Faster Hotter

by Colleen Masters

  “Holy shit,” I moan, working my hands along the length of him, “It’s a wonder I can ever fit you...”

  “It’s what you do to me,” he groans, flattening his forearms against the tile.

  I stroke along his most sensitive inches, taking as much of him into my hands as I can. It’s no small feat—as he’s no small man.

  “Just imagine all the things we’re going to discover together,” I whisper, tightening my grasp ever so slightly, “I want everything with you, Harrison.”

  “That’s all I want,” he tells me, “You and nothing but you.”

  “You won’t miss your days as a playboy?” I ask, running my thumb all around the tip of him.

  “Are you fucking kidding?” he moans, leaning into my touch, “That shit was nothing compared to what we have between us.”

  “Good answer,” I smile, letting his staggering manhood slip from my hands as I turn away from him, steadying myself against the shower wall.

  A low, lusty growl escapes his throat as he runs his hands from my wing-like shoulder blades, down my spine, right over the firm rise of my ass. As he grabs hold of my hips, I can feel his rock hard member between my legs. Harrison lets himself linger there against me, and I imagine what it would be like to truly feel him everywhere. I arch my back just a hair and his manhood glances against that tight, untouched place that no man has ever touched. I’ve never felt safe enough or close enough with anyone to experiment that way. But with Harrison.

  “Is that something you want?” he asks, holding himself there against me.

  I glance over my shoulder and meet his firm, open gaze. “Like I said,” I tell him, “I want everything with you...”

  Our bodies are so slick with water that I can’t tell how wet the idea of taking him from behind is making me. But I can feel my sex throbbing hotly at the thought of trying something completely new with him. And if his stiffening member is any indication, he’s as into the idea as I am.

  “I can’t say I haven’t thought about it...” he says, his voice rasping lustily. “Have you ever...before?”

  “No,” I breathe, “No, not ever.”

  “Hmm...” he growls, sliding his hands over my round ass. “We’d have to go slow—”

  But his voice trails off as I press back against him, just a tiny bit. The slick tip of him is poised just against that muscular, untouched circle. The sudden pressure sends a ripple of pleasure through me. It’s the first time I’ve ever dared to try something like this, a totally foreign sensation...not a bad one, by any means.

  “I want to feel you there,” I breathe, bracing myself against the wall, “I want to know you that way.”

  “Just keep telling me what you want,” he says. I nod eagerly.

  With a deep breath, he leans lightly forward. I can feel him pressing against me there, sinking into that most improbable place, if only a tiny bit. I forget how to breathe as a new, dizzying feeling takes hold of me. I don’t want to go slowly—I want more.

  “Oh!” I cry, as I press back against him, more quickly than is wise. A sharp, pressure uncoils within me as I try and take him all at once.

  “Are you OK?” he asks, turning me to face him.

  “Yeah...” tell him, “You’re just...you’re so huge, baby...”

  “There’s no rush,” he smiles, pushing the wet curls from my forehead, “We’ve got all the time in the world to try everything you like. All I want to do is make you feel good, Siena.”

  He guides me over to the built-in ledge, and I sit down on the cool little seat. I plant my knees on the edge as Harrison falls to his knees before me, spread myself open to him. I’m aching with desire for this impossibly perfect man. My knees begin to tremble before he even touches me.

  “You’re not like anyone I’ve ever met before, Siena,” he tells me, resting his hands on my tender inner thighs, “I’m the luckiest man in the world just to be here with you.”

  Before I can utter a word of reply, Harrison’s brought his mouth swiftly down to my pulsating sex. His full lips close around that hard, raw button at once, and my hands rake along his muscular back as I let out a blissful cry. As his tongue teases me toward my tipping point, I know that I’m a goner. My full, orgasmic moans echo off the bathroom tiles in no time at all. What can I say? My man knows what he’s doing.

