Priest (A Standalone Bad Boy Romance Love Story) (29 page)

“You know,” he says.
“There’s a big backseat.”

Am I really doing this?

Yeah, I’m really doing
this.

“All right,” I respond
and, without further ado, I climb over the seat into the back.

I’m getting settled as
Eli joins me. He’s on top of me now, and I’m stroking the back of his head as
he kisses me. I don’t know how long it’s going to be safe to stay here, but if
I have my way, we’re going to be here for a while.

He’s tugging at the
bottom of my shirt and I lean up a bit so he can pull it the rest of the way
off, the cool air electrifying my bare skin. He pulls his own shirt off, and
I’m running my fingertips up his muscular sides. It seems all that work in the
shop is doing some great things for him.

Eli wraps his strong arms
around me, unclasping my bra with one hand. I pull it from my shoulders and off
of my arms, more than a little nervous about being this exposed, this
vulnerable.

As if offering his
acceptance, Eli kisses my breasts and the heat coming through his kisses sets
my blood aflame.

My hands work at undoing
his top button, but I don’t have the best angle to work with, so Eli finishes
the job.

I slide his pants down
with my feet, and I can see the thick, throbbing proof of his aspiration
pressing against the fabric of his dark boxers.

He’s undoing my pants as
I run my palm over the fabric covering his somewhat intimidating manhood.

I lift my hips as he
pulls my pants down, and his fingers catch my panties, too, leaving me
completely bare beneath him. He straightens his legs a little as I coax the
boxers from his hips.

The seat beneath me is
surprisingly comfortable. I imagine the lack of long cracks in the upholstery
back here helps.

Naked together now, Eli
kisses me on the mouth before running his lips in tiny kisses over my
collarbone, between my breasts, down past my navel, all the way down to my
center.

His fingers tease my core
as his mouth settles over my clit.

I’m slick, eager as he
slides a finger inside me, tilting his head a little so his tongue is not long
out of contact with my bud.

My own hand is over my
mouth as he curls his finger toward the front of me, massaging my g-spot with a
soft, but direct touch.

His mouth and fingers
tease and gratify as he explores my pussy, and I’m trying to keep my moans
under eighty decibels, but it’s not easy.

Somewhere in the
distance, I can hear a siren, and I don’t know if they’re the ones that are
going to find us or if we’ll make it out scot-free, but there is nowhere else I
want to be right now.

I run my fingers through
Eli’s dark hair, and my hips are going on their own now.

“I need you to do
something,” I breathe.

He lifts his head a
little to look at me.

“There are condoms in my
purse,” I tell him. “Would you mind grabbing them?”

He nods and leans over
the front seat, comically displaying his seriously tight butt.

I smile and give him a
light spank as he grabs the purse and pulls out a condom.

“Here,” I say, holding
out my hand and he hands it to me.

He’s facing me as I open
the package and remove the contraceptive from inside.

With my free hand, I wrap
my fingers around Eli’s firm cock, putting the condom in place on his tip and
rolling it down all the way.

I can hardly breathe. My
chest is burning with adrenaline as he looks down at me.

He moves between my legs,
teasing my opening with his tip, and my hand is resting on the back of his neck
as he slowly pushes inside me.

A new sense of desire
overtakes me as he gradually works himself all the way into me, and he’s
bending down, kissing me, his chest heaving with heavy breaths.

The siren in the distance
sounds like it’s getting closer, but it’s impossible to tell if they’re headed
in this direction or if they’ll miss us entirely.

I feel hot, my blood
boiling in my veins.

Eli’s surprisingly gentle
and receptive, though his hands are firm, his motion eager.

He’s kissing the curve of
my neck, and my arms and legs are wrapped tightly around him as I delight in
the feel of his muscles flexing and releasing all across his back.

The siren is getting
close now, but I’m not ready to go.

I don’t want to get
caught; I just don’t want this to end.

Eli moves faster now, the
intensity of this feeling overfilling my senses to the point I don’t know if
I’m about to come or if I already have.

As I begin to feel that
rise throughout my body, I have my answer.

