Pole Position

by Karen Botha

  “Thanks so much to everyone for making this happen. For the team who stayed up all night to make sure we had a car, and to those back at the factory watching our backs, I salute you.” To be fair, I do salute them. I’m just pissed that I’m not starting from right at the front of the grid tomorrow. There was a time when I would never have accepted P9, and now that I have to be not only content, but happy with that, irks me.

  I didn’t realize I’d be so hacked off about this. Rationally, I can see that P9 is a great place for us. But, when it boils down to it, my heart is what drives this car, my sense of intuition, and that’s not anywhere near logical.

  When I’m out of the car and I’ve put a brave face on my moodiness and joined in with the team’s celebrations with a smile on my face, I make my way with Axel to take part in the usual round of media interviews. This is an easy gig for Axel. All he needs to do is smile and hold the voice recorder under my chin while I answer a repetition of the same unreasonable questions from well-meaning journalists who don’t have an original bone in their body.

  “I’ll do it,” Jessie smiles, shifting Axel out of the way.

  “No, it’s fine. You know I’m OK with this. Let Axel cut his teeth on me, and you concentrate on everything else, including Kyle,” I nod in a direction behind Jessie. He’s been caught by one of the TV crews looking for his opinion.

  “Shit.” Jessie runs off without further negotiation.

  “I think she’s having a hard time letting go.” I wiggle my eyebrows at Axel, suggesting he’s doing a good job.

  “Uh, maybe,” he grunts in that way that teenagers do. I don’t think anything of it.

  Until I’m in the pen, surrounded by around twenty hungry journalists all wanting their piece of meat. I sense something is off as soon as that first microphone is plunged under my nose. Axel tenses beside me and the woman’s face, normally friendly, is stern, and she’s sporting a real scowl of displeasure.

  She doesn’t wait for me to say hi before she starts with, “So, I see that your new PR manager is still in place. You’re not firing him then?”

  I bite my tongue as I swing my head toward Axel. Surely she’s not talking about him? His eyes are rooted on the ground though, his shoulders hunched like he wants to crawl under a rock.

  “My staffing situation is not your concern. I thought you were going to ask about qualifying. Isn’t that why you’re here?”

  Her eyes narrow, and she shoots me a dagger worthy glare. “Yes, we can inquire about that. I’m assuming you're delighted with today’s performance, even though there was a time when you wouldn’t have been.”

  I churn out my response of this being a different era, with a separate team and how we should never underestimate the power of commitment.

  As soon as I have the chance I move on, wanting to ask Axel what the fuck that was all about, but not daring with so many live recorders pointed at me. I smile as I approach the next journalist. Only to be dealt more of the same style of questions and journalist attitude, a pattern which continues for the whole series of interviews.

  When I’ve done enough to show willingness to play the game, I march Axel out of sight.

  “What was that all about? And don’t tell me that you don’t know, because I can see that you do.”

  His eyes drop to look at my feet again, and he has the decency to wince when he talks. “Kyle told me not to say anything to you.”

  Whoa. “Anything about what, Axel?”

  He visibly fills his lungs and speaks on his exhalation, distorting the sound of his voice. “He said not to tell you about my fight with Chase yesterday because it would distract you from what you needed to achieve on the track.”

  “What do you mean, your fight? What could you possibly say to Chase that would get a bunch of hard-nosed journalists so rattled with you?”

  “I think we should get Kyle here before I answer.” He kicks his shoe into the dirt.

  Oh, now that is not going to fly. He needs to fess up, and now. He can’t give me half a story like that and then leave me hanging. “Tell me what you said in your fight, Axel. Now.”

  “I told Chase that he set Brad up to run into you. It’s true. He’s basically shit-scared of you coming back into racing again because if you beat his team now that’ll be twice.”

  “Twice?”

  “Yeah, in the court case and now on the track.” He says this like it’s the most obvious statement in the world.

