The chemistry between us is off the charts. I’ve never felt anything like it before, and I don’t intend on walking away from it. I’ve felt her body under my hands. Seen the way she responds to me. There’s no stopping that kind of desire, no matter how hard she might try.
I turn the engine on, and rev it. The car vibrates beneath me. Tremors run up my arms. My heart starts to beat like a motherfucker. My mouth dries.
I blink against the onslaught of fear coming for me.
The barrier coming toward me.
Smoke. I can smell it in my nose. Taste it on my sandpaper tongue.
Feel the pain in my bones.
Stop.
That was the past.
Lightning doesn’t strike twice.
Unless you’re a seriously unlucky fucker.
A laugh escapes me.
“You okay?” Carrick’s voice comes in my ear.
“Yes. Just realizing what a sick fuck I am.”
“I could’ve told you that years ago.” He chuckles. “You good?”
I blow out a breath. “Yes.”
My arms are still shaking down to my hands. I grip the steering wheel, willing myself to calm down.
It’s a good job I’m not taking out my Formula 1 car. I knew I wouldn’t be up for that just yet. I need to get used to being back out here, and being in control of a car at high speeds and being comfortable with it again. Carrick’s Bugatti is a good car to do it in.
I’m going to take this car around the track, like I’ve done a million times before. Nothing is going to happen to me.
Deep breath, in and out.
I realize that my hands are no longer shaking.
I feel a sense of self-satisfaction bleeding into my veins.
Control. That’s what it is about.
I just need to take hold of my fear and manage it. If I’m good at one thing, it’s control. I thrive on it. It’s like a fucking aphrodisiac for me.
I shift the stick into first.
Breathe.
One…two…three…
Easing off the clutch, I hit the accelerator and take off.
I’m at a hundred kilometers in no time.
This car can move.
One sixty.
My heart is starting to pound against my ribs.
Fear and adrenaline.
I can see the wall approaching with the corner I need to take.
My hands start to shake. Sweat trickles down my face.
Don’t lose it now, Silva.
Think of anything but the accident.
India.
The way she tastes. Her perfect mouth. How she felt wrapped around me while I kissed her.
Easing my foot onto the brake, I take the corner. Back on the straight, I ease the accelerator back down, pushing the speed up a little further.
Creeping back to a hundred.
One forty.
One sixty.
Two hundred.
The sound of metal crushing splinters in my ears, sounding so fucking real.
I hit the brakes.
It’s not real. It’s not real.
It’s just in my mind.
Think of India.
What she’ll look like naked. How she’ll feel when I fuck her.
I press back on the accelerator, taking the car back to two hundred.
More. I need to take her higher.
I can do this.
I press down a little more.
Two twenty.
My heart is pounding, and I can’t calm it.
So, stop fighting it, and use the adrenaline to push yourself further.
Imagine fucking India. That this car is her body. How hard I’m going to ride her. How high I’m going to take her.
Two sixty.
Bend her every which way I can. Fuck her hard and fast against every surface in my house.
Three hundred.
My head between her legs, tasting her, making her scream my name.
Three twenty.
India on her knees at my feet with my cock between those bee-stung lips of hers.
Three forty.
Coming inside her. On her tits. On her face. Marking every part of her with my cum.
Three fifty.
I’m fucking doing it.
Parting my lips, I blow out a breath, sweat dripping past them, into my mouth.
“Three fifty! You’ve fucking done it!” Carrick’s elated voice comes in my ear. “So, does this mean you’re back, Silva?”
I pull in a deep breath, slowly blowing it out. “Yeah.” I grin. “I’m definitely back.”
I burn up five more laps before coming back in.
Carrick is waiting for me, a shit-eating grin on his face.
Getting out of the car, I pull my helmet off and then my balaclava before running a hand over my sweat-soaked hair.
“You looked good out there,” he says.
“I fucking felt good.” Shutting the car door, I round to his side.
“You think next time you can get in an F1 car?”
Putting my helmet down, I strip my coveralls down to the waist, my T-shirt clinging to my skin. I’m hot from the adrenaline still pumping around my body. “Yes, I think so.” As I say it, I feel doubt, so I quickly quash it.
“Next week?” Carrick asks.
“No, tomorrow. I don’t want to fuck around. I want to get back in and get back training.” I can barely keep still. My body is pumped.