Page 29 of Wrecking Boundaries (SteelTrack Racing #2)

“We don’t have much time.” Sarah cranes her neck to kiss me. “Oh, I like that.”

“Plenty of time.”

Morning light peeks through the room’s curtains, turning my words into a lie. It’s race day, which means sponsor appearances, driver meetings, fan appearances, and all the other tasks that come with it. I’m not even at the track.

“Plenty of time,” Sarah echoes, but her voice is quieter, as if the repetition alone makes it true.

I adjust her leg, moving it higher to better settle between her thighs, and thrust one more time. “You feel good. You’re soft and tight. Every time we finish, I start figuring out how to get back in you.”

She says my name, and I keep going.

“Jake. Oh, God. Ohgodohgod.”

“No, Princess. I’m the one doing this to you.” I nip her neck to prove it and then kiss the same spot. With luck, it’ll leave a mark.

I move, putting more weight on my forearms, wanting to see how much she’ll scream, and the alarm goes off.

“Fucking hell,” I mutter and stop.

“Don’t leave,” she says. I love the drugged sound of her voice.

I strain enough to grab the phone and frantically silence the awful siren. “It’s time to get up,” I say, and she giggles. Screw it. There’s still plenty of time, so I toss the phone onto the floor and settle between her legs until our chests touch.

“It might break.”

I do not fucking care right now. “I’ll get a new one.”

Sarah wraps her legs around my hips, and we kiss once more. It’s slow and sweet, like our looming schedules can be easily ignored.

“Jake.” I slow down, and our eyes meet. “Love me.”

“Always. Every morning and every day.” I kiss her cheek, nuzzle along the other one, and do her jaw. “I can’t wait until we’re married.”

Her hands clamp over my cheeks, forcing me to look into her eyes again. “Are you serious?”

I smile. “My dick is buried inside of you, and I’m blowing off work. What do you think?” That sounds horrible. “Don’t answer that. Of course, I do. The sooner, the better. We can do a Las Vegas drive-by if you want.”

Sarah shakes her head. “We aren’t doing that. Something else.”

“Something soon. This week.”

I cover her mouth with my own before she can protest any further. My hips roll and slam against hers. My rhythm quickens, the movements driving me into her. Sarah pants in my ear, and I bury my face into her neck. Her hair covers me, and I roar one last time before stilling.

Sarah’s legs stroke mine like they often do, and my breathing slows to match hers.

“You need to get up.”

“Call them and ask to delay the start,” I say, but force myself to roll off her.

“They’d laugh and hang up. ”

I stand and stretch, flexing my arms and back.

Sarah pulls the blanket up and gazes at me with a cat-like smile.

“Are you enjoying the view?” I ask and step closer to her. “Fair is fair,” I say and pull the blanket off.

Sarah squeals and covers herself. “It’s cold in here.”

“Good. It will make your nipples hard.” She doesn’t move despite her protests. I graze her stomach and then force her thighs open to put a finger in her. “You’re soaking wet.”

“That happens when you’re near, for some strange reason.”

Have I mentioned how much I love this woman?

“I meant what I said about us getting married soon. We can go to the courthouse if you’d rather do that over Vegas.” Sarah arches a brow, and a suspicion hits. I know her very well. “What do I get if I win the race today?”

“You think you’ll win?” she teases.

“Easily.”

“I’ll make a deal with you,” she says, and I smile, knowing where this is going. “If you win today’s race, we’ll get married.”

“Then go pick out your dress because you’re today’s trophy.” After seeing her shocked expression, I head to the bathroom, wearing a big grin. “I’m going to shower, and I expect you to join me.”

∞∞∞

Mike Jones’ voice takes over my headset. “This is your best driving this season, Jake.” My pit chief’s rare compliment is a surprise. “We have a good car, but you’re the one taking advantage. ”

I manage a stammered thanks. “What’s the distance between us?”

“He’s .423 behind you with the 22 right behind at .497. Keep it going.”

“The 48 overtook the 22. Keep steady in the middle. The 22 is looking for his spot,” Derek says.

“He won’t find it,” I say.

The race started slowly, with me swinging from down and back through the pack for the first stage. The groove kicked in halfway through as I climbed my way up. Today’s race has been mine ever since.

