Faster Deeper (Take Me...#2) (New Adult Bad Boy Racer Novel)
Read Faster Deeper (Take Me...#2) (New Adult Bad Boy Racer Novel) Online
Authors: Colleen Masters
FASTER DEEPER
Take Me... #2
by Colleen Masters
A Hearts Collective Production
Copyright © 2013
Hearts Collective
All rights reserved.
This document may not be reproduced in any way without the expressed written
consent of the author. The ideas, characters, and situations presented in this
story are strictly fictional and any unintentional likeness to real people or
real situations is completely coincidental.
Forward
Thank you all for
reading,
Faster Deeper
is the second in the Take Me... series - stay tuned
for Book #3
Faster Longer
due out in December!!
Faster Harder
(Take Me... #1)
Faster Deeper
(Take Me... #2)
Faster Longer
(Take Me... #3)
Other Books by Hearts
Collective:
Faster Harder
(Take Me...#1) by Colleen Masters
Damaged But Not
Broken
(New Adult Rockers) by W.H. Vega
Wounded But Not
Scarred
(New Adult Rockers 2) by W.H. Vega
Falling Harder
(New Adult Romance) by W.H. Vega
Broken Strings
by Brynn O'Connor
Fuel To The Fire
by
Brynn O'Connor
SPECIAL THANKS TO
Brittani A.
For beta-reading and
saving countless readers from "Harrison's 'stuff' member" ;)
Contents
The
night before the Budapest Grand Prix...
I
arch my back against the silken bed sheets as Harrison Davies runs his powerful
hands down my body. His touch sends tendrils of electric sensation racing along
my every nerve. There’s so much force locked up in that body of his—in those
tight, sculpted muscles. And yet, for all that raw power, his every caress is
measured, precise, perfect. I guess his skills on the race track do carry over
to bedroom, after all.
“Look
at you...” he groans, letting his eyes rake along the length of me.
“See
what you do to me?” I gasp, letting my knees fall open. We’ve stripped each
other bare in this secluded love nest. For this moment in time, nothing stands
between us.
Harrison
trails his fingertips along my tender thigh, setting my legs to trembling. “I
know you’re ready for me,” he says, “But I want to take my time.”
“You’re
going to do me in, Davies,” I moan, pushing my hands through my chocolate brown
curls.
“Maybe,”
he grins, a lock of dirty blonde hair falling across his forehead, “But I
promise you’ll love every minute of it.”
He
lowers himself onto me, catching my lips with his. His strong jaw pushes my
mouth open, and I’m drunk on the taste of him. I dig my fingers into his broad
shoulders, feeling him hard against me. Just when I think I can’t possibly be
any more fired up, Harrison lets his hand brush against the throbbing wetness
between my legs. I fall back against the bed, and he closes in on that hard,
aching, tender flesh. I close my eyes in wordless ecstasy as he rolls his fingers
across my clit, sending me racing toward bliss at breakneck speed.
A
tremor of breathtaking sensation spills through my body, and I hold onto
Harrison for dear life. If I had my way, I’d never let him go. I want to
suspend time right at this second, right as he holds me at the peak of unimaginable
pleasure. If only we could stay here, lock ourselves up, and learn every inch
of each other’s bodies...But the waves of bliss pass through me, and time
marches onward, whether I like it or not. At least I can content myself in
knowing that, with Harrison, these moments are hardly few and far between.
“Lay
back,” he grins, “We’re just getting started.”
“Damn
right we are,” I breathe, sprawling out across the rust-red sheets, “But while
I catch my breath...”
Harrison
sucks in a quick breath of air as I wrap my hands around the staggering length
of him. His eyes blaze with want of me as I work my fingers along his rock hard
desire. I smile up at him, my body still buzzing in the wake of his expert
touch.
“Don’t
you love a little give and take?” I ask him, tightening my grip
ever-so-lightly.
“With
you I do,” he tells me.
“Good,”
I say, “Because we’re in this together, Harrison.”
“Damn
right we are,” he growls, knocking my hands away. I gasp as I feel the tip of
him press against my slick slit. “There’s no one else I’d rather partner with.”
I
cry out as he sinks into me, making us whole together once more.
A Rough Start
My feet are racing as fast as my spinning thoughts. In a
panicked daze, I careen through the tightly packed crowd that floods the
streets of Budapest, Hungary. All around me, the cacophonous din of the
just-completed Grand Prix surges and peaks. I can’t will my mind to form a
single coherent thought—I’m too overcome.
