FASTER LONGER
Take Me... #3
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.
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Thank you all for reading, I swear I have the best fans!!
Faster Longer is the third book in the Take Me... series. Enjoy!!
Faster Harder (Take Me... #1)
Faster Deeper (Take Me... #2)
Faster Longer (Take Me... #3)
Faster Hotter (Take Me... #4)
Other Books by Hearts Collective:
Faster Harder (Take Me...#1) by Colleen Masters
Faster Deeper (Take Me...#2) 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 L.J. Anderson at Mayhem Cover Creations
For the incredible cover art!!
www.mayhemcovercreations.com
Contents
Prologue
Chapter One - Back To Reality
Chapter Two - Shit Storm
Chapter Three - An Olive Branch
Chapter Four - Naughty Time
Chapter Five - The Gauntlet
Chapter Six - Back To Britain
Chapter Seven - Devastation
Chapter Eight - Back To America
Chapter Nine - Snake in Racer's Clothing
Chapter Ten - Motor City
Chapter Eleven - Deep Shit
Chapter Twelve - Absence and Longing
Chapter Thirteen - Unwinding Gratitude
Chapter Fourteen - Figuring it Out
Chapter Fifteen - Hits Keep Coming
Chapter Sixteen - Black Listed
Chapter Seventeen - Race Day
Epilogue
Prologue
Harrison Davies’ home in London, the weekend of the Luxembourg Grand Prix...
The air is heavy with aromatic steam, rising off the bath like a thick cloud in the flickering candlelight. I pad across the cool tile floor, moving across the cavernous room to the stately marble bathtub. Harrison sits on the edge of the inlaid tub, trailing his fingers through the hot water. Not a stitch of clothing obscures his perfectly balanced, deliciously built body. His tattoos stand out against his tan skin in the dim light, scrawled as they are across his firm chest, broad shoulders, and sculpted arms. I let my eyes wander down along the hard panes of his chest, the rippling expanse of defined abs, the perfect muscular v of his hips...and of course, that gorgeous length between his legs that I’ve come to know so well.
“Siena Lazio,” he says, swinging his bright blue eyes my way, “Are you checking me out over there?”
“Shamelessly,” I smile.
“You still like what you see?” he asks, opening his arms wide.
“More than ever,” I tell him.
“Come on over here, would you? The water’s great,” he says, standing up.
I always forget how staggeringly tall my man really is. I’m a statuesque lady myself, and Harrison still has nearly a foot on me. He turns and steps into the huge marble bath, sinking down into the steaming water. I would not have pegged Harrison Davies for the candles and bath salts type when we first met, but he continues to surprise me every day. My man can go from devil-may-care bad boy to sensual lover as quickly as his F1 car goes from zero to two hundred miles per hour. I can only imagine what other secret elements there are to Harrison, sides of him that no one but me will ever know.
I shrug off my white silk robe, letting the soft garment pool at my feet. Harrison’s gaze rakes along the length of me, leaving a warm glow in its wake. I never feel more beautiful than when Harrison’s eyes are on me. Whether I’m stark naked, draped in PJs, or rocking a slinky evening gown, he still looks at me like I’m absolutely perfect. I never thought I’d be lucky enough to find a man who looks at me that way—like there’s not a part of me, inside or out, that he would ever change. And yet here he is.
“How the hell did I manage before I met you?” Harrison asks, his voice low and husky.
“Funny, I was just wondering the same thing,” I say, moving toward the tub. I sit down on the edge of the wide, deep basin and swing my legs around. A little shudder of pleasure rolls through me as I lower myself little by little into the water. It’s the perfect temperature, and scented with sandalwood. And of course, it doesn’t hurt that my gorgeous lover is already there waiting for me.
“You really have this romantic evening thing down to a science, don’t you?” I ask, sidling up to Harrison.
“This is actually pretty uncharacteristic,” me laughs, pulling me toward him, “I usually prefer a few too many cocktails and a good game of pool to aromatherapy and bubble baths. But for you, my dear, I’m happy to make an exception.”
“Does that make me exceptional?” I ask, placing myself between his legs. I press my back up against his firm chest and let my head lean back onto his shoulder. Harrison wraps his strong arms around me, pulling me close.
“You are beyond exceptional, Siena Lazio,” he whispers, “You’re more than I could have ever dreamed to hope for.”
“You’re not too shabby yourself,” I grin, turning to plant a kiss on his tattooed pec.
We lapse into silence as Harrison runs his hands down my lean arms, sending up a spray of goose bumps wherever he touches. His hands move all along my body, over my hourglass waist, my hips, my smooth legs. I close my eyes and breathe deeply, luxuriating in the feel of his hands on my skin. As hard as I can, I try to commit this moment to memory. I don’t think I’ve ever been happier in my life.
“We could stay like this,” Harrison says quietly, bringing his lips to my throat. “I could quit racing. You could quit PR. I’ve got more than enough money to last us until enough time has passed for me to write my memoir.”
