Fast & Hard: A Formula 1 Romance (The Fast Series)

by Kat Ransom

  “Take me back to my room?” I ask him.

  “With pleasure,” he grins.

  “Alone!” I laugh and slap his chest.

  Lennox grabs my hand and pulls me into his chest and wraps his long arms around me. I tuck my head into him and he rests his head on the top of mine and sighs. I close my eyes, so warm and secure. “It’s inevitable, Mallory.”

  Twelve

  “Lightning in your eyes, you can’t speak. You’ve fallen from the sky, down to me. I see it in your face, I’m relief. I’m your summer girl.” - HAIM - Summer Girl

  Lennox

  “Seriously, Lennox?” Mallory’s lips are pursed but she’s biting her cheek trying to hide a smirk when I open my hotel room door. I may have forgotten to put on pants when I got out of the shower and am standing at the door now dripping wet with only a towel clutched around my waist.

  Whoops.

  “Let me help with those boxes,” I nod to the packages she’s carrying in her arms, the made-up task I’ve concocted needing her help with tonight to get her here.

  “No! Do not let go of that towel!” She squeezes past me into my hotel room and I close the door behind her. “Go put some pants on!”

  “Are you sure, love?”

  Mallory piles the boxes down on the coffee table in front of the loveseat in the hotel’s small sitting area next to my bed. “Yes! I’m here to help you get all this stuff mailed, not help you with other… stuff,” she waves her hand in a circular motion toward the towel barely containing my dick, which is already getting twitchy with her here.

  “If you say so,” I reply and head into the bathroom to throw some sweatpants on.

  After the race today, I agreed to ‘behave’ for the media if Mallory helped me get several boxes of fan mail, postcards, and signed photos shipped out. I’m behind on it and I don’t like to keep my fans waiting, but I could have had Jack do this like he normally does. That would be decidedly less fun, though. Now that I’ve had a taste of my smart-mouthed nanny, I need more.

  Between the race and the obligatory team meetings, including the debrief afterward in which I claimed it was an accident running my front wing into Digby’s rear tire to puncture it on track, I’ve not had a moment alone with Mallory. When I’d catch glances of her, she looked deep in thought but I caught a hint of blush creeping up her back when she’d meet my eyes.

  My nanny wants me as much as I want her. There was no hiding it after she tried to climb me like a tree last night before sending me home, again, to jerk off in the shower like a teenager. Knowing what she tastes like now, the texture of her tongue, how her hands feel raking through my hair, I came in record time picturing those soft lips wrapped around my cock. Normally being fast is a good thing in my life, but this was a new track record.

  “And a shirt,” she says as I stroll out of the bathroom and take a seat next to her on the small loveseat.

  “You said nothing about putting a shirt on, too. Negotiate better.”

  Mallory rubs her hands over her eyes and shakes her head and then starts opening the cardboard boxes, classic distraction. “Ok, so what’s the procedure here?” She says, pulling out postmarked envelopes and small packages from the first box.

  “One of these boxes should be blank envelopes and stock photos.” I start opening up a second box looking for them. “I need to sign photos and then you can address the envelopes so they can get mailed out tomorrow.”

  “What about these packages?” She holds up a small padded envelope, half the front covered in postage stamps and written with Asian alphabet characters.

  “Sometimes people send things they want me to sign and return. Start opening, here are the blank return envelopes.”

  Mallory starts ripping into packages and envelops like a kid on Christmas morning while I begin signing a stack of glossy photos. Normally after a race, I’d be out celebrating or drowning my sorrows but this is nice, her being here, not being alone in my room. I doubt few people know how much time we spend alone in hotel rooms across the world.

  “Wow,” Mallory sighs and leans back into the loveseat, reading a handwritten note, “this is so much fun.”

  “Read them to me?”

  Mallory starts reading the letter a woman in Singapore has sent. Her husband is my ‘biggest fan’ and she’s asking for a special message sent back as a gift for their wedding anniversary. I fulfill the request and jot a few lines on the photo for her and hand it back to Mallory to mail.

  “Do you read all of these?”

