Gas or Ass (23 page)

“That dude’s already lost.” Caine shook his head.

I looked past him, studying the car opposite us. Blue neon gleamed from the undercarriage, but the rest of the car, windows included, were black. On the back quarter-panel, over the wide rear tires, the word ‘Widowmaker’ gleamed in reflective vinyl. Music blared from his stereo.

“What’s that?”

Caine snorted. “Monte Carlo Super Sport. Dude’s lost his ever-lovin’ mind, giving that car such a stupid name. He needs his ass kicked for that alone. I built that fuckin’ engine.” My heart fell and I pulled my gaze from the cold blue neon to gape at Caine. “You’ll have to beat your nine-second time to win, girl.”

I shifted my gaze back to the car, open-mouthed.

“You can do it, Shelby. I made some adjustments to the ‘Cuda this week. Changed the oxygen-to-air ratio. Worked on the clutch. She’ll beat this guy if you don’t freeze up.”

I didn’t recall seeing him under the hood, except for those few minutes at the fairgrounds. And the Barracuda still hadn’t beaten the Mustang.

He gripped my knee. “I believe in you, Shelby. Kick his ass.” Caine believed in me? Those four words seemed more powerful than any I’d heard in a long time. “C’mon, Shelby! You only live once. Let’s do this!”

I felt for the switch, still staring through the side window. My fingers touched the key. I shoved in the clutch and turned the ignition, jerking my gaze to the dashboard. I put the car in reverse and turned the wheel, backing onto the asphalt.

Caine opened his door and spotted the start line for me. “Whoa! Right here. Get off the line fast and that’s half the battle.”

I nodded, watching the taillights on the Monte Carlo coming closer as my opponent reversed into place. I took a deep breath.

“Don’t hold that wheel in a death grip. Worst-case scenario, you suck his dick. Do you wanna suck his dick, Shelby?”

“No. I want head.”

“That’s my girl.” He slapped my thigh. “Then go and get some.”

The girl with the scarf—who was she? I never saw her anywhere but out here—skipped to the yellow line. I pressed the gas and caressed the shifter. The damn music from the car beside me went from loud to annoying. Caine switched on the stereo and shoved a CD into the slot. “This is all you, girl.”

The first notes of
Bad to the Bone,
by George Thorogood and the Destroyers
,
shook the Barracuda.

“Not
Barracuda
, by Heart?”

He shook his head. “You gotta bring the heart.”

“I nodded, then fastened my eyes on the scarf. It was just a race. Illegal. Nothing at stake really, unless you feared you’d never get out of this shitty little town. Unless you craved the approval of your stepbrothers, because no one else even acknowledged you were alive.

The start girl’s hand went up. I revved the engine, letting the clutch out a bit. The song and resulting roar from under my hood drowned out the Monte Carlo’s motor. The scarf began to float toward the ground. I let the clutch out. The rear tires smoked, and the tranny caught. The big car under me gathered herself and leaped off the line. The front wheels left the pavement. I lost sight of the road for a moment.

Watching the Monte Carol was a bad idea. So was setting my sights on the middle ground, I realized, as the rubber reconnected with the asphalt. So I focused on the finish line, even though I couldn’t see it. It was there, right up ahead and all I had to do was work the gears to get there.

I sensed Caine yelling, but couldn’t hear his words. The road became a dark tunnel, but something was wrong. My headlights barely lit the asphalt. The tiny pool of light wasn’t enough to see by, but the off flash of neon that zipped past told me where the road was.

I hit third, then fourth. The Monte Carlo was right there. I knew by his headlights. I pressed the gas pedal, but it had nowhere to go. Rocketing through the dark, the song faded and all I could hear was my heart.

A tiny flash of white appeared and I realized the small gleam was the finish line.

I shifted down and tapped the brakes. I barely had the car slowed by the time the turn-off appeared. The Monte Carlo turned into the side road.

Caine had his cell phone out and was screaming like a wild man. “Shelby! You did it, girl! Whoo hoo! Colt better watch his back or you’ll be the best racer in our family.”

“Caine?” I pressed the volume button with a shaking hand.

“Yeah?” He rolled his head in my direction.