“You know that’s impossible,” I tell him, bringing my hands up to tangle in his blonde hair, “You could never stop racing. Not if you tried. It’s one of the reasons I love you, that dedication. And there’s no way in hell I’m going to let you domesticate me.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it,” he says, nipping at my ear.
With a little gasp, I let my hands fall to his muscular thighs. I can feel him swelling against me, and I can’t resist. I spin around to face him, wrapping my legs around his waist. My fingers glance against his hardening desire, stroking him stiffer by the second. He lets a low moan escape his throat as I wrap my fingers around him, working my hands up and down along his sensitive flesh.
“I don’t want to talk career strategy with you, Harrison,” I say, keeping my eyes trained on his handsome face.
“What would you prefer to do?” he growls, eyes bright.
In reply, I inch ever closer to him in the water, grasping his rigid length in my hands. I align myself perfectly against him and pull myself forward, drawing his hard cock into me inch by inch until he’s filled me up entirely. I tighten my legs around the small of his back, letting my breasts balloon against his hard chest.
“Oh...” he groans, “I think I prefer this too...”
I grind gently against Har
rison’s staggering member, pressing myself down onto him again and again. He bucks slowly into me, cupping my breasts in his strong hands. For once, we’re in no hurry. Here, alone in our little bubble of privacy, I can ride Harrison all night if I want to. It’s the ultimate luxury for us, a little peace and quiet. And I intend to savor every sweet minute of it.
Our moans rise and entwine in the steamy air, bouncing off the bathroom tiles. If there’s a heaven somewhere, bet it looks very much like this.
Chapter One
Back To Reality
The next morning...
The mob of reporters and photographers is growing by the second outside of Harrison’s Kensington home. My back is pressed against the oaken front door, which Harrison slammed shut just moments ago. I’d gone outside to fetch the morning paper and found myself face to face with dozens of ravenous media types. I’ve always been excellent in front of the press, it’s my job, after all. But today, just now, I froze like a deer in the headlights. An extremely conflicted and guilty deer, I might add.
Harrison is pacing back and forth in front of me like a mad bull just waiting to be set loose from his pen. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him as angry as this. His every muscle is wound up like a spring, and his jaw pulses furiously. In the week since the Moscow wreck, Harrison’s gotten his strength back and then some. We’ve been getting down to a lot of rather sensual healing, after all. But now, in this livid state, that regained strength is almost scary. I’ve never felt threatened by Harrison’s power before, but I’ve also never really seen him mad.
“They can’t be here,” he mutters, shoving his hands through his sandy hair. “This is my property, dammit. They can’t just show up here hoping to score some fucking photo op. I bet they’d scamper off pretty quickly if I went out there and broke someone’s nose. That would send a message, alright.”
“You’ve got to calm down, Harrison,” I say, “I know it’s shitty, but we need to play it cool. Don’t do anything that you’re going to regret, here.”
“Calm down? Play it cool?” he scoffs, turning that powerful body to face me, “We’ve been found out, Siena. All these weeks we’ve spent together, the life we’ve been building away from prying eyes...it’s all over. They’ve got our story in their grimy hands now. It’s all over.”
“No,” I say, closing the space between us, “Don’t say that, Harrison. Look, we knew that this was going to happen one way or another.”
“Did we?” he demands.
“Unless you expected to keep me as your secret mistress for the rest of our lives, yes,” I insist, getting heated myself. “That wasn’t your intention, was it? To keep me on the sidelines for the rest of our relationship, treating me like some perpetual booty call?”
“You know it was never like that,” he snaps, “Don’t you put that on me.”
I hurry around Harrison toward the kitchen. For some reason, my first impulse is to carry on as if none of this is really happening. The French press has been sitting right where I left it. Funny how one minute you can be putting coffee on for your perfect lover, and the next you can be watching your life unravel before your eyes. Well, perhaps funny isn’t exactly the right word, after all...
“You’d like it black, yes?” I ask crisply, pulling two coffee mugs down from the cabinet.
“How can you be thinking about your cup of morning joe at a time like this?” Harrison asks incredulously, storming into the kitchen. “Everything’s going to shit, and you’re going to play house?”
“I’m trying very hard to keep my head on straight,” I tell him, pouring out two steaming mugs of coffee, “One of us has to stay—”
I gasp as Harrison swipes his powerful arm across the counter in one furious motion, sending one of the mugs soaring through the air. It smashes against the wall, spraying coffee and shards of porcelain everywhere. I stare at Harrison, my mouth hanging open in shock.
“What the fuck—?” I sputter.
“Stop telling me to keep calm,” Harrison says, his voice deadly quiet, “I’ve just been discovered to be having an affair with the sister of my rival in this championship. Our life together is spread across the biggest newspaper in the country. You won’t say two words that aren’t out of a PR handbook. And I’m scared to death that I might lose the only person who has ever meant a goddamn thing to me. So please, for the love of God, Siena—”
“I’m sorry,” I whisper, throwing my arms around his broad shoulders, “I’m scared too, Harrison. I have no idea what we’re going to do.”