“Kiss me,” I tell him. “I
don’t think I’m going to be able to…”

The dam breaks and Eli’s
lips are over mine, muffling the sound of my ecstasy.

My whole body quakes, and
I’m gripping him tight as endorphins wash over and through me, skin sweating,
my mouth on his.

The siren is almost
deafening now, but Eli doesn’t stop until my climax begins to fade.

“Someone must have
spotted us back here,” he says in a whisper, still inside me.

“What do we do?”

“Stay low,” he says,
slowly pulling out of me. “I’m going to try to get us out of here, just don’t
lift your head above the level of the windows.”

Fine by me: I couldn’t
move right now if I wanted to.

The siren goes past on a
nearby street and Eli slips his boxers and his shirt on, but before climbing
into the front seat, he gives me a long, sweet kiss, saying, “To be continued?”

I nod, a wide grin
crossing my face.

He gets into the front
seat and turns the car on, the constant rumble of the engine a pleasant massage
against my bare skin.

I lie here, naked and
only casually covering myself as he hits the gas.

Chapter
Six

Of Jax and Jill

Eli

“I can’t believe you
talked me into this,” I tell Mick as I run through my last minute check on the
Chevelle.

The first race of Jax’s
tournament is tonight and Tree Bait here wouldn’t shut up until I followed the
directions on the back of Jax’s card and put up the $2,500 entry fee with a man
named Charles at the OTB. He’s just a middle man, though. The fewer people who
know about this, the better.

“Come on, man,” Mick
says. “One of us wins the thing and we split the money. Either way, we both
come up six figures ahead.”

Tonight, there are
sixteen races going on at the same time in different parts of the county. My
first race is going to be here in town.

Mick’s is elsewhere.
That’s good. That means he might make it to the second round.

“You mean, if
I
win the tournament, I can very
generously give you $125,000, is that about right?” I ask.

“Pretty much,” he says.
“I’d do it for you.”

I do believe that.
Growing up the way I did, if I hadn’t met Mick, I’d probably be on the street.

“Yeah, whatever,” I tell
him. “You’re fine with me taking the flatbed even though my race is closer?”

“Yeah,” Mick scoffs. “Mine’s
farther, but my car still looks street legal. Yours on the other hand—by the
way, why’d you paint the thing purple?”

“Got bored with the
classic colors,” I tell him. “You should probably get going, though. I doubt
they’re going to push start time back for you.”

“Yeah,” Mick says. “Kick
some ass and then meet back here to talk about how we kicked some ass?”

“Sure,” I tell him.
“Kate’s going to be with me. She’s coming tonight.”

“That’s a shame,” Mick
says. “It’ll break the poor girl’s heart when she sees you come in last.”

“Hasn’t your whole pitch
been that the two of us are unbeatable and we’ve got this money locked up?”

Mick shrugs. “Generosity
comes and goes, man,” he says. “Later.”

He jogs out of the shop
and through the office.

I’m just about done with
the prep on the Chevelle. I’ve got just enough gas in the tank for the race and
maybe a little light cop-dodging. Every ounce can make a difference.

My phone’s ringing, but
my hands are covered in grease.

Leaving the hood up, I
walk over to the wash basin and clean my hands. The phone’s already stopped
ringing, but I can call whoever it was back.

I’m just drying my hands
when I hear a knock on one of the closed bay doors.

On my way over, I pick up
my phone. I don’t recognize the number.

The knock comes again and
some distant part of my mind is telling me not to open it. Maybe it’s Jax, here
to hobble one of his racers. It wouldn’t be the first time he’s done something
like that—if the stories are to be believed, anyway.

Ours isn’t a big town,
but Jax’s fabled empire reaches a lot farther than just here.

He used to be a racer
back in the day, Jax. It was before my time, but the story goes that he raced
two or three times a night for a year straight, winning everything along the
way. That’s how he funded his way to becoming the head of any number of
criminal organizations—which ones change depending on who you ask.

That’s where the story
first started to unravel for me. I’ve seen better drivers than me in better
cars than I have get beaten by the greenest noob on the block.

