you a chance to get comfortable.”
Please mean that in more ways than one.
I inch the car forward out of the pit-lane and then onto the track, which is bordered on all sides by tires. The smell of them wafts over me, perhaps noticeable after the muskiness of Saul.
I have a goofy grin on my face as we race around the track, although maybe race is too strong of a word for the way I cautiously take the corners.
Saul casually drives up next to me, smirking over, the Go-Kart looking like a toy under his massive frame.
“I can get you another one if yours is broken,” he taunts.
I shoot him a look, or try to, between sassing him and keeping my eyes on the track it’s difficult. I take a corner and so does he, guiding the car without even glancing away from me.
“Not everybody has a death wish,” I laugh.
“Look at me,” he says. “I’m driving just as slowly as you.”
“Oh, so you’re saying you did have a death wish, but now I’ve given you a reason to live?”
“Exactly,” he growls.
And then he speeds up so that he’s in front of me.
“Brake, Sadie,” he calls back.
Brake?
He slows down in front of me and I quickly hit the brakes. Luckily we’re going so slowly that I don’t spin out and the tires don’t catch. I simply come to an anticlimactic stop several feet away from him.
He climbs from his Go-Kart and walks across the track, something altered in his expression.
A hunter emerging from the dark, ready to do his work again.
He focuses on me as though I’m the only person alive.
He stands over the Go-Kart and his manhood twitches visibly, head-height, clearly hard and clearly directed toward me.
I swallow as I stare up at him, everything within me singing and buzzing.
“Stand up,” he says, voice deep and purposeful.
“Why?” I whisper.
“You know why. Stand up, Sadie. I can’t fight this anymore.”
“I thought it was all in my head.”
“Stand up and I’ll show you how wrong you are.”
But before I get a chance, he leans down and loops his hands under my arms, hauling me to my feet. I gasp in delight and shock even as a vignette of Fiona’s weeping face stabs into my mind.
He feels so firm as I clutch onto his arms, so solid and thick, a seasoned bear, gray flecks in his hair. Much more mature than the dick-hats in high school and even college.
He slides his hands down, gripping onto my hips. An urge rises in me to brush his hands away – he must be sickened by the shape of my hips, surely – but really I can’t do anything.
I’m pinned in the paralysis of the moment.
“Do you have any fucking idea how cute you look when you’re nervous?” he whispers, leaning in closer, his breath tickling my skin and his musky smell enveloping me.
“Really?” I croak, voice fading.
Is this real? How can this be real?
“Yes,” he says. “Really.”
Suddenly his lips are on mine and I’m frozen, stiff, unsure of what to do.
Then something releases inside of me and I gasp through the kiss, moving my lips in time with his.
The texture is rough and tingly and somehow feels like it fits, as though my lips are a lock are only he has the keys too.
I open my mouth in time with him, collapsing against him, my breasts crushed against his abs. His hand slide down, greedily exploring my ass, sliding up my inside my shorts to my bare ass cheeks.
“So round, so curvy,” he groans. “Jesus Christ, you were made to be treated like a dirty fucking sex goddess, weren’t you?”
“I don’t know,” I say. “Nobody’s ever said anything like that about me before. Nobody’s ever said they like my curves.”
“You’re the one teasing me now,” he says.
“No, really.”
He shakes his head slowly, as though he can’t believe it. “Then they’re idiots, Sadie. You’re the sexiest damn thing I’ve ever laid my eyes on.”
I want to toss my head and give him a demure, confident look, the sort of look that tells him I know exactly what he’s talking about. The desire to own what he’s saying to me is there, but it simply doesn’t mesh with what I’ve experienced my whole life.
The ignored girl, the too-curvy girl, the girl in the background, at least where boys are concerned.
“You really don’t believe me, do you?” he says. “Goddamn, then I’m going to have to show you, Sparkplug.”
“Show me?”
“Bend over,” he growls, eyes locked on mine.
My heart