  “Aye. Someone took the time to write to me, I can take the time to read it.” Mallory studies me, her face half-hidden behind the letter. “What?”

  “The Paddock Playboy, bad boy Lennox Gibbes, reads and responds to all of his fan mail. If you aren’t careful, the world may find out you aren’t such an asshole, after all.”

  “I don’t much care what they think.” I shrug, toss my dried up Sharpie into a bin next to the television and uncap a new one.

  “I don’t believe you,” she starts, “if you didn’t care, you wouldn’t do all this. You wouldn’t make time for all the fans at every autograph session. You wouldn’t wave at the people waving Scottish flags at each race.”

  She’s right, of course, but it’s far easier to pretend that I don’t care. That way, when I disappoint them at every race, it kills me a little less. When I make a fraud of this historic sport every Sunday, it’s far easier to act like I don’t give two shits. When the media makes up ridiculous nicknames like the Paddock Playboy, it’s easier to ignore them than to educate them that I’m alone in my hotel room at night more often than not. I’m far from innocent but it’s easier not to argue.

  Except for arguing with Mallory, which raises my blood pressure and gets my heart going, reminds me I’m alive, and for whatever reason, makes my dick harder than a rock. I keep silently signing photos, though. I still have balls and would rather they be buried up against Mallory right now than discussing my feelings.

  “Running into Digby today wasn’t an accident, was it?” She asks, changing directions after studying my silence.

  “Nope,” I admit to her, but no one else.

  “You could have ruined your own race; you had to change your wing.”

  “My race was ruined anyway.”

  “I don’t understand you,” she sighs and reaches for a bubble mailer to open.

  “I don’t understand why you’re still dressed,” I counter, running my gaze up her body, bare legs peeking out from the black Celeritas knee-length skirt she wore today just to tempt me.

  Ignoring me, she opens up the bubble mailer and pulls out a white thong and an attached note. Across the front of the thong are the ironed-on letters, “Mrs. Gibbes.” “What is this?” Mallory shrieks and throws the thong at me like it’s covered in ebola. Sometimes they do arrive covered in… something, which even I’ll admit is disgusting.

  I chuckle while Mallory reads aloud the index card note that came with the thong, thankfully free of any dry crusty patches. “I need you in my panties. Please sign and return.”

  I sign them across the small fabric front, add a smiley face, and toss them back to Mallory to return.

  “You aren’t seriously going to mail these back?” She objects.

  “Of course. Unless you want to try them on,” I wiggle my eyebrows at her. “Do you want to try them on, Mallory?”

  “Absolutely not, that’s disgusting!” She laughs and shoves them into a new plain envelope. “I’ll stick to wearing only my own thongs, thank you very much,” she adds.

  Well, fuck, now that image is in my head. I toss my marker down. “What color are they?” She shakes her head and seals up the envelope, looking straight ahead and dismissing me. “You’re the one who put the picture in my head so tell me, what color are they?”

  She crosses her legs and fidgets with the mail for a few beats of silence, I can practically see the wheels turning in her mind. “Black,” she finally gives in.

  I lea
n back onto the loveseat and throw my arms over the back and side. “Show me,” I deadpan.

  “I will not!” She giggles until she turns to face me and sees that I’m dead serious. “Lennox…”

  “Show me.” The blush is back, creeping up her neck and her foot is wiggling nervously. When she bites her bottom lip, though, I know she’s considering my request. “You have my word, your job is safe no matter what happens between us.”

  Her eyes dart to mine. “I have never, ever behaved this way with a client,” she murmurs. Good, I don’t want to think about anyone else touching her.

  “Show. Me.” My voice lowers and Mallory’s eyes drop to the impressive tent in my sweatpants. She stares at the obvious bulge for a moment then meets my eyes and stands, watching me as she circles the coffee table and stands a few feet in from of me on my side of the loveseat.

  I stay leaned back on the couch as she grabs the hem of her skirt and starts inching it up her hips, ever so slowly. The way she’s looking at me, determination and pride over what she’s doing to me - she’s goddamn intoxicating. I keep my eyes fixed on hers but the creamy white of her thighs is exposed, her breath picking up. The hotel room is silent but the sexual intensity between us beats like a snare drum.