  I don’t understand, because that’s not so bad. Sure, he shouldn’t have gotten himself involved in a fight with Chase, but why would that create the reception I just received from a bunch of journalists who would happily have said the same to Chase on a different day?

  “Are you telling me everything?”

  “Yeah, that’s all I said. Basically, what I said was less offensive than that. I just paraphrased now.”

  That’s when Kyle steams in, stopping short when he eyes Axel and me rounding up on each other. “What’s going on?”

  “The press doesn’t like me,” Axel rolls his eyes.

  “It’s more than that, the press despises him. And what I don’t understand is why. What did he do? And why won’t he tell me, honestly, like I’m asking?”

  “Let me guess,” Kyle says. “They want to know why you still have a job?”

  Axel’s eyes do not move their focus from the ground and his shoes, which are now dusty around the toes.

  “Like I warned you and like I was just being asked now. Live on TV.” He throws Axel a stern look.

  “Will someone please tell me what is going on here.” I inject my own level of sternness, resisting the urge to stomp my foot to get some response.

  Kyle shakes his head, but at least he’s speaking now. “Axel had a fight with Chase yesterday. No, let me correct that. Axel attacked Chase. He had Chase on his back, and Axel was thumping him.” As he speaks, a smile forms in the corner of his lips before it develops into a full-blown grin. And then he chuckles. He’s clearly replaying something amusing, but I’m missing it. “He straddled Chase, punching his lights out. Have you seen him today? He’s got a shiner.”

  Axel laughs too, and they say it’s infectious for a reason. I’m still mad at my son, but proud that he’s defending my honor all the while by laughing at something that really should not be funny.

  But it is.

  Growing in confidence now, Axel whips out his phone. “See, here.” A video plays, of Axel laying into Chase with his fists while he screams abuse into his face.

  “Look how red you are.” I chuckle, pointing to Kyle as he walks in from off camera and breaks up the fracas.

  “Have you seen how hard I’m hitting him?” Axel angles the screen directly in front of my face and jabs the replay button.

  “Sure, you’re angry with him.” I nod, sobered by the thought that this mad young man is my son.

  “Isn’t that funny too?” he beams. He’s proud. Proud to have been able to do something in support of his dad.

  But I miss it. “It’s not funny, Axel, because it’s not professional. I don’t want an employee of mine rolling around on the floor like some two-bit thug. You must maintain an element of detachment from racing. Most of it is hot air. Do not let it affect you. All this talk, well, it’s all just part of what makes motor sport. What happened out there yesterday wasn’t personal.” And then it dawns on me that I still don’t understand why all the reporters are so enraged with him. I look at Kyle with a rumple in my brow which asks him to fill in the blanks.

  He smiles at me, but it’s one of those closed mouth smiles which prepares me for bad news. “Because he only decided to start answering back their blog posts with his own interpretation of events. They did not like that, I can tell you.”

  “No, I know. I heard that loud and clear. I just didn’t understand why-”

  Axel twists on the ball of his foot and stomps off in the direction of the canteen before I’ve finished my sentence. “What’s wrong with him?”
/>   Kyle

  “Leave him. He’s a teenager. His hormones are raging, and he’s still trying to find his place here, with us. It’s difficult for him. I don’t expect he appreciated us telling him off. He’ll come around,” I say, hoping I’m right.

  Elliott stares at his back. “I guess you’re right.” He walks toward where I’m leaning my butt against the edge of my desk, and when he does, it’s with a predatory stalk. “Come inside the office.” The hairs on the back of my neck stand on end as I prepare myself.

  Once we have some privacy, Elliott speaks, his voice a low murmur. “Now, mister Team Principal, we’re in your office, all alone, and I do believe that I owe you something from this morning.” When he stops walking, our toes are touching and the tension between us vibrates with pure, fucking hot sex. The sound of his zipper catching echoes in the silence of the tiny suite, and I almost come in my pants as he slips his fire overalls down to his waist.

  That rash vest shows every hard ridge of his athletic chest, outlining each and every hour he’s spent pumping iron with Florian before getting hot and sweaty on the treadmill.

