Rebel Daddy (Billionaire Baby Daddies #12)

1. Sara

SARA

It was hard to think straight with Garret's hand down my pants, but I could hear the heat before mine finishing up and knew I had to get to the starting line in the next ten minutes.

"Ten more minutes, baby. Please just let me give you a good luck orgasm." His mouth greedily devoured mine even when I nipped hard enough to taste the metallic tang of his blood on my tongue. This man did things to me that I'd never felt with anyone before, and it wasn't just his bad-boy persona.

"You know I have a race," I protested, but I did nothing to pull away from him. My head rolled back, exposing my neck to him, and his beard scraped along it, dusting my skin where his teeth left fire in their wake. "Oh, God…" The way he touched me would push me over the edge if he kept it up.

"Yeah, and you want to win, right?" Garret's other hand grabbed my butt and pulled me hard into his pelvis, which left little doubt how badly he wanted me. I rubbed him through the thick denim and moaned my displeasure as I heard the fifteen-minute warning.

"G," I whispered, biting his shoulder as his fingers worked me harder. "I have to go. Dad will be wondering where I am."

"But you drive me wild, and who else will fix this problem?" he asked as he ground his hips against my thigh again. "You know you're the only woman I got."

I snickered and rubbed him again, but it didn't matter how sweet he was being, or how possessive either, for that matter. The race was too important to miss over something like this.

I'd worked my whole career for this and no man, not even the one I was desperately in love with, should mess that up.

I pulled back, but he didn't. His fingers curled and rubbed, making my knees go weak, until I grabbed his wrist with both hands and nudged his head away from my neck. "Babe, come on… This was supposed to be a good luck kiss. We don't have time."

Garret sighed and kissed my neck softly, then pulled his hand out of my pants.

But he made a show of licking every finger clean, and then sucking them for good measure, all while making sure I was watching.

"Well, then… How am I gonna go watch this race with such a huge tent?" Those dark eyebrows pulled together in the middle and he smirked at me as I rolled my eyes and swatted his massive bicep.

"You'll figure it out." My pants were clinging to me, underwear soaked from how much moisture he inspired, and I had a bike to drag to the starting line. "Tomorrow, okay? On my break. We can sneak out to our secret spot." I rose up on my tiptoes and nuzzled his nose, then pressed my lips to his.

Garret's hands gripped my hips in a reminder of his desire and he kissed me back softly.

"I'm gonna hold you to that, Miss Fancy Racer.

Now go win." He let me go and jerked his chin up at me as I moved toward the door and grabbed my helmet.

When I got there, I stopped and looked back over my shoulder into the old tack shed and noticed him adjusting himself inside his jeans.

"Hey," I said softly, and he looked up. "Thank you for coming today."

"Go on and race already." When he started my way, I pushed through the door and into the bright sunlight.

The crowd was loud and the announcer was louder.

The ten-minute call signaled our heat checking in, and I was rushing to get there on time.

In the past three years of racing, I'd never done so well as I had this season, and with the finals on the line, I knew I should've been more focused on the race and less focused on the biker with an obsession for my body.

But I raced with my helmet tucked under my arm toward the starting line, weaving through the crowds with a smile on my face.

A few minutes for a good-luck kiss always cleared my head and made me race better, even when my father, and racing coach, had a scowl on his face over my absence.

Like today, when he stood with my bike next to the check-in official.

"Where have you been!" he hissed, and a grumpy scowl darkened his expression. He stepped away from my dirtbike as I rose up and pecked his cheek.

"Thanks, Daddy, I had to pee…" I grabbed the handlebars and started wheeling it closer to the line as Dad fell into step.

"You really have to start managing your time better, Sara. This one is really important. If you make the top four today, you'll go to the finals. No woman has ever made it this far. You can't just?—"

"Daddy, please." I turned and shook my head at him, resting the bike on my hip as I shoved the helmet over my crazy brown locks. "I know what I'm doing. Okay? Don’t give yourself a coronary."

Dad grumbled a few choice phrases as I turned to the official and got my racing number slapped on my back. He always did this at every race. It wasn't like today was special. And it wasn't just me, either. When Daniel and Andrew were racing this circuit, he'd been the same.

"Three minutes," the official barked, and I nodded at him, then turned back to my dad.

"Good luck, sweetheart. Remember to watch that third turn. The track's a little loose and there's rocks on the inside. And that jump will be hard. Keep your feet on the pegs and your knees loose, but don't let your ass ride that seat."

"Dad!" I groaned. "You're acting like I haven't done this a million times."

"I just want you to win," he said, and I saw the hopeful expectation on his face.

"Then let me race."

