by Karen Botha
I’m grateful to Elliott for bringing us close again before the end, but I’m so mad at myself for wasting precious time. Dad was ready to forgive before I was. I didn’t give him or mom the opportunity to explain the cause of their issues.
But Elliott did and for that I’ll love him within the most inner depths of my soul.
I’m in the garage getting the cars ready for their next leg of the season. The work is mundane. I’m more shipping expert than mechanic, but they’ll be leaving within the hour and then the rest of the afternoon is ours to pack before leaving tomorrow to get to the track and set the pits up for business ahead of practice.
“Do you want to get a beer after work? Celebrate getting the cars off in one piece?” It’s Greg, the number two mechanic.
“Possibly, but I have a call to make before I can decide. I may have to go and sign some papers before we take off.”
Greg doesn’t say anything, but raises his eyebrows as he turns away to invite others along to the impending shin dig.
I pick my phone out of my pocket and look at the blank screen. May as well get it over with and make the call now. There’s no benefit in delaying the inevitable.
“Hello, it’s Kyle Beaumont.”
I listen to the voice at the other end of the line, rage building like a tornado in the pit of my stomach, swirling and tensing my gut, radiating up to my jaw until I can barely open it to reply.
I force my mouth open, feel my lips working in slow motion. “OK, thank you.”
I hang up. Kick a discarded tire on the floor and seethe. “Greg, I’m in.”
Twenty minutes later I’m grabbing my keys and catching a lift to the local pub where I intend to drink way too much to be able to drive. I know this is a school night, but damn Madeline that blood sucking ex-wife of mine. What is she thinking?
Elliott walks in a few hours after I’m very much in the groove. The pub stops when he walks in. Whispers ripple around the space and I know he’s here before he reaches our private space which is guarded by friendly serving staff.
He’s tired, too. His gaze is flat although he lights up when he plants a kiss on the top of my head. He somehow grows a few inches and his eyes brighten. “Does anyone want a drink?” He asks, but he’s already asking the waiting staff to bring another round.
“You OK?” he asks when he sits on the vacant stool next to me.
“Are you referring to my glazed eyes?”
“Perhaps. What’s going on? Is it your dad?” He rubs his hand on my thigh.
“Kind of. Madeline is contesting the divorce settlement. She wants more. She’s caught wind of my dad dying and knows I’ll be in for some kind of windfall from him, plus, with us being together...” I wave my hand between the two of us, no need to spell it out.
Elliott
So, his ex-wife wants a piece of me and my ex-boyfriend wants a piece of me, plus my actual boyfriend is very much not in the mood right now, his sex drive being overtaken by booze or grief, or both.
For my part, I’d very much like a piece of my boyfriend and I’m starting to fantasize about the times when laughs used to sing from his mouth when I did something stupid. Now he just rolls his eyes and if I’m lucky, the corners of his lips will curl up.
“Don’t worry about Madeline. She’ll sign eventually. It’s not like she can get anything from me. We’re not married, or even living together so she has no rights. And, well, won’t all your money from your dad go to your mom?”
“Yeah, most of it, but she’s a gold digger and will take whatever she can. She’ll hold out until it’s clear that she’s got her best possible deal.”
“Why don’t you let me pay for a top lawyer, get this sorted once and for all?” It’s not the first time I’ve suggested this, and it’s not the first time he’s shouted me down.
“No, El, I’ll deal with this. I’m not going to burden you with my problems.”
He doesn’t want to be like everyone else who takes from me without giving back. But what I can’t make the stubborn bastard see is that I’m happy to give to him. While on paper we’re not together, in my heart we are very much so.
And so the debacle will continue. “You know, now we’re going on the road again, signing those papers will be made ever more tiresome?”
“I know.” And he does, his voice is flat.
Then it occurs to me. “Do you even need a divorce? She’s only acting up because she thinks you want this. If you tell her to get lost and that you’re not interested in divorcing anymore, maybe that will be enough to nip this in the bud. A bit of reverse psychology?”
“Could be...? But then I’m letting her win that way because we’ll still be married. Let’s see.”
“Come on, let me take you home. It’s the last night in my own bed for a long while. Let’s make the most of it.”
He must have had just the right amount to drink, not too much to make him tired, but enough to make him forget his woes because he doesn’t answer me in words. Instead, he stands, winks as an unmistakable smile whispers over his lips and says, “Get the keys.”
I don’t need to be asked twice. I swill back my sparkling water and we’re gone.
We’re not out of the parking lot before he’s on me. He has me pinned against the stone exterior wall of the pub with my arms out wide, grasping my wrists between his palms. His chin bristles against mine as he forces his lips down on my mouth, pressing my teeth open as they click. He pauses to take in air and releases the tension between us. As his head moves back, I feel his breath brush over my wet mouth.
“I could take you here, in this parking lot.” He growls before slamming back onto me, the bulge in his pants sending thrills down my balls.
“Whoa, look what’s going on out here.” Trevor leaves the pub with more than a few beers inside him.