  When we’ve finally exhausted ourselves and stepped, spent, from the shower, the day is ready to begin. We dress and pack slowly. With the tournament finally over, everyone’s getting a slow start this morning. But in a couple hours’ time, it’ll be back to work for us all. Team McClain decided as soon as the race was run that Harrison would be officially promoted to lead driver, and Enzo’s the golden boy of the hour, which means plenty of press conferences and interviews for me to arrange.

  I stop myself right in the middle of dreaming up a media tour for Enzo. Will I even be arranging these things for much longer? My days of serving as Ferrelli’s PR director are limited. But of course that means a far more significant clock is running out. My father, Alfonso Lazio, has been edging closer to the end of his life with every passing moment. He’s back at our home in Italy right this second, watching his children triumph from afar as he prepares for the inevitable. I still haven’t come to terms with the severity of his illness, as he’s shielded Enzo and I from the worst of it, but all at once I know that I can’t dawdle here another moment.

  As if on cue, there is a knock at our hotel door. I hurry over and admit our visitor—my big brother and world champion F1 racer, Enzo. He steps inside quickly, looking grim. His dark eyes are clouded over and glazed. I see his cell phone clutched in his white-knuckled hand and immediately assume the worst.

  “He’s not—?” I breathe, grabbing onto Enzo’s arm as Harrison comes to us, ready with a comforting embrace.

  “No, not yet,” Enzo tells me, “But Mom did just call me. He doesn’t have much time, Siena. We have to go.”

  “I’m ready,” I say without a moment’s hesitation, “We can take the jet.”

  “I’ll get my things and meet you down in the lobby,” Enzo says, kissing my quickly on the cheek.

  He hurries off, and I fly into action, gathering my bags. With my belongings collected, I look up and see Harrison, waiting for a word from me. The gravity of my father’s situation hits me in the gut, bringing hot tears to my eyes.

  “Baby...” Harrison murmurs, taking a step toward me.

  “I’m fine,” I tell him, chucking toiletries into my purse and trying to look anywhere but his sympathetic eyes.

  “I know how hard this is,” he goes on, “My father and I had a shit relationship and I still had a rough go of it when he passed away. I can’t imagine having to do this with a dad you really feel close to.”

  “That’s the thing,” I whisper, “I feel like I was just starting to get close to him. F1 was the only thing we really had in common, and I was just about to become a real part of that world he lived in. But now...” I trail off, my throat thickening with tears.

  “You know he’s loved you your whole life,” Harrison insists, “Even if he loves the sport, I know you and Enzo are his life. I can tell by the way he looks at you. There’s no question, Siena. You know that, right?”

  “I guess,” I gasp, sinking down onto the edge of the bed, “I just...can’t believe it’s happening so soon. I’m only twenty-five; there’s so much more of my life that he’s not going to get to see.”

  My mind spins around the hard truth that the baby I’m probably carrying will never know its grandfather, the great Alfonso Lazio. The fleeting image of my father scooping up a little tow-headed toddler springs painfully to mind. He’d be a wonderful grandfather, my dad. His hard ass attitude wouldn’t stand a chance against a little boy or girl, not if it was mine.

  “Oh, Siena,” Harrison says, sitting beside me on the bed. “I’m so sorry, baby. I wish there was something I could do to make this any easier for you.”

  “Will you come with me?” I ask Harris
on, choking back a sudden sob. “I need you...”

  “Of course,” he says, gathering me up in his arms, “I’m here for you, Siena. Whatever you need from me, just say the word.”

  “I just need you,” I tell him.

  “You’ve got me,” he replies, hugging me tight, “That’s never going to change.”

  I cling to him, letting myself have the baffled cry I’ve been trying to tamp down. My father’s life is about to end just as a life may be beginning inside of me? It’s too much to think about. One thing at a time. Right now, all I can do is be there for my father in his final hours. And that’s just what I intend to do.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Enzo, Harrison and I make for the jet as quickly as we can. The rest of the team will surely be rallied, but they can travel to Italy in our wake. As word passes through Team Ferrelli that our father is nearing the end, everyone is respectful and compassionate. There’s not a dry eye among the lot of them as we say our quick goodbyes in the hotel lobby and set off for the team jet. Team Ferrelli may be made up of a bunch of tough guys, but Dad’s been our patriarch for decades. Losing him will be a blow to us all.

