Faster Hotter (9 page)

“No!” I exclaim, “I mean...not exactly. Is McClain pressuring you?”

“Not in so many words,” he frowns, “They asked that I try and make our relationship less intriguing to the media. What the hell that means, I have no idea...”

“That was the gist of my lecture too,” I tell him, “Shoot for something more conventional”.

“As if we’ve ever been anything approaching conventional,” Harrison laughs, taking my hand in his, “I want you to know that the owners’ hang-ups don’t mean anything to me, Siena. There’s no reason we need to go find some white picket fence to hide behind just because gossip mills get a kick out of us being together.”

“No, of course not,” I say, scooting closer towards him.

“They just have to understand that we’re not some cookie-cutter couple,” he goes on, laying his hands just above my knees, “We’re not going to let them wrangle us into domesticity just because it makes their lives easier.”

The smile fades away from my face at Harrison’s words. Is there anything more domestic than having a baby? So much for bringing up that little tidbit tonight.

“Hey...Did I say something wrong?” he asks, looking intently into my eyes with those gorgeous baby blues.

“It’s just...I know we were going to try and spend some time figuring out what we want, going forward,” I begin, “And I’m hoping we’re on the same page, is all.”

“All I want is to be with you,” he says.

“But...how, exactly?” I press, “Are we going to keep splitting time between cities and staying in hotels? I don’t want you to feel stifled—”

“Oh, Siena,” he says, pulling me onto his lap, “I’m sorry. That domestic thing, that was stupid of me to say. I’m serious about you. About us. I want you to come stay here with me, if that’s what you’d like.”

“Move in with you?” I ask, wrapping my arms around his shoulders.

“Sure,” he grins, “What do you say?”

“I say...start clearing out a drawer or two for me,” I laugh, hugging him tightly.

He encircles me in his arms, pulling me flush against him. A sudden pang of wanting takes me by surprise. Is this the pregnancy, bringing on these crazy bursts of horniness? No, I decide, placing my hands on the firm panes of Harrison’s chest. This is just what he’s always done to me.

“How should we celebrate our big decision, roomie?” I grin, running my fingers down along his chest.

“I have a few ideas,” he says, his voice rasping with lust.

He brings his lips to my neck, kissing along the tender skin there. I close my eyes, weaving my fingers through his sandy blonde hair. The tip of his tongue flicks against my skin as his mouth caresses me, and I shift in his lap, straddling him there on the kitchen stool. His lips move ever further down, kissing the firm rise of my breasts.

The loose cotton top and skinny jeans I changed into for the plane ride are practically begging to be stripped from my body, but Harrison takes his time. He swings the stool around so that my back is pressed against the edge of the counter. I plant my hands there, bracing myself, as Harrison’s hands slide up under my thin tee. He lifts the flimsy garment up over my head, tossing it aside and bringing his lips down once more to my chest.

I can feel him growing stiff against me as he snaps open the clasp of my bra with one swift motion. A groan rises from me as he takes my tits in his hands—I didn’t realize until now just how sore they’ve grown. But his firm, purposeful caress feels so good. Harrison’s mouth lowers toward my chest, and he looks up at me as he takes my nipple between his lips.

“Christ—” I gasp, my head falling back between my shoulders.

“I’ve missed touching you so much,” he growls, raking his hands down along my waist.

“It’s only been a week,” I laugh.

“I know. It’s been torture,” he says, ripping the black tee from his torso. My hands fly to the sculpted expanse of his chest and shoulders. I want to memorize every perfect inch of him—spend the rest of my life getting to know this wonderful person.

“I’ve been thinking about you nonstop,” he tells me, popping open the button of my jeans, “Thinking about Dallas...That last day we had together. I love how adventurous you are, Siena. I love everything about you...”

I slip out of my jeans, kicking them away so that only my panties remain to clothe my trembling body.

“I love you too, baby,” I breathe, “I want to do everything with you. Try everything.”

