Fast & Hard (The Fast 1)

“Alone!” I laugh and slap his chest.

Lennox grabs my hand and pulls me into his chest and wraps his long arms around me. I tuck my head into him and he rests his head on the top of mine and sighs. I close my eyes, so warm and secure. “It’s inevitable, Mallory.”

Twelve

“Lightning in your eyes, you can’t speak. You’ve fallen from the sky, down to me. I see it in your face, I’m relief. I’m your summer girl.” - HAIM - Summer Girl

Lennox

“Seriously, Lennox?” Mallory’s lips are pursed but she’s biting her cheek trying to hide a smirk when I open my hotel room door. I may have forgotten to put on pants when I got out of the shower and am standing at the door now dripping wet with only a towel clutched around my waist.

Whoops.

“Let me help with those boxes,” I nod to the packages she’s carrying in her arms, the made-up task I’ve concocted needing her help with tonight to get her here.

“No! Do not let go of that towel!” She squeezes past me into my hotel room and I close the door behind her. “Go put some pants on!”

“Are you sure, love?”

Mallory piles the boxes down on the coffee table in front of the loveseat in the hotel’s small sitting area next to my bed. “Yes! I’m here to help you get all this stuff mailed, not help you with other… stuff,” she waves her hand in a circular motion toward the towel barely containing my dick, which is already getting twitchy with her here.

“If you say so,” I reply and head into the bathroom to throw some sweatpants on.

After the race today, I agreed to ‘behave’ for the media if Mallory helped me get several boxes of fan mail, postcards, and signed photos shipped out. I’m behind on it and I don’t like to keep my fans waiting, but I could have had Jack do this like he normally does. That would be decidedly less fun, though. Now that I’ve had a taste of my smart-mouthed nanny, I need more.

Between the race and the obligatory team meetings, including the debrief afterward in which I claimed it was an accident running my front wing into Digby’s rear tire to puncture it on track, I’ve not had a moment alone with Mallory. When I’d catch glances of her, she looked deep in thought but I caught a hint of blush creeping up her back when she’d meet my eyes.

My nanny wants me as much as I want her. There was no hiding it after she tried to climb me like a tree last night before sending me home, again, to jerk off in the shower like a teenager. Knowing what she tastes like now, the texture of her tongue, how her hands feel raking through my hair, I came in record time picturing those soft lips wrapped around my cock. Normally being fast is a good thing in my life, but this was a new track record.

“And a shirt,” she says as I stroll out of the bathroom and take a seat next to her on the small loveseat.

“You said nothing about putting a shirt on, too. Negotiate better.”

Mallory rubs her hands over her eyes and shakes her head and then starts opening the cardboard boxes, classic distraction. “Ok, so what’s the procedure here?” She says, pulling out postmarked envelopes and small packages from the first box.

“One of these boxes should be blank envelopes and stock photos.” I start opening up a second box looking for them. “I need to sign photos and then you can address the envelopes so they can get mailed out tomorrow.”

“What about these packages?” She holds up a small padded envelope, half the front covered in postage stamps and written with Asian alphabet characters.

“Sometimes people send things they want me to sign and return. Start opening, here are the blank return envelopes.”

Mallory starts ripping into packages and envelops like a kid on Christmas morning while I begin signing a stack of glossy photos. Normally after a race, I’d be out celebrating or drowning my sorrows but this is nice, her being here, not being alone in my room. I doubt few people know how much time we spend alone in hotel rooms across the world.

“Wow,” Mallory sighs and leans back into the loveseat, reading a handwritten note, “this is so much fun.”

“Read them to me?”

Mallory starts reading the letter a woman in Singapore has sent. Her husband is my ‘biggest fan’ and she’s asking for a special message sent back as a gift for their wedding anniversary. I fulfill the request and jot a few lines on the photo for her and hand it back to Mallory to mail.

“Do you read all of these?”

“Aye. Someone took the time to write to me, I can take the time to read it.” Mallory studies me, her face half-hidden behind the letter. “What?”

“The Paddock Playboy, bad boy Lennox Gibbes, reads and responds to all of his fan mail. If you aren’t careful, the world may find out you aren’t such an asshole, after all.”

“I don’t much care what they think.” I shrug, toss my dried up Sharpie into a bin next to the television and uncap a new one.

“I don’t believe you,” she starts, “if you didn’t care, you wouldn’t do all this. You wouldn’t make time for all the fans at every autograph session. You wouldn’t wave at the people waving Scottish flags at each race.”