“Why’d it seem so dark back there?” I made the turn and looked through the windshield again. My low beams lit the ragged weeds and surrounding woods, just like always, but....

His laughter rang inside the car. “It’s called outrunning your headlights, girl.” He jerked his thumb.

Mom had been right, my science was shaky, but.... “I didn’t break the speed of light.” I shook my head. That wasn’t possible, not in a car.

“Just a phenomenon. You didn’t outrun them, technically, but the higher the speed, the less their effective range. They’re engineered to light a certain distance at a certain speed. You were going more than double that speed, so....” He shrugged.

I followed the black car along the narrow side road, meditating on the effect. My body hummed and I was as wet as if Caine had his fingers inside me.

“Pull around his goddamn ass,” Caine ordered when we reached the cul-de-sac. “Motherfucker thinks he won.” His offended tone made me nearly cry with laughter.

I whipped the Barracuda from behind the Monte Carlo and roared past, pulling up beside Caroline’s Challenger. My headlights shined on Colt. He jumped up and down, pumping a raised fist. His eyes were glued to his cell phone, until he spied me. He ran to open my door. I depressed the button to unlatch my seat belt three times, finally lifting my hands. Laughing, Caine depressed the latch.

“Shelby, baby. You did it! You kicked ass, girl!” Colt dragged me out of the car and into his arms, whirling me in a circle until my head spun. When he slowed, he let me watch the video of the finish. I’d honestly had no idea who won, but the pointed nose of the Barracuda was unmistakably first, by about two layers of chrome.

A door slammed. The Monte Carlo’s driver, dressed all in black, stomped into the beam of my headlights, shaking his head.

“Let me see that.” He grabbed Colt’s cell phone. I could hardly believe that
Bad to the Bone
still blared from my speakers.

I turned toward Caroline. The man between her thighs was staring at his cell phone, too, despite the fact that his cock was inside her.

Completely carried away by the moment, I elbowed Brandon aside and grasped her face, pulling her toward me. Her eyes went wide when I pressed my lips to hers, but when I slid my tongue into her mouth, she kissed me back.

The cheers were deafening. I pulled away, smiling broadly.

“What’s that for?” Caroline grinned back at me.

“For teaching me to shift.” I turned away, only to collide with Colt. He lifted me into his arms. I gripped his hips with my knees and raised my fist. The twenty or so guys in the cul-de-sac began to clap and whistle.

“Fuck me, I thought I had her.” The Widowmaker’s driver shoved the phone into Colt’s hand and reached behind his neck. Dragging his shirt over his head, he tossed it on my hood, accompanied by hoots and whistles from the guys standing around. Colt lowered me onto the hood. Even with the shirt under my ass, the hot metal seared my bare thighs.
Just like being spanked.
The heat traveled to my channel, adding to the throb between my thighs.

The losing driver wasn’t bad looking. Dark curls gleamed in the harsh light. He was just as ripped as Colt or Caine. He shoved my skirt up with a crooked smile that revealed straight teeth.

“If you were my girl, I’d fucking kill any man who dared touch you.” To my shock, he leaned forward. He swept past my lips in a forceful motion, kissing me deep and hard.

“Enough of that shit.” Colt’s hand on his shoulder dragged him away.

“Yeah, yeah. I hear you, but goddamn, Colt, you’re nuts to bring her out here. She needs a National Hot Rod Association ID number and a fucking legit career.” He gripped my hips and bent forward. Looking up at me with blazing hazel eyes, he added, “I’ve never lost out here, you know.”

“You’ve lost now, Collins.” Derision dripped from Colt’s tone, like I’d won by a mile rather than a hair.

“I wanna fuck her,” he insisted. “I’ll get her off the loser’s way, but I wanna fuck her after. First,” he insisted.

Colt locked gazes with him, then turned to me with raised brows and a smile so hot, my stomach lurched.

“I want him.” I gasped, because the guy licked my clit.

“Caine, grab the condoms. Baby’s getting her first fan fuck.”

Colt leaned over me, kissing me hard and deep. I thought he kissed like he wanted me to forget the other man’s kiss. But, whatever his name was, I felt him. He penetrated me immediately with his tongue. I arched, and then Caine’s lips were at my breast. The guy between my thighs swapped his tongue for his finger, thrusting deep while he stroked my throbbing nub with his tongue.

