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

by Kat Ransom

  She nods, her arms wrapped around me. “That’s not exactly a small python in your pants.”

  Can never hear that enough. “Go on,” I tease her and unbutton her jeans.

  She grabs my hands and swivels her torso toward the cabin door, “The flight attendant could come back!”

  “Trust me, love, she’s not coming back here. This is what happens on private jets.”

  Her plump lips jut out in a pout and she squints her eyes at me. “I don’t want to think about you with other women.”

  “I don’t want to think about you with other men,” I retort. “If you haven’t noticed, playing well with others is not one of my strong suits.”

  “So, what are you saying?” She runs her fingers over my day-old stubble, wistful thoughts passing over her.

  “I don’t share, Mallory.”

  “Well, I don’t share, either,” she sasses me. Except now I enjoy her sassy mouth and where the quibbling leads.

  “Great, problem solved. You done arguing now or you need more foreplay?” I wrap my palms around her ass cheeks and squeeze her softness.

  “Seven months left, Lennox, like you said. That’s going to be hard for you.”

  “More foreplay it is,” I murmur, rolling my eyes at this familiar myth.

  “Can you do it? Be my personal Dick-on-Demand for seven whole months?”

  “You’re the one who can’t keep up,” I glance down at her gorgeous pussy, still hidden under the blue denim of her jeans. It’s an absolute travesty, one I need to rectify as soon as possible.

  She’s avoiding the question as much as I am, through the familiar dance of sarcasm. Seven months of banging Mallory across five continents is easy. I don’t have an answer for what happens at the end of seven months, though, and there’s little point of trying to plan it out. She has plans, I have plans, and they don’t line up at the end of this season, as far as I can tell.

  “You’re an elite athlete, you have an unfair advantage,” she gives in a little and bites my earlobe.

  “Again, no complaints were had earlier.” I bring my hands around to her front and run my thumbs around her nipples. The hotel brought up a lacy red bra in the shopping bag for her, shame it’s not likely to survive the next few thousand miles.

  “No complaints. Five star review. Would do business again.”

  “Get these bloody pants off,” I pull at the stupid stiff fabric.

  Mallory stands in the aisle way and checks the cabin door with a pause as she unbuttons and starts to unzip. “Off,” I repeat. No worries, by the time seven months is up she’ll be well versed in airplane sex etiquette.

  She unzips the jeans and pushes them over her hips, matching little red panties popping into view just before she steps out of the pants. I hope I tipped the concierge enough for going the extra mile with his lingerie selections. Grabbing the hem of my shirt she’s wearing, she pulls it up and over her head, tossing it on the recliner’s table behind her.

  God damn, she’s beautiful. Perfect feminine curves, hips to grab on to, those soft, warm tits and an ass I want in my hands at all times.

  She cups her mound with one hand, “be nice to my poor vagina.”

  I have every intention of being nice, very nice, to that impeccable treasure she’s offering me. I stand up and tower over her for a moment, taking it all in and letting her simmer. Taking a seat back in the oversized recliner, I pat the table in front of me. Her eyes go back and forth between me and the table for a split second deducing how she’s going to be indoctrinated into the mile high club.

  She lifts her hips onto the table and I situate her in front of me like a five-course meal at the finest Michelin Star restaurant. But this is far better. Far more real.

  “Lean back,” I tell her as I scoot her to the end of the table. She leans backward, pointing her hard nipples toward the sky and putting one hand on the fuselage of the plane for balance.

  I wrap my hands under her legs and around her thighs and watch her eyes as I descend upon her, kissing and licking her through the red lace she’s already soaked through. I slide the scrap of fabric to the side and let one finger slide up and down her slick channel, watching her ribs rise and lower as her breathing picks up.

  And then my mouth is where it belongs, feasting on her pussy, lapping her gently and letting her set the pressure by pushing against me. “Ok?” I ask, not wanting to hurt her.

  “Don’t stop,” she whispers.

  Game on.

  I curl my tongue deep inside her, dragging out every bit of sweet honey she’s giving me before I swirl around her clit. Big circles, little circles, I flick her nub over and over until she’s panting and moaning and squirming on the table before me.

