I didn't want to only be known as the pretty, blonde daughter of a famous race car driver. I wanted to make a name for myself and I wasn't going to let anyone get in my way. So when I saw the opportunity of a lifetime, I jumped. Being the face of the hottest new racing team in the business was a dream come true.
Until he showed up.
Griffin McGregor. Bad boy star driver. On the track, he's gold. Off the track? He's everything my daddy ever warned me about. Infuriatingly egotistical, explosive temper, argumentative know-it-all...why does he have to be so freaking hot?
It'll be a miracle if we can get this team to the championship title without killing each other. Or worse. Because the last thing I'm going to do is wreck my career by jumping in bed with a race car driver.
“Yes, yes, yes,” I say in excitement, watching the view count climb on the video series I posted on YouTube an hour ago.
“Practicing for later? Why don’t you add my name and maybe an ‘oh my God’ too.” The silky smooth voice jars me and my mouth drops open when I realize who just said that absurd comment. Griffin is standing in the doorway, a perfectly pleased smirk on his face.
“Uh, excuse you? Maybe you should stop with your sexed up thoughts and run along now. I’m busy.” I’m trying my best to hide my surprise. Maybe this is Griffin “playing nice” because Paul threatened his spot on the team. He better work at it a little harder.
“Admit it, Shelby. You’ve fantasized about me making your pretty little mouth ache from the bad language you’re so prone to. You know I would give you exactly what you need.”
My jaw falls open, but I quickly snap it shut. “What the fuck are you talking about? Where is this filth even coming from?” I set my laptop on the couch and stand, hating the height difference with him towering over me while I sit.
Griffin laughs. “You’re so easy to fuck with. Paul says we’re leaving in twenty. Get your shit and be ready.” A grin still stretches his face when he turns to leave.
Ho-ly shit. That was the most unexpected Griffin interaction I could have imagined. And now that he’s planted the idea in my head, all I can think about is what he would do to my body, to me, with his. As strange as it is to say, I’m turned on by his sexualized comments. And I hate it.
What would he do to my mouth? Punish me for my bad language, evidently. Do I want to be punished for anything? Hell no. But when Griffin said it, the words dripping like warm honey over barbed wire, part of me wanted it. And by it, I have no clue what he had in mind, but my brain is eager to fill in the blanks. I can just imagine his cock filling my mouth, a punishing rhythm established as he uses me to satisfy his needs.
Whoa, what the actual hell am I thinking? I do not want Griffin, cock or otherwise, anywhere near my mouth. Do I?
ABOUT ADRIAN HALE
Adrian R. Hale is a whirlwind of energy and optimism, just as ready to tell you about her books as she is to invite you over for cookies. She is a big dreamer and believes in chasing them down with speed and enthusiasm, much like the characters she writes. You can find her cycling around Austin, TX, running trails, baking gourmet cupcakes, beautifying people for weddings and photo shoots, and traveling all over the country in pursuit of those interests.Once upon a time, Adrian went to college thinking she would be a journalist but dropped out to go to beauty school. Later she wrote a novel about a hair and makeup artist, so things have definitely come full circle! She loves hearing from her readers at firstname.lastname@example.org.