Home > Revived (Revved #2)(35)

Revived (Revved #2)(35)
Author: Samantha Towle

This car can move.

One sixty.

My heart is starting to pound against my ribs.

Fear and adrenaline.

I can see the wall approaching with the corner I need to take.

My hands start to shake. Sweat trickles down my face.

Don’t lose it now, Silva.

Think of anything but the accident.


The way she tastes. Her perfect mouth. How she felt wrapped around me while I kissed her.

Easing my foot onto the brake, I take the corner. Back on the straight, I ease the accelerator back down, pushing the speed up a little further.

Creeping back to a hundred.

One forty.

One sixty.

Two hundred.

The sound of metal crushing splinters in my ears, sounding so fucking real.

I hit the brakes.

It’s not real. It’s not real.

It’s just in my mind.

Think of India.

What she’ll look like naked. How she’ll feel when I fuck her.

I press back on the accelerator, taking the car back to two hundred.

More. I need to take her higher.

I can do this.

I press down a little more.

Two twenty.

My heart is pounding, and I can’t calm it.

So, stop fighting it, and use the adrenaline to push yourself further.

Imagine fucking India. That this car is her body. How hard I’m going to ride her. How high I’m going to take her.

Two sixty.

Bend her every which way I can. Fuck her hard and fast against every surface in my house.

Three hundred.

My head between her legs, tasting her, making her scream my name.

Three twenty.

India on her knees at my feet with my cock between those bee-stung lips of hers.

Three forty.

Coming inside her. On her tits. On her face. Marking every part of her with my cum.

Three fifty.

I’m fucking doing it.

Parting my lips, I blow out a breath, sweat dripping past them, into my mouth.

“Three fifty! You’ve fucking done it!” Carrick’s elated voice comes in my ear. “So, does this mean you’re back, Silva?”

I pull in a deep breath, slowly blowing it out. “Yeah.” I grin. “I’m definitely back.”

I burn up five more laps before coming back in.

Carrick is waiting for me, a shit-eating grin on his face.

Getting out of the car, I pull my helmet off and then my balaclava before running a hand over my sweat-soaked hair.

“You looked good out there,” he says.

“I fucking felt good.” Shutting the car door, I round to his side.

“You think next time you can get in an F1 car?”

Putting my helmet down, I strip my coveralls down to the waist, my T-shirt clinging to my skin. I’m hot from the adrenaline still pumping around my body. “Yes, I think so.” As I say it, I feel doubt, so I quickly quash it.

“Next week?” Carrick asks.

“No, tomorrow. I don’t want to fuck around. I want to get back in and get back training.” I can barely keep still. My body is pumped.

“About time. I haven’t had any decent competition for a while.”

“I’ll be kicking your ass out there next season.” I laugh as I toss the keys to his car back to him. “What are you doing now?” I ask him. “You want to grab a beer?”

I feel like I need to do something. Going home right now just doesn’t seem like an option.

What I really want to do is fuck, but I’m not screwing some random to relieve an itch.

The only one I want to scratch this itch with is India.

“I can’t. I need to go home and change. We’re having dinner with my dad. Why don’t you join us?”

“No, but thanks.” I wave him off, hiding my disappointment.

Owen Ryan is not my favorite person. Not that I’d ever tell Carrick this, but I think his dad is a total jackass.

“You got something better to do? Or someone?” He grins, raising his eyebrow.

Carrick knows about me kissing India. I don’t usually talk about my personal life, but I know I can trust Carrick.


“You still haven’t heard from her?”

“No. I’m giving her time to come around.”

“You think she will?”

“Yeah,” I say, grinning. “I know she will.”

“Well, keep me updated.” He starts to back away, heading for his Bugatti. “Let me know when you’ve finally nailed the good doctor.”

Laughing, I shake my head at him.

I pick up my helmet and head out to the parking lot to my rental car. I toss my helmet on the backseat and head home to take a shower. I park my rental Mercedes in the driveway and head inside. Picking the mail up from the mat, I head to the kitchen. I toss the mail on the counter, and then I notice that the top letter has India’s office stamp on it.

I tear the envelope open. My heart suddenly has an uneven rhythm.

My eyes scan the letter.

Dear Mr. Silva,

I feel that I can no longer treat you effectively. I have included a referral for another therapist.

I wish you all the best for the future.


Dr. India Harris

My hand tightens around the paper, crumpling it.

She’s throwing me out of her life like I mean nothing.

Yeah, well, I refuse to go so fucking easily.

Grabbing my car keys, letter in hand, I slam my way out of my house.

THE DOORBELL RINGS just as I’m about to have a soak in the tub. On a sigh, I pull my robe on, tying it at the waist, and turn the running taps off.

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