  “Lennox,” she cries.

  As hard as it gets me when she screams my name, the flight crew is going to think I’m murdering her if she keeps it up. I stretch one hand up to cover her mouth when her purrs and whimpers become out of control. She sucks my finger into her mouth, swirling around it, holding my wrist so her lips can twirl around and around from my knuckle to the tip.

  Her foot goes to my thigh for leverage and she jerks her hips off the table. She runs her teeth down my finger and I pull my hand back before she bites the fucking thing off. She’s wild, writhing and bucking her pelvis against me. As fiery as she is when she’s fighting with me, she’s red-hot combustible when I’m making her come. It’s the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen in my life.

  “Oh god, yes, right… right there, don’t you dare fucking stop,” she pants as her thighs start to quake and her chest arches, her long neck stretched back, chestnut hair cascading down below her. Sensing her impending explosion I throw a hand back over her mouth and she clamps down on my knuckles then spasms and jerks into my face as hard as she can. I slow and run my tongue all around her folds as her hips settle back onto the table and she leans forward running her fingers through my hair.

  I give her bare perfection a few more kisses before I lean back into the recliner and revel in the post-orgasm flush that covers her chest, the blissful look of contentment on her face. “Was I nice enough to your poor vagina?”

  “Mmmm,” she rolls her head to stretch her neck then climbs into my lap on the recliner. “My vagina has never been so happy.”

  I wrap a hand around her knees, her calves hanging over the side of the chair, “Is that so?” Doesn’t matter how much confidence or swagger I act like I have, I want her validation.

  She puts her fingers on my chin, “You fuck me like I have always wanted to be fucked.”

  My eyebrows arch, was not expecting that. I’ll take it. “Remember to leave a review, Dick-on-Demand is a new business venture.”

  “I’ll make it a Facebook page,” she laughs, burrowing into my chest.

  “Jesus, that’s all I need.” I gather her into my arms and deposit her on the couch, heading into the bathroom to get cleaned up. On my way out I hand her a wet towel and gather up the blankets and pillows. This isn’t the long-range jet with sleeping quarters so the couch will have to do.

  I lie down against the back and tug her up tight against me, covering us up as best I can and keeping an arm around her to she doesn’t fall off if we hit turbulence. My head’s resting on a pillow and Mallory’s is resting on my curled bicep.

  Her breathing slows within minutes. The last time I spent two nights with anyone, I thought I’d be winning my next world championship and I’d eventually be marrying Kate. Glad I escaped the latter, the first I have no idea how to fix. I kiss Mallory’s head, tug her in close, and push the thoughts away as I drift off.

  Seventeen

  Headline: Gibbes Captures Cherished China Pole Position

  Headline: Gibbes Outclasses DuPont on Stunning Qualification Lap

  Headline: Celeritas Front Row Lockout at Shanghai International Circuit

  Mallory

  China is kicking my ass.

  Between the jet lag, sneaking out of Lennox’s hotel room before dawn, and my
parents terrorizing me, I am beyond exhausted.

  Lydia and Robert aren’t speaking to me, which is fine. The manipulative texts from my mother have ended, thank god. Emma could never be bothered with me in any capacity, so she’s radio silent. But before the race began today, I had to hear from Cody that my own father met with the company legal department to consider a libel suit against me, saying that my behavior at the gala damaged his reputation.

  Cody thinks it’s another ruse or Dad’s throwing me under the bus because Mitchell Media stock is tanking and Dad needs a scapegoat. He doesn’t think Dad has a case but he has in-house legal so he can antagonize me indefinitely at no cost. Even if he doesn’t win, my reputation will be dragged through the mud again regardless. I don’t know what to do, I don’t know how to do it when I’m 7,000 miles away, and I don’t know how to keep up with the expanding media and sponsor events Sandra is throwing at me.

  At least Lennox is doing well. He was on pole position yesterday during qualifying and took another second place today. Digby ended up in first so Lennox was a bit of a dick for the immediate post-race interviews. But Lennox won the fan’s Driver of the Day award and drove an amazing race, so tonight I plan to show him how proud of him I am.

