Accelerated Passion

by Lily Harlem

  He was hard. So hard. And the shape of his cock easy to make out.

  “Frankie,” he’d groaned. “Suck me.”

  And she had. She’d dropped to her knees, his suit magically gone, and stared at his big hard cock jutting toward her.

  “Please,” he’d begged, slotting his hands into her hair. “Do it.”

  Her mouth had watered with the longing to taste him, to feel his warm shaft slipping over her tongue. And then she’d done it, taken him to the back of her throat in one fast gulp.

  He’d groaned, a long, low, guttural sound that made her want to come. And then she was preparing to come. In her dream. She was sucking off Dean, yet her clit was being stimulated, the pressure building, a coil of lust spinning in her pelvis and getting ready to release.

  He held her tighter, shoved deeper into her throat, filling her with his taste, his release, his desire.

  As she swallowed him down, she came. A hard, fast orgasm that stole her breath and shot to her toes and the top of her head. She curled forward, sat up. Dean gone from her mouth, her belly was tight, and her heart raced.

  She opened her eyes, blinked a few times as she orientated herself to the hotel room. Her brow was damp, as was the hollow of her throat. The sheets were tangled around her ankles, and her right hand was down her knickers, her fingertips still eking out the last of her climax.

  “Fuck it,” she muttered, flopping back onto the pillows with her arms spread out to the sides.

  Having sexy, orgasmic dreams about Dean-fucking-Cudditch was the last way she wanted to start her morning.

  The drive to Hockenheim took two full days. The car, packed up on a heavy loader, was escorted by another truck that carried the mechanics’ specialized equipment and the spare tires and parts.

  Frankie opted to drive one of the support cars. Paul, Jake, and Enrique were happy to catch a lift.

  “As long as you don’t think you are on the track as soon as we hit the autobahn,” Enrique said as he settled himself in the back.

  “Well, now that you mention it, that’s not a bad idea.” She smiled sweetly in the mirror at him.

  “Come on, we’ve got a long way to go.” Jake laughed.

  The first leg of the journey was easy, and once on the ferry to Calais, Frankie took a moment to herself.

  She found her way on deck. The weather was mild, the English Channel flat, and the watery horizon melted into the sky that was practically the same color blue.

  Holding onto the rail, Frankie dragged in a deep lungful of salty air. The last couple of days had been intense. She’d always known switching teams would be hard. That she’d have to prove herself, cope with the odd prick who thought she didn’t know what she was on about.

  But in reality, the team was faultless. They were consummate professionals, accepted her experience—or at least appeared to—and respected her background. They were also damn good at their jobs. They were elite, the best of the best.

  But Dean.

  He was an entirely different kettle of fish. What the hell was she going to do if she couldn’t win his confidence? It was essential he had faith in her. As he’d said himself, Formula One was a team sport, and each team member had to trust one another.

  A lone gull screeched overhead, and she squinted in the sunshine to watch it soar on the air currents.

  It would be so much simpler to be that gull. No sexy dreams about a man who was furious with her. No being turned on at inappropriate moments when backed into a corner. No reason to feel jealous of blonde bimbos with mile-long legs and big tits.

  The gull swooped out of sight. Frankie sighed. She wouldn’t really want to swap places with the gull. Birds had no understanding of mechanics or Formula One, so where would be the fun in living?

  Her stomach gurgled, reminding her now was a good time to eat. The ferry had a decent café. The smells emanating from it as she’d walked past had registered in her mind.

  She had one last look at the water, enjoying the vast expanse of open space, then headed below deck.

  The hotel they arrived in for their night en route was little more than a stack of rooms in a layby with the advantage of a service station close by.

  Frankie wrinkled her nose as she went into bedroom number forty-one. It smelled musty, the orange carpet wiry underfoot, and a lop-sided picture of a frog hung on the wall.

  She sat on the bed. Yep, hard as fuck.