  Gus, Charlie, and Bex are the last to see us off at the airport. The team manager and my father’s best friend wraps me up in a bone-crushing hug before I go. He’s trying hard to hold it together for the rest of the team, but I know this will be as hard on him as on any of us.

  “It’s OK Gus,” I whisper, looking up into his misty eyes. “We’re all going to make it through this together.”

  “Right,” Gus sniffs, running a hand through his scant gray hair. He may be barrel chested and strong as an ox, but I know how much he’s hurting right now. He and my father are like brothers, always have been.

  “Come as soon as you can,” I tell him, “Dad will want to see you.”

  “You got it,” Gus tells me, taking a step away.

  “Send him our best,” Charlie says, wrapping an arm around his new fiancée.

  “And take care of yourselves,” Bex says, looking at me pointedly. I know she’s silently adding, you’re caring for two now, remember.

  “We will,” Enzo says, “See you all soon.”

  “Want me to give any word to Shelby?” Bex asks. I’d nearly forgotten about Enzo’s blonde lady friend from Team McClain.

  “No, no,” Enzo says, blushing deeply, “We, uh, said goodbye this morning. All set.”

  “You can ask her along, if you like,” I tell him, “If it will help you—”

  “We’re not quite there yet,” Enzo says, cutting me off, “Not like you and Harrison.”

  I take in my brother, stony faced and cool. Now that I think of it, I don’t think I’ve ever really seen Enzo fall in love with someone before. He’s had plenty of girlfriends and even more flings, but there’s never been anyone who’s really stuck around. Is that because he hasn’t met the right person yet, or because he won’t let anyone be his right person? I know how hard it is to look away from the F1 track long enough to find someone who cares about you, but I hope that it happens for Enzo someday. If not with Shelby, than with someone else.

  “Time to go,” Harrison says, as the jet taxies into sight. I grab hold of his hand tightly and set off at last.

  We board the jet and take off into the clear blue sky. Texas falls away beneath us as we set off for Italy. I always feel a pang of homesickness when leaving America. This is the country that I truly call home, after all. I was born and educated here. But my heart belongs to Italy, as well. All those summers spent with my family, running all over our modest estate. So many memories featuring my father. Once he finished with his racing career, I finally got to know him as a person. Those years when he first reentered family life, around my tenth birthday, were the happiest of my childhood.

  For the first decade of my life, the only memories I can recall of my father are on the race track. We were an F1 family from the start; some even called us royalty. Not quite the Kennedy’s, but not far off either. In those days, my mother was all about playing the part of the F1 wife, taking us out to Grands Prix and publicity events all the time. But as soon as Dad retired from racing, my mother was done with the sport. I didn’t realize until recently how much of a toll it took on her, having a driver for a husband. Knowing that, at any moment, she could become a widow with two small children to raise on her own.

  I glance over at Harrison as I remember what it was like, growing up as the daughter of a racing legend. He was always constantly training or touring, and had little time for us. Enzo got to bond with him once he started messing around with boxcars and go-carts, but not me. If I’m honest with myself, I never got to be as close with my father as I would have liked. Maybe I learned to keep distance between us when I was young—learned to guard my heart in case he got into a fatal accident. If that’s the case, I don’t think my strategy worked. My heart is slowly breaking as my father slips away from us at last.

  The long trip becomes a blur as we soar across the Atlantic. Finally, we touch down in Italy and make a beeline for my family’s home. Piled into a rental car, we tear through the countryside. Stony silence has settled over the three of us, unbreakable and certain. There’s nothing left to say between us until we can see my father. At last, that unmistakable estate comes into view. The gates open for us, and we sail up the long drive toward my family’s sprawling house. We’ve made it home.