  I tug up that silky sheath across his chest, locking it over the back of his neck with his arms still enclosed. It has the effect of puffing out his sculpted chest, and I lean in, nipping my lips against the salty after-effects of his sweltering drive.

  Running my tongue over my glistening lips, I breathe in, utter delight tingling my taste buds before I lap the flat of my tongue round his nipple. It hardens to my touch. I love how I can affect his body with the slightest of touches. My tongue laps between his pecs, before I thrust him backwards so I can trace my hot mouth over his tantalizing trail.

  “I like having my employees alone in my office,” I groan. “And I think you deserve some reward for your strong performance today.”

  Elliott’s hands fly to grip my head, bulldozing me toward his unmissable throbbing. My cock aches beneath my own pants as I switch up a gear. It takes me seconds to undo his pants and for him to kick himself out of his clothing while I simultaneously unbuckle and kick off my shorts. We stand proud , facing each other with my pulsing excitement connecting us before our hips meet and our dicks grind.

  “Bend over the chair,” I whisper against his ear as I nibble on the shell before tugging at his lobe.

  He leans over, pulling one leg up onto the seat, providing me the most glorious sight of his asshole, offset by tight balls. They’re just begging to be sucked. I can’t wait to feel them in my mouth as I bend, craning up from beneath him as I stroke my hand between his thighs and work his stiff girth. I begin slowly. It’s the naughtiness of the situation which is initially arousing, but as I work and as I glide his balls gently into my mouth, the pulsing between my legs is no longer about a perverse excitement at being caught. It’s all about this man in front of me. My spare hand shoots as a frenzy builds between my own legs.

  Elliott’s hips are pumping against my hand and as the speed of his thrusting increases, I draw my attention to his puckered entrance. I blow warm air on his sensitive nerves, my finger leaving my own erection and stimulating anywhere and everywhere I can touch. Elliott chokes, then gasps at the fire I’m lighting, then finally loses control, allowing it to rage inside him. I switch my breath to cold against his hot flesh and then he draws back before gyrating as a groan deepens in his throat.

  Elliott

  He’s making me crazy, and he knows it. An inferno is raging in my balls and avoiding releasing too soon is all I can think about as he sends my breath whistling through my gritted teeth.

  And then he leaves me.

  He leaves me leaning over that visitor’s chair, with my ass in the air and my jaw clenched in a savage line.

  And he walks around to his side of the desk.

  For a second I wonder whether he’s about to play the part of boss again and start conducting some fucking phone calls, but no. He grabs his wheeled chair and rolls it around. Stopping short of me, he instructs, “Sit.”

  I’m not about to argue, and so I do as I’m told, just like the number-one employee I am. I sit thighs spread, facing him on that bucket chair, with one hand clenched around the bulbous blue end of my cock, fisting it so hard that I’m close to strangling it.

  He drags his chair up closer and takes a seat before snatching my legs up from the floor. He tips me so my head rests against the backrest, and his mouth comes crushing down on mine. The feel of his wet tongue in my mouth has my temperature spiking hotter than it does in the car. When he pulls back, giving me some airspace, I don’t move. Both my chair and I are fixed to the floor. But, he, oh, he moves. His eyes are black with desire as he rests up against me, cock to butthole, probing, and I feel myself swelling, wild with need and begging him to take me.

  As he inserts a lubed finger to the ridge of his knuckle, I cry out as he twists and then embeds a second, and they glide all the way to the pulsing cluster of nerves, which are also crying out for him. As he presses against them, circling the tender padding in the middle, my heart skips and my breath catches in my throat before I whimper, pleading for his teasing to stop.

  “I’m so close,” I stutter as a shiver races up my spine.

  And that’s when he grabs the arms of my chair and wheels himself toward me until his swollen tip, slippery from his excitement, jabs against me. My breath rushes as he finds the spot he’s looking for and he takes me with a force like I’ve never felt. The sting pops my eyes, and as I pant, locked in position, waiting for the pleasure to take over from the pain, I place my own hands on the arms of Kyle’s chair. And I brace myself.