  As soon as he gets out of the debriefing they’ve been stuck in for the last hour, that is.

  In the meantime, I’m in the dining hall waiting for him, sucking down as much espresso as I can to keep me awake without causing heart palpitations. I’m Googling ‘frivolous libel lawsuit’ on my laptop when Jack joins me with a triple espresso plus a giant mug of black Americano.

  “I know why I’m tired but what’s keeping you up at night?” I point to his caffeine collection.

  “The whole paddock knows why you’re tired,” he says before slugging down the triple shot.

  “WHAT,” I croak at him. Lennox tiring me out is not what I meant, though he’s also technically making me lose sleep. Not just exhausting me with secret orgasms and make-out sessions in nooks and crannies of the track and motorhome when no one is looking, but we’ve also been talking and actually getting to know one another. Last night I caught myself looking at the old direct messages Kate sent him because I was jealous. I was disgusted with myself and stopped, but I know myself. I know when I’m starting to get a case of the feelings.

  Reign it in, girl.

  “I’m just teasing you,” Jack replies. Thank god. “You might want to keep it down, though. No one on the floor got any sleep last night with your caterwauling.” When my jaw drops open he once again tells me he’s kidding.

  “I’m going to murder all three of you by the end of this season.”

  “Probably.”

  I shake my head at him and go back to my laptop. Do I get a lawyer? How exactly does one handle it when a parent sues his child? My phone rings and I expect it to be Cody with more news but it’s Sandra. I tell Jack I’ll be right back and step outside to take the call. If there’s any justice in the world, she’s calling with kudos about the Driver of the Day award and new sponsor we met with.

  “Ms. Mitchell,” she starts. She doesn’t sound pleased, but she’s the kind of person who is perpetually miserable. “Listen, I’m very pleased with how you are, oh let’s say, taming the beast.”

  I’m getting a little sick of how she talks about Lennox but that’s probably my dumb feelings sneaking in again. Also, I sense a but coming.

  “But... well, our largest backer is getting uncomfortable with so much attention being received by Mr. Gibbes.”

  “I’m sorry, Ms. Alix. I don’t understand.” What the hell is she talking about?

  “Please treat this as confidential, Ms. Mitchell. The DuPont family is upset regarding a few incidents.”

  “Digby?” The DuPonts are the largest backers? I assume Sandra means they’re mad Lennox ran into him on track, but what am I supposed to do about that? Contrary to my long-running nickname, I am not his nanny.

  “Yes, and his family. Chiefly, the problem list includes today’s Driver of the Day award, all the fan interaction appearing online and garnering interest, the large donation made at the charity gala…” She may as well run down a list of all the positive work we’ve done.

  “They’re upset that Lennox made a donation? To children’s cancer research?” I emphasize.

  Sandra sighs. “Apparently Mr. and Mrs. DuPont are longtime supporters as well and had to increase the size of their annual donation so as not to be… outshined.”

  “Umm, ok,” I understand enough about people like my parents where it’s possible to offend them through competitive social climbing via charitable donation. That was not what Lennox was doing, at all, but I’m certainly not getting into that with Sandra. “And Driver of the Day, that comes from the fans, I can’t control that.”

  “Mallory, personally I think you’re doing fine work. It’s just that, well, Mr. DuPont is the priority at Celeritas. He is used to receiving the lion’s share of attention. The family’s toes have been stepped on, that’s all.”

  “Ms. Alix, so I can do my job to the best of my ability, I just want to clarify. Due to financial implications, you want me to decrease the spotlight on Lennox, so as not to offend Digby DuPont.” This can’t be right, surely I am misunderstanding something.

  “Yes, exactly right. Mr. DuPont is a pay driver, that’s just how these matters work. Let the men sort that out. You just continue to keep Mr. Gibbes in line, but in the background. Clean but bland, you understand?”