“Neither do I,” he admits, “But we’re going to do it together, aren’t we?”
“Of course,” I tell him, holding onto our embrace for dear life.
We stand there for a long moment, locked in each other’s arms as the growing crowd of press clamors and shouts beyond our front door. If I close my eyes, I can almost remember what it was like just hours ago—when it seemed that Harrison and I were the only two people in the world. I’d give anything to wind the clock back just that much.
“Jesus...” Harrison groans, pulling back ever so slightly, “Siena, I have to be at the track in an hour. McClain wants me to start training with the new car today. What the hell am I going to do?”
“You’re going to go to the track,” I tell him, planting my hands on his hard chest, “You’re going to show up for work and do your job. You’re not going to let these gossip mongers throw you off your game. Promise me that much.”
“I promise,” he says, sinking down onto one of the kitchen stools.
“Good,” I say, “That means I can do my job, too. I know this was sprung on us in a rather different manner than we expected, but we can get control of it.”
“I can’t believe someone would do this,” Harrison says, shaking his head, “What could they possibly want, the people who are after us? Who the hell do you think sent that punk kid to spy on us this whole time?”
“I have no idea,” I say, sitting beside him, “For a while I suspected Charlie. And that Shelby girl. But I just can’t see either of them masterminding something like this. What could they have to gain from raking us through the mud?”
“This is too big to have come from either of them,” Harrison says, “Whoever’s behind this wants something a lot bigger than our attention. But what?”
“We’ll figure it out,” I assure him, “But right now, you need to get to the track. I’m sure that the McClain management will want to have a word with you.”
Harrison nods grimly and gives me a deep, searing kiss. I take his face in my hands, cradling his strong scruffy jaw. Whatever hell we’re about to go through, at least we’ll be tackling it together.
He says goodbye and throws on his leather jacket and Ray Bans. There’s no back entrance to the house, and he’s forced to walk back out the front door. I watch through the living room curtains as he makes his way outside, igniting a storm of flash bulbs and raised voices. I have to give him credit, the man knows how to play it cool—most of the time. He drives through the crowd, parting the reporters like the Red Sea. Without missing a step, he wrenches open the door of his car and slips inside, speeding off down the quiet residential street. I’m all alone in a house that has only just started to feel like a home, surrounded by rabid reporters, and trapped in a world of trouble.
“I guess the course of true love never did run smooth,” I mutter, heading back to the kitchen, “Not even for a professional driver.”
Wearily, I make myself another cup of coffee to replace the one that’s currently drying on the wall. If I’m going to even begin to think through this mess, I’m going to need a little caffeinated fortification. As I wait for the water to boil once again, I spot today’s paper on the countertop where Harrison discarded it. I know that I shouldn’t read anything that’s come out about us. But I’m filled with dread and morbid curiosity, wondering what the press has to say about my very private relationship. I pour myself a cup and settle down before the paper, taking a deep breath to stea
dy myself.
Here goes nothing.
I spread the front page out on the counter, rolling my eyes at the saccharine headline: “Romeo and Juliet of Formula One Tangled in Tawdry Tryst”.
“They could have done without the alliteration,” I murmur, letting my eyes wander down to the photos above the front page crease.
A half dozen photos of me and Harrison are laid out in a surreal collage. There’s a snapshot of us in Barcelona, staggering back up from the beach where we’d gone to be alone. Then there’s one of us from Monte Carlo, just before we snuck off together to make love in the backseat of Harrison’s car. And a racy picture from Budapest of us drunk and kissing as Harrison hails me a cab—my very short dress revealing far too much of my anatomy for my taste. Another from Moscow, of us kissing passionately in the hotel garden. Finally, at the center of the collage, there’s a seemingly innocent Instagram picture of me and Harrison with a few of our F1 friends. This last shot is unlike the others. It’s posed, not candid. Innocuous enough at first glance, but not when surrounded by the rest of the racy shots. Why don’t I remember when it was taken?
“Oh my god...” I mutter, recalling suddenly. I know exactly when that picture is from. Shelby snapped it weeks ago, before things with Harrison had even heated to a boil. I remember thinking that her insistent photo-snapping was strange. She forced Harrison and I into the frame together. Is this proof that she really is behind all this? Was I right in pegging my brother’s curvy blonde companion as the blackmailer all along?
“Let’s just see what else we can discover,” I seethe, ripping the paper open to our headliner of a story. “Oh, perfect...”
There, right on pages one and two, is a gigantic whopper of an article, peppered with even more photos of me and Harrison in various states of tipsy undress and giddy love. I brace myself and begin to read.
All is Fair in Love and F1:
Faster Longer (Take Me...#3) (New Adult Bad Boy Racer Novel) Page 1
