Faster Deeper (Take Me...#2) (New Adult Bad Boy Racer Novel)

by Masters, Colleen

  FASTER DEEPER

  Take Me... #2

  by Colleen Masters

  A Hearts Collective Production

  Copyright © 2013 Hearts Collective

  All rights reserved. This document may not be reproduced in any way without the expressed written consent of the author. The ideas, characters, and situations presented in this story are strictly fictional and any unintentional likeness to real people or real situations is completely coincidental.

  Forward

  Thank you all for reading, Faster Deeper is the second in the Take Me... series - stay tuned for Book #3 Faster Longer due out in December!!

  Faster Harder (Take Me... #1)

  Faster Deeper (Take Me... #2)

  Faster Longer (Take Me... #3)

  Other Books by Hearts Collective:

  Faster Harder (Take Me...#1) by Colleen Masters

  Damaged But Not Broken (New Adult Rockers) by W.H. Vega

  Wounded But Not Scarred (New Adult Rockers 2) by W.H. Vega

  Falling Harder (New Adult Romance) by W.H. Vega

  Broken Strings by Brynn O'Connor

  Fuel To The Fire by Brynn O'Connor

  SPECIAL THANKS TO

  Brittani A.

  For beta-reading and saving countless readers from "Harrison's 'stuff' member" ;)

  Contents

  Prologue

  One - A Rough Start

  Two - Getting To The Bottom

  Three - Russian Rendezvous

  Four - More House Music

  Five - Out Of Dodge

  Six - Crushing News

  Seven - Salvaging

  Eight - Race Day

  Nine - Pulling A Win

  Ten - Race To The Death

  Eleven - Awake In Hell

  Twelve - Getting Him Back

  Thirteen - A Split Allegiance

  Fourteen - Lovers In London

  Prologue

  The night before the Budapest Grand Prix...

  I arch my back against the silken bed sheets as Harrison Davies runs his powerful hands down my body. His touch sends tendrils of electric sensation racing along my every nerve. There’s so much force locked up in that body of his—in those tight, sculpted muscles. And yet, for all that raw power, his every caress is measured, precise, perfect. I guess his skills on the race track do carry over to bedroom, after all.

  “Look at you...” he groans, letting his eyes rake along the length of me.

  “See what you do to me?” I gasp, letting my knees fall open. We’ve stripped each other bare in this secluded love nest. For this moment in time, nothing stands between us.

  Harrison trails his fingertips along my tender thigh, setting my legs to trembling. “I know you’re ready for me,” he says, “But I want to take my time.”

  “You’re going to do me in, Davies,” I moan, pushing my hands through my chocolate brown curls.

  “Maybe,” he grins, a lock of dirty blonde hair falling across his forehead, “But I promise you’ll love every minute of it.”

  He lowers himself onto me, catching my lips with his. His strong jaw pushes my mouth open, and I’m drunk on the taste of him. I dig my fingers into his broad shoulders, feeling him hard against me. Just when I think I can’t possibly be any more fired up, Harrison lets his hand brush against the throbbing wetness between my legs. I fall back against the bed, and he closes in on that hard, aching, tender flesh. I close my eyes in wordless ecstasy as he rolls his fingers across my clit, sending me racing toward bliss at breakneck speed.

  A tremor of breathtaking sensation spills through my body, and I hold onto Harrison for dear life. If I had my way, I’d never let him go. I want to suspend time right at this second, right as he holds me at the peak of unimaginable pleasure. If only we could stay here, lock ourselves up, and learn every inch of each other’s bodies...But the waves of bliss pass through me, and time marches onward, whether I like it or not. At least I can content myself in knowing that, with Harrison, these moments are hardly few and far between.

  “Lay back,” he grins, “We’re just getting started.”

  “Damn right we are,” I breathe, sprawling out across the rust-red sheets, “But while I catch my breath...”

  Harrison sucks in a quick breath of air as I wrap my hands around the staggering length of him. His eyes blaze with want of me as I work my fingers along his rock hard desire. I smile up at him, my body still buzzing in the wake of his expert touch.

