Faster Longer (Take Me...#3) (New Adult Bad Boy Racer Novel) by Colleen Masters Page B

he zeroes in on that throbbing, raw, bundle of nerves. I know that
I’m a goner, now.
    I tighten my fingers around his shaft, swirling my tongue
around him, pulling him deeper into the back of my throat as he masterfully
teases my clit with his lips, sucking me and ravishing me with abandon. The
floodgates break inside me, and my legs begin to quake in the face of ecstasy.
I come at the same moment he does, warm gushes of him spilling into my mouth.
We feel ourselves release together, giving up any control we might have once
had. I swallow him down, every last drop, loving how he tastes going down my
throat.
    When we’re totally spent, Harrison rolls off me onto the
bed. I struggle to right myself, crawling toward him. Without a word, I burrow
into his side and feel sleep rush in to claim me. I’m no good at sleeping with
Harrison, but tonight I don’t have to.
    “Told you I’d change your mind,” he says sleepily, wrapping
a strong arm around me.
    “Yeah, yeah,” I yawn, “Don’t brag, Davies. It’s unbecoming
of a gentleman such as yourself.”
    We laugh lightly together as we drift off to sleep.
Tomorrow’s going to put us through the ringer, but at least we’re finally going
to tackle this thing together. As a team. Who knows? It might not even be so
bad.

Chapter Five
The Gauntlet

     
     
    All it takes is a couple of strategic emails and phone calls
to bring the press running to our front door. In no time at all, the front
steps of our home are swarming with photographers and reporters, all hoping to
snag a quote from our exclusive press conference. It’s time for me to do what I
do best and shape this story. As long as no one throws a wrench in the works,
this should be our saving grace.
    We gather in the foyer early in the morning, everyone who’s
about to face the flashing cameras and shouted questions. It’s going to be me,
Enzo, Harrison, and my Dad versus a whole mob of media types, but I’m not
worried. The rest of the group will be right behind us, offering their support.
And at the end of the day, the press will be much more thrilled with a story of
unlikely partnership than they will with stony silence and animosity. At least,
that’s what I’m banking on.
    “You can’t be serious,” Harrison grumbles, as I hold up two
neckties for his appraisal.
    “You have to wear something other than a black tee shirt,” I
tell him sternly.
    “We like to dress like adults in this house,” Enzo says,
crossing his arms, “Not teenage delinquents.”
    Harrison scowls at my brother and snatches the redder of the
two ties. “For my team,” he says pointedly. I feel my heart sink a little. As
united as we may be in life, Harrison and I are still part of separate teams in
the F1 universe. I know it shouldn’t bother me, that it doesn’t really matter,
but I’ve been raised to care so much about Ferrelli that it’s hard to shake my
discontent.
    “How are we doing over here?” my mom asks, bustling over to
where I stand between Harrison and Enzo.
    “Just fine, Mrs. Lazio,” Harrison smiles.
    “Oh please,” she laughs, “It’s Camilla, dear. I’d tell you
to call me Mom, but I guess that’s a little presumptuous, yes?”
    “Mother!” I groan, feeling my cheeks flame red.
    “Mom, for the love of God,” Enzo mutters.
    “What?” she says, feigning innocence, “You can’t blame me
for hoping.”
    Harrison grins at our discomfort, which I suppose is
preferable to him blanching in horror. The truth is, we’ve never even come
close to discussing marriage, or kids, or anything normal like that. With our
careers, there’s no way we’re headed in the white picket fence, two kids and a
dog direction. And I’m OK with that, really. I’ve never been attached to the
idea of being a wife or a mother...but I can’t pretend that I haven’t at least
thought about what our future together might look like. But first things
first—it’s time to deal with our present.
    “Alright everyone,” I