  A few more inches and the skirt is up around her curved waist revealing a tiny patch of black fabric covering her perfect little mound. I suck in a breath and lean forward with my elbows on my knees as I envision burying my tongue inside those folds I can scantly see the outlines of. I lift a hand and rotate my fingers instructing her to turn.

  She pirouettes and looks back at me over her shoulder, her juicy peach-shaped ass facing me. Two flawless, milky cheeks are totally exposed, just the thin string of her thong run between. My cock is throbbing with the need to sink my teeth into her ass, to bend her over this couch and bury myself deep inside her.

  “Fucking perfect,” I growl at her as she turns to face me again. Her nipples are hard beneath her shirt and as I lean back on the loveseat and wave my finger for her to come hither, she runs her hands up her torso and cups her tits in her hands. The way she holds my gaze, not even a little intimidated by me like most women, ignites the competitor in me and I reach out to pull her onto me.

  Grabbing her bare ass with both hands, I drag her over my lap to straddle me and her hands wrap around my head as I bite and suck at her pebbled nipples through her shirt. She gasps and pulls me in harder, thrusting her chest at me. I slip my hands under her shirt and over her smooth skin and start to pull her shirt off.

  “Lennox, wait.” She gasps and puts her hands on my bare chest and leans back to look at me.

  “I swear to christ, Mallory, if you give me the job excuse again…” I don’t know what I’ll do if she gives me the job excuse. Probably go beat off again, in reality, but that’s a piss poor substitute for the smoking hot woman with her barely covered pussy an inch away from my dick.

  “No, that’s not it. I mean, that’s also bad, very bad, but…” she mumbles and takes my face in her hand, thumbs running over two days worth of stubble I haven’t had the inclination to deal with.

  “But what? We have twenty-two races, Mallory. Seven more months together. You want to keep fighting this for seven months?” My poor dick will be chafed and raw in another week, much less seven months.

  “No. Just not yet, ok?”

  I’m conflicted because she’s not arguing and this is technically a win for me, but what the hell are we waiting for? Mallory does not strike me as the kind of girl who’s waiting. Unless she’s looking for a commitment from me, which we would need to get to the bottom of now. I want Mallory but I don’t want to hurt her if she thinks this is a long term thing. “Why?”

  Her hands drop to my shoulders and her eyes lower, “I have a boyfriend. Technically.”

  “What?” I drop my hands from her sides and her head lifts at the elevation of my voice, the surprise in my tone. What boyfriend? We’ve been dancing around each other for weeks playing this game, and she’s never once mentioned a boyfriend. The memories of Kate fucking around behind my back left scars I’d rather forget and hell if I’m going to be her back-up dick while she’s away from home. “What does ‘technically’ mean?”

  “It’s over. And not because of you — it was over a long time ago. I just need to tell him.” My eyes squint and I cross my arms over my chest in front of me, which makes her lean back further. “I should have ended it before I left, it’s been done for months.”

  “Then why didn’t you?” I question her skeptically.

  “I’m going to catch so much shit from my parents,” she sighs, “and I don’t know, I guess it was just easier to go through the motions and pretend than it was to deal with the real problem.”

  Fuck, can I relate to that. I exhale a deep breath and my shoulders relax; I didn’t realize they were flexed and tensed up from her revelation.

  Mallory puts her hands back on my chest and I let my hands fall back to her hips. “Call him and do it, then.”

  “He won’t answer my calls or texts,” she says, warm little hands running over my pecs.

  “What sort of pussy is he?” I don’t know what kind of man doesn’t answer calls from a woman like Mallory who is overseas and away from him, much less working with a bunch of F1 drivers. It’s a full-blown sausage fest and, at a minimum, you’d think he’d want to check in that she’s safe. We’re in a different country every other week, for fuck sake. No clue who this prick is, but he’s a pussy.

