Faster Hotter (2 page)

“What are you smiling about?” Harrison asks, running his fingers along my legs. I shiver as the skirt of my black dress pools around my hips, leaving nothing but a thin layer of cotton covering my aching sex. Without thinking, I arch my back, bucking my hips toward him.

“I’m just really...glad I let you buy me a drink in Barcelona,” I whisper, as Harrison runs his fingertips along the flimsy cotton panel of my panties, teasing me.

“That must have been one hell of a margarita,” he says, slipping two fingers beneath the thin fabric. “I’m just glad I managed to guess your drink. Imagine what might have happened if I sent you a gimlet.”

I groan as I feel him slide up inside me, ever so slowly. The firm, deft pressure of his fingers sets my vision to swimming. My legs fall from his waist as my knees part. I can’t help but open myself to his expert touch. We’ve gone so wild together where sex is concerned, testing each other’s boundaries and limits. But sometimes, a simple touch like this can get me to the edge just as quickly as the wildest, kinkiest act. Harrison doesn’t need to do anything else but touch me to turn me all the way on, but that won’t stop him from going the extra mile.

My hands clench against the comforter as his thumb finds that throbbing nub, the center of all my pleasure. He traces long, slow circles there, sending rivulets of ecstasy dancing all along my body. I writhe beneath him, my eyes screwed up tight. The rolling waves of pleasure intensify with each round, and my breath is coming hard and fast. The entire world is narrowed to our two bodies, my entire mind is made up of Harrison.

“You’re going to be the end of me Davies.” I moan.

“Maybe,” he breathes, “But this is still just the beginning.”

He lowers his mouth swiftly to my sex, his tongue flicking irresistibly against my clit. The attention of his hands and mouth are too wonderful for me to take quietly. I can’t be bothered to swallow my ecstatic cries as Harrison sends me toppling over the edge of bliss again and again. If this is how he likes to celebrate his world championship victories, well that’s just fine with me.

CHAPTER ONE

The next morning...

I steady myself against the edge of the hotel bathtub and pull myself up off the cool tile floor. Quickly flushing the evidence of my alarming sickness down the porcelain throne, I tiptoe past the sleeping Harrison, out into the hallway. My best friend Bex is waiting there for me, concern knotting her brow. She arrived just a few moments ago, waking me from a slightly drunken, very satisfied sleep to see if I had any extra tampons lying around that she could use.

Not until that moment did I realize that I’ve completely lost track of when Aunt Flo last stopped by for her usual visit.

“What was that?” Bex asks, as I close the door behind me.

“Too much champagne maybe?” I offer, chuckling nervously.

“You didn’t even finish a second glass of the stuff last night,” Bex reminds me, “I know, because I polished off glass number two when Harrison and Enzo started their karaoke rendition of ‘We Are The Champions’. Your man is a stunner, but his voice is another matter entirely...”

“Well, it was a really stressful day, wasn’t it?” I go on, “I mean, we did manage to salvage the championship for our team and take down a crazed maniac. I’m still a little out of sorts is all.”

“Siena Lazio, are you trying to shake me off?” Bex asks, planting her hands on her hips.

“No!” I say, unconvincingly.

“I saw your face when I asked for a tampon, Missy. I know that face.”

“Can we not talk about this right here?” I whisper, looking around nervously.

“Fine,” Bex says.

She takes me by the wrist and tows me down the hall to the room she’s sharing with Charlie, son of Team Ferrelli’s manager and her brand new fiancé. He dropped onto one knee just after Enzo took first in the Dallas Grand Prix. Leave it to Charlie Spano to propose on a race track—F1 is as much a part of his life as mine. We were basically raised side-by-side, and he’s always been my closest guy friend. I’m over the moon for the two of them, really I am. But right now, panic is eclipsing my supportive-best-friend capability entirely.

“Charlie’s already at breakfast with some of the guys,” Bex tells me, pushing me inside her room and locking the door. “So spill, please. What the hell is going on?”

