The Driven Series Boxed Set - Limited Edition (Driven #1-4)

by K. Bromberg

  “Well, if you think I fuck like I drive, you should see me drop the hammer and race you to the finish line.”

  I can’t help the breath that catches in my throat. It has to be coincidence that he uses the term race—it is his profession after all—but every single part of me hopes momentarily that I’m wrong. That he’s using the term to tell me he remembers. But as quick as the thought soars with hope, it burns out, shutters the breath in my lungs. So I do the only thing I can to help make me forget and help him remember.

  It’s time to give him the show I’ve been tempting him with.

  As his eyes flicker back and forth between my eyes and my fingers, I spread my legs further apart wanting to make sure he can see everything I’m doing. My fingers slip just beneath the waistband of my panties and then stop, my own body aching for my touch as much as I can see he is by the look in his eyes and his own fingers rubbing together, itching to touch me himself. But he’s still in control. Still so calm.

  Time to test that restraint.

  “I thought racing wasn’t a team sport,” I say from beneath my lashes. “You know, more of an every man for himself kind of thing.” I make sure he’s watching, make sure he sees my fingers slide a little farther south. And I know he does because his Adam’s apple bobs as he works a swallow down his throat.

  “Every man, yes,” he finally says, his voice strained. “Racing can be a dangerous sport too, you know?”

  “Oh really?” I respond.

  I take it upon myself to give into the sweet torture of parting myself and rubbing the evidence of my arousal around so I can apply the much needed friction to my clit. And as good as it feels—the pressure, the friction, his hardened dick rubbing against me—nothing turns me on more than the look on Colton’s face. Undeniable arousal and complete concentration as he watches movements he can’t see but can only guess at through the silky red fabric.

  I want more from him. I want that stoic restraint snapped, and so I give into the feeling, into the eroticism of the moment—of him watching me while I pleasure myself—and I do the one thing I know will help push him over the edge, pull that hair-string trigger I know he has so tightly wound. I lift my head back, close my eyes, and let “Oh, God!” slip from my lips.

  “Sweet Jesus!” he swears, restraint snapped right along with the strings of fabric holding my panties together.

  I keep my head back knowing he’s watching me move my fingers—absorb the pleasure—because there is something unexpectedly liberating about him stripping my clothes so he can see. I am unbound, unashamed, and utterly his for the taking, both physically and mentally.

  I feel my pulse quicken. Warmth spreads through me like a tidal wave of sensation that I willingly want to be drowned in. Colton groans out in front of me and I come back into the present, lift my head up, and open my eyes to find his trained on the delta between my thighs. I hiss a moan as I bring my hand out for him to see the evidence of my arousal glistening on my fingers. I struggle to control the burning fire spreading through me, igniting places I didn’t even know exist and try to find my voice.

  “Well, Ace, danger can be overrated. It seems I know how to handle a slick track perfectly well,” I purr, unable to fight the smirk that plays as his fingers dig deeper into the flesh at my hips. I keep my eyes locked and taunting on his as I bring my fingers up to my lips and suck slowly before withdrawing them.

  The muscle in his jaw tics. His dick pulses beneath me in reaction. His breath rasps out. “Slippery and wet, huh? Danger has never been more fucking tempting,” he drawls before his tongue darts out and wets his lips as he tracks my hands sliding back down my torso, over my breasts, down my stomach, and back down to between my thighs. This time though, I spread my knees wider as I use one hand to part my cleft so he can see my other hand slide down between the swollen, pink flesh. I can see the struggle flicker across the magnificent lines of his face, watch the desire swamp him, and the knowing smile that curls up his lips somehow fits him with absolute perfection.

  My handsome, arrogant rogue.

  A little cocky.

  A lot imperfect.

  And completely mine.

  “You know,” he rasps, trailing a fingertip up one thigh, purposely missing my core clenching in anticipation before continuing down the other leg. “Sometimes in a race, in order to reach the finish line, rookies like you have to tag team to get the result you want.”