I had an incentive. After our deal, Sarah joined me in the shower, and we fucked one more time. The endorphins running through me practically guarantee a win.

“Lead grows to .501.”

“Half a second. Hot damn,” I say, and curiosity hits. “Where is Rivers?”

“In seventh,” Derek tells me because Mike doesn’t care. Boone is far enough back; he isn’t a concern.

“A few cars are coming down pit road. Not our concern,” Mike says.

There’s enough fuel for me to finish, if just barely. “Tires feel good.” I picked up two on the left side, which shaved some time on my last pit. They’re holding up surprisingly well.

“Lead grows to .522,” Mike says.

“He’s moving to the inside,” Derek says. “The 22 is the second-best car on the road today, so expect him to move here.”

“Your lead is good, but it isn’t secure yet,” Mike chimes in.

“The fuck it isn’t,” I say. “We’re going for a repeat here, boys. ”

That’s funny because Mike is twenty years older than us, and I called him a boy. He doesn’t respond.

I move down, preventing the block, and he falls back.

“The 22 will try again,” Derek says, warning me.

“And he’ll fail again.”

I block once more. The lead shrinks, but it doesn’t matter.

“White flag,” Mike says.

I smile and hope the camera picks it up. “Checkered flag,” I say back. “See you both in victory lane.”

It’s a repeat and my first win of the season.

∞∞∞

Another win means another burnout. I could give the fans smoke but decide on something better.

The white smoke thickens and grows while burning up my tires. After judging it long enough, I let go and glance in my rearview mirror. Sure enough, there are flames on the track behind me. The crowd screams.

I jump out and grab my checkered flag. As always, the cameraman follows, and then the reporter shows up.

Interviews should be in victory row. The tradition is gone, but one that needs to come back. This time is for the fans. Still, no one cares about my opinion. They should.

Helmet off and safety gear pulled back, I wait for the reporter to get started.

“Hi, Chris. How are you?”

He ignores the question. “Congrats on tonight’s win here in Texas. How are you feeling? ”

I’m very thirsty. “It feels great. Incredible. What can I say? It was a great race, and it all came together perfectly.” It’s all true. I feel great.

There’s satisfaction after every race. A feeling like an objective is complete and ready to be marked off—assuming you didn’t crash out or earn penalties.

My spot in the playoffs is assured, and I’ll have some pleased sponsors. Not bad.

“You won here last year, too. Is this going to become a tradition?”

I smile, amused at the idea. “That’s a great question, and I guess we’ll find out next year.”

“You consistently had one of the fastest cars in this race. You worked up the field and held off competition for the final stage. Can you share with everyone how that happened?”

I pull my hair back and rub my ear and neck. The familiar cold sweat under my suit sits uncomfortably on my skin.

“It took all of us together. This win isn’t mine alone. I have a great pit chief who brings the magic every week. My spotter makes me better, and I couldn’t do this without him,” I say, hoping they’re listening. “My crew is amazing. They drill and work so hard. Their commitment blows me away.”

“Sounds like today’s win was a real team effort.”

“It was,” I say, meaning it. “Drivers get the credit, but we’re only one part of it all. Without the crew, none of our skill matters. It’s them and our sponsors.” Here’s where the obligatory sponsor spank bank comes in. “I want to thank Able Insurance and Dale Foods for your continued support and trust in me. Also, Giant Energy Drinks, which reminds me. There better be one waiting because I’m incredibly thirsty.” That part always feels a little false while also being necessary and true. There’s one other person to thank. “Also, a big shout out to our team’s owner, Bert. He’ll be at victory road, celebrating hard with the entire team. Bert gave me my start and supported me from the beginning. I wouldn’t be standing here now if it wasn’t for him.”

“You two go back a long time,” Chris says, nodding.

“Several years. My entire career has been with him.”

“That’s a rarity nowadays.” The reporter pauses, wondering if he should ask about the company shutting down. “Thanks for speaking with me. We’ll let you get to victory road and celebrate today’s win.”

My win streak continues because I’m not ready to discuss BP Racing’s future or my own.

The team is waiting for me, and I have a trophy to collect, but I have one final task to complete in front of the camera.

Knowing Sarah is watching, I raise my index finger for her to see.

One.