My hands work at undoing his top button, but I don’t have the best angle to work with, so Eli finishes the job.
I slide his pants down with my feet, and I can see the thick, throbbing proof of his aspiration pressing against the fabric of his dark boxers.
He’s undoing my pants as I run my palm over the fabric covering his somewhat intimidating manhood.
I lift my hips as he pulls my pants down, and his fingers catch my panties, too, leaving me completely bare beneath him. He straightens his legs a little as I coax the boxers from his hips.
The seat beneath me is surprisingly comfortable. I imagine the lack of long cracks in the upholstery back here helps.
Naked together now, Eli kisses me on the mouth before running his lips in tiny kisses over my collarbone, between my breasts, down past my navel, all the way down to my center.
His fingers tease my core as his mouth settles over my clit.
I’m slick, eager as he slides a finger inside me, tilting his head a little so his tongue is not long out of contact with my bud.
My own hand is over my mouth as he curls his finger toward the front of me, massaging my g-spot with a soft, but direct touch.
His mouth and fingers tease and gratify as he explores my pussy, and I’m trying to keep my moans under eighty decibels, but it’s not easy.
Somewhere in the distance, I can hear a siren, and I don’t know if they’re the ones that are going to find us or if we’ll make it out scot-free, but there is nowhere else I want to be right now.
I run my fingers through Eli’s dark hair, and my hips are going on their own now.
“I need you to do something,” I breathe.
He lifts his head a little to look at me.
“There are condoms in my purse,” I tell him. “Would you mind grabbing them?”
He nods and leans over the front seat, comically displaying his seriously tight butt.
I smile and give him a light spank as he grabs the purse and pulls out a condom.
“Here,” I say, holding out my hand and he hands it to me.
He’s facing me as I open the package and remove the contraceptive from inside.
With my free hand, I wrap my fingers around Eli’s firm cock, putting the condom in place on his tip and rolling it down all the way.
I can hardly breathe. My chest is burning with adrenaline as he looks down at me.
He moves between my legs, teasing my opening with his tip, and my hand is resting on the back of his neck as he slowly pushes inside me.
A new sense of desire overtakes me as he gradually works himself all the way into me, and he’s bending down, kissing me, his chest heaving with heavy breaths.
The siren in the distance sounds like it’s getting closer, but it’s impossible to tell if they’re headed in this direction or if they’ll miss us entirely.
I feel hot, my blood boiling in my veins.
Eli’s surprisingly gentle and receptive, though his hands are firm, his motion eager.
He’s kissing the curve of my neck, and my arms and legs are wrapped tightly around him as I delight in the feel of his muscles flexing and releasing all across his back.
The siren is getting close now, but I’m not ready to go.
I don’t want to get caught; I just don’t want this to end.
Eli moves faster now, the intensity of this feeling overfilling my senses to the point I don’t know if I’m about to come or if I already have.
As I begin to feel that rise throughout my body, I have my answer.
“Kiss me,” I tell him. “I don’t think I’m going to be able to…”
The dam breaks and Eli’s lips are over mine, muffling the sound of my ecstasy.
My whole body quakes, and I’m gripping him tight as endorphins wash over and through me, skin sweating, my mouth on his.
The siren is almost deafening now, but Eli doesn’t stop until my climax begins to fade.
“Someone must have spotted us back here,” he says in a whisper, still inside me.
“What do we do?”
“Stay low,” he says, slowly pulling out of me. “I’m going to try to get us out of here, just don’t lift your head above the level of the windows.”
Fine by me: I couldn’t move right now if I wanted to.
The siren goes past on a nearby street and Eli slips his boxers and his shirt on, but before climbing into the front seat, he gives me a long, sweet kiss, saying, “To be continued?”
I nod, a wide grin crossing my face.
He gets into the front seat and turns the car on, the constant rumble of the engine a pleasant massage against my bare skin.
I lie here, naked and only casually covering myself as he hits the gas.
Chapter Six
Of Jax and Jill
Eli
“I can’t believe you talked me into this,” I tell Mick as I run through my last minute check on the Chevelle.
The first race of Jax’s tournament is tonight and Tree Bait here wouldn’t shut up until I followed the directions on the back of Jax’s card and put up the $2,500 entry fee with a man named Charles at the OTB. He’s just a middle man, though. The fewer people who know about this, the better.
“Come on, man,” Mick says. “One of us wins the thing and we split the money. Either way, we both come up six figures ahead.”
Tonight, there are sixteen races going on at the same time in different parts of the county. My first race is going to be here in town.
Mick’s is elsewhere. That’s good. That means he might make it to the second round.
“You mean, if I win the tournament, I can very generously give you $125,000, is that about right?” I ask.
“Pretty much,” he says. “I’d do it for you.”
I do believe that. Growing up the way I did, if I hadn’t met Mick, I’d probably be on the street.
“Yeah, whatever,” I tell him. “You’re fine with me taking the flatbed even though my race is closer?”
“Yeah,” Mick scoffs. “Mine’s farther, but my car still looks street legal. Yours on the other hand—by the way, why’d you paint the thing purple?”