  When that torrid pistoning comes and Kyle crashes balls deep into me, he jars my every joint with his raw invasion. As he continues to ram his wheeled chair into mine, the animalistic force with which he smashes against my nerve endings is so fucking dirty that I want to cry from sheer filthy delight alone.

  He’s already panting and my head is already fizzing and so it’s not long before his chest heaves with one final shudder and the power of his explosion sends my world crashing around my ears. Kyle collapses on top of me, and we lie like two sweaty sex addicts, covered in the fruits of our labor.

  Elliott

  “I’d better go and find Axel now,” I say as I finish cleaning off in my changing area.

  “Hopefully he’s calmed down now. You want me to come?”

  “Always,” I wink.

  He gives me one of those, ‘You’re never satisfied’ looks.

  I grin. “You can walk down to the camp with me and we can see what mood he’s in, play it by ear.”

  We set off, hand-in-hand. The beauty of the place is such that it’s almost possible to forget that we’re in a work environment. The tarmac and hard surfaces of a racing track are offset by country forests planted around the circuit. In contrast to yesterday, it’s been a beautiful sunny day.

  “This place has that vacation vibe to it,” I say.

  “Sure.” Kyle watches the branches move as a breeze catches them. He squeezes my hand. “I think it’s more because you’ve just had a good old seeing to.” He nudges me, pushing me so I stagger to the side. I shove him back and just like that, the mood changes from relaxed and romantic to competitive. We jostle, laughing and laughing like the teenager we’re searching for should be doing.

  Thankfully he’s not difficult to find: he’s in the camp with the rest of the team, sitting and chatting around the fire that is a tradition on race weekends. He sees us when we approach the group. Everyone turns. The boss and the lead driver are here, so there’s a flurry as everyone catches themselves, making sure they’ve not been overheard saying something that will land them in the shit.

  But Axel is the only person not to glance our way.

  “He’s probably been looking out for us since he left.”

  I nod. “Bet he saw us before anybody else.” We don’t need to decide what our next move is. Without any further deliberation, we both set off toward him, cutting off his exit path with
a pincer movement. We risk causing a scene, so I say loud enough for everybody to hear, “Axel, we just need a chat with you.” I wave him over to the side.

  He huffs, but rises from his log and follows my lead. “Hey, I’m sorry if I upset you. This is a complicated situation. You can’t go around hitting Chase, or anyone else because you don’t agree with them. You do see why I have to make that clear, don’t you?”

  Axel opens his mouth, about to shout me down.

  I silence him with a hand. “Hear me out. I’m not finished. What I was going to say was, you were right. We have all wanted to hit Chase on more than one occasion, so yeah, you did do what we’ve all been wanting to. But, just to belabor the fact in case there is any confusion before I make my last point, Kyle and I didn’t go out and beat him. Not because we can’t or because we’re too scared, but because it’s not how we behave. Now, if you’ve got that, I am grateful that you went to such lengths to protect me. I appreciate that, and while I don’t agree with how you did it, the gesture is still wonderful. As is the way you defended me on social media afterward. You’re a good son to have. Thank you.”

  “You could have just said that before. I mean, was it too difficult rather than taking the piss?”

  Jeez, the kid can’t just accept an apology.

  Despite just being in trouble for mocking him, Kyle can’t help himself and erupts into laughter. “See, he’s just like you.” He nudges Axel.

  “Right, if that’s everything, I’m going back to join my mates. I can’t be seen with you two oldies for two long. It’ll ruin my rep.” He shoves Kyle back while checking over his shoulder that no one has seen him joking with the bosses.

  And so, the teasing recommences, but this time with our teenager being a little less cranky.

  Kyle

  Elliott is up already. He couldn’t sleep, so he rose earlier than normal for a jog to loosen up before his massage, which is in twenty minutes. But there’s a severe-sounding knock on the door of the RV.