I stand, locked in a moment with the love of my life.
“Shut up Trev,” Kyle laughs. Where he’d once be ashamed, he’s now amused by the jibing of our colleagues. But the moment is still lost.
Elliott
“Pull over,” he says, placing his hand on my arm and pulling it to the side.
“Whoa.” My heart skips a beat for a second as I visualize us hitting a tree on the country lane, before it’s obvious he’s not got a death wish, just a sexual urge. “Hang on.” I give him a sideways glance and catch the wicked look in his eye I missed at first. “Let’s be clear. Why do I have to pull over?” I keep him occupied while I find a safe place to park.
“I want to ravage you on the side of the road. I cannot wait to feel you inside me.”
I spy a space to pull over so click my indicator on to show him that I’m more than up for obliging.
“What do you mean by ravaging?” I ask.
“I will take every part of you in my mouth, roll my tongue around that glorious cock of yours before planting my ass down on you and writhing until you can’t hold yourself any longer. When you explode inside me, it will be with such force that my insides will palpitate with your lust, sending my throbbing dick into explosions of my own.”
“Wow, I could take that.”
He laughs. The beer was definitely a good move tonight.
And he’s not kidding.
No sooner have I pulled over to the parking bay, he’s on me. Ripping at my belt, kneeling on the seat at the side of me, craning over to suck my rigid cock into his mouth. He does indeed swirl his tongue around the end, and I throb inside him as he twists his head over the top before widening his lips, shoving me down until I hit the back of his throat.
“Hang on,” I groan, clicking the electric switch to fully slide my seat down.
His hand slips off the bottom of the steering wheel where he’d been supporting himself and his head lands sideways on my lap, his gorgeous face grinning up at me with the most mischievous glint in his eyes.
My heart soars with carnal possibilities. Past the first throes of passion, we’re creating the best types of memories here, those based on a
true bond that will see us through the tough times.
“Come here.” I pull his butt over to sit on me, and even in the cab of this huge 4x4 there’s not enough space for his 6 ft body to move without the odd crack to his head.
Finally, I get him out of his pants, and he straddles me, naked from the waist down, his cock alight like a candle waiting for its flame. I grasp my fingers around him and thrum them, he matches my rhythm, and the passion sears into my balls the ache riding up my dick and into my butt. I groan, lose focus as my head swirls, swallowed by this glorious moment with the man I love.
“Do you have lube?” he asks. His voice is so gruff, shivers run over my cock as it begs to be inside him.
I lean over, root in the glove compartment and retrieve a tube and condoms. I hand him the tube while I roll the rubber over my erection. I play with myself over the latex watching as he warms himself up for me.
He smiles, winks. “You ready then?”
Oh, I’m more than ready.
Kyle
Elliott has hold of my hips as I spread my butt cheeks wide and finish warming up for him. My finger circles inside, sending mini shocks of anticipation through my body. I work my two digits free and rim them around my entrance paying special attention to the soft flesh. The merest contact with the tip of my finger sends my toes curling and my cock twitching.
I’m lubed up and ready, so I lower onto him, groaning as he fills me. His face is intoxicating as his eyes roll at the pressure of me surrounding him.
His eyelids flicker and he groans, “Oh Kyle, I’ve missed this.”
His fingers loosen on my hips, race over my needy body, dragging me into him. His big, powerful hands pull off my shirt and play over the warmth of my pecs. I dig my hips backwards, riding him, my thigh muscles flexing, burying him deeper. His hips plunge him further inside me, the flick of his end massaging my sensitive place. Earth shattering fireworks threatening to explode as I work to his rhythm.
He moans again, and my head splinters, the pulsing in my temples matching the blood pounding into my cock. I’m falling through space, my head spinning, my body cradling his penis at the center of my joyride.
My back slams against the steering wheel. My fingers are planted against the dashboard and side window as I push, thrust, smash him inside me in aggressive outpourings of what? Feeling alive? Escaping life?
Time slows and I’m locked in the moment. A rippling bursts its barriers and waves of fire flood my brain as my orgasm rockets loose and drowns every last drop of my pain. Elliott swells inside me, pumps harder, grabs my hips, and releases with a vicious jerk of his hips.
We sit in the steamy car, sweaty bodies still joined, the aftershocks of our love causing involuntary spasms. And we catch our breath, not only from the love making, but from the hurt of the last few weeks. From the hurt at losing a loved one, from the anger at being taken advantage of, again, and from the misery of being side-lined, albeit temporarily.
“It’s good we’re going back on the road,” I say quietly.
“What do you mean?”
“We have a reason to put this behind us, a tangible barrier between all the shit that’s hit us full pelt over the last few months.”
Elliott nods, goes to speak, but he closes his mouth again without saying a word.
“What?” I ask.
“It’s nothing. Don’t worry.”
“What El?” I push.
“I’m just not as sure as you that a physical distance is sometimes enough to stop the shit following you.”