“Got bored with the classic colors,” I tell him. “You should probably get going, though. I doubt they’re going to push start time back for you.”
“Yeah,” Mick says. “Kick some ass and then meet back here to talk about how we kicked some ass?”
“Sure,” I tell him. “Kate’s going to be with me. She’s coming tonight.”
“That’s a shame,” Mick says. “It’ll break the poor girl’s heart when she sees you come in last.”
“Hasn’t your whole pitch been that the two of us are unbeatable and we’ve got this money locked up?”
Mick shrugs. “Generosity comes and goes, man,” he says. “Later.”
He jogs out of the shop and through the office.
I’m just about done with the prep on the Chevelle. I’ve got just enough gas in the tank for the race and maybe a little light cop-dodging. Every ounce can make a difference.
My phone’s ringing, but my hands are covered in grease.
Leaving the hood up, I walk over to the wash basin and clean my hands. The phone’s already stopped ringing, but I can call whoever it was back.
I’m just drying my hands when I hear a knock on one of the closed bay doors.
On my way over, I pick up my phone. I don’t recognize the number.
The knock comes again and some distant part of my mind is telling me not to open it. Maybe it’s Jax, here to hobble one of his racers. It wouldn’t be the first time he’s done something like that—if the stories are to be believed, anyway.
Ours isn’t a big town, but Jax’s fabled empire reaches a lot farther than just here.
He used to be a racer back in the day, Jax. It was before my time, but the story goes that he raced two or three times a night for a year straight, winning everything along the way. That’s how he funded his way to becoming the head of any number of crimi
nal organizations—which ones change depending on who you ask.
That’s where the story first started to unravel for me. I’ve seen better drivers than me in better cars than I have get beaten by the greenest noob on the block.
Though, it’s starting to look like the stories may actually be true.
I open the bay door and Kate ducks in before I close it again.
“Are you ready for tonight?” she asks.
I shrug, saying, “I guess we’re going to find out.”
She turns her head a little to the side and narrows her eyes at me. “I was expecting a lot more bravado.”
“Oh, I’m definitely going to win,” I tell her. “I’m just not thrilled about being involved with anything that guy’s a part of.”
“There’s that cockiness that I put up with,” she says and kisses me on the lips. “Where is it?”
“I don’t know yet. When I dropped off my entry fee or whatever, I was given a general area. Mick’s is outside town a ways, mine is inside town.”
“I hope it was a little bit more specific than that,” she says.
“Mine wasn’t,” I tell her. “Mick’s just gave him the address of a hotel. Apparently, it’s going to be somewhere around there.”
“Am I going to be able to see much of it?”
“I really don’t know,” I tell her. “I know it’s not going to be a drag race, but that’s about all I know. I’ve just got to load the Chevelle onto the flatbed and I’m ready to go.”
“All right,” she says. “By the way, who was calling you just before I walked up?”
“I don’t know. I was elbow-deep under the hood when the call came in, so I missed it. I didn’t recognize the number.”
“You should probably put it in your phone,” she observes, pulling a cheap, burner phone out of her purse and holding it up.
“Look at you joining the modern world,” I tell her.
She smiles. “Exciting, huh? So, are we going or…”
“Yeah,” I answer and we walk into the office.
I grab the keys to Maye’s flatbed and we go back out to the shop where I open the bay door in front of the Chevelle.
Kate’s nice enough to spot for me while I get the flatbed in place, and she covers her ears when I fire up the Chevelle and pull it onto the back of the trailer. Removing the metal ramps and securing them beneath the car, I tell Kate to hop in the flatbed. I climb in after her, settling behind the wheel.
“What now?” she asks.
“Now,” I tell her, “we wait for the phone call.”
While we’re sitting in the cab of the flatbed, we talk. Kate asks more about Jax, and I tell her what I can.
I’ve heard that he’s now a gun runner; I’ve heard that he’s a high-level drug dealer; I’ve heard he’s involved in all sorts of racketeering, whatever that is. The most popular myth of all, though, is that he’s all of the above, plus more.
“The truth,” I tell her, “is that he’s probably a low-level scumbag who ended up with a lot of money. I’m not saying I’d want to get on his bad side, but I really don’t think he’s the psycho everyone says he is. Then again, he didn’t really blink when I talked to him, either, so what do I know?”
“You’re filling me with confidence.”
I smirk and my phone starts ringing.
“Is that it?” she asks.
“Well, I don’t know the number, so unless that’s you calling me…” Kate shakes her head. I answer, saying, “Eli.”
“Tramway and Jersey,” a woman’s voice says. “Be there in ten minutes or don’t bother showing up.” She hangs up the phone.
“Tramway and Jersey,” I tell Kate. “While I’m running the Chevelle, I’ll give you the keys to the flatbed in case you’ve got to get out of there. Don’t try to race the thing, though. Just calmly drive off if you have to. They might stop you and ask you some questions, but as long as you haven’t broken any laws yourself, you should be fine, all right?”
“I’m starting to like the idea of trouble,” she says, and I think her own response embarrassed her a bit. Her face is red and she’s looking anywhere but at me. “Let’s just go.”
