by Karen Botha
His eyebrows shift upwards. “I put him behind me long before you.”
I beg to differ. This Noah is the reason we had so many problems with Elliott’s insecurities early on, but I let it go.
“OK,” I say as I sidle past him onto the dance floor, adopting a flamboyant dance, struggling to lighten the mood. My hips sashay to the left and then the right, my hand pointing upwards above my head as I jiggle and jive every loose part of my anatomy in time to the music.
It has the desired effect. Looking like a complete twerp is well worth it. Because Elliott laughs.
Elliott
I don’t sleep well. I’m sure it’s the excess of alcohol, but I spend the few hours we have to sleep tossing and turning and when I do drift off, the rest is only temporary and then my eyes snap awake again, blind panic pounding in my heart.
Irrationally, I think Kyle has left me.
Or that I’m with Noah again.
More often than not, it’s that Noah is trying to ruin my relationship with Kyle. I’m not so sure that nightmare isn’t nearer to the truth than I’m comfortable with. The alarm of losing Kyle isn’t something I’ve contemplated, other than when he had his accident. I’ve never considered that some terrible incident may mean he chooses not to be with me anymore.
I sit up, the sweat dripping between my pecks like condensation on the window.
Kyle shifts, groaning as he turns over, stealing the covers. Cold flashes over my tacky skin also cooling my overactive nerves and I roll onto one side, matching his fetal position, resting the tips of my fingers against the contour of his back.
At least my head is only thick from lack of sleep rather than alcohol poisoning. But Noah put his very own brand of a dampener on an incredible evening. We didn’t stay late after he showed up, and even though we weren’t supposed to I’m willing to bet that if Noah hadn’t pitched up then we’d have danced the entirety of the early hours away and my lack of sleep this morning would be all the better for a much needed fun night out.
Kyle senses how disjointed I feel this morning and he treads carefully. His gorgeous face is drinking me in from his seat which faces mine, a hooded look of concern clouding those dark pools into his soul.
“Is that dick from last night still troubling you? Because if he is, please try and forget him. We’re flying off on vacation together. He just has a small and miserable life. We’re leaving him behind, Elliott.”
I nod. He’s right. I had left him behind. But I don’t trust him. I didn’t like his tone last night. There was something troublesome about his attitude. Nevertheless, Kyle is right. I need to try and get past this. I won’t allow him any control in my life. “You truly are the most wonderful person I’ve ever been around Kyle Beaumont; do you know that?”
He nods, a lopsided smile softening his concern. “I try!”
It makes me laugh. His simplicity is everything to me. I unbuckle my seatbelt and pass across the divide to sit next to him, shoving my arm under his on the rest and holding his hand. I pick it up and press his fingers to my lips. He lets it hang there, sliding his body closer toward mine and strokes my face.
“You know he can’t touch us don’t you? Whatever he says, whatever he does, we’re strong,” Kyle mutters.
I nod, fighting an immediate urge to cry. I force it back swallow down the lump in my throat and remain silent. He notices though, and he leans in, kisses the lids of my eyes as I close them, time stands still. His breath whispers against my skin as he moves from one to the other, the tenderness of his act breathing joy back into my heart. Freeing his hand from mine, he cradles my face in his, squeezes my cheeks together and kisses my puckered mouth. My lips part, and our tongues wrap together as I coil him into me as he sucks on my bottom lip.
I pull away, long enough to rasp, “I love you Elliott Judd. You remember that.”
I nod. I do remember it. I feel it with every ounce of my being. His devotion swims from his body and into mine, flooding my hurt with his love washing away negativity.
I pull from his embrace and draw the curtain that divides us from the rest of the empty plane, the signal to the crew to leave us alone.
Running my hand up the inside of his t-shirt, I feel his warm skin, soft to my touch over cut abs. The combination of soft and hard sends my head racing. Fueled with love, I bend, place my mouth on his stomach and kiss him, trailing my wanting lips over his body, unbuckling his belt in a desire to take him into me and be as close as two different people can be.
