Declan Reede: The Untold Story (Complete Series)

by Michelle Irwin

  “But since you’re not with me, you’ll have to be my hands.”

  “Dec, I don’t know if—”

  I cut her off. “Please, Lys, for me.” I paused, desperate for her to understand exactly what I wanted and why I needed it. “I need you.”

  I heard her almost muted acceptance down the line. As soon as the little “okay” reached me, I was assailed by images of her pleasing herself. Forefront in my mind was the vision I’d had a lifetime ago in London, after I’d seen the vibrator in her luggage. Even though I’d found out later that Ruby had put it there as a joke, I could still readily retrieve the mental image I’d had of Alyssa using it on herself while she panted my name.

  “You’ve still got the toy that you had in London, right?” I asked.

  Her voice was shaky when she replied. “I . . . umm . . . yes.” The last word was almost silent.

  “I want you to use it,” I instructed. I could tell that the same thing that was driving me into a frenzy, and causing me to be utterly and completely erect, was also causing her more than a few nerves. By being assertive, I hoped I could give her more courage. I didn’t want her to be embarrassed or anxious about what I wanted—needed—in that moment. With the amount of travelling I’d be doing during the season every year, I could only hope a good outcome would mean many repeat performances.

  “Please, Lys,” I cooed after getting no response. “You would not believe how hard I am just thinking about it.”

  That seemed to be the motivation she needed. She breathed heavily into the phone.

  “Okay,” she squeaked.

  I heard her standing up before moving to rifle through the drawers. My heart pounded as I heard her footsteps as she walked back to the bed. I closed my eyes and pictured her lying on my pillow.

  “Put the phone on speaker and place it beside you on the pillow,” I directed.

  “Why?” she asked. Her voice quivered, but I wasn’t sure if it was with need or fear.

  “I want you to use both hands,” I explained.

  An instant later, I heard the slight echo of the speakerphone.

  “That’s a good girl,” I murmured. I was so fucking hard it hurt. “Now, turn on the toy and have it near you ready to go.”

  I heard the click and then a soft buzz echo down the line. I was getting harder by the second at just how readily she was following my instructions.

  “I’m going to unzip myself now,” I whispered, pulling the zipper on my jeans down as I said the words.

  I heard her gasp, but then her breathing grew heavier. When she spoke again, her voice was husky. I could tell she was starting to get into it.

  “What are you doing?” she asked seductively.

  “I’m rubbing my hand along my stomach, picturing your hands. Oh, fuck. They’re so smooth, and light, and warm.” I growled. “I love it when you touch me.”

  She moaned softly.

  “What would you want me to do to you?” I asked. I was already palming myself lightly, trying to ease some of the pressure without blowing my load too soon. I wanted to prolong the experience as desperately as I wanted to just jerk off and release the pent-up energy humming through my body.

  “I like it when you kiss my neck,” she whispered.

  “Close your eyes. Now, picture me kissing your neck. I’d start just below your ear before running my lips and tongue over your jaw. I would swirl my tongue to get more of a taste of that delicious skin of yours.” I closed my eyes too and imagined my mouth tracing the path I was talking about.

  “Then what?” Her voice almost sounded like a plea.

  I moaned in response to the lust I heard. “I would kiss into the collar of whatever blouse you were wearing . . .”

  “I’m not wearing a blouse,” she murmured.

  “Are you wearing a bra?” I hoped not.

  “Not at the moment.”

  I growled again and my palming grew a little more frantic. I didn’t know how long I would take to release, but I was damn well going to take Alyssa with me when I did. “Then I would suck on your breasts one at a time. I’d take the nipples between my lips and stroke them with my tongue. My fingers would play with the other, rolling it between my fingertips until you arch your back and beg me for more.”

  “Oh, God,” she exclaimed. “That feels—” Her voice broke off breathily and I could picture her hands tracing the imaginary path I was describing.

  “While I still have my mouth on your fucking fantastic breasts, I would run one of my hands along your stomach and dip my fingers down into your panties.” I slid my fingers frantically up and down my shaft, groaning as I imagined my fingers slipping into her slickness.