“Righto,” I answer and we pull out of the shop. I get out quick to close the bay door and then I’m back in the cab and we’re on our way to Tramway and Jersey.
I don’t think there’s really anything there, but an intersection is an intersection.
While we’re on our way to the start point, I want to give Kate the rundown of how the race is going to work, but there’s really not much to tell her. Jax is playing everything pretty close to the chest.
We finally get to the intersection and I pull the flatbed over to the side of the road.
There’s no one here.
My phone rings.
I pick it up, “Yeah?”
“Two blocks south, one block east,” that same woman’s voice says. “Leave the truck. When all four are in position, the race starts. No waiting.”
“Hold on,” I interrupt. “What about the route? I don’t know where I’m going. How am I supposed to-”
“The route is marked,” the woman snaps and then hangs up.
I put my phone back in my pocket.
“We’ve got to unload the car here,” I tell Kate. “The start point is a few blocks away, but I took the passenger’s seat back out of the car. What do you want to do?”
“Just drop me off before you get to the line,” she says. “I’m not going to miss the start of this.”
I nod and we get out of the cab.
Kate grabs one of the ramps, I grab the other, and we set them up at the end of the flatbed. She spots me as I pull the car back off of the truck and onto the street.
From there, we leave the ramp where it is and I hand Kate the keys to the flatbed as she settles in where the passenger’s seat would be.
I drive slowly to the start point. After stopping to let Kate out, I pull up to the line.
My competition for this race is a BMW M3, a Cobalt SS, and a Ford GT. This is the first race in the tournament, and it’s already the toughest field I’ve been pit against.
That is, assuming the people sitting behind their steering wheels can drive.
I’m waiting for some kind of instruction: where the race is going to end, how we’re going to know the route. But a man in a black suit and sunglasses steps out between the two center cars and points to each of us individually starting at the far right and working his way over to me on the far left.
I nod when the finger’s pointed at me and I’m keeping my revs up as the man raises his arms over his head.
They’re really just going to start it.
He lowers his hands and my left foot comes off the clutch while my right foot is burying the gas pedal.
I’m not first off the line, but I’m quick to catch up.
The GT’s got me by half a car length, but we’re just getting started.
We’re burning down the road, and I’m keeping my eyes out for any indication of where to turn, but so far, I’m seeing nothing.
My twelve-hundred horses are slowly creeping up on the less-heavily-modded GT next to me, but it’s not an easy fight.
Up ahead, the street lights are out and I’m honestly on the verge of just hitting the brakes and calling it a day when the protected left turn light comes on, the other two filled green lights still black.
That’s got to be it. If I’m the only one to notice, this race might be over before it’s even really begun.
The GT’s still just edging ahead, but I’m on the inside for the turn, and I don’t mind going in a little fast to cut off my opponent. I get an extra jolt of adrenaline as the tail of my Chevelle narrowly misses the front of the GT.
I may make a solid living doing what I do, but I don’t have Ford GT money hanging around if I damage this guy’s car. They’re $400,000 stock, and light mods are still mods.
The GT’s coming around my left side, and he hits his nitrous, leaving me w
ith only his taillights to look at as he leaves me behind.
If the course is almost up, I’ve lost.
When the protected right turn signal flashes on with the GT all but underneath it, though, I think I might still have a shot.
The driver of the GT slams on his brakes, but has to spin the car around to make the turn. I inch past him again, but it’s not a decisive lead.
Behind the GT comes the Cobalt, and she’s got a better line and better speed coming into the turn. She overtakes the GT, and I can hear from the sound of the car it is at least as modded-up as mine.
What’s worse, she’s smarter than the guy driving the GT: she’s saving her nitrous.
All of the stoplights ahead are green. Whatever it is Jax is into, he’s connected.
I’m considering using my own nitrous when I see the next turn indicated as a left.
The Cobalt is nipping at my heels, but I’m still ahead going into the turn. When I’ve leveled out, I hit my nitrous to get some distance between me and the rest of the pack, but the very next traffic light is showing a left turn.
I’m going way too fast and the nitrous is still pumping into my engine as I try to take the turn as easily as possible. It doesn’t quite work out that way.
Instead of kissing the apex of the turn, I clip the curb, causing my front end to jerk hard, first to the left, then to the right as the Cobalt screams past me.
I’m back on the road quick enough, but I’ve lost four or five car lengths and the blue flame coming out the tailpipe of the Cobalt means I’m going to have a hell of a time catching back up to her.
“Don’t lose your focus again, Eli,” I mutter to myself inaudibly.
My thumb is on the button for the nitrous, but the Cobalt’s tires are screaming up ahead of me as the car slides out of control. She manages to straighten it out, but I cruise past her with only the M3 still a viable threat a few lengths behind me.
The next turn is a right and I police my speed going into the turn, this time hitting the apex right where I need to and far down the way is a pair of red lights. That must be the finish line.
The M3 hits its nitrous as it evens out after the curve, but I’ve got a solid lead. I fly through the red lights of the intersection and before I even take my foot off the gas, I can feel the vibration in my pocket.
Shifting Gears: The Complete Series (Sports Bad Boy Romance) Page 8
