“It won’t be easy.”
“I like a challenge.”
“People will talk.”
“So what?”
“We’ll have to meet with Jacques and Elodie first. And figure out a way to work together without bringing our relationship into it.”
“I know.” I go for broke and climb into his lap, straddling his beefy thighs. My dick starts to perk up, and I’m delighted to discover to his is half hard, too. “But can that wait until tomorrow? Because right now I really, really, really need to you to kiss me.”
CHAPTER19
Ben
I’ve always considered myself to be pretty strong willed. You don’t get to Formula One from the backwoods of Kentucky without a hell of a lot of self-motivation and a healthy dose of internal fortitude.
But it would take a will of iron to say no to Grady. Especially when he’s on top of me, grinding his semihard cock into mine.
Yes, we have to figure out how to keep our private life separate from our work one. And when I say we, I mean mostly me. I need to find a way to be Ben the race engineer on the track and Ben the boyfriend off it.
Ugh. I hate that word. Number one, I’m not a boy. And Grady may be young, but neither is he. He’s proved he’s all man.
And number two, it’s so fucking inadequate. What I feel for Grady goes way beyond boyfriend. In the two months we’ve known each other, he’s managed to worm his sappy, sunshine-y, sexy-as-sin self under my skin.
Our sex sessions aren’t just sex anymore. We talk about almost everything. Sometimes we play cards, usually rummy or poker, both of which he sucks at because he’s so damn easy to read. Or watchThe Great British Baking Show.
Don’t laugh. He got me into it in Mexico. It’s seriously addictive once you get started and nothing like reality TV in the U.S. Or racing, for that matter. The bakers are all nice, down-to-earth people who seem to love nothing more than helping each other out. The total opposite of the competitiveness in F1. Plus, Grady insists he’s going to learn how to make me the perfect shortbread during the off season.
Sure, we still fuck each other until we’re blissed out and boneless. But that’s not all we do. There’s also hand holding and cuddling, longing looks and languid touches, endless make-out sessions and drifting off to sleep together, our bodies tangled up in each other.
That’s not sex. That’s love-making.
There, I said it. Love. I love him.
I don’t have a fucking clue how I’m going to shove aside the huge, unfamiliar feeling swirling inside me and dispassionately direct him around the track, risking his life at every turn. It was hard enough with my best friend behind the wheel, and I wasn’t in love with him. But like Grady says, we—mostly me—can work that out later. Because the alternative—not having him in my life, not being able to hug and hold him and listen to his slow, deep breaths and the soft, steady beat of his heart when we fall asleep together—isn’t an option.
“I’m waiting.” He taps a finger against my lips, then pulls back, a frown marring his beautiful face. “Unless you don’t want—”
“I do want,” I say a little too vehemently, desperate to banish every shred of doubt from his mind. “I don’t think I’ve ever wanted anything more.”
The tension drains from his body, and he melts into me. “Then kiss me, dammit.”
He doesn’t have to ask me twice. Okay, I guess he did, but he doesn’t have to ask a third time.
I take a second to drink him in, perched on top of me, his cheeks flushed and his usually transparent eyes dark and clouded with something I can’t quite read for the first time. Then I reach up and frame his face with my hands, his five-o-clock shadow scratching deliciously against my palms. Slowly, oh so slowly, I draw him down to me until his lips are a breath away from mine.
“Any day now,” he huffs, holding my gaze, the clouds in his eyes starting to clear.
His lips are mesmerizing up this close, and I find myself staring at them when he speaks so it takes me a beat to respond. “You could close the gap.”
“I know.” He gives me his practiced how-can-you-say-no-to-this pout. “But I want you to do it.”
“And I want to make this last as long as possible.” I slide a finger across his cheekbone to his mouth, tracing the outline of his full lips before I trail it down his neck. It’s a light, fleeting touch, designed to tease and torment. And from the way his pulse is pounding at the base of his throat, it’s working. “This isn’t going to be some fast and furious fuck. I intend to savor every second. Worship every inch of you.”
“Damn,” he murmurs hotly. “I didn’t know you could talk so pretty.”
“I don’t usually. You inspire me.”