  “Don’t you love a little give and take?” I ask him, tightening my grip ever-so-lightly.

  “With you I do,” he tells me.

  “Good,” I say, “Because we’re in this together, Harrison.”

  “Damn right we are,” he growls, knocking my hands away. I gasp as I feel the tip of him press against my slick slit. “There’s no one else I’d rather partner with.”

  I cry out as he sinks into me, making us whole together once more.

  Chapter One

  A Rough Start

  My feet are racing as fast as my spinning thoughts. In a panicked daze, I careen through the tightly packed crowd that floods the streets of Budapest, Hungary. All around me, the cacophonous din of the just-completed Grand Prix surges and peaks. I can’t will my mind to form a single coherent thought—I’m too overcome.

  I can’t bring myself to glance back down at my iPhone. A barrage of photos has just been sent to me, each and every one starring me and Harrison Davies in various illicit situations. I have no idea who’s behind the unknown number that sent these damning images along—I can’t even wager a guess just now. But whoever it is was very clear about what I’m expected to do with this new information: stay the hell away from Harrison. But if I could do that, we wouldn’t be in this predicament in the first place.

  My entire body is jerked to a stop as a vice-like grip tightens around my arm. I whip around to see who’s apprehended me and come face-to-face with my father.

  “There you are,” he says, a strained and terrifying smile plastered across his face, “Where are you off to in such a hurry?”

  “I...Um...” I splutter, “I was looking—”

  “We need you with Enzo right now,” Dad interrupts, towing me back through the crowd, “He’s going to have a thousand cameras in his face any second, and he’s in no condition to be in front of the media on his own.”

  “I’m actually feeling a little...faint,” I say, trying to extract myself from Dad’s grasp.

  “Siena,” he says, his voice tinged with desperation, “I know that you’ve been under a lot of pressure, but I need you to be a professional right now and step up. Your brother needs you. Ferrelli needs you. You’re great at this bella, so be great at it now more than ever.”

  A little burst of pride washes over me in the wake of my father’s praise. Pushing every thought of Harrison, the photos, the world of hurt we’ve stumbled into out of my mind, I high tail it back to the Ferrelli camp to do some hardcore damage control.

  By the time Dad and I reach the Ferrelli pocket of the F1 madness, the media has already descended. They can’t start grilling Enzo without me there to run interference. My brother just lost to Harrison Davies, the bad boy rookie who’s shaping up to be Enzo’s biggest rival. And quite possibly the man I love, but no way can I think about that right now. I shoulder through a solid wall of reporters and see Enzo up ahead beside his car. His jaw is clenched tight, and I can see the anger billowing behind his eyes. Time for me to step in.

  “I’ll begin taking questions now,” I announce, turning toward the sea of flashbulbs and waving hands. Dozens of voices call out my name, an
d I point to the nearest reporter.

  “Miss Lazio,” the wiry man begins, “This is the first race that Enzo has lost since the season began. Can you describe the mood of Team Ferrelli right now?”

  “Never been better,” I say dryly, drawing a chuckle from the press, “But seriously. We may not have won this particular race, but we did come in second. By my count, that's still a fantastic outcome. And our team is well ahead in points, so we’re not too concerned. Next question, please.”

  “Was Mr. Lazio surprised to have been beaten by Mr. Davies?” asks a young woman to my left, “Enzo seemed pretty confident that Harrison wouldn’t be a threat during this season.”

  I can practically feel the heat coming off of Enzo’s body as his anger comes to a boil. Time to deflect, hard.

  “That’s the wonderful thing about F1, isn’t it?” I smile, “Always room for plenty of surprises. Next question?”

  “Do you think Enzo got a little too cocky for his own good?” the last reporter presses. “Perhaps if he’d been more on guard against Harrison—”

  “Davies got lucky,” Enzo spits, “It won’t happen again.”