  She moaned and she panted. “Then what?”

  “Then, I’d move my mouth down to join my fingers. I’d taste you and lick you until you begged for me to fuck you.”

  She grunted. “Oh, God, Dec, I want you. Tell me . . . tell me what you would do next.”

  “Then, baby . . . then, I would worship every inch of you. I would kiss my way back up to your mouth and position myself at your entrance.” I hoped she realised this was where her little toy came into play. I heard the vibrations move further away from the phone. “I would touch your silky skin as I slid into your warmth. We would find our rhythm together, baby, the way that only we can. My cock would fill your tight pussy over and over and my lips would find yours.”

  My voice was straining. It was thick with desire, and I was sure she would be able to hear the sounds my hands were making as I pictured my words. I was so close it wouldn’t take much to push me over the edge, especially not with the little moans and mews she made as the sound of humming undulated as she moved the vibrator rhythmically within her.

  “Tell me how that feels.” I groaned. “Tell me how it feels when I fuck you.”

  “It . . . it feels so good. I want you, Declan, I want you so badly. What . . . what now?”

  “As I move inside you, my mouth would find your nipples again, and I would take my time playing with each one. I would suck them until you came, hard, squeezing tightly around me while I was still buried deep inside you.”

  The undulating sound of the vibrator dipping in and out of her body buzzed through my ears. Her ragged breathing indicated she was just as close as I was.

  “I’d make you come so fucking hard, baby,” I said. “Can you feel my fingers on you? My lips against yours?”

  “Yes, Dec. Oh, God yes.”

  “Fuck baby,” I cried out as I heard the sounds of her moans signalling her release a moment later. I groaned as I came over my hand and stomach. “Oh, fuck.”

  We panted to each other for a few minutes before she giggled nervously.

  “Well, that was different,” she said.

  “Good different? Or bad different?”

  “Good different.” She laughed then sighed. “Definitely good different.”

  I was glad that she’d enjoyed it, because it meant that we would be able to do it again . . . and again . . . whenever I was away. After all, not all locations were close enough that she could fly out for the weekend.

  We chatted for a few more minutes before we both needed to go. We both had early starts and huge days ahead of us. She had work and then negotiating a flight with Phoebe. I needed to be at the track by seven to prepare for my qualifying round, and then I had a full afternoon of racing and working the pits.

  Between talking to Alyssa and our little adventure, I felt almost relaxed and ready to sleep. I flicked on the TV to distract me long enough to settle completely. The next day couldn’t come soon enough.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN: RIPPLE EFFECT

  I WHIPPED THE car around the track, faster and faster each lap. A euphoria spread through my body as I poured my energy into the accelerator. The connection between me and the car was flawless. It responded to my touch the same way Alyssa’s body did.

  I was on track for the perfect race.

  The engine of another car roared behind me. A much bigge
r car, one I had no chance of outrunning, filled my rear-view mirror seconds later. I should have tried to get out of the way, but I was on track for such a good lap that I couldn’t.

  Glancing up at my rear-view mirror, I saw the new Sinclair Racing ProV8. Hunter’s number, sixty-six, was printed on the windscreen. The car drifted closer and closer. I was surprised to see that Hunter wasn’t wearing any safety gear; not even a race suit. He snarled at me in the mirror before his car dropped away just as quickly as it had appeared.

  The roar of his engine sounded again and then he was on me.

  I heard the impact before I felt it.

  The keening of metal on metal reverberated through my ears as I was pushed toward the cement barrier. As his car shunted mine roughly, I noticed a flash of colour out of the corner of my eye. Something was on the passenger seat of my car. I couldn’t turn to see what it was, because at that moment, my car collided roughly with the concrete barrier of the track and my forehead smashed against the steering wheel. I was tossed like a rag doll as the car barrel-rolled back onto the track.

