Read Black Flag (Racing on the Edge) for Free Online Page B

officially
pushed him off the deep end. He was now contemplating all the ways he could get
her back and with all his free time now that he was laid up, this was not good
for Emma.
    By the time we made it
back to his house the night he was released, it was late, around ten.
    His parents were in
Kansas, where Jimi was racing, leaving the house dark. Jameson was muttering
something about cat footprints on his Mustang when I managed to get him inside
the house, painkillers in hand and ready to administer. I wasn’t about to deal
with Jameson for two weeks without drugs.
    Two weeks was the time
frame the doctor gave him until he would clear him again for racing. And then
he still had to pass the NASCAR physical. Like I said, I would not be doing
this without painkillers.
    Jameson was pissed when
he found out he’d be missing the Bristol race—he loved short tracks. But this
also meant he had another two weeks before Atlanta. He was still pissed but it
made for a longer rest period that he needed.
    We were getting settled
in his room, which then brought us to sitting on his bed, then lying on it ... you know how it works.
    He shifted closer, his
eyes focusing on mine and I knew what he wanted.
    Kissing me, long and
slow, deep and thorough, I sighed as his tongue slipped warm and wet across
mine. His teeth scraped and gently bit. His hand came up between us to cover
the insanely huge funbags. Even though they were big, they hurt like hell.
    I pulled back
reluctantly with a whimper of pain. “I don’t think this is such a good idea,” I
told him. Inside, I thought it was a great idea.
    I eyed his chest and
stomach, currently covered by his t-shirt, knowing the bruises that still
lingered from his broken ribs looked like underneath. The idea suddenly seemed
stupid.
    “I know.” He admitted
softly, his eyes wide and beseeching. “But ... I
just have to ... I can’t explain.
Please?”
    How could I resist
this?
    I examined his tense,
worried face. “Are you sure?” I asked doubtfully. “Jameson ... ”
    “Please, honey.” He
asked again smirking. “And you promised, remember?”
    “I don’t want to hurt
you.” I really didn’t, and I knew this was a terrible idea, but the look on his
face ... the tone in his voice ... this was about more than the act itself.
He wasn’t asking me for just sex.
    “We’ll be careful.” He
breathed pressing a kiss into my hair.
    Slowly, I brought my
hand over his hip to cover the bulge in the jeans he was wearing.
    His features relaxed
infinitesimally as he rubbed my leg, letting his fingers trailed up the inside
of my thigh. He reached my waist and his fingers fumbled with the button on my
jeans.
    “Let me,” I told him. I
stood and bent to push my pants down—his eyes followed my every movement. “You
just lay there and let me handle this.”
    “Handle away,” he
waggled his eyebrows, grinning. Placing his one good hand behind his head, he
smirked, knowing I could handle well.
    I knelt beside him and
pulled on his jeans, pulling them from his hips and down his long legs. He
groaned, and I lifted my attention to his face. He had gone still and intense,
all teasing gone as he watched me rub my palms up his thighs and over his boxer
briefs, my fingers wrapping firmly around his camshaft.
    He groaned once again,
and his eyes drifted shut as my fingers dipped inside to find the hard, hot,
bare skin of his camshaft.
    Hot
damn.
    I shifted to kneel
between his legs, pulling on his boxers until he was finally exposed for me
from the waist down.
    There was no better
sight in the entire world then my dirty talking heathen, naked, ready for
boring.
    Taking him once again
in my hand, his hips twitched at the reciprocating motions. “Oh god ... feels so good,” he moaned loudly. “Sway.”
    I leaned forward, his
eyes blinked open, focusing on me. I didn’t look away as I slowly opened and
stuck my tongue out, drifting forward until I could smell the tangy, soapy,
musky scent of Jameson.