I crave everything spicy hot and nice!

The fun is revving up and never crossing the finish line
A lap to go. Darren Scott gripped the wheel with his engine screaming and tires screeching. Car after car passed. This would do it. Another victory and another trophy hoisted to get the recognition that he deserved — and craved.

Banking on the last turn, she came flying out of nowhere. Francesca Sammartini in her helmet and goggles slammed the pedal hard and eyed Scott’s car. Passing him would be a sweet victory.

The crowd screamed louder than all the engines combined as Scott gunned down the home stretch for the finish line and the checkered flag. But his car suddenly vibrated into spasms, spun out of control, and slammed against the wall.

When Darren regained consciousness, he was in a hospital bed and when he could think, he scrolled through his tablet for the recap. A blown tire. His crew investigated and he must have hit some loose metal on the track. He had won. Barely.

But as usual, the Italian beauty Sammartini was the one interviewed. And why not? She was made for TV.

Her hair was flowing, her smile was as bubbly as champagne, and her shape in the flame-retardant suit made for a gripping sight. She said she hoped that Scott would have a speedy recovery so she could challenge him again.

How the hell does she get the attention?

The way her hips swayed when she walked and the view of her side profile gave him the answer. He shut the laptop and took pride that he lived to race and not deal with the bullshit trappings of fame.

Ever since his ex-fiancée Molly had walked out of his life, Darren’s love had become fast cars and first place.

Tests proved negative and Darren wanted to fly home after getting released from the hospital, but instead his agent agreed he’d stay at the Woodlands Resort, a sprawling destination in Missouri. He’d attend a country music awards show the resort was hosting. Racing was the theme and the artists would honor him with a new song.

“Good publicity,” said the agent. “More merchandise sales and all that.”

A three-room suite would be his escape from autograph seekers and the press. He groaned but agreed. On the day of the awards concert, he decided to soak up the sun near one of the expansive pools.

Darren kept his shades on and an open shirt over his otherwise bare chest, settled on a chaise longue, and caught sight of a woman in a bikini, wiggling as she walked with a drink in hand on sturdy, sexy legs around one side of the pool and gave the drink to… Francesca Sammartini?

What the hell?

She sported a barely visible micro-bikini that filled Darren with both lust and rage. He wanted to escape any sight of her. But, of course, she couldn’t be without a camera in her presence. A photographer was setting up equipment and snapping away as Francesca posed with her back arched, her legs poised and her ass and tits prominent.

She’s here, too?

Damn it. Darren didn’t want his cock twitching but couldn’t help it as he was mesmerized by her movements. She was more a model and sex symbol than she was a race car driver. Darren fumed, even though his eyes were glued to her physique, her long hair, and her smile that drew him in like metal filings to a magnet.


He was sweating.

Yeah, I’d fuck her. He fought the moment of weakness as she posed poolside. No, no way.

His dad and grandad scraped by and clawed their way around Georgia, Alabama and up the coast when he was a kid to find car parts and racing sponsors to launch his career. Their sweat laid the foundation for his success and even though Francesca’s lips were mouth-watering, he worked himself into a silent frenzy and wanted nothing to do with her.

“Excuse me, Mr. Scott.” A man with freckles carrying a pad and paper approached him. That damn journalist, whatever-his-name-was digging up dirt on people. “Wondering if I could get some words from you on how you feel about barely winning?”

Barely winning? “I’m alive, asshole. And you can quote me on that.” Darren got up to leave. “Have a nice day.”

But there was another obstacle. A server carrying a tray with drinks headed his way. “For you, Mr. Scott.” The server nodded in Francesca’s direction. “Compliments of your competitor.”

He glanced at Francesca who saw his glance and waved.

The journalist smiled. “Is she challenging you or just being friendly?”

Darren ignored the stupid question and asked the server, “What’s in it?”

“Basic margarita.”

“Pour it down the drain.” Darren got out of the sun, the view of the public, and headed to his suite which he figured was a massive waste of space for a single guy.

The concert paused for a commercial break and Francesca caught a glimpse of Darren Scott leaving his table and heading out alone. She excused herself from her entourage and said she needed personal time, grabbed her purse, and followed Scott out the door. The brim of his cowboy hat was angled to keep his eyes from view but his gait with his firm legs and muscled ass identified him easily.

Her dress shimmied in all the right places, and she hurried to catch up. Stilettos weren’t easy to navigate. They neared the bar. “You must be thirsty. The drink’s on me.”

He spun around and raised an eyebrow. “Oh, no thanks.”

“I feel badly that you turned me down earlier.” Francesca tried sounding disappointed.

“Don’t take it personally.”

“I’m glad you’re okay.”

He seemed to lick his lips. “Thanks.” Suddenly, the same reporter who had staked him out poolside was strolling down the hallway.

“Oh, hey, Scott and Sammartini. I’d really like — ”

Darren groaned. “Oh, shit.”

Francesca pulled Darren inside the bar. “Quick. This way.” She led him around a corner near the kitchen to a service elevator. “Step in.”

Darren got in, Francesca followed, and she hit a button just as the reporter shouted for them to wait. “I’ve used this before.” The door closed and they rose a couple of floors.

“So, what’s up?” asked Darren.

“I wanted to ask you the same thing. Why you’re ignoring me.” Francesca huffed and tried to look upset, but instead, she smiled. “I’m hoping that you’re able to get on the track real soon.” She eyed him and spoke in a quiet, yet focused tone. “I can’t wait to race you again.”

“I’m always ready.”

“Glad to hear,” said Francesca, staying too close to Darren.

The elevator stopped, they exited, and Darren glanced to see if the reporter was following.

“Forget him,” said Francesca. “Let’s talk. Your suite or mine?”

