Our bodies pressed against each other. My heart pounded in my chest; my fingers shook and so did his.
When he reached for the lube, I nearly shouted with fucking glee. The first touch made me go lax against the sheets. Arrow pushed my legs wide, and I surrendered myself as he explored and slipped his fingers all along my taint and fingered the sensitive hole.
As he moved, I whispered how good he felt and let him know when he hit a spot I really fucking liked.
I knew he was nervous, but he grew bolder with every stroke. His hand locked around my cock as his finger probed my hole.
“Yeah, babe. Do it,” I urged, growing wildly impatient.
He released my cock and pushed his finger inside.
“Move,” I commanded, and he began to fuck me with his finger.
I writhed beneath him as he continued, slipping another finger inside me and then, soon, another.
“Do you like this?” Arrow whispered as he speared my body.
“Oh God, I fucking love it. I want more, babe. I want you.”
Easily, he withdrew from my body and licked up the length of my throbbing cock. I felt more silky lube coat me, and I looked over my shoulder. Arrow was on his knees between my legs. The tattoos on his body were on full display, and the muscles in his stomach were contracted.
His long, thick dick stood straight out from his body like a fucking trophy, and I revelled in the fact that I was the only one who’d ever been with him this way.
On impusle, I spun around, took the lube from him, and poured it in my palm. I coated his cock thoroughly, jacking him, teasing him as I did.
He moaned, his body swayed, and his hands rested on my shoulders.
When he was good and saturated, I lay back and widened my thighs.
He stroked my dick as he positioned himself right at my entrance. The tip of his swollen head slid over the nerves, and I shuddered.
He paused. “Hopp?”
I cracked open my eyes. “Babe?”
“Do you want me to use a condom?”
I made a sound. “Fuck no. I want you. All of you. I want your skin against my skin.”
He rocked against my ass. My chest rumbled with delight. A thought filtered through my sex-saturated brain. “If you want to use one, I’m cool with that, too.”
“I don’t want to,” he said instantly.
“Come inside me, A.” I beckoned.
He pushed in. There was a brief moment of resistance, but then my body adjusted around him, and it was like he was meant to be there.
“Holy fuck.” Arrow moaned, dropping his hands on either side of my waist.
I chuckled, but it turned into a growl when he pushed in a little deeper.
“You’re so fucking tight,” he panted. “You feel so goddamn good.”
I smiled, reaching down to grab his ass and pull him balls deep. He collapsed on my chest, and I held him to me. Between us, my dick twitched, and the need to bear down on him was intense.
After a second, Arrow pushed up, gazed down at my face, and started to move.
Oh, he felt amazing. The way he speared my body with the perfect amount of pressure. He moved fast and slow. He slid in deep but pulled out until it was just his tip, only to surge back in again.
His swollen, slick head slid across my prostate, and I nearly shot up off the bed. Arrow stilled, thinking he’d done something wrong, and pulled back. I grabbed his ass, shoving him deep, and rocked against him.
“That’s the spot, A. Do it again.”
He thrust in me again. And again. I fell back, opening my mouth, but no sound came out.
He started moving more furiously, pounding into me with greater force. All at once, he went deep, so deep I felt his sack against my ass, and his hand wrapped around my cock. It only took two pumps before I poured out all over my own abs, moaning his name as my body shuddered with pleasure.
Arrow held himself against my prostate, rocking against it every few seconds. I would shoot out more jizz, and he would use it to jerk me some more.
Eventually, I collapsed, completely bonelss and barely coherent, against the sheets.
I hadn’t had sex in five years. Five long years.
I didn’t remember it ever being this intense.
“Hopper?”
I gazed up, my vision slightly out of focus. Arrow released my cock and placed his palms on my thighs.
“You’re perfect,” I murmured. “Fucking perfect.”
He began thrusting again, his breathing turning into short gasps. “I’m there,” he rasped.
I shoved my ass down on him one final time as his hot liquid filled me up. He moaned and shuddered over me, and I worked my ass, milking every ounce of pleasure out of him I could.
After a few moments, he collapsed beside me with a great heave.
I rolled onto my side, folded him against me, and kissed his hairline.
“That was…” he said, still breathing hard. “I didn’t know it could be like that.”
“Fuck, I didn’t either.”
“Really?” he asked, his breath calming. “You liked it?”
I laughed. “You have to ask?”
He ducked his head into my chest, and I hugged him tighter. The self-conscious way he got sometimes only made me more determined to protect him, sheild him, to take care of him.
My chest was tight, my heart overfull… and yeah, I was fucking satisfied as hell.
“Hey, Arrow…” I began, and he lifted his face. Unable to stop myself, I kissed his lips. “I know I was your first, but I just want to make it clear I’m your only. No one else is allowed to have this. Have you.”
He grinned and tucked his face back into my chest. “I can live with that.”
My chin rested on top of his head, and I sighed. I knew we needed to go shower, but I was in no hurry to move. I was too satiated, too comfortable.
Instead, I began rubbing his back, stroking his skin, and running my fingers down his arm covered in tattoos.