  After the car finally came to a rest back on all fours, I flicked my head around to see what had caused the flash I’d seen. Alyssa was curled on the seat beside me. She was completely still and her head slumped forward to her chest, causing her long hair to form curtains around her face. I couldn’t tell whether she was sleeping or something else; I couldn’t even tell if she was breathing. I reached my hand over to touch her lightly.

  She didn’t respond to my attempt to rouse her, so I shook her gently.

  Still no response.

  I grabbed her chin gently and turned her face toward me. The instant I saw her face, I gasped and choked with horror. Her lips were blue, her skin even paler than normal—grey and chalky—and her eyes looked through me, unfocused and unseeing. My heart stopped as the reality of it all struck me.

  I was seeing the face of death.

  My Alyssa was dead.

  “NO!” I shouted the word into the empty hotel room as I jolted back to consciousness.

  Tremors of shock ran through my body, each of my muscles quivering in response to the images that were still on replay in my head. Without thinking, I picked up the phone and dialled home. I waited as the phone rang; each extra ring caused the certainty that something had happened to her to grow and my panic to rise.

  “Hello?” Alyssa’s sleepy, confused, and groggy voice was on the line.

  Tears of relief sprung to my eyes. “Lys. Thank fuck,” I whispered.

  “Dec?” she asked. I could tell she was still trying to shake off her slumber.

  “Yeah, it’s me. I’m sorry for ringing so late, or early, I don’t fucking know.”

  “Why are you calling? Is something wrong?” I could detect the panic rising within her.

  “No,” I murmured. “I just had a . . .” I couldn’t finish, unable to admit that I had practically torn from the bed to call her just because of a nightmare. That would make me sound like a monumental pussy. I squeezed my eyes shut, but each time I did, all I saw were the images of her grey pallor and lifeless eyes. “Fuck, Lys, I can’t lose you.” My hand found my hair and I pulled hard at it, trying to force the images out of my mind.

  “Declan? What is it?”

  I sighed. I needed to get my shit under control. The dream was obviously a reaction to having to deal with Hunter at the track over the weekend, and a manifestation of the danger he posed to me and to Alyssa, but it had felt so real. Even now, fully awake and conscious, the images of her death were right behind my eyelids. “I love you,” I told her. “Never forget that. No matter what happens, you can’t forget that.”

  “What do you mean?” she asked. “You’re scaring me.”

  “I’m sorry, baby. I am so, so sorry. I really don’t mean to scare you.” I couldn’t keep my voice level or my thoughts sane. I just kept picturing her face as I’d held it in my hands before I’d awakened. “I just don’t want anything to happen to me”—or you—“without you knowing just how much you mean to me.”

  She gave a little sigh, but there wasn’t any frustration in the sound—more relief. I wondered if she had climbed back into bed while we were talking. “Don’t worry, I know.”

  “Lys?” I asked. My voice still clung to my vocal cords as anxiety squeezed my throat.

  “Mmm,” she hummed sleepily.

  “I’m sorry for calling you so late. I just needed to know that you were okay.”

  “I’m okay,” she whispered. She sounded incredibly tired, and I felt fresh guilt over waking her about something as silly as a dream, even if I could still see her hollow eyes staring past me.

  For a few minutes, I sat on the bed quietly, holding the phone in my hand, and listened to Alyssa’s steady breathing. I was sure she was falling back to sleep. I waited the length of a few more peaceful breaths before I finally, begrudgingly, said goodbye and let her get back to sleep. I felt a little calmer, but there was no way I could risk going back to bed myself. It was easier to sneak down to the hotel gym and get a little bit of exercise in before it was time to head to the track.

  When I reached the gym, I jumped on the treadmill and ran like a man possessed. It was as if I were trying to outrun all my demons, even though I knew it was impossible. I used the time to try to get my head together and concentrate on what I needed to do on the track and in the pits. The last thing I needed to do was start crashing out of races again.

  Surely that wouldn’t happen now . . .

  Would it?

  I tried not to think about Hunter, or my mind would invariably wander back to his face in my dream, which would lead me back to Alyssa . . .