  Mallory giggles but doesn’t disagree. Her skirt is still hiked up around her waist, exposing the black triangle of her thong to me. I’m pissed but I’m dying to know if she’s bare underneath it or if she has a patch chestnut curls. “I’m going home tomorrow to deal with it.”

  “Tomorrow?” Again, I knew nothing about this. I don’t know why it pisses me off. Jack is supposed to be making her travel arrangements now, he should have told me.

  She nods, trails one finger up and down my chest, and bats her long eyelashes at me. Little minx. “You gonna send me home like this?” She teases.

  “Get rid of him,” I order.

  “I will,” she whispers and lowers her head to my neck, one soft kiss under my ear. One soft kiss on my collarbone. One soft kiss on top of my shoulder.

  “Mallory…” I warn her.

  “It’s ok,” she runs her tongue from my shoulder all the way back to my earlobe. Boyfriend or not, my cock is ready to tear a hole in my sweatpants to get at her. “I’m sure another gentleman on the long plane ride home can help me out.”

  “Fuck that,” I roar, grabbing her ass cheeks and dragging her up against me, creating friction of her hot core against my throbbing dick. She laughs at first, thinking she’s won the game of making me jealous until I rotate my hips into her and her eyes slam shut and she gasps. “When are you going to be back?” I ask her, watching her neck arch and her chest heave as she starts grinding against me.

  “Ch-China,” she moans.

  Two more goddamn weeks. I don’t share women and I’m not doing this until it’s officially over with her pussy boyfriend. I’m not Dickless DuPont running around with other men’s girlfriends. It may be over in Mallory’s head, but I need confirmation for myself.

  From the moans and the way Mallory is digging her nails into my shoulders, she’s as hot as I am. I know she’s full of shit about finding some rando on an airplane but still, it would be ungentlemanly to leave her in this condition. I’m an asshole, not a monster.

  I pull her in all the way up against me and I tilt my hips. She’s pushing down on my dick and I can feel her moisture through my sweats. Wrapping my hands around her hips, I drag her up and down my shaft. Dry humping was never this hot the last time I did it, which was probably high school.

  I latch my mouth onto the swell of a breast that’s heaving out of her shirt, the first few buttons undone. If she’s going home to see some other guy, she’s going home marked. I bite and suck until I’m sure she’s got o
ne hell of a reminder of me while she’s gone.

  “Lennox, oh god,” she pants. Her legs are trembling around me and her motions are getting sporadic, twitchy.

  “Come for me,” I growl.

  “Ah, fuck, I can’t come like this. I need you,” her eyes are clamped shut, her fingers are pulling my hair so hard she’s going to have a fistful soon.

  “You can and you will.” I push into her harder with my cock. She needs to come for me before I blow my load in my pants like a novice. My length separates her folds and I can feel her clit rubbing up and down over me.

  I squeeze her ass tighter and bite her neck and Mallory tenses up and drags her nails into my flesh. She throws her head back and screams for me, screams my name, screams gibberish, I don’t know. I’m too busy watching her come apart on my cock, her face flushed, her breathing hard, before she collapses onto me and wraps her arms around my shoulders.

  I hold her tight as she comes down and rides out the final waves of her orgasm in tiny shudders and soft sighs. Her breathing returns to normal in a few seconds and she starts giggling against me.

  “What, exactly, is so funny?” My hard dick finds nothing amusing about its condition right now.

  “I can’t remember the last time I did that,” she laughs.

  Wrapping my hands under her ass, I stand up, taking her with me, and then dump her off onto the loveseat. Looking down, my grey sweats are soaked and the purple head of my dick is staring at me over the waistband. Lying on the loveseat with her skirt still around her waist, Mallory starts laughing hysterically.

  “I’m glad you find this so entertaining,” I wave to my very unsatisfied dick.

  She sits up and stares at her handy work, “Let me take care of that.”

  “Get rid of him Mallory, I’m warning you.” I point at her and turn to find a clean pair of gym shorts in my suitcase. From the bathroom, as I change, I can still hear her giggling. I think about quickly taking care of the ache in my balls, but I still have some sense of pride.