  But at least she wouldn’t have to spend too long in the cramped space. She’d arranged to meet her three traveling companions in half an hour. A quick shower then they’d find somewhere local to eat. The thought of the service station was just too depressing, and, hey, they were in France. There had to be somewhere decent to get some food. This was the gastronomic capital of the world.

  As it turned out, there was somewhere very nice to eat. A couple of miles west, they came across a small café that was still open.

  Frankie settled in a chair with a wooden back and cushioned seat, then reached for the menu. They’d opted to sit outside as the evening was warm.

  “This ain’t so bad, is it,” Paul said.

  “Nah, it will do.” Jake nodded at the vibrant sunflower field on the other side of the road. It appeared to go on forever, a sea of yellow, and the flowers’ faces were all turned their way.

  “Food looks good, too,” Frankie said as several dishes caught her attention. It was always the same on traveling days. Eat, drive, sleep, eat, drive, sleep. At least they’d be in Hockenheim tomorrow. “So what’s the hotel like?”

  “No hotel,” Jake said. “McLaren hire a few houses nearby. Each drivers’ team gets their own.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah, we’ve had the same one for the last few years. It’s nice, big, you know.”

  “It must be.”

  Paul chuckled. “Don’t worry. You’ll have your own room. You won’t have to share with one of us grubby hooligans.”

  She shrugged. “I might be a grubby hooligan as well.”

  “True,” Jake said, his expression serious. “You could be.”

  “So what about Dean?” Damn, why had she asked that?

  “What about him?” Jake asked.

  “Does he stay there, too? I mean, obviously, he won’t be around for a while yet, not until nearer race day.”

  “Yeah, he stays in the house,” Paul said. “Or at least he usually does.”

  “And he’ll probably be there tomorrow,” Jake added.

  “Really, why?” She was surprised.

  “He said he had stuff to do, you know, in the area.”

  “What, like shag the local wildlife?” She laughed.

  Jake and Enrique chuckled.

  “He’s not as bad as he used to be,” Paul said. “When he and Ruben would get partying, it could go on for days.” He shook his head. “Those two were incorrigible. They egged each other on. Drink, women, splashing the cash, life was for living. It was as if they knew something no one else did.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well…” He shrugged. “What with Ruben’s illness that came on so suddenly, that nearly cost him his life. And Dean, well, every day he goes to work could be his last, let’s face it.”

  “So you think they lived each day as if it was their last?”

  “Don’t get me wrong. They did their jobs perfectly, more than perfectly. They were a seamless team. Ruben was shit hot, always a step ahead of knowing what Dean would need when he was driving. The last time Dean took the World Championship was the last time he worked with Ruben Strong.”

  “Damn shame what happens to some people, illness and all that,” Jake said, shaking his head.

  “Yeah,” Paul agreed. “We thought he was a gonna that last time we saw him in hospital. So now that he’s up and about with a new ticker, it warms the soul.” He crossed his chest and raised his eyes heavenward.

  A waitress came over, and Frankie ordered for them all in French. It was good to speak it. She couldn’t remembe
r the last time she had.

  “You got any more tricks up your jumper?” Enrique asked.

  “I think the word you’re looking for is sleeve?” Paul laughed.

  Frankie smiled. “What do you mean, Enrique?”

  “Well, that was good French speaking.”

  “Ah, yes.” She smiled. “Lots more tricks.”

  A conversation started up about some talent show on TV, but Frankie sat quietly. Her mind wandered to what Paul had said about Dean not being like he used to be when he’d had Ruben to party all night with. She found it hard to believe. Everything about him still screamed good-time bloke. He was up for a laugh, pushing boundaries, and testosterone oozed from him.

  “Bloody hell, there’s wifi here,” Paul said, flashing the screen of his phone to everyone.

  “Wonders will never cease,” Jake said. “Have a look and see how Dean’s defeat was reported by the media.”

