He groans. ‘Not you with that word again.’
‘Why does it make you so angry?’
I see the way frustration pulls at his face every time a reporter asks about his plans once this season is over.
‘I’m not angry. I just feel like it’s a done deal in everyone else’s mind but mine. I’m not thinking about it until after this season is over. I’m here and I want to hold on to my title, and that’s all that matters. I’m not sure if it’ll be my last or if I’ll have five more.’
‘You’re having a great season, but sometimes it seems like you’re not having a very good time. Like you don’t love it anymore. Like you don’t want to be here.’
I’ve noticed this, I realise now. He still seems excited about every win, but at the same time detached from the magnitude of how great he is and not able to actually enjoy the experience.
‘I don’t always want to be here, that’s why.’ His words are so simple, and I know he means it.
‘Because of me?’ I’m almost afraid to ask, but this might be my only chance.
‘You know about my mum, right?’
I nod. Of course I do. The whole of the UK was rocked when the news dropped that Chastity Walker had been diagnosed with early onset Parkinson’s.
‘She’s gone downhill a lot and my sister is now her primary carer. Elise has given up so much to look after her, and then there’s me, gallivanting around the world as though it’s not my responsibility’
‘I can’t see your mum disapproving of you living your dream. I mean, isn’t that what she did? I think I read an article that said she took you and your sister on tour when you were younger.’
I’m not about to admit that I’ve read every article there is about Tyler Heath and Chastity Walker.
‘The difference being that neither of us was sick. She didn’t abandon us for her dreams. She made sure we had the best life, even when we were living out of a tour bus.’
‘But you didn’t have a normal life. It can’t have been an easy childhood, and you paid the price for her achieving her dreams. It proves she was willing to do anything to have her pop career. How is that different to what you’re doing?’
It stumps him for a while, almost like he’s trying to wrack his brain to prove me wrong. But he can’t and that should be a good thing, yet it clearly isn’t. He looks as shattered as I feel.
We both still smell like the track, and sadly not like drivers who’ve been sprayed in victory champagne – something that definitely should’ve happened in Austria. We were the favourites to win P1 and P2 and we threw it all away. Well, I did at least.
We might be a team, but right now I don’t feel like there’s anything we can do to make things right for each other. And I find I actually want to make things right for Kian. Not because his father is Tyler Heath or because he used to be my idol. But because tonight he tried to make things better for me.
So I do the only other thing I’m good at outside of racing. I lean into his personal space, eyes searching for any signs that he doesn’t want this as well. When the signs don’t appear, I capture his lips with my own and silently plead for him to open up for me more in this way instead.
When he does, I sense it immediately and I don’t hesitate. It takes only seconds for me to be on top of him, our tongues tied together, hands cupping each other’s faces in a moment that feels sweet and sensual. It’s not the sexy explosion I’ve imagined a thousand times with Kian as I’ve laid in bed alone, wondering whether he’s thinking of me, too. Somehow I know he won’t pull away this time, so I slow down and take my time, no longer desperate to get in and get out before I’m rejected.
The whole thing is overwhelmingly different as a result. From how leisurely we’re moving together to the way we’re both sporting rock-hard erections but neither of us is rushing to get naked or move on to the next stage.
Even this kiss doesn’t feel like it’s just a precursor to sex, even though I’m hoping we’ll get there eventually. It’s almost as if we’re finally getting what we want from each other, what I’ve needed from him since the second he put me in my place on the jet to Bahrain.
It’s like I’m consuming him, sampling everything he has to offer, and properly savouring it like it’s enough just to be doing this. But then, hands finally roaming, I find the hem of his T-shirt. I play with it until he gets the message and breaks the kiss to whip it over his head.
Kian’s a beautiful specimen. He has a wide, toned chest with a smattering of dark hair poking through and V-cut that I know is the result of some spectacular gym work and yoga. He needs to get a full body wax soon so that the suit doesn’t ruberfect the dusky pink nipples that I’m dying to play with. I plan to worship it, to give it the adoration it surely deserves.
Except he takes control. I’m not sure why I’m surprised, since he performs best when he’s in charge, and honestly I’m happy to sit back and let it happen. The thing about going slowly is that it feels like there’s going to be time for everything. It’s a new experience for me.
He nips and sucks at my bare chest, his other hand undoing the drawstrings of my sweat pants so he can force them over the curve of my ass and down my thighs. His joggers quickly follow suit until only boxers stand in the way. Mine are not doing a good job at all of restraining the heavy bulge between my legs, and I hope he knows it’s all for him.
He reaches his hand inside and curls his fingers around my cock, rubbing up and down over the head. I let out a hiss – I’m not sure why everything feels so hypersensitive but I love it. He starts to pump up and down and I reach for him too before I lose my mind completely. He’s just as hard as I am, and he feels so fucking good in my hand.
Every ounce of patience goes out the window at this point and suddenly we’re a sweaty, frantic mess grinding against each other. We discard our boxers so our erections can slide along each other, creating that delicious friction we both seem to be craving. I grab his ass, the ass I’ve been fantasising about for weeks – no, months – and pull him hard against me. He cups my face again while he kisses me, and I think there is a sweetness to the moment that I’ve never known before. There is enough space between the action for me tofeel, too, and I find I am not afraid of it.
It doesn’t take much for us both to be panting, moaning messes. And when Kian’s hand leaves my face to tug my balls, there’s no holding back for me.
‘I’m coming,’ I pant. He’s only seconds behind me, though, and two last pumps has him following suit on mine.