He slapped my helmet, which was the only way he had to tell me how much he loved me, and then backed away, gesturing toward the track.

I pushed the bike into my lane and straddled it, firing it up to the roar of the crowd. Seven other bikers sat in their respective lanes here to hopefully nab one of the final spots left in the selection for finals later this month. It all came down to this heat.

I recognized a couple of the other racers from the qualifier circuit.

Danny Pruett, who had a habit of cutting inside on the first turn.

A guy from Millhaven whose name I didn't know but who'd nearly taken me out at the county fair race in August. And the rest were local boys who'd been riding since before they could drive.

And then there was me. The only woman on the grid and somehow, that still felt like a fact that needed defending, even now.

I'd placed fourth at the qualifier two weeks ago—that's what had gotten me here to the semifinals. No woman had ever made it this far, and it was up to me to make my parents proud, and probably my brothers a little jealous.

I settled onto the bike and felt that familiar drop of calm internally as I shut out the crowd and the roar of other engines.

I knew Garret was watching, along with a hundred other people who may or may not have placed wagers on the race today, and more importantly, I had the weight of expectation on me.

Judges, other racers, and women who watched this sport all set a standard so high, they expected me to fail, and I refused to prove them right.

When the starter moved into position, I rolled my shoulders and leaned forward, bracing myself for the pistol's bark, and the instant it snapped off, the line exploded in energy.

Danny Pruett did exactly what I knew he was going to do—cut hard inside, forcing two of us to give up ground or eat dirt right off the starting gate.

I gave up ground to stay upright and came out of the bend in fifth, swallowing the urge to push too hard, too soon.

Smooth. Dad's voice rang in my ears. Smooth gets you there.

The track swept out wide to the south in a long curve that favored nerve over common sense.

I'd ridden this layout a dozen times over the years.

Watched my brothers work out the line when we were teenagers, then went out and worked it out myself. Early mornings, before anyone else was at the field.

I threaded through and picked up two spots coming out of the bend as my tires bounced over the rough hard-packed dirt.

The crowd noise lifted briefly, and I let myself have exactly one second of satisfaction before I tucked down harder and focused.

Halfway through and I was still trading third with the Millhaven rider and a local who had a modified suspension and wasn't shy about it.

My palms were drenched with sweat and my knees ached from holding my body up to avoid bruises on my thighs.

Then on the sixth of eight laps, I almost threw it all away.

I shot into the south bend a fraction too fast—exactly what Dad had told me not to do—and I felt my rear step out and my stomach drop. For one sick, stretched-out second, I was sure I was going down.

The tire spun on the dirt and slid, and the temptation to put my foot down almost got me.

A rider zipped past on the inside, and I counter steered, rolling off the throttle just enough to let the rear of the bike find its way back under me.

The bike shuddered and then straightened, and I was through the corner with my heart somewhere up near my visor.

I stayed upright but only barely, and the Millhaven rider had closed the gap while I was busy nearly destroying my race. I got my head down and pushed hard. With one lap left, it was still anyone's race. Now in fifth place, I had my work cut out for me and I knew it.

I blinked, just a split second, and watched as a local, one spot ahead of me, hit the dirt.

He laid his bike and threw up a cloud of dirt, and everyone instinctively dodged it, sending me to the inside of the final curve and Millhaven to the outside, allowing me clearance to nudge my way through, and this time, I cranked that throttle so hard my engine screamed and I felt my front tire want to come off the dirt.

But I crossed the finish line in third and the crowd erupted.

Screams and whistles were so loud, they could be heard over all seven engines remaining as I lifted my fist in the air and blew past the stands for a cool down lap.

Someone near the fence was screaming my name. I saw my mom standing beside Dad in tears, jumping and clapping.

And my eyes scanned the crowd for Garret but didn’t find him, so I coasted through the victory lap thinking about every early morning I'd put in on this field, every bruise, every time someone had made me feel like the racing wasn't for me.

It was such a good feeling, I could almost forget the way Garret's hands felt on my body, but the instant I let that floodgate open a trickle, the dam burst and he was all I could think about.

The bike bounced over the track on the back stretch as I yanked the Velcro strap of my helmet off and pulled it free so my hair could whip in the wind, and I grinned, thinking of how much I wanted Garret to be a part of the moment I stopped this bike and welcomed congratulations from my parents.

He wouldn't—today, anyway. But hopefully soon.

Because tomorrow when we snuck out to the old shed behind Ma's Griddle, I planned to tell him I loved him and that I wanted to make this secret fling we had public.

And I was willing to accept the consequences of sneaking around with a member of the Gravehounds MC who was twice my age, if he was.