“Bex, don’t jump to any conclusions here,” I say, pacing around her hotel room, “I know this all sounds bad, and OK, the puking thing didn’t help—”

“Whoa, whoa,” Bex says, taking my hands in hers, “Take a breath, Siena. Let’s talk about this, OK?”

I nod, taking in my friend for the first time this morning. She looks impeccable as ever in short pink briefs and an off-the-shoulder tee. Her blonde curls are loose and easy this morning. My brunette waves hang down around my shoulders above the cotton romper I threw on to sleep. God knows how I remembered to put on PJs after the night Harrison and I had, but right now I’m glad that I did. I settle onto Bex’s bed and suck in a few quick breaths.

“Great,” Bex says, “Now, think hard. When was the last time you had your period?”

I cast my mind back through the months, counting through the Grands Prix of this season. Surely I was riding the crimson wave at some point through all of that? But between my budding romance with Harrison, the news of my father’s illness, the media shit storm, and Rafael Marques’ dastardly interference, I seem to have lost track.

“Um...honestly, Bex, I’m not sure,” I admit, “I think the last one was, like, two months ago? Really, I think it’s just this one month I’ve missed.”

“Right,” Bex replies, her face miraculously calm, “You’ve been incredibly stressed, like you said, what with all this tournament stuff. Do you usually stop getting your period when things get crazy?”

“I...no,” I admit, “No, my cycle’s like clockwork. I’m on the pill, so—”

“The pill. Good,” Bex chimes in, “And you’ve been on top of taking it, right? Same time of day every day and all?”

“Oh god...” I moan, letting my head fall into my hands, “I’ve been shit about it, Bex. All these time zone changes we’ve been dealing with, and the running around...God, what’s the matter with me? I should know by now that I get careless with that stuff during tournaments. I’ve never been one for flings, so I guess it’s just never been an issue...”

“Well...There’s a chance it might be an issue now,” Bex says carefully, laying a hand on my back. “Do you really think that drinking had anything to do with why you threw up earlier?”

“No, you were right. I only had a little champagne,” I say, feeling the color drain from my face, “That was not a hangover puke. That was...was that...?”

“Like you said, let’s not jump to conclusions,” Bex says firmly, jumping up from the bed, “It’s only been this month, so it could seriously be anything. Let’s just make sure, OK? You stay here, I’ll run down to the hotel pharmacy and get us a couple of pregnancy tests.”

“What if Charlie comes back?” I say nervously.

“Please,” Bex says, “He’ll be on a replay loop about yesterday’s race for hours. We won’t see hair or hide of him until he and Gus have relived every glorious moment of the tournament. We’re fine. Start chugging water, you. I’ll be right back.”

Bex disappears, leaving me alone with my spinning thoughts. I stand slowly, my every nerve on high alert. In a daze, I make my way toward the hotel bathroom and close myself in. With trembling fingers, I reach for the plastic drinking cup and start filling it up again and again. I gulp down water until I’m totally full, my belly ready to burst. My eyes stray down along my reflection in the mirror, lingering on my flat midsection. Tenderly, I rest my hands against my stomach. Could this really be happening?

Children have always been something I’ve wanted, just like marriage, but I always assumed it would happen to me much later in life. Enzo’s always given me shit about the fact that it’ll probably take me until I’m sixty until I get around to marrying. Personally, I never thought that was such a bad thing. I’ve always been career-minded, and that doesn’t always go hand-in-hand with wanting a baby. I mean Jesus, I’m only twenty-five years old! All of my peers are still out getting shit-faced on Saturday nights or living in their parents’ basements. I’m already ahead of the game just by having a job and forward momentum. Is this really the time to jump ahead to having a baby?

I jump as I hear Bex bound back into the hotel room. She knocks tentatively on the bathroom door.

“You OK babe? Need some ginger ale or something?” she asks.

“Just some answers about what the hell is going on would suffice,” I tell her, swinging open the door.

She shoves a plastic bag into my arms. “Here, there are two in a pack,” she tells me, “Just to be safe and all.”

“I’ve, uh, never used one of these before...” I admit, “I just pee on the end, right?”