A long sigh moved though him, and I kept stroking. My palm slid over his forearm, down to his wrist. I lifted it, leaned down, and kissed his palm, trailing my lips over the inside of his wrist.
The raised scars there bumped against my lips. I pulled back, gazed at them, and rubbed my thumb over the old wounds. He stiffened as I touched them, but didn’t pull away.
I caressed them again, wanting to ask where he got them, but not wanting to intrude upon this moment.
“I tried to kill myself,” he said, avoiding my stare. “It wasn’t long after… I just didn’t know how to cope.”
I made an anguished sound, clutching him closer as part of me cried for him. God, I wished I’d been there. I wished there was something I could have done. The thought of him not being here today in my arms literally scared me.
“It was only that one time…” He went on. “I’m stronger now.”
I pulled his wrist down, pressing a kiss to each of the puckered scars.
His breath hitched.
“I’m so glad you kept fighting. So glad you’re still here,” I whispered and kissed him again.
He whispered back, “Me, too.”
The change in me felt permanent. Solidified in the couple weeks since the GearShark interview and since the night Hopp and I took things to a whole new level.
Things = we sexed it up.
Not that we were totally “sexed up” yet. Not in every way. There was still a little of that territory left unexplored, but I knew it was coming.
And I wasn’t scared.
I anticipated it.
How could I not? The look on his face every time I entered him was almost euphoric. And while I knew I had the right equipment for the job, I wasn’t exactly taking all the credit. I was still kinda new, in a lot of ways still a virgin learning my way. It was clear it felt good. Better than good.
Sure, TV and magazines and just about everything in today’s world sang the praises of sex, but to see it firsthand was proof. I guess I ne
eded proof.
Hopp might have been the only lover I’d ever had (and according to him would have), but I knew he was patient and caring. He moved slow when it would have been easy to go fast. He didn’t push, but he showed me how to give pleasure. And even though at first, the idea of that was seriously embarassing, it really wasn’t.
It was hard to be embarassed when someone was moaning because you were touching them in all the right places.
I wanted to experience it. I wanted in some ways to prove to myself and my body there was more than pain. I wanted to help push out that memory of the night in the alley. I wasn’t stupid. I knew having sex with Hopper wouldn’t make me forget or change the experience.
However, welcoming him inside me would mean rape wasn’t my only experience.
I’d been in him more than once, and when I wasn’t in him, we were blowing each other. His hands got a little more exploratory on my body, and I shook less.
We’d settled into a routine, not predicatble at all (because fast cars were never predictable), but one I loved. We spent our days at the track or in the team garage. He worked with all the drivers, and I worked with a few other people besides him. The team was shaping up. All of Gamble’s drivers were good. Most of us were really young and kinda fresh, but in the end, it would probably work in his favor.
We were a clean slate for Gamble, moldable into the drivers he wanted to represent his brand. Most of us were getting sponsor offers; the logos on our cars were multiplying.
And best of all?
So far, no one gave me shit about being gay.
I wasn’t dumb enough to think they all totally approved of my lifestyle. They didn’t have to. But no one was an outright asshole about it. It was made crystal clear any of that shit wouldn’t be tolerated. The big shake-up last year with Joey opened a lot of eyes and served as a giant warning to anyone who even thought about being a dick.
All the drivers and staff at the speedway got along for the most part, and I was hopeful, after several months of working and driving together, we’d all build a comraderie.
I guess I did enter NASCAR at the right time. Trent and Drew paved the way for gay drivers, Joey shined a spotlight on hazing and discrimination, and GearShark consistently refused to shy away from the issues that seemed to surround our sport, making it easier for guys like me.
Hopp and I didn’t flaunt our relationship. Everyone knew about it, but we didn’t go skipping through the offices, holding hands and singing love songs. We touched each other, obviously, but not in inappropriate ways, and Hopper was fair with all the drivers and didn’t treat me any different.
On the track anyway.
After work was another story. He pretty much stayed at my apartment. I never slept alone. We ate together, played video games together, and washed our laundry together.
Sometimes I would look at him and fear would strike my heart.
What would I do if I had to go back to being alone?
I was alone a lot longer than Hopp and I had been together, but the impact he had on my life and soul made me sometimes wonder what life had been like before him.
I can’t go back there.
I won’t.
The kickoff to my first NASCAR season was rapidly approaching. Before the races officially counted, there were some fun ones on the calendar. The fans loved these for a few reasons:
1.) It gave them a chance to scope out new talent preseason.
2.) The races were more laidback, and some of them had a charity component.
And…
3.) They were fun.
The drivers loved the warmup, working out any bugs they might have before the season began. And of course, the money.
Some of these races had some big fucking cash prizes.
Like the one today, my first race as a Gamble driver. My first time on the track with my new car (which was fucking sweet) and people in the stands.
One million dollars was up for grabs. That would be a sweet-ass payday. I didn’t necessarily hurt for money. I earned a pretty fat paycheck now, with bonuses as strong possibilities. I knew the more I won, the more I made.
But this check would be even sweeter because the cash meant even greater independence. In recent years, Jace pretty much supported me. At first, I didn’t want to take his help; it felt like I was still being supported by our father, albeit indirectly.