“Mine’s downstairs. I should call the police and say you kidnapped me.” Darren smiled and for the first time, took in Francesa’s eyes. He sighed and she stepped in close.

“Oh, now. Be nice,” she cooed. “I saved you from the crazy journalist.”

Her body radiated heat — and life. She had a vibrant nature that felt soothing, but he wanted to fend her off. “Don’t kiss me.”

She laughed. “Oh, you tell all the women that.”

He feared that locking lips would be opening his heart, just like he had done with Molly. Never fall in love with your high school flame who never dresses in anything but short shorts and see-through halter tops, even at church picnics.

But Francesca’s poise was massaging his emotions like the fingers of a skilled masseuse kneading tired muscles.

“I’ll kiss you then.” He was breathing heavily, wrapped an arm around her, and locked lips.

Francesca returned the energy with a leg pressed against his and her tongue sweeping over teeth, one by one. She laughed. “You said you didn’t want to kiss me.”

“No,” he countered. “I didn’t want you to kiss me.”

She took his hand, giggled, and sauntered to the suite. “Ah, so you take charge?”

“You can say it that way.”

She took the key from her purse, opened the door, and waltzed in, holding Darren. She tossed her purse aside, hugged him, and plastered her mouth against his. “There, I kissed you.”

He laughed and smacked her ass. “I kissed you first.”

“That was in the hallway.” Francesca slid a hand down his stomach to his belt buckle and slipped along his zipper, touching his cock.

He held her tightly, pressed his chest against her firm tits, and ran a hand up her dress, feeling her ass. “Wow.” Every ache he had known vanished. This was like being on the track. Racing like crazy with his hands on Francesca and her hands on him.

Undressing. Kissing. Fondling. Competing to see who’d be on top.

Darren grabbed her ass with both hands and Francesca squealed, lifting her legs and wrapping them around his body. He held more flesh than fabric and he carried her across the room to the bed, where he lay her down, undid her dress, and took in the full view of her royal blue thong and lacy bra highlighting her skin, lithe legs, and firm breasts.

Her torso curved in sweetly at her hips and his body felt soggy, like someone had knocked him out with a general anesthetic. He sighed with his chest heaving while she undid his belt and reached for his cock, and pulled off his underwear.

“Lovely,” she whispered, opening her mouth wide and taking his shaft into her mouth with his hands running through her hair.

She opened, he slid in, and she sucked furiously and he ripped off his shirt. Darren bucked his hips while she took him down her throat before opening up, pushing off, and shifting to her hands and knees. “Careful, Mr. Hot Rod,” she cooed, slipping off her panties and unhooking her bra. “Don’t get lost in the curves.” She raised her ass in the air.

Darren caught sight of her moisture glistening and dripping from her pussy. He lowered his head and licked her delicately, savoring her juice. And just like that, she ignited him.

He slapped her ass, hard. It felt so damned good that he did it again and again.

“Yeah,” she gritted her teeth and spread her legs. “Do it. In me.”

He knelt behind her, sliding his cock into her pussy, thrusting hard and rocking her body back and forth over and over. Francesca tossed her hair and her tits were swaying. As though they were racing from one turn to another and flying full throttle, she turned onto her back, spread her legs, and wrapped her ankles around his neck.

Darren fucked her. Hard. She took it and smacked his ass and groped for his body. He held her and like the athlete he was, leaned forward and sucked her tits while slamming his cock into her, with her every grunt and moan fueling him for more.

Another turn.

Darren was on his back and Francesca rode him hard on top, bringing her body down on his time and again. Fuck. Kiss. Rise up. Tits licked.

Lips locking, moving apart until finally the sexual race reached its peak and an orgasm broke through shaking Darren. He shuddered, pushed hard one last time, and emptied his cock, spilling his cum as much onto her outer pussy lips and tummy as inside.

Francesca sighed and Darren slid beside her, fingered her clitoris, and kissed her, blowing softly in her ear while she shook, sighed, and took a breath. “Oh, God. Yes.”

He held her while her whole being vibrated with one wave and another. He pressed his semi-erect cock against her thigh and kissed her again until the arousal waves passed, and they were left panting in each other’s arms.

Her eyes locked with his and she ran a finger through his hair. She smiled, grinning. “Who won?”

Darren fought back a laugh and tried to look serious. “I did.”

“Oh, damn. Too bad. I would love to see a photo finish,” Francesca grinned. “Guess we’ll need a rematch soon.”

“Yeah, guess so,” agreed Darren. “Like, the best two out of three.”

She felt his warmth and wanted to soak up his spirit. “I was thinking more like a full-season tour across multiple cities.”

“Wow.” He sounded concerned. “I wonder if I can keep up with you. In the bedroom, I mean.” Darren stroked her body gently, studying her legs, and catching sight of her eyes. “It’s a privilege to race against you. I never thought I’d say this, but you push me to do my best.”

Francesca pulled him close, and let her lips linger on his.

He looked confused. “I think we had sex first and the foreplay after.”

“I had my foreplay already, buying you a drink you didn’t accept and thinking about you while I stripped naked in here and put on my tightest dress.”

He raised an eyebrow. “You did that for me?”

“I did.” She ran a hand to his ass, gave him a swat, and growled. “I challenge you to a rematch.”

“Accepted. On one condition.” He held her tightly, lowered his head, and licked her tits. “Next time, just make the drink a beer.”

Francesca laughed. “Those are conditions I can agree to.”

His breathing picked up and his cock stiffened. “I think I can go another lap. Or more.”

“Full throttle, baby.” Francesca leaned back and spread her legs as Darren climbed on top.


Don’t worry your escapades are safe with us.








I crave everything spicy hot and nice!

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