I can’t bring myself to glance back down at my iPhone. A
barrage of photos has just been sent to me, each and every one starring me and
Harrison Davies in various illicit situations. I have no idea who’s behind the
unknown number that sent these damning images along—I can’t even wager a guess
just now. But whoever it is was very clear about what I’m expected to do with
this new information: stay the hell away from Harrison. But if I could do that,
we wouldn’t be in this predicament in the first place.
My entire body is jerked to a stop as a vice-like grip tightens
around my arm. I whip around to see who’s apprehended me and come face-to-face
with my father.
“There you are,” he says, a strained and terrifying smile
plastered across his face, “Where are you off to in such a hurry?”
“I...Um...” I splutter, “I was looking—”
“We need you with Enzo right now,” Dad interrupts, towing me
back through the crowd, “He’s going to have a thousand cameras in his face any
second, and he’s in no condition to be in front of the media on his own.”
“I’m actually feeling a little...faint,” I say, trying to
extract myself from Dad’s grasp.
“Siena,” he says, his voice tinged with desperation, “I know
that you’ve been under a lot of pressure, but I need you to be a professional
right now and step up. Your brother needs you. Ferrelli needs you. You’re great
at this bella, so be great at it now more than ever.”
A little burst of pride washes over me in the wake of my
father’s praise. Pushing every thought of Harrison, the photos, the world of
hurt we’ve stumbled into out of my mind, I high tail it back to the Ferrelli
camp to do some hardcore damage control.
By the time Dad and I reach the Ferrelli pocket of the F1
madness, the media has already descended. They can’t start grilling Enzo
without me there to run interference. My brother just lost to Harrison Davies,
the bad boy rookie who’s shaping up to be Enzo’s biggest rival. And quite
possibly the man I love, but no way can I think about that right now. I
shoulder through a solid wall of reporters and see Enzo up ahead beside his
car. His jaw is clenched tight, and I can see the anger billowing behind his
eyes. Time for me to step in.
“I’ll begin taking questions now,” I announce, turning
toward the sea of flashbulbs and waving hands. Dozens of voices call out my
name, and I point to the nearest reporter.
“Miss Lazio,” the wiry man begins, “This is the first race
that Enzo has lost since the season began. Can you describe the mood of Team
Ferrelli right now?”
“Never been better,” I say dryly, drawing a chuckle from the
press, “But seriously. We may not have won this particular race, but we did
come in second. By my count, that's still a fantastic outcome. And our team is
well ahead in points, so we’re not too concerned. Next question, please.”
“Was Mr. Lazio surprised to have been beaten by Mr. Davies?”
asks a young woman to my left, “Enzo seemed pretty confident that Harrison
wouldn’t be a threat during this season.”
I can practically feel the heat coming off of Enzo’s body as
his anger comes to a boil. Time to deflect, hard.
“That’s the wonderful thing about F1, isn’t it?” I smile,
“Always room for plenty of surprises. Next question?”
“Do you think Enzo got a little too cocky for his own good?”
the last reporter presses. “Perhaps if he’d been more on guard against
Harrison—”
“Davies got lucky,” Enzo spits, “It won’t happen again.”
“That’s all for now!” I say quickly, tugging Enzo away from
the press. They clamor after us, shouting questions to our retreating backs,
but there’s no way I’m letting them goad Enzo into saying something he’s going
to regret.
We book it to the nearest Ferrelli car and jump into the
backseat where Dad is already waiting. As we take off back toward the hotel,
we’re utterly silent. Dad is oscillating between disappointment and outrage
while Enzo simmers in his own frustration and embarrassment. Me, I’m trying to
keep a neutral smile on my face while my heart cracks into a thousand messy
pieces. Between the three of us, we’ve got the whole spectrum of anguish pretty
much covered.
“We’ll get an early start to Moscow,” Dad finally says,
“We’ve got a couple of weeks before the next Grand Prix. Everything will be
sorted out in no time, Enzo. Never you fear.”
“Fear?” Enzo says, his voice hollow, “How can you say that,
Dad? You saw what happened out there as clearly as I did.”
“Davies snuck around you while you were distracted trying to
prevent a wreck,” Dad says crisply.
“No,” Enzo says, “Davies had the better strategy, plain and
simple. He’s not just some punk ass bad boy with something to prove. The guy
can race.”
“He can,” I say softly, my heart full of longing. I wish I
could have run to Harrison the second he crossed the finish line, been there
for his victory.
“He’s my only real competition,” Enzo goes on, settling back
into his seat, “And that means I have to destroy him.”
I feel the air leave the backseat cabin as I whip around to
face my brother.
“What...What does that mean?” I ask.