My victory, the intense sensation of three thrusting tongues, the buzz from the crowd of horny guys, all swirled inside me. Caroline’s cries and the grunts of the guy between her thighs added that peculiar layer of forbidden heat I was learning to crave. I climaxed almost immediately. He kept going, working my sensitive flesh until I pulled away from Colt.

“Make him fuck me,” I demanded, scared by the intensity of the orgasm that hovered. This was so damn wrong, how could it feel so right?

“He’s getting you off twice, Shelby. The ultimate compliment.” The comment came from Caine.

Colt moved his mouth to my breast. The stranger continued to work my clit and added a second finger. I stared up at the stars, writhing in a stranger’s hands, while my stepbrothers sucked my nipples. The same act, but wildly different sensations hammered me.

When the next orgasm hit, the feeling was so strong, it shook me to the core. I sobbed my release. Cool air rushed between my thighs. I heard the rip of the condom packet above Caroline’s breathless moaning, and then a strange cock shoved inside me, burying so deep, I hissed.

Someone climaxed with a series of groans. It had to be the guy fucking Caroline, because Brandon demanded, “Who’s going next?” 

Hard hands slid under my sides. “Let her up,” the Monte Carlo driver insisted. “I’m doing this my damn way.”

Colt pulled away, then Caine raised his head. The stranger slid his hands higher, dragging me against his chest. I wrapped my arms around his neck. He shifted his grip to my buttocks, and moved my hips away, only to drag me against him again, burying his cock inside me. He stretched me, but nothing like Colt did, not even as much as Caine. The fit was... delicious.

“Showoff.” I smiled.

“You can still talk?” He cocked one dark brow and increased his pace, jerking me up and down like I weighed nothing. All I could do was hang on while he hammered into me. I caught sight of Colt’s scowl over his shoulder, but there wasn’t anything I could do about that, so I relaxed in the stranger’s grasp and let him take me like a wild man.

Every hard thrust forced a cry past my lips and the tight sensation inside me spiraled as he and I locked gazes. He spun me onto the hood again and leaned over me. His thrusts lost their perfection, tapering into ragged jabs that weren’t so deep. He stroked that spot Caine loved to hit, making me go hot and boneless. Something pressed my clit.
His finger.
The touch was every bit as demanding as Caine’s, making me arch off the hood. He buried his face in my neck and his groan penetrated my skin, but he still moved inside me. He stilled, cock and finger. Gasping for breath, he pushed off me with arms that bulged with muscle.

“Goddammit, Red, that’s twice you’ve made me lose control.” I stared, puzzled as he pushed up with arms that bulged with muscle. Cocking his head, he slid out of me and went to his knees again. I stiffened when I felt his tongue slide over my clit, but I relaxed into the soft stroke.

“Chris, this ain’t no fucking tryout. She’s mine, asshole.” Colt shoved his shoulder, but the guy held onto me, flicking insistently. until I cried out my release.

He stood and yanked his pants up, ignoring Colt. “You get tired of these losers, look me up, Red.”

“Water.” I turned toward Caine, but he scowled, glaring as the losing driver strode to his car.

Caine turned, but his gaze was on Colt. I couldn’t read the look that passed between them.

“Water,” I repeated, tugging Caine’s shirt. The Monte Carlo cranked and music blared.

Caine waited until the black car began to reverse, then strode to the Corvette and jerked the door open to pop the trunk. Colt leaned over me, brushing my hair out of my face. “So fucking hot.”

She’s mine, asshole.
The words sank into my chest and ignited that crazy glow that I’d never felt until the day he’d knelt beside the Corvette and made me smile. His fingers brushed my wet folds. He began to rub my clit, sending talons of heat into me. I knew there were guys watching. I felt their stares as Colt’s fingers moved. All the knowledge did was add to the glow expanding inside my chest.

Something cold dripped onto my shoulder, breaking the moment. Caine wrenched the plastic top off a bottle of water and pressed it to my lips.

“Who else wants to fuck a winner?” Colt demanded.

This time I didn’t cry to go home. I was the winner and I wanted to celebrate.