  “That’s all for now!” I say quickly, tugging Enzo away from the press. They clamor after us, shouting questions to our retreating backs, but there’s no way I’m letting them goad Enzo into saying something he’s going to regret.

  We book it to the nearest Ferrelli car and jump into the backseat where Dad is already waiting. As we take off back toward the hotel, we’re utterly silent. Dad is oscillating between disappointment and outrage while Enzo simmers in his own frustration and embarrassment. Me, I’m trying to keep a neutral smile on my face while my heart cracks into a thousand messy pieces. Between the three of us, we’ve got the whole spectrum of anguish pretty much covered.

  “We’ll get an early start to Moscow,” Dad finally says, “We’ve got a couple of weeks before the next Grand Prix. Everything will be sorted out in no time, Enzo. Never you fear.”

  “Fear?” Enzo says, his voice hollow, “How can you say that, Dad? You saw what happened out there as clearly as I did.”

  “Davies snuck around you while you were distracted trying to prevent a wreck,” Dad says crisply.

  “No,” Enzo says, “Davies had the better strategy, plain and simple. He’s not just some punk ass bad boy with something to prove. The guy can race.”

  “He can,” I say softly, my heart full of longing. I wish I could have run to Harrison the second he crossed the finish line, been there for his victory.

  “He’s my only real competition,” Enzo goes on, settling back into his seat, “And that means I have to destroy him.”

  I feel the air leave the backseat cabin as I whip around to face my brother.

  “What...What does that mean?” I ask.

  “I’ll do whatever it takes to end Harrison Davies,” Enzo goes on, “I don’t just want to beat him. I want him out of the sport.”

  “But...Enzo, why?” I ask, “Just because he’s a challenger?”

  “I care too much about this sport to let assholes like him drag it through the mud,” Enzo goes on. “F1 racers should be elite. And professional.”

  “Enzo, the only time Harrison acted unprofessionally is when you started it!” I gasp, exasperated, “Why don’t you focus on winning the next Grand Prix instead of plotting your revenge on Harrison Davies?”

  “Your sister’s right,” Dad says.

  “What?” Enzo and I chorus. It isn’t often that my father and I see eye-to-eye.

  “If you let yourself get all wrapped up in going after Davies, all you’re going to do is tank your own chances at winning. Forget about him, Enzo. You have to think of him as just another racer. Can you do that, son?”

  Enzo is silent in reply. He can’t help but take Harrison’s success personally. I wonder if some deeply buried part of him knows that he has good reason to be suspicious of Harrison Davies. The severity of my situation rears its ugly head as I consider what Enzo would do if he found out I was actually sleeping with the enemy. Who would he be more furious with, Harrison or me? From Harrison, he’d have no reason to suspect loyalty, but from me he expects the world. He can’t find out about us. Not while he carries such a heated grudge against Harrison.

  But how am I going to keep my blackmailer from outing me? I have no idea who could possibly be behind those photos, so how can I know what would make them tick? What I don’t understand is why, if those pictures exist at all, they haven’t already been splattered across every blog and newscast known to man. Why threaten me, rather than just destroy my reputation and, well, the rest of my life? I need to figure out where those shots came from, and who’s been trailing me around like a damned spy all this time.

  The question is, how?

  I feel my iPhone buzz against my thigh as we pull up to the hotel, but I don’t dare check it in front of my dad and brother. For all I know, it could be a full frontal nudie shot of me straddling Ferrelli’s new competitor. I have no idea how far this surveillance effort has already gone. I hurry up to my room, claiming some kind of headache, and lock the door swiftly behind me. Once I know for sure that I’m absolutely alone, I pull out my phone with trembling fingers and see that a second batch of photos has, indeed, arrived.

  Settling down onto my bed, I open the stuffed folder and look through the images, one by one. There we are leaving the Budapest bar, leaving the restaurant, walking hand-in-hand. There we are in Toronto and Monte Carlo. There we are in Barcelona, returning from the beach looking flushed and rumpled. That’s how far these photos date back to. There are no shots of our first night at the club together, but that’s no saving grace. I count at least fifty images here, each more damning than the rest. Someone’s been trailing Harrison and I since Barcelona, snapping shots of our meetings.