  I don’t fight the smile that comes or hide the shudder of breath as his fingers leave my skin. I lean forward placing my hands on his chest and look straight into his eyes. “Sorry, but this engine seems to be doing just fine running solo,” I say, scraping my fingernails in lines down his chest as I sit back up. His muscles convulse beneath my fingers proving that even though the arrogant curl to his lips remains, his body still wants and needs what I have to offer. I slip my fingers between my thighs again and deliver the line I’m hoping will push him over the edge. “I know exactly what it’s going to take to get me to the finish line.”

  “Oh, so you like to race dirty, huh? Break all the rules?” he taunts, tossing the ball right back into my court.

  “Oh, I most definitely can race dirty,” I tease with a raise of my eyebrows before I reach a hand out, his eyes narrowing as I bring a finger, coated with my moisture, to his lips. His hand flashes up immediately and grabs my wrist, guiding my fingers into his mouth, the low hum in the back of his throat reverberating over me, through me, into me. And my own restraint is tested as his tongue swirls over them, my hips grinding down and rocking over him in automatic response. Holy shit that feels like Heaven. My nerves reach the fever pitch of ache as I rock back again, his hard to my soft, and all I can think about is the need coursing through me. The moisture pooling between my legs. The thought of his fingers on me, in me, driving me.

  Fuck, I need him now. Desperately. So I do the only thing I can without downright begging. I deliver the last coherent dare I have left because all of my thoughts are jumbling in my head with this onslaught of sensation. I lean forward, the feather of my lips up his whiskered jaw line, and inhale his scent before I whisper, “Being a seasoned pro such as yourself, you just might have to show this rookie exactly why they say rubbing’s racing.”

  I rotate my hips over the top of him and I can feel his teeth grind in willpower. I repeat the motion one more time, a satisfied exhale slipping between my lips as my body begs for more. “Big bad professional race car driver like you afraid to show a newbie how to drive stick, huh?”

  I forgot how fast Colton can move, bad hand and all. Within a heartbeat he’s pushed me so I’m sitting back up again. My feet have been pulled forward so they’re flat on the bed on either side of his rib cage, and he pushes my knees as far out as they can go.

  Bingo.

  Fuse lit.

  That razor thin edge of control snapped.

  Thank God!

  He must be mistaking the look on my face—the one of relief edged with desperation—as confusion because he says, “I’m shifting gears, sweetheart, because I’m the only one allowed to drive this car.” I can hear the hum deep in his throat as he slides his hands up my thighs, stopping to sweep his thumbs up and down my tight strip of curls. A teasing touch that sends tiny tremors ricocheting through me, hinting at what’s to come, the level of pleasure he can bring me to.

  His fingers still and he drags his eyes up my body to meet mine, a smug grin ghosting his mouth. He holds my stare—almost as if daring me to look away—as he moves one hand to part my swollen flesh while the other tucks his fingers inside of me. My head falls back as I cry out at the feeling, fingers moving, manipulating, circling to stroke over the responsive bundle of nerves. He slides his fingers in and out, my walls clenching around him, gripping onto him in pure, carnal need. Greed.

  I watch his face. See his tongue slip between his lips, the desire cloud his eyes, watch the muscles ripple in his arms as he works me into a fever pitch. Causes me to climb quickly because I’m so
pent up—so addled with need—that the sight of him, the feel of him, the memory of him, pushes me over the edge.

  My fingernails score down his forearms as my body tenses, pussy convulses, and the broken cry of his name fills the room around us. I fall forward, collapsing on top of Colton’s chest as the heat spearing through me in waves liquefies my insides. Makes coherency a distant possibility. I want the feel of my skin on his. Need to feel the firmness of him against me and the security of his arms wrapped around me as I swim through the sensation he just flooded me with.

  I pant out in short, sharp breaths as my body settles, his fingertips tracing lines up and down my spine. I can feel his soft chuckle against my chest. “Hey, rookie?”

  I force myself to look up at him—to pull myself from my post-orgasmic coma. “Hmm?” is all I can manage as I meet the amusement in his eyes.

  “I’m the only one that’s allowed to drive you to the motherfucking checkered flag.”