  Paul tapped quickly. “Here we go. The McLaren team conceded much-needed points at Silverstone’s Grand Prix. But almost from the beginning, there was only going to be one winner and that was Ralph Farrah. He edged in on Dean Cudditch after Vittrosi came out in a spectacular crash and maintained a solid lead for the rest of the race. Farrah claimed the ensuing laps to be ‘as easy as driving Miss Daisy’ while Cudditch wasn’t available for statement. He was, however, spotted dining with Sky CEO Michael Crawlings, no doubt promising to do better next time.”

  So that’s where he’d been the night before. Schmoozing with the sponsors.

  “He is right not to say anything to the press,” Enrique said. “Save statements for victories.”

  “And let’s hope Hockenheim is a victory for us,” Frankie said, determination lacing her tone.

  “Abso-bloody-lutely,” Jake agreed.

  Their food arrived, and Frankie tucked into a creamy chicken dish and a side of garlic mushrooms. She felt lighter. It had nothing to do with the fact Hannah’s legs hadn’t been wrapped around Dean’s hips the night before, or her brunette friend for that matter. It was just that…well, Frankie wasn’t sure why. Her heart and spirits just didn’t weigh as much.

  * * * *

  Frankie sped to the Hockenheim house the next day, keen to get there and see where home would be for the next few weeks. She put her foot down, pedal to the metal, but no one said anything about her speed.

  When she pulled up at the address the sat nav had taken them to, she leaned her elbows on the steering wheel and stared up at the impressive building.

  It was constructed of pale wood, had a steep sloped roof, and a balcony ran across the entire front. It was also huge; she couldn’t even guess how many rooms it must have. On the front porch, the heavy wooden door was welcoming and dressed with colorful potted plants.

  “I like it already,” she said.

  “You’ll like it even more when you see inside.” Paul opened the passenger door and let the warm air filter in. It was laced with the sweet scent of grass, likely because the house was nestled amongst fields and even had its own small lake to the front. “Come on, pick your room. If you want an ensuite, you’d better run as quickly as you just drove.” He slammed the door.

  Frankie laughed and climbed out. Her shoes sank into the gravel.

  “Hey, you’re here. First to arrive.”

  The familiar deep voice behind her made her skin prickle with awareness.

  Dean.

  She turned.

  Dean Cudditch strode down the steps and smiled their way. He wore soft denims, faded around the groin, and a tight black T-shirt that showed off his lean belly and defined pecs. He looked like he hadn’t bothered to shave for a couple of days, and his goatee had blended with the stubble on his cheeks.

  “Hey,” Paul said, scooping up a few bags from the back of the car. “I hope you’ve got the kettle on.”

  “Nah, but there’s plenty of beer in the fridge.” He walked past Frankie and shook hands with Jake, Paul, and Enrique.

  So it’s like that, is it? I’m just going to be ignored.

  She reached for her case, hoisted it to the gravel, and attempted to drag it along. “Bugger,” she muttered. The tiny wheels wouldn’t turn on the stones.

  Suddenly, Dean was at her side. He took the handle, lifted it then marched toward the house.

  Frankie grabbed her handbag and locked the car. She stomped along after him. The other men were full of chatter, their spirits high after the long journey.

  Dean dumped her case in the hallway then spun, arms spread wide. “Welcome home. I love this place. Better than any hotel.” He grinned.

  “Si, it is very cool.” Enrique gestured to the huge galleried landing.

  Frankie stepped up behind him. The place was straight out of a Germanic designer home magazine. There didn’t seem to be anything other than wood—the walls, the floor, the planks on the ceiling.

  “This way,” Dean said, striding toward a door on the right, his long legs making quick work of the distance over the hallway. “Time to party.” He slipped from view. Paul and Enrique followed.

  Jake came up behind Frankie. “If I remember right, there’s a really nice room on the second floor, at the back. Great views, nice big private bathroom. I’d grab it quick it I were you.”

  “Good plan. Thanks for the tip.”

  “Do you want me to take your case up?”

  “No, I can manage.”

  “Are you sure?”

  She raised her eyebrows.

  “Okay.” He held his palms up as if in surrender. “You can manage. I get it.”