“And we will,” he grins, hoisting me up onto the counter. I gasp as I land on the cool surface, my arms circling his shoulders. He rips open the buckle of his belt and steps out of his dark blue jeans. My hands fly to him, sliding his briefs down over his perfectly sculpted ass. He tugs at my panties, slipping them down my thighs as I sit perched before him.

“Oh my god...” he groans, as I wrap my hands around his throbbing cock.

“I’ve missed the feel of you too,” I whisper, working both hands down along his shaft, “I love how you get even harder the second I touch you—”

My words trail off suddenly as Harrison brings his hand to my ready sex. He trails his fingertips along my length of my slit, teasing me.

“And I love feeling what I do to you,” he returns, feeling me grow wetter by the second at his touch.

I steady myself against the counter, letting my knees fall open as I stroke his staggering member. My back arches as Harrison lays his fingers against my clit, kneading and rubbing with unmatched precision. Rolling, overwhelming sensation starts to build in my core as we push each other to our edges. I tighten my fingers around his tremendous length, closing my eyes as he sends me barreling toward bliss at two hundred miles per hour.

“Harrison—” I gasp, “I’m...I’m gonna...”

“Come,” he growls, bearing down on my hard, thrumming clit.

I grab onto the edge of the counter with both hands as my body is flooding with warm, unnamable sensation. Reeling with the surge of bliss, I buck my hips toward Harrison, every worry and care forgotten. The orgasm overtakes me, washes over me like a heavy rain as Harrison’s strong arms hold me up. I blink up at him, my chest heaving with the power of my pleasure. A satisfied smile plays across his lips.

“Nothing turns me on more than seeing you like that,” he says, running his hands down my back.

“Then what are you waiting for?” I pant, “Come here...”

He steps to me, and I accept him eagerly, wrapping my long legs around his body. I feel the tip of him against my quivering sex, moan throatily as he presses himself so deeply inside of me that I’m like to tear in two.

“Is it too much?” he asks, smoothing the hair from my face.

“God no,” I breathe, grabbing hold of his toned ass and pulling him deeper.

He groans as he sinks further into me, his eyes closing in ecstasy. I can feel every inch of him, parting me, filling me. He draws back and pushes into me again, and I meet him at every pass. We move fervidly together as I rock against the countertop, his thrust coming harder and faster with every second. Our panting, elated voices rise up together as we race ahead toward the peak of sensation, bursting over the edge as one. I clutch his shoulders as we come, a warm surge flowing into me, coating the very depths of me with him.

A little chuckle escapes my lips as I glance at our cooling meal, still sitting there all but untouched. I suppose that when it comes to appetites, my hunger for Harrison will beat out my growling stomach any day.

CHAPTER EIGHT

Harrison and I bask in each other’s company for an entire week, keeping the outside world adamantly at bay. Having finally decided to make the leap and call the same place home, we settle into a little honeymoon of sorts. After so many long months of touring the world, battling rumors, and scandals, and actual crime sprees, I think we deserve a stay-cation.

 I’d forgotten just how many surfaces there are in Harrison’s townhouse that lend themselves to a good screw. Even better is the fact that I’m not contending with any memories of lady-friends past here—Harrison never invited a woman back to his place before I came along. It’s hard to imagine the freewheeling playboy version of Harrison, now that I know what he’s really like. But we all wear masks, don’t we?

Our first week of living “blissfully in sin” (as we like to call it) isn’t without its bumpy patches. My grief for Dad is an unwieldy sort of feeling. I’ve never lost anyone so close to me before, never had to deal with this sort of sadness. There’s a constant baseline of dull pain, but once in a while a sudden surge of piercing hurt will surprise me. I can never know when these pangs of loss are going to strike. I can be loading the dishwasher, taking a shower, or just reading the paper, and I’ll be overcome all of a sudden. Thank god that Harrison is here when these moments sneak up on me. His arms are the only thing that can comfort me, then.