“I’ll do whatever it takes to end Harrison Davies,” Enzo
goes on, “I don’t just want to beat him. I want him out of the sport.”
“But...Enzo, why?” I ask, “Just because he’s a challenger?”
“I care too much about this sport to let assholes like him
drag it through the mud,” Enzo goes on. “F1 racers should be elite. And
professional.”
“Enzo, the only time Harrison acted unprofessionally is when
you started it!” I gasp, exasperated, “Why don’t you focus on winning the next
Grand Prix instead of plotting your revenge on Harrison Davies?”
“Your sister’s right,” Dad says.
“What?” Enzo and I chorus. It isn’t often that my father and
I see eye-to-eye.
“If you let yourself get all wrapped up in going after
Davies, all you’re going to do is tank your own chances at winning. Forget
about him, Enzo. You have to think of him as just another racer. Can you do
that, son?”
Enzo is silent in reply. He can’t help but take Harrison’s
success personally. I wonder if some deeply buried part of him knows that he
has good reason to be suspicious of Harrison Davies. The severity of my
situation rears its ugly head as I consider what Enzo would do if he found out
I was actually sleeping with the enemy. Who would he be more furious with,
Harrison or me? From Harrison, he’d have no reason to suspect loyalty, but from
me he expects the world. He can’t find out about us. Not while he carries such
a heated grudge against Harrison.
But how am I going to keep my blackmailer from outing me? I
have no idea who could possibly be behind those photos, so how can I know what
would make them tick? What I don’t understand is why, if those pictures exist
at all, they haven’t already been splattered across every blog and newscast
known to man. Why threaten me, rather than just destroy my reputation and,
well, the rest of my life? I need to figure out where those shots came from,
and who’s been trailing me around like a damned spy all this time.
The question is, how?
I feel my iPhone buzz against my thigh as we pull up to the
hotel, but I don’t dare check it in front of my dad and brother. For all I
know, it could be a full frontal nudie shot of me straddling Ferrelli’s new
competitor. I have no idea how far this surveillance effort has already gone. I
hurry up to my room, claiming some kind of headache, and lock the door swiftly
behind me. Once I know for sure that I’m absolutely alone, I pull out my phone
with trembling fingers and see that a second batch of photos has, indeed,
arrived.
Settling down onto my bed, I open the stuffed folder and
look through the images, one by one. There we are leaving the Budapest bar,
leaving the restaurant, walking hand-in-hand. There we are in Toronto and Monte
Carlo. There we are in Barcelona, returning from the beach looking flushed and
rumpled. That’s how far these photos date back to. There are no shots of our
first night at the club together, but that’s no saving grace. I count at least
fifty images here, each more damning than the rest. Someone’s been trailing
Harrison and I since Barcelona, snapping shots of our meetings.
If even one of these photos leaked, it would be the end of
our secrecy. The entire world would know that Harrison and I have been sneaking
around together. The gossip mills would love it, but McClain would be furious.
This is Harrison’s first season ever, it would be disastrous for him to get
swept up in a scandal. Drama may be built into this sport, but not this kind of
drama. Rivalries and strategy and suspense are all well and good, but sex
scandals only serve to undermine the prestige of the sport.
But as bad as it would be for Harrison, us being found out
would be even worse for me. I’d probably lose my job, for starters. But far
worse would be my family’s utter heartbreak if they knew I’d been running
around with our main competition. I can’t even stand to think of the look on
Enzo’s face, should he find out. I can’t let it happen, no matter what. But can
I really follow the blackmailer’s terms? Can I really just stop seeing
Harrison, once and for all?
As if on cue, a new message from Harrison pops up onto my
phone. I stare down at the tiny scrawl of text and feel my heart lodge itself
in my throat.
“You disappeared,” the text reads, “Wanted to blow you a
celebratory kiss. Proud of me?”
My pulse quickens as I stare at his words. What am I
supposed to do? Can I even respond without egging the blackmailer on? What if
whoever is doing this has access to Harrison’s phone, or mine? With a heavy
heart, I delete Harrison’s text. I can’t bring myself to respond to him, not now.
I need time to think.
I fall back onto the cushy hotel bed and let my baffled,
outraged tears begin to flow. I feel so violated. Those moments between
Harrison and I were private, our own secret world. And someone wants to use
them to hurt us. Who the hell would do something like this, and why? I may not
know for sure, but a few distinct possibilities begin to clarify in my mind. A
certain Ivy League watch dog is at the top of my shit list, that’s for sure.
And if it’s really Charlie behind all this, he’d better brace himself for when
I get my hands on him.