He’s solid already and he catches against his underwear as I free him. He lifts his hips allowing me to push his clothing down and in that moment I see him. I take in the throbbing cock that is begging for me, that has no respect for the past, but only love for us in this moment.
This isn’t a time for foreplay. I need him. I pull the condom out of my pocket and ready him to take me. Undressing quickly, I straddle him on the leather seat, slowly lowering on to him, the burn of being unprepared and stretched making the reality of this moment all the more poignant.
I bite my lip against the sting, Kyle doesn’t speak, but he locks his eyes into mine and as he moves in slow, gentle pulses, he takes me with with care and love and understanding. He moves against my weight, a gentle rocking in time with my motion. Our gaze doesn’t falter as he takes my hardened cock in his hand and slides it in slow, pronounced gestures.
The pain subsides as I loosen, transforming into an all-encompassing, electrifying fizz. I move more quickly. His hand also speeds up and the familiar throbbing starts. Pulses run from my balls up my shaft and I thicken in response to this man and everything we share. He pushes deeper, his glance now faltering as he dips in and out of closing his eyes.
“I’m close,” he whispers, asking if it’s OK, checking whether I’ve taken enough of him.
I don’t speak, answer him by quickening my pace, jousting him faster inside me, thrusting him harder into my core.
“We will be landing in twenty minutes. Please put your seat backs in the upright position and fasten your seat belts.” The light above our heads dings laboring the point.
We laugh together at the timing, “Guess the air hostess didn’t want to disturb us.” I laugh into Kyle’s ear, before expelling a flurry of energy to wind this up, and fast.
Kyle
I’ve never been to America. I’ve never really been anywhere exciting; that’s part of the reason I found the job on the racing team so attractive. It’d not only give me a chance to work on some of the most technically advanced cars on the planet, but at the same time, I’d get to see the world.
In reality, I was misguided in my expectation as the workload is so heavy that it’s impossible to see anything of the countries you visit during the season.
Landing on foreign soil to take a tour from Chicago to Albuquerque is unbelievable before you even start to factor in us landing on board my boyfriend’s private jet which is carrying our own motorcycles we’ll ride across the states. I never dreamed this could happen.
We’re staying at a swanky hotel for the night; we’ll begin our road trip tomorrow. Elliott says he wants to show me some of the real America, so we avoid the glitzy hotel bar and go to a local hideout around the corner. It’s not the type of place that stands out as being special. It’s a bit grimy if I’m being honest; the toilets could do with a good cleaning, and the paint on the walls is chipped with streaks of cue chalk. But hey, we’re here and I’m happy.
“Sorry, I’m not sure if this is a good representation of the real America,” Elliott apologizes, “But, the people are more authentic than any we’ll find in the hotel lobby.”
I agree. “This is anything but clinical. There’s a great vibe.” I have to shout over the loud music that’s playing.
By the time they roll out the karaoke we’re a few beers down and I have to say I’m liking this carefree version of Elliott. Maybe he’s trying to fit in all the fun his dedication to his profession prevents him enjoying the rest of the year, but h
e’s way more easy going. And he hasn’t even mentioned the dreaded Noah since last night. OK, so on the plane I felt his pain, but after we landed, it’s like he’d left it all behind in London.
“Have you seen what they’re doing?” Elliott motions to the other side of the bar.
“Uh oh.” I manage to get this out before the place erupts into one collective cheer.
“You gonna sing?” he asks me.
“What! Are you kidding me?” My eyebrows are almost hidden under my hairline they shoot up that high. “You’re not serious are you?”
He laughs. “Why not. Come on, I’ll sign you up.”
“You will not.” I grab his arm. “Elliott, what’s wrong with you? I can’t sing.” I am genuinely starting to sweat. I think his dry season means the alcohol is going to his head. He seems far more eager to perform than I’m comfortable with. “I thought you wanted to keep a low profile on this break?” I double check. A big part of us heading out on the bikes is so that no one can recognize him under his helmet.