“That’s the gist of it,” Bex chirps, “If you need anything, I’ll be right here. OK?”

“OK...” I say softly, staring down at the bag.

“Hey,” Bex says, looking up into my eyes, “Are you alright, honey?”

“I’m just...I’m a little overwhelmed,” I laugh, “This is supposed to happen in high school or college, you know? Bribing some upperclassman to buy you the morning after pill, crossing your fingers until Aunt Flo pops in. I just feel really young all of a sudden.”

“Hey,” Bex says, wrapping me up in a hug, “It’s going to be OK, babe. Let’s just see what the deal is, yeah? It’s fine to be nervous, it doesn’t make you any less brilliant or responsible. If you knew how many times I’ve been in this exact position, you’d be much less worried, I promise you.”

I nod with a weak smile and close the door. I unwrap the tests, marveling at the sleek little instruments that I’ve only ever seen on TV commercials and after school specials. I try to tell myself that I’m just being silly. There’s no way I’m actually pregnant. That doesn’t just happen out of the blue...right? People have scares all the time, but nothing ever comes from them. This is just like a rite of passage. No sweat.

It’s hard not to feel silly as I hover over the porcelain bowl, going through the motions. You’d think they could make a test that required a bit less, well...precision. They sure don’t make it easy to feel elegant while using these things, do they? Finally, when I’ve managed to do my part, I set the first test down on the edge of the sink and let out a huge sigh I didn’t even know I was holding. Nothing to do now but wait, I guess.

I perch on the edge of the bathtub, staring at the little white wand. My toes bounce up and down on the tile, letting my nervous energy out like steam from a kettle. In those silent two minutes, I finally let myself really consider the possibility I actually am pregnant. With Harrison Davies’ child. What will it mean for us, if this is really happening? My career is just taking off, after all. And Harrison’s just been promoted to lead driver for Team McClain. How could we swing having a baby? Would we even want to?

There are options, of course, but I don’t know that I’d be able to choose them. I’m avidly in favor of a woman’s right to choose, but that includes choosing to keep a baby once it’s conceived. I mean, if this baby is real...it’s ours. This wasn’t some one night stand with some guy I don’t really care about. I could be pregnant with the baby of the man I love. That should be a good thing, right? I shake my head, dislodging all these thoughts. There’s no way I can know for sure how I feel until I know if this is really happening.

With trembling knees, I make my way across the bathroom. Suddenly, it feels a mile wide. Step after step I approach, feeling like I’m dragging the weight of the world behind me. I can’t bring myself to look at the test, not right away. I sidle up in front of it and take it in my hand. Forcing deep breaths into my lungs, I finally let my eyes land on that fateful little piece of plastic. For a moment, I can’t register anything. But then, it all becomes incredibly clear.

“Bex?” I call through the door, “Can you...can you come in here?”

The bathroom door eases open and my best friend slips inside. Her eyes are bright and direly curious, but she tries to tamp her enthusiasm down for my sake.

“So?” she asks, “What’s the news, babe?”

“I’m, um...” I stammer, “I’m guessing that if there’s a little blue plus sign, we have our answer, don’t we?”

I can tell from the look on Bex’s face that we do.

“Oh,” I breathe, leaning hard against the sink. My head feels like it’s floating three feet above my shoulders, and I can’t pull myself back down from the clouds. My mind is overloaded, overwhelmed by the news.

“Easy, babe,” Bex says, holding onto my elbows, “Get back to chugging that water. There’s still one more test in the box, and we’re going for two out of three.”

I try like hell to keep hold of my spinning thoughts as I get ready to take the second test. Bex stays in the bathroom beside me as I gulp down as much water as I can, fighting to keep from crying or laughing hysterically. I don’t know anything about false negatives or false positives where these tests are concerned. I’ve never had to. A lot of my friends have gone through pregnancy scares at some point in their lives, but I always assumed that would be something I just skipped right over. But the thing is, I don’t even know if this would count as a pregnancy scare...it’s more like a pregnancy anxious-but-kind-of-excited.