  Frankie hoisted her case up. Damn thing was heavy, but she’d lugged it around for years, so she was used to it.

  She headed up the stairs, then to the back of the house. The ornate banisters were made of the same wood as the walls and highly polished. The place smelled fresh, citrusy, pine perhaps.

  The room Jake had advised her to claim was indeed beautiful. It had high ceilings, a huge red rug on the floor, and a plus-sized bed with scarlet bedding. The curtains were also red and had cream stripes on them. At the far end were French doors leading out to a balcony.

  “Wow.”

  Frankie banged her case down and headed straight for the doors. She opened them up and stepped outside. The breeze held a delicious chill to it that helped blow away the cobwebs after the long journey.

  She swept her hand over the balcony rail and scanned the horizon. Green was the overwhelming color—hills, trees, shrubbery—and boxes of flowers hanging from the balcony were dotted with tiny white edelweiss.

  “That’s gonna be nice to wake up to.”

  She spun around at the sound of Dean’s deep voice.

  “Er, yeah. Beats a brick wall.” She faced the view again, trying not to look affected by his sudden appearance even though her heart was now thudding.

  Damn it. That dream…his cock, on my knees…coming…

  He stepped onto the balcony and stood next to her, hands wrapped over the railing and his gaze directed into the distance.

  “Smart move to grab this room. Not all of them have balconies and en-suites.”

  “I had a little help.” She shrugged. “Jake’s been here before.”

  “Yes, he has.” He looked at her. “And how are you getting on with the team?”

  “As in work or socially?”

  He hesitated. “Both, I guess.”

  “Fine. They’re a nice group.”

  “I think so.”

  “You know them better than me.” She tucked her hair behind her ears as it caught on the breeze.

  “Yes.” He paused. “And they know me better than you do.” He frowned a little.

  “What does that mean?”

  “I should apologize.”

  “For what?”

  “The other day. At Silverstone. I shouldn’t have lost it with you. You weren’t to know.”

  “Ahh, that.”

  He’s going to apologize? Really?

  “Yeah, that.” He rubbed his fin
gers over his temple. “I’m not usually such a bad-tempered ass.”

  “And I’m not usually as passive about being pinned against a wall. You’re lucky I didn’t knee you where it hurts.”

  He raised his right eyebrow. “I’m glad you didn’t.”

  “I will if you do it again.”

  “I won’t.” He pushed back from the railing and stepped a little closer. “As long as you promise not to interrupt my little ritual. It might seem crazy to you, but it’s what I do.” He kind of shrugged. “I guess I’m just a bit superstitious.”

  “We all have our crazy ways. Some more than others.”

  “So what are yours? Apart from drinking pints.”

  “That’s not crazy.”

  Damn, she could smell him now. That gorgeous, heady aftershave he wore that did strange, sexy things to her insides and made her think of pressing her face into the crook of his neck and drowning in the smell of his skin.

  “Frankie? Crazies?”

  “Er, well.” God, what was she doing? “I don’t have any.”

  He chuckled. “Sure you do. Everyone has a few.”

  “Not me.”

  “And now you’ve gone and done it.”

  “Done what?” She tore her gaze from his and pretended to be suddenly fascinated by a sheep on the nearby hill who was nibbling on a tree trunk.

  “Now I’m curious. Now I want to find out what your crazies are.”

  “I told you I don’t have any.” She paused. “And didn’t you say you were going to apologize?” Well, she hadn’t heard the word sorry, had she?

  He moved so he was slightly behind her, placed his head by hers, his lips just centimeters from her ear. “Sorry, Frankie,” he said quietly.

  His breath washed over her neck. She suppressed an annoying shiver of pleasure.

  “Am I forgiven?” he added.

  She swallowed. “I suppose so.”

  He was quiet for a moment, then, “Good.”

  He stepped away.

  She missed the sensation of him standing so close behind her and gripped the balcony rail to steady herself.

  “Get your clothes off,” he said suddenly.