  When it was a reasonable enough hour to head to the track, I packed up and left the hotel. It would be easier to put my nightmare out of my mind when I was surrounded by other people. Morgan and Eden met me at the track early. They weren’t required until much later in the day, but they were keen to watch my qualifying session and support me as much as they could from the sidelines. The other boys from my pit team were already in the garage when I arrived.

  “It’ll be good crewing for a driver who’s head isn’t utterly up his arse,” Calem said as he did a final run over the car—even though nothing had changed since my previous session.

  I laughed. “You do realise there isn’t any actual crewing involved, don’t you?” The races were too short for more fuel or extra tyres so the only reason I’d be in the pits at all would be if there was an accident, and usually there wasn’t time to get the car repaired and back out again in time to finish the race.

  He shrugged. “We might not be in the pits like we would if you were in a V8, but we’ll be with you on the track in spirit. Our blood, sweat, and tears have gone into that car just as much as yours.”

  “I know, man,” I said, slapping one hand on his shoulder and the other on Ryan’s. “And I can’t thank either of you enough.”

  “You wanna thank us? Then get out there and kick arse!” Ryan enthused, handing me my helmet.

  I stopped, my dream coming back to me full force as I looked over the car. Taking a deep breath, I pushed the nightmare out of my mind.

  I climbed into my seat and glanced at the passenger side in my periphery—I was relieved, but not surprised, to see that no one was there. When I was satisfied that the circumstances of the dream were impossible, I drove out to meet my destiny.

  CHAPTER TWELVE: LONG WEEKEND

  I PULLED OFF my helmet and balaclava before shaking out my hair. Running my fingers through the sweaty tendrils, I brushed them back off my forehead while trying to force them into some kind of shape. Then I pulled down the zipper of my race suit, waited for the final confirmation of my results, and prepared for scrutineering to begin.

  When I’d pulled the car back into the holding area, I was certain I’d had a good lap in my qualifying. I felt fast . . . or at least fastish. It wasn’t nearly as speedy as the V8, but I’d felt the fun in the laps. More than that, I felt the
joy of racing again. Something I hadn’t really experienced in such a long time; certainly not since I’d seen Alyssa with Flynn at Queensland Raceway, and perhaps not even for quite some time before then. Even if I hadn’t really realised at the time how much better it could be.

  I could barely wait for my first race later in the afternoon. There was just my stint in the pits for Hunter to contend with first.

  After the officials did the weigh-in and looked over my car, I was told that I’d qualified in second place. I couldn’t help the small disappointment I felt over the fact that I didn’t make it into first—especially with the London offer on the table for poling twice—but I was still fucking happy with the result. Especially when I hadn’t raced in so long, and never in a Mini. If I could translate it into success on the track in the afternoon, I would be over the moon.

  After parking the Mini in the pits, I had very little to do for the day, so I spent as much of my time as possible in hiding. I retreated to the very back of the small garage and tinkered away on the car. I knew I would get more peace and quiet there than in the Sinclair Racing trailer or pits. I made appearances as needed at both the pit crew briefing and Danny’s little pre-practice pep-up that he always did. The second they were over, I hid away again.

  The result was a slightly boring day—there wasn’t much to look at in the garage—but it also meant that I didn’t have a single run-in with Hunter. At least, not until it was time to pit for him.

  Hunter’s practise laps didn’t go nearly as smoothly as he might have liked. Liam decided the first session was a good time to make a few adjustments to the car on the fly. My team did everything exactly as specified as Hunter ended up back in pit lane again and again. He began to curse us out each time Liam called him back in for another slight adjustment. I could almost understand his frustration at not being able to get a solid run on the track, but the changes were being made for his benefit. There was no need for him to be such an arse about it.

  Once time was called on the practise, and I could be free of the pits, I ran straight for my garage. I only had a matter of minutes to get in my car and into the marshalling area for my first race. My stomach was full of butterflies at the thought of being back under proper race conditions again. I had eight laps—a little less than twenty minutes—to prove to the world, and myself, that I wasn’t a failure and that I could get around the track cleanly under full race conditions.