Jace still used his trust fund, and I didn’t blame him for it.
He knew, though, I couldn’t live off what I thought of as blood money, and he started giving me a chunk of everything he earned off all the races he won. I did the mechanic work on his cars and shit to make myself feel I was at least earning some of my keep.
I was grateful to my brother. Hell, without him I probably would be dead (literally), but I wanted—needed—to support myself.
Technically, I was doing that already, because I made more than enough to live on (I didn’t need much), but still, who wouldn’t want a cool mil?
“Babe, your phone keeps going off,” Hopper said, coming into the bedroom. He was dressed for the race already, in a pair of dark jeans and a red T-shirt with the Gamble logo on it. (His NASCAR-approved firesafe suit would be put on over his clothes after he got to the track.) He wasn’t wearing any shoes yet, which made me kinda smile because he must have walked to his apartment without any to get dressed before heading back over here.
No shoes, but already, the red baseball hat he liked so much was backward on his head. Dark waves curled up from beneath the edges, which turned me the hell on.
I tossed the towel I’d been rubbing over my wet hair on the bed and made a sound. “I’ll check it in a few.”
Hopper crossed the room and, without hesitation, slipped his arms around my bare waist. “You trying to make me feel worse I missed your shower?” He pressed a kiss to the top of my shoulder.
My stomach flipped. Even though he touched me a lot and had been for over a month now, it always felt like the first time.
“I’m sure I’ll need another one tonight.”
“Counting on it.”
We met each other halfway, locking lips as if we hadn’t just been in bed together all night. Hopper’s hand delved into the waistband of my boxers and gripped my ass. I shifted closer, kissing a little deeper. His fingertips flirted with my ass crack, and I shivered a little.
Hopper lifted his mouth, brushing his lips across my jaw, then pulled away completely. I groaned.
He chuckled. “Later.”
With a sigh, I went to my half-empty dresser and grabbed a pair of black jeans and a red shirt similar to the one Hopper wore.
“You ready for today?” he asked, watching me get dressed.
I shrugged. “Ready as I’ll ever be.”
“Hey.” He stepped close again. Instantly, I stopped what I was doing and turned to him. “You’re a damn good driver. Just as good, if not better, than anyone else on the team. You have an edge because you trained so much with your brother and Drew.”
“You’ve helped, too,” I added.
“And I’ll be there today if you need anything. All you gotta do is say the word.”
“Word,” I echoed.
His lips curved up. “I gotta head down to the track. I want to have all my shit done before I put on the headset to spot you.”
I nodded. “I’ll be down in a few. Just gonna get dressed and shit.”
He gave me a swift kiss and retreated to the doorway. “Don’t forget to check your noisy-ass phone!” he called.
When he was gone, I threw on the rest of my clothes and blasted my hair with the blowdryer. I was used to the darker blond and cut now. When I looked in the mirror, it wasn’t someone new. It was just me.
Out in the kitchen, I made a cup of coffee using the fancy brew machine Joey gave me. As it was pouring into the mug, I reached for my phone, which was where I left it when I grabbed some cereal this morning.
There were three missed calls and a text.
One call
was from Lor. One was from a number I didn’t recognize, and the other…
My father.
I tossed the phone down, reached for the steaming coffee, and took a big swig. I wasn’t a huge fan of coffee really. I just drank the shit because it gave me energy and because I liked the way it burned the back of my throat when I swallowed.
Look. We all know I wasn’t free of issues. Drinking coffee because I liked it to burn my throat was the least of them.
After the first big gulp of the brew, I sipped it a little less savagely, leaned against the counter, and regarded my phone.
What the fuck was he calling for?
Sure, he’d called quite a few times before I moved down here, and every single time, I ignored the calls. Hell, I should have changed my number like I’d planned, but Hopper walked into my life and trivial things like my phone number just didn’t seem so important anymore.
Besides, he’d stopped calling. I figured he’d given up because I never answered. Guess he wasn’t as good at taking a hint as I hoped.
Why now?
The coffee mug hit the counter with a thud. Who the fuck cares? I had more important shit to think about today besides my douche of a father and whatever agenda he was running.
I snatched the phone, deleted the three missed calls, and then pulled up the text, which was from Lor.
Where are you?
I took one last swig of the coffee, then set the mug in the sink. On my way out of the apartment, I typed out a reply.
On my way down to the track. See you in a few.
I took the elevator down to the ground level, bypassed the entrance to the parking garage where my Camaro was parked, and stepped out of the building onto a wide concrete sidewalk. I could already hear the revving engines, the low rumbling of cars out in the parking lot by the main entrance, and the general excitement of today’s race.
I was a little earlier than I needed to be, but hey, being early wasn’t a bad thing. It would just give me more time to get in the headspace to hopefully win.
Or at least place.
I shoved my phone in the back pocket of my jeans and headed toward the track. Living at racetrack definitely had some advantages.
A familiar white Lotus turned the corner up ahead, and I stopped walking. Lor pulled up to the curb and rolled down his window.
#Blur (The GearShark Series Book 4) Page 30