“I do, but we’re not staying here. This is just a stopover, we can have a laugh one night. No one will be around tomorrow.”
I shake my head, “Well, it’s up to you. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
That must have been his sign off, because he’s writing his name and song choice down on a piece of paper before I’ve finished speaking.
Of course, because he’s the first one to get his name down, he’s the first one to be called to sing. I haven’t even had time to ask which song he’s chosen.
He grins and struts to the front, like a proud Peacock, his chest puffed out.
The music starts and I don’t immediately recognize it, but everyone else in the room does. The room erupts into a chorus of cheers before Elliott even opens his mouth.
“Oh, I wish I was...” He’s OK. A bit shaky but he sounds like he has a good tone there.
“In a land of cotton...” His voice trembles, but in a good way, and the note changes just right. I think, he can sing?
As he gets to the first “Dixieland,” a small ripple of clapping fades in. The shouting has quietened and people are listening. Hell, I’m listening.
There’s a small verse about Dixie where people join in before falling silent when Elliott starts to sing. He really is good. His voice is soft, but in tune until he gets to belting out, “Glory, glory...” and trumpets join in as his voice strengthens. At the “Hallelujah,” part the background music crescendos and I hear, truly hear Elliott’s voice. It’s amazing.
How could I not know this? I’ve heard him singing to the dreadful rap he listens to around the house, but that’s not really music and it’s impossible to tell whether he can sing. This is better than Elvis himself.
Does this man have any limit to his talents?
We’re nearing the end now and the crowd is not only all consumed, they’re swaying with their arms waving in the air as we approach the final “His truth is marching on.” Elliott’s voice is warm and strong, resounding around the room to a final flurry of cheering.
He just can’t help himself. Ever the superstar, he bows and speaks into the microphone. “Thank you everyone! We landed from England just a few hours ago and I wanted to say thank you for welcoming us to your home for the next few weeks.”
I glare at him through my teary eyes. ‘Is he kidding? I thought we were supposed to be remaining anonymous?’
More cheering. A woman stands, rummages in her handbag and lobs something at him.
He ducks, stepping back to avoid the missile.
It catches him on his leg. His hand drops to the area instinctively retrieving a pair of lace panties.
He holds them up, screws his face up before pulling himself together and grins widely. That’s the PR smile I’ve now seen at least a million times.
He bows again, lapping up the attention, but he’s learned his lesson.
As he scurries back to me, he says, “Come on, get your coat. We’ll have drinks in our room.”
I shake my head at him, say nothing, don’t grab my jacket because I didn’t bring one, and follow him out of the bar.
Elliott
I forgot where I was. My security detail would have me on a stick if they knew I’d gone out to a bar they’d not first checked out. They only let me come away on the understanding that I’d go to only the places they’ve checked out in advance and while traveling I’d be incognito on a bike under a helmet.
“I didn’t know you could sing like that. You made quite the impression,” Kyle says the next morning when we’re getting ready.
I laugh. With less alcohol inside me, I’m embarrassed. “Did you enjoy it?”
“Sure, you were fabulous.” He tugs me into him. “You were stupid though; she could have thrown anything.” His breath whispers on my ear as he nuzzles into me.
“I know. I’m sorry.”
His lips chase across my jaw, resting on my mouth. “Keep a low profile. I want to keep you.” His hands rake through my hair, clasp a clump at the back of my head and pull. Our lips part. “Get it?”
I nod as the tips of our tongues meet, flicking against the other, my neck arcing back allowing his lips to grow firm against mine. He jabs his hard tongue deep into my mouth, owning me, before removing it, jabbing it back in, fucking my mouth with his. His pressure massages my tongue. Our mouths are wide, tongues rolling, bruising my lips. He sucks my tongue, stretching the underside, before clamping down his teeth on the tip.
He releases it, nibbling on my bottom lip.
“Ow.” He nips me.
