Free Racing The Beast (Dirt Track Dogs #2) by P. Jameson Page A

skin, breathing deep to imprint her scent. His tongue darted out to trail along her jaw. He would go crazy with lust for her like this.
    “I want that too.” Her voice broke, and that was what snapped the leash on his control.
    He lifted her from the stool to straddle his waist and walked with her around the counter. They needed more privacy. Diz stayed in the apartment above the shop and Beast couldn’t chance him seeing Punk exposed.
    “Beast,” she breathed, her eyes looking worried.
    “Shh,” he soothed.
    There was nothing to worry about. He was going to take such good care of her. Everything was going to be fine. Better than fine. He was going to love her so good she’d never worry about a thing again.
    He pushed through the door to the garage, trying to ignore how his erection brushed against her ass with each step.
    Patience, wolf. Patience .
    He set her down on the hood of his car, thankful it was one of the first things he’d repaired after the wreck. He found her lips again, kissing more leisurely this time, savoring, sucking on that bottom one like he’d promised.
    He pulled back to lift his shirt over his head, tossing it aside. He wanted her hands touching skin not cotton. He peeled her tank off next, revealing the body he’d been dreaming about for days now. Her stomach was flat and lean. Her breasts, small but perfect for his hands, were covered in a black lacy bra.
    His fingers brushed a trail across her neck and down the center of her chest, lingering over the fabric. He contemplated what to do, how he wanted to reveal the treasure beneath. He decided he didn’t want to wait.
    In a swift move, he jerked the cups of her bra down, revealing soft flesh with pert pink tips.
    He got unbelievably harder, giving his jeans the biggest fuck-you he could muster.
    Burying his face against her neck, he focused on their breathing to calm down. Damn, she was beautiful.
    “I have to tell you something,” Punk rushed out. “It’s important.”
    “Mmm ‘kay.” His lips wouldn’t quit nipping at her jaw. He fucking loved this part of her… this and the spot just under her ear. “What is it?”
    “Beast, please . Listen.”
    “I’m listening,” he said, moving lower to the breasts he’d exposed. He kissed the soft mounds one at a time, eliciting a deep tortured moan from his mate. The sound was perfect. Low and sweet and exactly what he wanted to hear from her.
    With his nose, he circled the tip of her hardened nipple, watching proudly as her chest expanded and contracted with her pleasured gasps. Then he sucked the hard bud between his lips.
    “Wait!” She pushed against his chest and he released her, but before he could comfort her, she cried, “I was raped.”
    Beast froze with his mouth inches from her breast. Nothing in his body wanted to work. His breath quit coming. His mouth was fossilized. His brain, blank as an unwritten story. His heart needed a fucking defibrillator to restart.
    Somehow he managed to lift his head to look at her. “What the fuck did you say?”
    Her answer was a whisper that felt like a punch straight to his gut. “I was raped. Years ago, but I needed you to know before…”
    His fury was like ice traveling through his veins, gritty and grinding and all out of place. Frozen shards cutting him from the inside.
    Beast pushed off her, putting space between them. Had she been trying to warn him? Did she say stop? Had he ignored her in his lust?
    Oh shit, oh shit .
    He looked at Punk’s partially exposed body. He hadn’t hurt her. Couldn’t leave anything to chance. He found his t-shirt and tossed it to her.
    She frowned, catching it. “What is this?”
    “Put it on,” he snapped. “ Now .”
    Something flashed in her eyes, but all he could see was his hands wrapping around the throat of her attacker.
    Someone… some motherfucker had taken what was his ? Taken advantage of his mate? Forced her to give when she hadn’t wanted to? Hurt her in the worst possible