Page 50 of Heartbreaker

I gasp as his hand travels up, cupping my breast and rolling the nipple roughly between his fingers. “Love this, baby. Love how you take me, how you like it rough, how you let me to take what I need from you.”

“Take it, Rome,” I moan, the words sounding like a plea. “Please.”

“Fuck yeah.” His fingers pinch hard, and my head falls to his shoulder.

“Touch yourself,” he demands. “Get there one more time.” I could argue that I don’t think I have another orgasm in me, not after the huge one he just pulled from me, but I know it’s not true. Even if it were, I know Rome would pause his own pleasure indefinitely until it was true.

So I slide my hand down between us, putting my palm to my clit and letting my fingers glide down to where he’s filling me. We both groan, him from the added touch of my fingers around his cock, me from the feel of where we’re joined plus the pressure on my clit. “Oh, god.”

“That’s it. Fuck.”

“I’m gonna come,” I moan, my hand grinding into my clit, the entire scene overwhelming me.

“I know, baby, me too. Fuck, come on. I’m right there. I’m going to fill you just like you want.” That’s what it does, as it always does: part permission, part knowing he’s going to fall apart right behind me, part not wanting to let go until the very last moment. Either way, I scream, knowing there are no nosy hotel neighbors around to hear me shatter. He slams in deep, groaning my name into my neck as he comes. He stays there, hips rocking and pulling out every last aftershock from my body before I remove my hand, sliding it up his chest and over his shoulder.

“Best date ever,” I mumble as he holds me to him, knowing that I have no energy left to hold myself up. He laughs, loud and deep and full of that rare freeness I love to hear, before pressing his lips to my forehead.

“Agreed.”

TWENTY-SIX

We get a week of relative peace, where I fall into a strange, comfortable routine in this new reality of being together. Practice or a race, then dinner with Demi and Lana. Occasionally, another driver will come over and join us, and each time, Lana gets the sweetest smile on her face, like she’s excited that people are warming up to me. I don’t bother to tell her that it’s just people who have already warmed up to her. Everyone wants to spend time in her orbit, which means they’ll tolerate my being there as well.

Still, Tyler and Oliver continue to pretend I don’t exist.

Afterward, Lana and I head to my room, where I eat her until she begs me to fuck her, which I do before we pass out in bed together. Most mornings, she’s already gone, off to work with Demi. I have no idea what they could be doing, since at practice, Demi barely even comments on anything, but I don’t ask. I’ve learned that female friendships are mysterious, and I’ll probably never understand them.

This is the schedule we’re on when Lana and I walk into the arena a bit earlier than the rest of the crew. We wanted to get a few practice runs in to help Lana nail a nose wheelie. I told her I could give her some pointers, but when we enter, the energy is instantly off. For one, instead of just a few people milling around as is usually the case before a race, there are probably ten standing in a huddle, three of them security. My stomach drops as I glance around, and as if on instinct, Lana reaches over, grabs my hand, and curls her fingers around mine.

When Phil notices us approaching, he turns to us, his face looking nervous, and my gut drops further.

“Rome,” he calls across the field. “I didn’t expect you to be here so early.”

“I like to come in early, get a few practice rounds in before a race. Lana wanted me to give her some tips,” I say once we’re closer to him. He looks between us, eyes narrowing on our joined hands, and I squeeze Lana’s small hand harder in reassurance. I don’t know if it’s for me or her at this point, though.

“Of course, of course,” he says, looking at the now dispersing group we clearly interrupted.

“What’s going on?” I ask, and his hand comes up behind his neck, rubbing nervously.

“Well, there’s been… There’s been an incident.”

“An incident?” Lana asks, her voice sounding suddenly much more alert than I anticipated. I don’t look at her, though, my eyes locked on Phil.

‘Yes. It, um. It seems that someone tampered with your truck, Roman.”

With his words, the world drops away around me. Phil continues to speak; his tone suggests he’s trying to appease me, but I can’t hear a word of it. Instead, his words continue to swirl, popping the sweet, Lana-scented bubble I’d been floating along in.

Someone tampered with your truck, Roman.

It mixes with that nervous energy I thought I got rid of, but it was just buried, dredged up with his words. After a moment, I blink, trying to focus on what he’s saying, but it only gets worse the more I hear.

“We were doing our routine pre-race inspections, and when one of the techs tugged on the harness, it tore. He had another tech confirm, and that’s when we found the harness had been cut beneath where it is attached to the seat. We’re lucky that it was even caught.”

“Great luck,” I repeat, my voice sounding deadpan, something Phil clearly doesn’t pick up on.

“We’re able to find a replacement before the race, so you’ll be all good for—” That snaps me out of it, and quickly.

“Absolutely not,” I say, shaking my head. My skin feels tingly, panic racing through me as I drop Lana’s hand and step toward my truck and the race seat in the dirt beside it. The left strap is half out, its ends frayed. I give it a hard tug, harder than I probably would to put it on, and more tears occur. With another, it snaps in my hand.