He clutched her waist, lifting her up and off his lap. She was about to lower herself, but he held her, so the tip of his wet cock teased the opening of her vagina.
You know how to ride a bull, Ceci. Ride me.
She slid down. He was soaked. Hard, plump, and so warm and smooth it felt like she was sliding up and down velvet.
This cannot be one and the same man. It cannot. Can. Not. Be. She tried to hold her breath, but she couldn’t do it and a moan escaped her lips. Her breathing was stilted, her body on vibrate.
When he finally exploded, she shook with such violence, she could feel parts of herself splinter and shatter as if she were made of glass. He was going to wreck her. And she welcomed it as every cell in her body was set alight.
When she was able to gather enough breath to speak and enough brain cells to form a coherent thought, she asked him.
How do you know these things?
Get on your hands and knees and I’ll show you.
Ceci woke with a jolt. Her heart racing, her body trembling, and a pool of wetness between her thighs.
Damn Sir Galahad.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Clarke
Clarke sighed as he stood outside the door to his family home. Should he have asked Ceci to join him? She wanted him to ask, so clearly she intended to say yes. But he couldn’t see it. Ceci Rivers in his family home? With his brothers? His father? Besides, if he was going to do it, he should have asked her before mayhem ensued. After he’d taken that bucket of water to his face, onlookers with their cell phones had appeared out of nowhere. He’d hurriedly walked her back to her hotel and left. Had they even said anything to each other beyond goodnight? If so, he didn’t remember.
He placed his hand on the doorknob. He should welcome this weekend. It would be a distraction. Anything to get his mind off Ceci Rivers.
He drew a deep breath, opened the door, and paused. He heard voices, a number of voices. His brothers. Okay. But the other voice? A female voice?
Ceci?
Clarke shut the door behind him.
“He does not sayfuckover the radio when he’s racing,” he heard her say.
He froze.
It is her.
“Oh yes, he does,” Aramis said.
“And all the variations on the word,” Porthos bellowed.
“Except formotherfucker,” Athos said in that cool and calm tone. “Not that one.”
When Athos said it, it didn’t even sound like a curse word.
“Why does that surprise you?” Aramis asked. “All the drivers do it.”
“Yeah,” she said. “But he’s not like all the other drivers. He’s … different.”
“He is that,” said Athos.
Silence.
Okay, he thought,enter the room now, but then Athos spoke.
“How did you get your start in racing?”