I consider what he’s saying. Sure, my dad will still have died wherever we are, and Madeline will still be a money grabbing thief, but for me having something else to think about will help me deal with all of that. I’ve just not been busy enough around here. Little did I know what Elliott was referring to.
Elliott
We’re in Belgium and it’s raining. The fans love this circuit because it’s pretty. I love it because it’s the first one back after the summer break. I’ve usually had a lot of time to think about how I’m going to run my race plan with experience in how the car handles and so I love this part of the season. This is where I kill it.
This year is even better than usual. The pressure is off me. There’s been some drivers moving around over the summer which is unusual but some teams have been trading engine parts and drivers as a package. Highly unusual and also fabulously unsettling in the paddock. The result is that one driver is out of a job, with some blue eyed boy of a billionaire taking his place and another has moved lineups. There’s a spot open and no one has been confirmed as a driver yet.
All the movement gives the press a lot to talk about which always keeps the press happy and allows me to run my own race.
Free practice comes and goes without any issues, and before I know it, it’s time for qualifying. My adrenaline is sky high. I’m leading the competition, but this is where I get to secure my lead. If I get pole position here, because the track is an older, narrower one, it’ll be difficult for anyone to overtake. As long as my car holds out then I’ll be in with a great chance of increasing my championship points’ lead.
I get through to the third round of qualifying without any hiccups. I’m sitting in the cock pit of the car while it’s up on blocks as Kyle and the other mechanics make some final changes to the suspension which has to be configured just right to get around the track ahead of the competition not only for this lap, but in the race as we have to take this setup through into tomorrow. The numbers have been crunched and I just have to wait.
Kyle finishes what he’s been doing and stands back. “You OK?” he murmurs in that rich voice.
I nod, my visor down.
He hovers next to me, his chest level with my head and I feel him. The energy between us vibrates. All the specialist, fire retardant safety equipment in the world cannot block out the tension of our pumped up spirits as they collide. I reach my gloved hand out of the car, keeping my eyes on the competitive data flowing on the screen before me and touch him.
My chest expands and my heart ignites as our physical connection melts all my pressures. I’m whole for the first time in my life.
The signal is given and the screens are removed from my car. I put my hand back inside and clear my brain as the tires hit the tarmac and I’m released out into the pit lane.
I ignore the slamming of my heart against the insides of my chest wall as I drive the car at the limited speed down the slow lane. I suck air in through my mouth, releasing it through my nose in long cycles to help steady the pace of my pulse.
I cross the line, boot my foot to the floor and let this baby sing on the clear track.
Kyle
I’ve never experienced a passion like this. It could be because we’re in the middle of a race weekend and it’s the first one where I’ve been fully up to speed since I took this cursed job, but watching Elliott take off down that pit lane after the moment we’ve just shared I really feel like there’s nothing in this world that can drag us down.
Forget the shit with Madeline, with my dad to a degree. He wouldn’t want me to be sad; he wanted me to live my life and to understand joy. As Elliott reaches the end of his out lap and starts to race against the clock, my heart is full of the possibilities our future holds.
He fires up the engine. The engineers are silent, watching the monitors. They pass information back and forth between our base in the UK, adjusting the minutiae of settings. They’re huddled, speaking into their headsets. Trevor is perched on a bank of desks, fixed to his seat, eyes darting from one screen to the next.
Elliott is half way around with a hundredth of a second between him and the guy currently trailing him in the championship. Elliott is behind. Chase speaks into the headset.
“Speed up, you’re running P2 we want P1.”
The screens light up with a flurry of changes. Chase can’t tell Elliott what to do, but he spends hours poring over the manuals and he changes a setting which breathes a new fire
into the belly of the girl he’s driving hard.
She lights up, taking him level on the next bend as he fights to control her as he comes out of the corner. The back end slips out, and he loses the time he just made up. On the final bend, he grazes the wall in his eagerness to shave every conceivable millisecond off his time. Sparks fly as he boots the throttle so hard that the leverage sends the undercarriage so low it skims the track.
The start/finish line approaches and the times are even again.
“He might do it,” I whisper under my breath. His car is quicker on the straights. The garage is silent as everyone holds their breath. Ryan kicks a tool by mistake and it echoes around the room.
The times flash up as he crosses the marker, and the garage erupts, passion for a job, a person and a lifestyle off to a great start. “You did it, well done my man,” Trevor keeps Elliott up to date. “Pole position.”
“Yeehaw!” comes over the headset, and I grin as I watch him on the TV screens as his arm flies out of the car, fist punching the air.
When he pulls in to the pits and slows outside, I rush out to help wheel him back into the garage.
Elliott
I’m delighted for about as long as it takes me to hoist myself from the car, rearrange my fire suit, and pick my phone up from the side. That’s how long until I see I have a text. And from whom.
“Saw your pole. Well done.”
Why won’t the fucking prick leave me alone? First, he doesn’t mean well done at all if history is anything to go by, and second, what has this to do with him, anyway? I’ve run a million races in our time together, but suddenly I’m on the congratulations list.