  My mother, Camilla Lazio, is waiting for us on the front steps as we arrive. She stands as tall as ever, but even from my seat in the car I can tell how tired she is. Her face is free of makeup for perhaps the first time that I’ve seen, and it strikes me how much she’s really aged. I stagger out of the passenger seat and into her arms, barely holding back my tears. Her thin arms close around me, holding me close. In a heartbeat, I can see that my mother’s eyes are dry. She’s likely cried herself out already, away from prying eyes. My mom has always been a private woman, preferring to keep her distance from the outside world. It’s only appropriate that there are so few of us here now, to bid my father farewell.

  “You made it,” she whispers, as Enzo comes to wrap his arms around us both, “Thank god you’ve come in time.”

  I watch her eyes alight on Harrison as he comes forward, bearing our suitcases and looking just a bit bashful. For a moment, I worry that she might protest his being here—after all, he’s not quite family, officially. But instead of icing Harrison out, my mom goes to him next and thanks him for coming with a hug. My relief at her acceptance is the thing that finally sets my tears to flowing. This time, I don’t try to stop them.

  We step inside and set down our things in the foyer. I blink around at this familiar house, but it already seems so different. The air itself is preparing for sorrow.

  “Come on,” my mother says, “He’ll want to see you at once.”

  “Mom, how bad is he?” Enzo asks.

  “We should go see him now,” Mom deflects, “I don’t want to be blunt, but there really isn’t any time to spare.”

  “He was still pretty strong the last time we saw him,” Enzo says, baffled.

  “It’s progressed rather quickly,” my mother says. I know that her cold tone is just her way of defending her heart, but it’s still hard to hear her talk about Dad so clinically.

  “Let’s go then,” I say, grabbing hold of Harrison’s hand.

  We follow Mom up the front staircase, down the hall toward the room she’s always shared with my father. He’s refused to even be moved to the hospital in the end. That’s my dad, stubborn as ever. I stop just before the doorway and take a deep breath. There’s no way this was ever going to be easy.

  “I’m right here,” my brother tells me, “Just remember that.”

  I grab onto Enzo’s hand as we enter our parents’ bedroom. The walls are the same ivory color they’ve always been, the ceiling a sprawl of painted tin tiles. The doors opening up onto the balcony are thrown wide, capturing a gorgeous sunset over the rolling hills. A light breeze teases t
he skirt of my parents’ canopied bed. I finally let my eyes settle on the man lying among the billowing pillows and sheets, but it takes me a second to even recognize him.

  “Dad,” I breathe, hurrying across the room to his side.

  He turns toward me, and his face breaks into a small smile. My father is almost unrecognizable—his once-full face sunken and thin. I settle onto the edge of his bed and take his hand in mine. I can feel the bones of his fingers through his skin at once. His transformation renders me speechless.

  “I know,” he whispers hoarsely, “I look better than ever, huh?”

  “Can we get you anything?” Enzo asks, appearing at my shoulder.

  “No, no,” Dad says, “Just stay here. I’m so glad you made it, before...”

  “I don’t understand,” I say hopelessly, “I feel like we just saw you. A few months ago—”

  “This cancer thing works pretty fast,” he sighs, “Without treatment, it was only a matter of months to begin with. I’m so sorry I didn’t tell you about all of this sooner.”

  “You did what you thought was best,” Enzo says, his jaw tensing.

  “I wanted you to have your championship,” Dad says, looking up at Enzo proudly, “And did you ever have it, eh? Congratulations, son. I'm so damn proud of you.”

  “Were you watching?” Enzo asks, sounding heartbreakingly like a little boy.

  “Every minute,” Dad smiles, “Including the bit afterward when Siena and her team of flunkies managed to catch that rat Marques in a trap of his own making. How the hell did you pull that off, Siena?”

  “I had a pretty good teacher, when it comes to trusting my gut and doing what I know is right,” I tell him.