Though, it’s starting to
look like the stories may actually be true.

I open the bay door and
Kate ducks in before I close it again.

“Are you ready for
tonight?” she asks.

I shrug, saying, “I guess
we’re going to find out.”

She turns her head a
little to the side and narrows her eyes at me. “I was expecting a lot more
bravado.”

“Oh, I’m definitely going
to win,” I tell her. “I’m just not thrilled about being involved with anything
that guy’s a part of.”

“There’s that cockiness
that I put up with,” she says and kisses me on the lips. “Where is it?”

“I don’t know yet. When I
dropped off my entry fee or whatever, I was given a general area. Mick’s is
outside town a ways, mine is inside town.”

“I hope it was a little
bit more specific than that,” she says.

“Mine wasn’t,” I tell
her. “Mick’s just gave him the address of a hotel. Apparently, it’s going to be
somewhere around there.”

“Am I going to be able to
see much of it?”

“I really don’t know,” I
tell her. “I know it’s not going to be a drag race, but that’s about all I
know. I’ve just got to load the Chevelle onto the flatbed and I’m ready to go.”

“All right,” she says.
“By the way, who was calling you just before I walked up?”

“I don’t know. I was
elbow-deep under the hood when the call came in, so I missed it. I didn’t
recognize the number.”

“You should probably put
it in your phone,” she observes, pulling a cheap, burner phone out of her purse
and holding it up.

“Look at you joining the
modern world,” I tell her.

She smiles. “Exciting,
huh? So, are we going or…”

“Yeah,” I answer and we
walk into the office.

I grab the keys to Maye’s
flatbed and we go back out to the shop where I open the bay door in front of
the Chevelle.

Kate’s nice enough to
spot for me while I get the flatbed in place, and she covers her ears when I
fire up the Chevelle and pull it onto the back of the trailer. Removing the
metal ramps and securing them beneath the car, I tell Kate to hop in the
flatbed. I climb in after her, settling behind the wheel.

“What now?” she asks.

“Now,” I tell her, “we
wait for the phone call.”

While we’re sitting in
the cab of the flatbed, we talk. Kate asks more about Jax, and I tell her what
I can.

I’ve heard that he’s now
a gun runner; I’ve heard that he’s a high-level drug dealer; I’ve heard he’s
involved in all sorts of racketeering, whatever that is. The most popular myth
of all, though, is that he’s all of the above, plus more.

“The truth,” I tell her,
“is that he’s probably a low-level scumbag who ended up with a lot of money.
I’m not saying I’d want to get on his bad side, but I really don’t think he’s
the psycho everyone says he is. Then again, he didn’t really blink when I
talked to him, either, so what do I know?”

“You’re filling me with
confidence.”

I smirk and my phone
starts ringing.

“Is that it?” she asks.

“Well, I don’t know the
number, so unless that’s you calling me…” Kate shakes her head. I answer,
saying, “Eli.”

“Tramway and Jersey,” a
woman’s voice says. “Be there in ten minutes or don’t bother showing up.” She
hangs up the phone.

“Tramway and Jersey,” I
tell Kate. “While I’m running the Chevelle, I’ll give you the keys to the
flatbed in case you’ve got to get out of there. Don’t try to race the thing,
though. Just calmly drive off if you have to. They might stop you and ask you some
questions, but as long as you haven’t broken any laws yourself, you should be
fine, all right?”

“I’m starting to like the
idea of trouble,” she says, and I think her own response embarrassed her a bit.
Her face is red and she’s looking anywhere but at me. “Let’s just go.”

“Righto,” I answer and we
pull out of the shop. I get out quick to close the bay door and then I’m back
in the cab and we’re on our way to Tramway and Jersey.

I don’t think there’s
really anything there, but an intersection is an intersection.

While we’re on our way to
the start point, I want to give Kate the rundown of how the race is going to
work, but there’s really not much to tell her. Jax is playing everything pretty
close to the chest.

We finally get to the
intersection and I pull the flatbed over to the side of the road.

There’s no one here.

My phone rings.

I pick it up, “Yeah?”

