Fueled (Driven, #2)(133)

I grunt a response and squint open my eyes to find one of the most terrific sights I have ever seen. Tits—Rylee’s tits to be exact—full and pert with pink nipples hardened in arousal dominating my line of sight. I take a moment to admire God’s greatest creation ever before I drag my eyes away and scrape them over the rest of her sun-kissed skin to meet her eyes.

Those eyes.

The ones that have held me captive and owned parts of me I never even knew existed since that first moment they looked up at me amidst a mass of fallen curls.

“Good morning,” she says again, her sleepy eyes hold mine and a sluggish smile tugs up the corners of her mouth.

I feel like my heart beats for the first time. She’s real and she’s here. Relief floods me. Today may be the first race of the season, but waking up with her, here with me after all the shit from the past couple of weeks? I’ve already f*cking won.

I cock an eyebrow up at her as her fingers tickle further south, my cock pulsing up in response to her touch. “It is good indeed,” I grumble needing my mind to catch up with my body that’s already revved and raring to go. “Any time I can wake up with a sight like this, is indeed a good f*cking morning.” I can’t help the smile that curls up my lips. Fuck she’s gorgeous.

And mine.

Seriously? What the f*ck did I do to deserve her? Hell has most definitely frozen over.

“Well,” she says drawing the word out into a purr. “We seem to have a dilemma here?”

“A dilemma?”

“Yes, I seemed to be underdressed and you Mr. Donavan, you seem to be very overdressed.”

I quirk an eyebrow up at her, all systems fully awake now, and more than ready to go. “I think you look f*cking perfect.” I shift some and prop the pillow further under my head so that I most definitely do not miss a single thing from the vision in front of me. “But you think I’m overdressed, huh?”

“Most definitely,” she says, “and I think it’s time to fix the situation.” She shifts her weight, and I can feel her fingers scrape over my hips as she pulls the sheet down. Fuck if she’s not teasing me. My cock springs free from the confines of the sheet and it aches for her to touch it. To be buried in that sweet heat of hers. I watch her look at my cock and when she licks her tongue over her bottom lip it takes everything I have to not pin her to the bed and take what that mouth is tempting.

“Oh, there is most definitely a situation.” She smirks and her eyes look up to meet mine, lust and mischief dancing beneath her lashes.

“And how do you suggest we fix it?” I ask enjoying the role of temptress she’s playing despite my balls desperately begging for release.

She reaches out and wraps her hand around my cock. Fuuuccckkk that feels good. I lay my head back and drown in the sensation of her fingers on my tortured flesh. She strokes me with slow, even strokes that feel so f*cking good it takes everything I have to not put my hand on top of hers and urge her to go faster. To pump harder.

When it comes to Rylee, begging is not beneath me.

“Well, it is race day, and I can’t exactly let my man go to the track without fixing this little problem we have here.”

I flash my eyes open and take in the arch of her eyebrow and taunt on her lips. “Oh baby, there’s nothing little about it.”

She moves forward, her hand still on my cock but tits back front and center in my view as she leans in close to my face. “There isn’t?” She angles her head watching my mouth fall lax as she works her dexterous fingers back up my dick. All I can do is bite my lip in response and shake my head as she pays special attention around its crest. Talking right now is not an option. “I guess I’ll have to find out for myself then. Don’t you think?”

I stare at her. Take all of her in as she kneels over me—cheeks flush, eyes dancing, and mouth tempting—and I can’t believe after how bad I f*cked up, that she’s still here. Still fighting for us. My f*cking saint.

A reply is on my lips—and f*ck if I remember what it is because it flies from my mind the minute she sinks down onto my cock.

Wet f*cking heat. Pleasure swamps me the instant I feel the velvet grip of her tight * wrapped around me. From the bottom of my spine all the way to the top of my sac tightens in a tingling surge of eye-roll into the back of your head type of ecstasy.

“Sweet Jesus!” I groan out as she seats herself root to tip and stills so that she can adjust to my invasion.

“No, not Jesus,” she murmurs as she leans in and slips her tongue between my lips adding torment to her tantalization. “But I can still take you to Heaven,” she whispers against my lips.

And then she starts to move. Up and down. Her slick, wet heat spasming over my cock with her every rise and fall. Skin on skin. Soft to hard. Hers and mine. So f*cking good.

Fucking Rylee.

My f*cking voodoo *.

Shit. I stand corrected. Now this—Rylee’s voodoo *—is God’s greatest creation.

Ever.

And motherf*cker if Rylee wasn’t right.

She does feel like f*cking Heaven.





I shove my legs into last night’s jeans, knowing I need to get my ass in gear. I’m excited for the day ahead of me—for the organized chaos and the rev of the motor at my command—but I’m just not ready to share Rylee yet. Not ready to burst this bubble around us and step into the blur.