewing balcony. I step up to the edge of the pit row road, lined with concrete barriers and the smoothest dirt we could truck in from around Arizona.

  Everyone’s road is different. How we get from our beginning to our end isn’t a straight line, but if it were, how boring would that be? Our roads come with curves and accidents and lots of intersections—turning points. Mine is a roadmap that stretches on and on for days. It’s practically a cross-country highway that cuts through mountains and blasts over rivers. I haven’t driven it alone, though. I’ve never been alone, even when I thought I was. Hannah was there.

  Hannah’s always there.

  She always will be.

  If you enjoyed this series, you might also like:

  The Varsity Series

  A New Adult Sports Romance Trilogy

  Free in Kindle Unlimited

  Begin Your Binge with Varsity Heartbreaker

  Lucas Fuller is a lot of things.

  He’s the boy next door.

  He’s the first crush I ever had.

  He was my first kiss.

  He’s also the only person who has ever broken my heart.

  For two years, I’ve wondered what happened to the us I used to know.

  We were best friends, and then suddenly…we weren’t.

  I tried to run away from it. I even changed schools just to make the hurt disappear.

  But no matter how hard I tried to not think about Lucas, I just couldn’t stay away from the high school quarterback with perfect blue eyes and so many secrets.

  I’m back. We’re seniors now. We’ve grown—all of us. And Lucas Fuller might be different, but I’m different too.

  This is my time to take risks, to experience life and to fall in love for real.

  I want Lucas Fuller to be a part of my story, but I know for that to happen, I need to know the truth about our past.

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  Acknowledgments

  Wow. This series was everything!

  I truly hope you have enjoyed this journey. I took this series on as a challenge to myself. I wanted to capture true love as well as the born obsession of racing. I have a best friend who loves racing to her core. And this series was inspired by her and all she taught me. Of course, along the way, some Earnhardt biographies, and Tony Stewart, helped form the focus of this story and Dustin Bridges. My car-obsessed brother is at the heart of every book that deals with an engine. And my son and nephew have a lot to say about Supras.

  Hannah and Dustin have become family to me. I think it will be hard to drive around Arizona and not see them everywhere. Almost all of the places I took you to in this book are inspired by or are real places. I’ve tinkered with names and moved a few things around for fictional purposes (shout out to anyone who gets the Minder Binder reference) but the heart of my home is in this series. Driving fast goes along with the desert. I defy you to hit an abandoned road out here and think ot
herwise. Just don’t get caught. ;-)

  I have a lot of people to thank for helping me get these babies over the finish line. (Get it?) As always, Autumn, you steer me in the right direction. I am forever grateful for your expertise, but even more for your friendship. Aly Stiles - you are more than a critique partner, you are literally a life coach. I’m not sure I know how to write without Rebecca Shea sitting across from me at a Panera or without Jennie Marts joining me to sprint. My betas for this baby, Jen and Shelley, you were patient and guided me so much. And Brenda Letendre, YOU were — once again — my Rusty Wallace. You kept me going when I was running on empty, and this book shines because of your editing. I’m so deeply proud of it, and I have you—all of you—to thank for that.

  Mom and Corinn, bless you both for your mad proofing skills. And for your calm at the last minute when I needed it. You made me feel ready, if I ever truly feel ready at all for a book release.

  Readers! Thank you for being excited. I believe in this series, and that’s because you give me the confidence to just go for it. You’re the best readers in the world, and I write for you!

  If you enjoyed this book, please consider leaving a review, talking about it with a friend, forcing it in someone’s hands, shouting about it out the car window—pretty much anything. (Only kidding a little.) My readers are the only reason I get to do something with these stories in my head, and I am profoundly grateful.

  And yes, I hear you—Bristol needs a book . . . I’m on it. ;-)

  About the Author