  I can’t help the laugh that comes out and bubbles over. He can claim my checkered flag any day.

  … DRAGONS LIVE FOREVER, BUT NOT so little boys …

  The lyrics filter into my head, my own dragons—and not the playful, puffy kinds—are front and fucking center, but that’s not the problem. The problem is I’m not a little boy and yet I’m still living with this shit.

  I slowly ease awake and can’t believe how nice it feels with her arms wrapped around me instead of that soul-jarring, mind-fucked moment when you wake up alone with only your demons lurking in the dark corners to keep you company.

  I close my eyes for a second, accepting that she’s still here after everything I’ve put her through.

  “My dad used to sing that to me when I had nightmares.”

  Her body jolts at the sound of my voice as I put my arm around her and pull her closer, skin to skin. My own personal balm to coat the inked reminders on my torso that reflect the stains on my soul.

  “I know,” she whispers, “and you were.”

  I press a kiss to the top of her head and leave my mouth there, breathing her in. Trying to wash the dream from my mind. Needing to.

  I think of how I’d much rather dream about the crash than him. How almost dying, going headfirst into a wall, is ten times easier to cope with than the smell of the musty mattress, the feel of his hands on me, the taste of anticipatory fear.

  I need to talk, to scavenge some of the thoughts from within and release them so I can start to breathe again. I pick the one she knows the most about, the one that won’t make her look at me and think I’m weak for succumbing to its clutches.

  “I was scared. I remember the vague sense of being scared those last few seconds in the car as I was flipping through the air.” I don’t know why that’s so hard to admit to her.

  She runs her hand over my chest. “I was too.”

  “I know,” I say evenly but hate myself for putting her in that position. Loathe that she fears anything because of me. I reach down, my hand sliding beneath the band of her panties to cup the curve of her ass and pull her up so she can look into my eyes. I hate rehashing shit, but I owe her this ten times over and then some. “I’m sorry you had to go through that again.”

  Her eyes glisten with tears and now I hate that I’ve made her cry bringing it up, but when she leans forward and brushes her lips against mine, all thoughts are lost but one.

  Take.

  And hell if it’s the emotion of the day, needing to erase my dreams, or simply being so fucking relieved to be alive, but I do just that.

  I squeeze her ass in my hands so her tits rub up against me, and every part of my body begs, craves, and is starved for more of her. I need to hear that sigh she makes, need her taste on my tongue, and I don’t hesitate. I slip my tongue between her lips and don’t even realize the groan is coming from me.

  Thank fuck I survived the crash because I need this little slice of Heaven right now, and I sure as shit know this was going to be one of the first things I’d miss if I’d died and landed in Hell.

  I bring my free hand to her face and slide my other one from her ass up her back and put them in my favorite place tangled in her curls so she has no other option but to open up to me. And when I pull her head back, I see just that in her eyes: vulnerability, need, and desire all balled into one dick hardening look.

  Hell, I was hard before that, but shit, there’s no turning back now.

  “Ry, I …” My mind fires, fleeting flashes of stolen thoughts but none stick against the wall. Things I want to say flicker and fade just as quick as they come, but the feeling within me remains burning bright. I clear my throat, trying to buy time for them to come out but nothing does so I say the only thing I can. “Thank you for staying.”

  Fuck this. That’s not what I want to say. Man the fuck up, Donavan. You told her if you can’t say it, you’ll show her any way you can. So fucking show her.

  “There’s nowhere else I’d rather be,” she says, snapping me from my conflicting thoughts. I meet her eyes, a man on a mission now. Wanting to take and needing to prove.

  My hand pisses me the fuck off because I want to lift her up and onto me so I can keep my head still and not trigger another goddamn headache and ruin this, but it’s not working. And fuck do I need it to work more than ever right now. But Ry anticipates what I want, so she straddles my hips and looks down at me.

  I take her all in, lips parted, nipples hard beneath her tank, and the fucking heat of her pussy on my very desperate cock. Desire ignites between us and within moments our lips are on one another’s, hands touching, bodies aching for so much more than this.