And of course, my dad’s death isn’t the only heavy thing weighing down on us from the outside world. There’s the little matter of a criminal investigation that happens to involve Harrison and I quite personally. It isn’t long before we both receive requests to appear in court for the trial of Rafael Marques. I have to laugh when asked to testify against him. I think I’ve done my part of that front quite sufficiently. Thanks to me and my friends, Marques was ousted as a criminal and a would-be murderer. There’s no way he’s wiggling free of this one. Harrison and I both agree to send in written statements and call it a day. Marques doesn’t deserve a moment more of our time or energy.

Our first week together after the whirlwind of the past few months isn’t entirely solitary. Harrison still reports daily to the McClain practice track for training and strategy meetings. I can’t say that I mind having a little time to myself for the few hours he’s gone. It gives me some time to reflect for myself. Of course, most of my reflection is focused on the ever-growing secret that hangs between Harrison and me, unbeknownst to him. I’m officially at a loss about when to tell him about the baby. I just wish I could know for sure how he’ll feel, but I can’t exactly find out without giving away our situation.

A week into my stay with Harrison, I wake up to find him already gone—putting in his hours with McClain before coming home to me once again. I roll out of bed, wearing nothing but one of his signature black tee shirts and some soft cotton panties. I run a hand through my loose curls and stretch languorously. Is there any sleep better than the kind that comes after a night of mind-blowing sex?

I pad down the wooden stairs—just one of the locations Harrison and I have re-christened so far during my stay—and into the kitchen. Muscle memory sends me in search of the French press at once, but I catch myself in time. I sigh, remembering that I’m living in a post-caffeinated world, now. The whole quitting my vices cold turkey thing has not exactly been a walk in the park, but I’ve managed reasonably well. It helps that I don’t have anywhere in particular to be this week. Now that Bex has taken over as PR Director for Ferrelli, my schedule is entirely of my own making. So when I have moments of jonesing for coffee or a second glass of wine, at least I can have them in relative privacy. So far, I don’t think that Harrison is suspicious of my habit changes. We’re mostly too invested in having as much sex as humanly possible to pay to attention to anything else these days.

I settle for a cup of chamomile tea and snuggle up on the couch for an easy morning. The morning paper sits on the coffee table, and I pluck it up as I sip my tea. Buried on some lowly corner of the paper is a blurb about Marques’s open-and-shut case. I smile to myself as I read that public opinion has him pegged for guilty, no doubt about it. For what he did to Harrison and Enzo, Sven Landers and Alexi Rostov, and the whole sport of Formula One, he should get what he deserves.

A knock on the front door surprises me. We don’t get a lot of visitors at the house, just deliveries. But to my knowledge, we’re not expecting anything just now. I pull myself up off of the couch, throw on some shorts that lay discarded under the coffee table, and make my way to the front door. Maybe I had a fit of pregnancy craving sleepwalking and ordered tacos at three in the morning?

A second, more insistent knock rings out just as I’m approaching the door.

“Alright, alright,” I mutter, “Hold your horses...”

I swing open the door, expecting to find myself face-to-face with a surly delivery man making his rounds. But instead, my eyes alight on a tall, painfully thin woman with anxious eyes and long platinum tresses. She’s probably hovering in the neighborhood of fifty, but with the work she’s pretty obviously had done, it’s rather impossible to know for sure. What I do know is that I’ve never seen her before in my life.

“Hello...” I say, uncertainly.

The woman stares at me, slack-jawed, as color rises in her taut cheeks. I wonder if she has the wrong address or something?

“I don’t mean to be rude,” I go on, “But can I help you with anything?”

“Who in the world are you?” she replies in a proper British accent.

“Excuse me,” I say, shocked by her rudeness, “I could ask you the same thing.”

“Are you just now getting out of bed?” she asks, wrinkling her nose, “Is that...is that Harrison’s clothing you’re wearing?”