“Two blocks south, one
block east,” that same woman’s voice says. “Leave the truck. When all four are
in position, the race starts. No waiting.”

“Hold on,” I interrupt.
“What about the route? I don’t know where I’m going. How am I supposed to-”

“The route is marked,”
the woman snaps and then hangs up.

I put my phone back in my
pocket.

“We’ve got to unload the
car here,” I tell Kate. “The start point is a few blocks away, but I took the
passenger’s seat back out of the car. What do you want to do?”

“Just drop me off before
you get to the line,” she says. “I’m not going to miss the start of this.”

I nod and we get out of
the cab.

Kate grabs one of the
ramps, I grab the other, and we set them up at the end of the flatbed. She
spots me as I pull the car back off of the truck and onto the street.

From there, we leave the
ramp where it is and I hand Kate the keys to the flatbed as she settles in
where the passenger’s seat would be.

I drive slowly to the
start point. After stopping to let Kate out, I pull up to the line.

My competition for this
race is a BMW M3, a Cobalt SS, and a Ford GT. This is the first race in the
tournament, and it’s already the toughest field I’ve been pit against.

That is, assuming the
people sitting behind their steering wheels can drive.

I’m waiting for some kind
of instruction: where the race is going to end, how we’re going to know the
route. But a man in a black suit and sunglasses steps out between the two
center cars and points to each of us individually starting at the far right and
working his way over to me on the far left.

I nod when the finger’s
pointed at me and I’m keeping my revs up as the man raises his arms over his
head.

They’re really just going
to start it.

He lowers his hands and
my left foot comes off the clutch while my right foot is burying the gas pedal.

I’m not first off the
line, but I’m quick to catch up.

The GT’s got me by half a
car length, but we’re just getting started.

We’re burning down the
road, and I’m keeping my eyes out for any indication of where to turn, but so
far, I’m seeing nothing.

My twelve-hundred horses
are slowly creeping up on the less-heavily-modded GT next to me, but it’s not
an easy fight.

Up ahead, the street
lights are out and I’m honestly on the verge of just hitting the brakes and
calling it a day when the protected left turn light comes on, the other two
filled green lights still black.

That’s got to be it. If
I’m the only one to notice, this race might be over before it’s even really
begun.

The GT’s still just
edging ahead, but I’m on the inside for the turn, and I don’t mind going in a
little fast to cut off my opponent. I get an extra jolt of adrenaline as the
tail of my Chevelle narrowly misses the front of the GT.

I may make a solid living
doing what I do, but I don’t have Ford GT money hanging around if I damage this
guy’s car. They’re $400,000 stock, and light mods are still mods.

The GT’s coming around my
left side, and he hits his nitrous, leaving me with only his taillights to look
at as he leaves me behind.

If the course is almost
up, I’ve lost.

When the protected right
turn signal flashes on with the GT all but underneath it, though, I think I
might still have a shot.

The driver of the GT
slams on his brakes, but has to spin the car around to make the turn. I inch
past him again, but it’s not a decisive lead.

Behind the GT comes the
Cobalt, and she’s got a better line and better speed coming into the turn. She
overtakes the GT, and I can hear from the sound of the car it is at least as
modded-up as mine.

What’s worse, she’s
smarter than the guy driving the GT: she’s saving her nitrous.

All of the stoplights
ahead are green. Whatever it is Jax is into, he’s connected.

I’m considering using my
own nitrous when I see the next turn indicated as a left.

The Cobalt is nipping at
my heels, but I’m still ahead going into the turn. When I’ve leveled out, I hit
my nitrous to get some distance between me and the rest of the pack, but the
very next traffic light is showing a left turn.

I’m going way too fast
and the nitrous is still pumping into my engine as I try to take the turn as
easily as possible. It doesn’t quite work out that way.

Instead of kissing the
apex of the turn, I clip the curb, causing my front end to jerk hard, first to
the left, then to the right as the Cobalt screams past me.

I’m back on the road
quick enough, but I’ve lost four or five car lengths and the blue flame coming
out the tailpipe of the Cobalt means I’m going to have a hell of a time
catching back up to her.