“Now, let that be a lesson. Behave in the future.”
“Fucking hell. You’re hot even when you’re telling me off, Kyle.”
He winks. “Let’s get dressed. Otherwise we’ll never get out of here.”
I grin, throw an outfit at him that I’ve hidden in a bag. It lands in the middle of his stomach; he’d not been expecting it.
“What’s this?” he asks.
“Try it on.”
He unfolds it, holding up the heavy metal vest and black ripped jeans. “Are you kidding?”
“No, if we want to fit in with the biker crowd, we have to look like them.”
“You weren’t bothered about fitting in last night. You were perfectly happy to stand out.” He moans, holding the trousers up against his legs. “The jeans aren’t that bad, but the vest? It’s not even a t-shirt.”
“Hey, it’ll be hot. The wind will waft in through the gaps; it’ll feel nice. You’ll be thanking me in a few hours when the breeze is cooling you.”
He’s a good sport and tries on the top. “Are you really serious, you want us to wear this?”
I pull out my matching outfit to prove my point, tipping my head to the right so he knows I’m serious.
“El, can’t you ever just be open? There’s always a surprise with you. You know this isn’t a fancy dress holiday don’t you?”
He’s moaning, but already has one leg into the jeans. It was a joke. I have our leathers with the bikes but actually, these might not be such a bad idea. It is incredibly hot and my point about the air is valid. I keep my mouth shut about it being a joke at his expense and crawl into mine too.
We walk through the five star hotel dressed like that, but the thing is, we don’t stand out at all. This could be one of the brightest ideas I ever had.
Kyle
Elliott climbs on his bike in front of me. His butt tightens in his jeans as he lifts his leg and throws it over the seat. We’ve been out a lot since my first run out to the woods, so I’m no longer cautious of the power between my legs. That doesn’t mean my stomach isn’t still a mean twist of exhilaration and relaxation, though. The two emotions are doing a dance within the confines of my gut and I’m itching to hit the road.
“Let’s go,” I shout, punching my arm in the air and grinning at Elliott’s excited eyes that glint in the gap of our new open face helmets.
We head up the ramp and through the security bar
rier, and that’s it. We leave Chicago behind and hit I-66. It’s wonderful and much as I hate to admit it, Elliott’s idea of our outfits is perfect. The warm air drifts through, cooling our skin as we breeze south past old American diners and onto the old truck stop town of McLean.
Stopping briefly for a burger at an old style Dixie restaurant, we eat quickly, eager to be on the road again.
And that’s how we spend our first week, all consumed by a combination of fear and relaxation, hedging our bets against huge trucks and cruising side by side on wide highways. Opening the throttle and bracing against the g-force as the power hits, we ride the crest of exhilaration, holding ourselves upright as the power of the machines sitting between our legs roar to life with the twist of a wrist.
Seven days in though, and I’m beginning to ache. “I could do with a massage. I’m stiff.” I plant both palms face down over each shoulder and kneed.
“Here let me help.” Elliott wraps his legs around my waist as he sidles up behind me and takes both shoulders between his strong fingers. “Does that feel better?”
I hang my head, letting my chin loll on my chest. “It feels wonderful, Elliott. It’s from being in one position all the time.”
“Yeah, I can feel it.” He lowers his voice. “It’s the same position I drive in, so I’m probably just more used to it.” He nips at the sensitive part of my neck under my ear with his lips.
I groan.
“That feel good?” His hands drop down from my shoulders and slip up my t-shirt stroking over my chest. My abs tighten as his touch lights up every nerve and I suck in my breath.
Leaning back onto him, I rest my head on his shoulder and relax, enjoying the sensuality of his touch.
“Here.” He lifts up my top and removes it. “Lie down.”
I unbuckle my belt and open my jeans, but they still dig in, so I slip them down my thighs until I’m lying on the bed in my underwear. Elliott crawls on top of me, straddling my tight buttocks and presses his thumbs into my knotty shoulders.