  If even one of these photos leaked, it would be the end of our secrecy. The entire world would know that Harrison and I have been sneaking around together. The gossip mills would love it, but McClain would be furious. This is Harrison’s first season ever, it would be disastrous for him to get swept up in a scandal. Drama may be built into this sport, but not this kind of drama. Rivalries and strategy and suspense are all well and good, but sex scandals only serve to undermine the prestige of the sport.

  But as bad as it would be for Harrison, us being found out would be even worse for me. I’d probably lose my job, for starters. But far worse would be my family’s utter heartbreak if they knew I’d been running around with our main competition. I can’t even stand to think of the look on Enzo’s face, should he find out. I can’t let it happen, no matter what. But can I really follow the blackmailer’s terms? Can I really just stop seeing Harrison, once and for all?

  As if on cue, a new message from Harrison pops up onto my phone. I stare down at the tiny scrawl of text and feel my heart lodge itself in my throat.

  “You disappeared,” the text reads, “Wanted to blow you a celebratory kiss. Proud of me?”

  My pulse quickens as I stare at his words. What am I supposed to do? Can I even respond without egging the blackmailer on? What if whoever is doing this has access to Harrison’s phone, or mine? With a heavy heart, I delete Harrison’s text. I can’t bring myself to respond to him, not now. I need time to think.

  I fall back onto the cushy hotel bed and let my baffled, outraged tears begin to flow. I feel so violated. Those moments between Harrison and I were private, our own secret world. And someone wants to use them to hurt us. Who the hell would do something like this, and why? I may not know for sure, but a few distinct possibilities begin to clarify in my mind. A certain Ivy League watch dog is at the top of my shit list, that’s for sure. And if it’s really Charlie behind all this, he’d better brace himself for when I get my hands on him.

  Chapter Two

  Getting To The Bottom

  With no small effort, I drag myself up out of bed and start gathering my things. I toss articles of clothing and toiletries into my suitcase at random, u
nable to bring my mind fully to the task. Dad told me to be ready to go in half an hour, and the last thing I want is for someone to come and find me a sobbing mess. Of course, I could blame it on the fact that Enzo placed second this go-around. Nobody would doubt it for a second, I’m sure.

  I give my room one last once over and slip out into the hall. We’re convening in the lobby before making the trip to Moscow, Russia—the city that’s hosting the next Grand Prix. At least this trek will be a relatively short one. The second we touchdown, I’ll be able to put my mind to figuring out what on earth I’m supposed to do next. Right now, I don’t even know if I can safely answer a text message from Harrison without getting us both in the trouble of our lives. I just need a minute to think this all through.

  A door opens down the hallway in front of me, and a trill of laughter spills out. I stop short as two people tumble through the doorway and into the hall, and feel my jaw drop as I realize that I recognize them. Bex and Charlie straighten up as they spot me, trying to suppress their giddy grins.

  “What the hell...?” I mutter.

  “Sorry Siena,” Bex breathes, “Didn’t meant to scare you. We were just—”

  “Packing up,” Charlie says, struggling to keep a straight face.

  “Right,” I say, feeling a hot rush of anger course through my blood as Charlie smiles bashfully. “Packing up. I get it.”

  “Are you OK, Siena?” Bex asks, “You look a little...”

  “Distracted,” I offer, “You know, I am feeling a little bit off. Can’t really put my finger on why that might be, though. What do you think, Charlie? Any idea why I might be a little down in the dumps?”

  “Um...Siena, I have no idea,” Charlie says, shooting a quick glance at Bex, “Are you just bummed that Enzo—?”

  “No,” I snap, “Wrong. Oh well. I’ll just let you two get back to whatever it is you’re doing. I wouldn’t want to intrude on any private moment. Or pry into your personal lives. It’s not really my style. It’s not really what civilized people do.”