Fast & Hard (The Fast 1)

Her eyes sweep to mine and my heart sinks to my gut, my chest feels like it’s on fire. I can’t feel my limbs.

I’m either having a massive coronary or I’m falling in love with this woman.

Mallory steps back to me and I take her head in my hands as she looks up at me. I wipe the start of her tears away with my thumbs, “Don’t cry,” I whisper. The pressure inside my rib cage can’t take her tears right now, too.

“They’re going to swallow us up, aren’t they?” She whimpers, her voice cracking.

I pull her tight against me and cradle her head to my chest, tucking her under my chin. “I won’t let them.”

I hold her as tight as I can without bruising her until minutes pass and then I feel her start giggling. “What?”

“I’m having wildly inappropriate thoughts about you in a cemetery,” she laughs.

“Let’s go then, before I get arrested and have to hire a new nanny to clean that up.”

???

The LaFerrari is an impressive car by any standards. However, it has a fatal flaw: it is far too small for the kinds of things Mallory and I want to do to one another. I can’t even kiss her without my head jabbing into the roof. Her ass changed every setting on the steering wheel controls, smashed up like a pretzel on my lap. And because I am being punished for something terrible I must have done in a previous life, I don’t have a condom.

I stop at the first drugstore I can find to remedy that and Mallory runs inside to make the very important purchase. I argued but she insisted she didn’t want to deal with photos of me buying condoms on Twitter tomorrow. The car is conspicuous enough as it is and I’ll get mobbed this close to London so I begrudgingly let her go in alone.

It’s another fifteen minutes until we’ll be back in Aylesbury and I adjust myself for the umpteenth time, my dick smashed up inside my jeans and my whole body pressed into the fitted racing seats. I should have driven a station wagon, panel van, a bloody school bus.

“You know,” Mallory theorizes, looking over the low chassis cover between us. “Yep, I can make that work,” she mumbles as she starts freeing herself from the seat belts. She’s finally free and turns sideways and leans toward me, her foot propping her up on a carbon fiber interior component. She kisses my neck and runs a hand down to grip my dick. I raise my right arm to make room for her and she tucks in to unbutton my jeans.

Fuck yes.

She gets my zipper down and frees my cock, which has been throbbing for an hour now.

“Jesus, you are going to get us killed,” I watch as her head sinks and brush her hair away. I’m already nearly doubling the speed limit on the bloody A41.

“Good thing my man knows how to drive a car,” she purrs.

Her hot breath against my skin sends a rush of blood to my already hard shaft but it’s her calling me her man that makes me growl. Her wet tongue circles the head of my cock and I push back in my seat, eyes darting between her beautiful mouth on my dick and the road speeding past us.

Her lips wrap around me as she starts working me up and down, my hand at the back of her head. It’s all I can do not to guide her head and I grip her hair in my fist to fight the urge. “Fucking hell,” I hiss as she takes more of me into her mouth, her tongue running up and down the underside of my flesh while her lips squeeze tight around me and her cheeks hollow out from sucking me.

My hips jerk up reflexively when the tip of my cock hits the back of her throat and she moans around me, taking me deeper. Her eyelids squint shut as she fights to take me deeper, her head circling and bobbing up and down on me. “Look at me,” I growl. Her hazel eyes meet mine, moisture on her eyelashes, and every muscle in my body flexes at the sight. My eyes flash between her and the road, years of reaction time training has never been so handy.

She snakes one hand between my legs and rubs my balls and then sinks all the way to my base, her tight throat constricting against me. “Ugh, yes, love,” my head slams back into the seat and the knuckles on my left hand are white from squeezing the steering wheel so hard. My grip in her hair tightens as her pace picks up. “Fuck, I’m gonna come.” Mallory moans more, her ass wiggling around and squirming. “Take every last drop,” I groan.

Heat surges through me, pressure expands and with a surge, I explode into her throat with a primal roar. Hot ropes of energy and fire and adrenaline and passion shoot out and Mallory swallows and licks and does her damndest to keep up. When I am finally drained and spent she releases her lips and her tongue licks and laps around my crown until she’s satisfied and slinks back into her seat.

“So good, love. Incredible.”

Mallory is smirking, quite pleased with herself as I catch my breath and tuck myself back into my pants just in time for the last few kilometers. “See, no one died,” she teases.

I know she’s joking but I need her to know. “You know I won’t hurt you, right?” Her eyes fall and dart to the floorboard. “You don’t know that?” I question, a twinge in my chest starts up again.

“I want to trust you,” she sighs.

“But you don’t.”

“It’s hard for me to be totally out of control.”

“You can be out of control and still trust me.”

“Prove it then,” she goads and smirks at me. She’s sassing me, being playful and argumentative because that’s what we do. But there’s some truth there like there is behind all of our sarcasm.