  My good hand grips onto her hip, urging her to rock like that again over my dick and when she does, fuckin’ A. All thoughts flee because my mind and body are in total agreement on what they want: her. Any way I can get her because it’s been so fucking long since I’ve buried myself in her addictive pussy.

  My right hand moves to her other hip because I need my woman naked right now. Need to see her tits, rub my thumbs over her nipples for my own fucking pleasure and hers. I’m so lost in the taste of her kiss that when I go to grip her tank top, I forget about my hand—that it can’t pull the fabric up and over her head.

  Without missing a beat, Rylee comes to the rescue—like always—and has the shirt off. And fuck I’ve seen her tits before but don’t think I’ve ever wanted her more than right now.

  Screw what the doctor says, what my head is going to feel like, because this man is not waiting. No fucking way when she is sitting like this atop me. Vixen, siren, mine. The last one mattering the most.

  Her mouth meets mine again, her tits against my chest. My hand on her hip guides her to slide over my boxer-brief clad cock, making me ache in the worst way, in the best way. And when she moans and sits back up, I fight every primal instinct in me to flip her over and fuck her into oblivion. She is the epitome of sex right now and all I want to do is taste, take, and sate my desire.

  I lean up, the slight twinge of pain in my head drowned out by the desire owning my body, and take the tip of her tit into my mouth. Her cool flesh against my warm tongue only adds to the riotous frenzy within me.

  I flick my tongue over her nipple and claim her mouth again while my right hand lamely palms her breast. I know the minute she feels my hand’s fucked-up grip because she brings her hands to mine, laces her fingers with them, and moves them to her hips.

  I groan as she drags her lips from my mouth and leans her forehead against mine, dreading and knowing what she’s going to say.

  “We can’t. It’s not safe.”

  We can. Fuck safety. Fuck any reason you’re going to deny me because I’m not ashamed to admit I’m a desperate man willing to break every rule to have you.

  “It’s too much exertion,” she explains.

  “Baby, if I’m not exerting myself, then I’m sure as fuck not doing it right.” I can’t help but chuckle against that spot on her neck. I feel goose bumps across her skin as I rub my stubble ag
ainst it to let the flash of pain in my head abate.

  Her nipples press into my chest and I know she sits up to fight her own urge to take and fuck if that doesn’t make her even sexier. But even better is she positions herself perfectly so that my dick presses against the damp spot on her panties. Her lips part and eyes close momentarily as I purposely adjust my hips, pushing my cock against our double cloth barrier into the dent of her pussy. I get a low groan but I want more from her. I want to hear her tell me to take her.

  “Colton,” she moans and fuck, saying my name like that is like my own personal verbal Viagra. There’s no way I’m turning back now because then both heads will be throbbing in pain.

  “You know you don’t want me to stop,” I say, hoping she’s willing to break a few rules, but she reaches out and places her finger on my lips to quiet me

  “This woman is just trying to keep you safe.” Her voice has that husky rasp to it that tells me she’s fighting this just as hard as I am. And damn her restraint is a challenge I can’t wait to test.

  Game on, baby.

  “Oh, but you forget that the patient is always right and this patient thinks that this woman,” I say as I open my mouth and suck on her finger, swirl my tongue around it, eyes locked on hers, “needs to be thoroughly fucked by this man.”

  She squeezes my hips with her knees, and I can feel her control slipping, my dick pulsing against her. Almost there, baby.

  “Safety,” she reiterates with unwavering resolve and fuck, I thought she was closer to caving than this. Time to bring out the big guns. Well the big guns beside the one she’s sitting astride rubbing herself against right now.

  “Ryles, when have you ever known me to play it safe? Please … let me exert myself,” I plead, flashing her that no-holds-barred grin of mine. The one that she’s told me makes her wet because it means I’m about to take her. But fuck if my voice isn’t strained from the painful ache in my balls. I roll my hips again, and this time she grinds down at the same time so she’s testing more than just my control, she’s testing my sanity too. I lick my lips and look at her, eyes taunting, dick teasing. “I’m dying to take the driver’s seat and set the pace.”