  “I understand,” I utter, a sick feeling coming over me. I feel gross as she thanks me for my professionalism and hangs up. Clean and bland, Lennox Gibbes is anything but clean and bland. He is shades of gray, real, exciting, tangible, honest. Sometimes he’s a jackass, but he is real and that’s what his fans have been latching onto, the genuine person he is. Now Celeritas wants me to kill that progress?

  I stumble back into the motorhome where Jack is vibrating from caffeine intake. “Jack,” I pull up a new browser tab and start pulling up everything I can find on Digby, “tell me everything there is to know about pay drivers.”

  “Shit,” he mumbles.

  “Jack,” I warn him. “Is he in that meeting getting scolded about being on pole yesterday, ahead of Digby? Is that why he was second again today?”

  “I’m not going to speak for him. I will tell you about pay drivers and Douchebag DuPont, though. For your own good.”

  I nod to accept the compromise as Jack fills me in on the bizarre world of drivers or companies who pay teams exorbitant amounts of money to be allowed to drive. There’s a couple on the track each year but Digby is the most notorious, funneling a reported one hundred million per year into Celeritas, three times more than the average pay driver. Most of Celeritas’ money comes from sponsor backing but Digby’s comes from his family.

  “Listen, it’s not a secret, pay drivers have been around forever and it’s always been controversial. But Dickbag is out of control. He’s a totally different level of evil killing the sport.” Jack is careful what he tells me, I know he doesn’t want to break Lennox’s trust, but this is enough to work with.

  “I feel sleazy,” I admit to him.

  “Aye, imagine how Lennox feels.” Jack nods his head to something behind me and I swivel to see both drivers and a handful of executives leave the meeting room, Lennox’s head is down as he walks down the hallway toward his suite.

  Oh, my heart.

  I can’t tell him what Sandra called about today knowing what I do now. I won’t kick him while he’s down.

  “Thanks, Jack.” I close my laptop and start down the hallway after Lennox.

  When I make it to his suite inside the motorhome, he’s tossing out the little trinkets that have accumulated on his table from the fans he’s met this weekend, a lucky cat figure, a jade panda, an opera mask, all into the trash. That isn’t like him.

  “Hey, I need to discuss the new Bluewater Tech event with you,” I lie loudly for anyone nearby to hear, then duck into
his room and shut the door. Then I launch myself into his arms and squeeze the ever-loving shit out of him.

  “What’s this, pity hug?” he mumbles.

  “No, you big dummy, I’m proud of you.” With my head pressed against his chest, I feel him let out a deep sigh and I know he is arguing with me, in his own head, but he stays silent. Whatever they said to him in the debrief, the fight has been cut out of him right now. He drove a flawless race and those bastards made him feel like shit.

  “I’m probably not the best company right now, love.”

  “Ok,” I release my death grip and step back. “You want some space?”

  “Is that ok?”

  “Of course. I’ll ask Jack to drive me back to the hotel.”

  He nods and I know he’s really upset. He’s pretty particular on who drives me where now. I’ve never argued because I like him driving me, being chauffeured around by one of the best drivers in the world is hot even if he’s doing it for some machismo, testosterone-fueled reason.

  I want to give him a kiss goodbye but I don’t want him to think I’m pitying him. I’m pissed off. For him, for me.

  ◆◆◆

  Afraid, but he will not run. Alone, thy will be done. Confessed, but you still feel the shame. Bring me into your arms, again.” - Sinead O’Connor - Heroine

  It’s 10:00 pm and I haven’t heard from Lennox. He’s in his hotel room, I heard him get back a couple of hours ago, watched him through my peephole like old times. He needs space and I’m not going to take it personally.

  Instead, I’ve spent the last few hours digging up everything I can online about Dickby Dupont. I also refuse to call him by his real name anymore, joining my trio of teammates who call him any other foul version of his name they can dream up. Digby, what a stupid name.

  The guy is so squeaky clean online it makes me suspicious. Obscenely wealthy old-money family from Monaco, no photos of him beyond staged social events. No women, or men, in any unseemly photos. All of his sponsors are ultra-conservative brands. He doesn’t have any personal social media accounts that I can find, but even his fan-based accounts are as dull as a doorknob.