The Champion

by Shey Stahl

  The beginnings of the erection I had moments ago turned rock hard under her touch. I wasn’t going to be able to wait, not even for a moment.

  I curled my forearm around her waist and with a quick flick flipped her onto her back. My left hand reached for a handful of her hair as my right slid the length of her body over her torso, between her breasts, down her flat stomach to between her legs.

  She gasped when my hand slipped over her crankcase. I moaned again and settled my legs between hers, my right hand reached for her left knee to draw it up my hip.

  I drew back for just a moment, long enough to catch her heated gaze with mine, her emerald green eyes looking up at me.

  There was no more Moby Dick talk, no more China talk, just grunts, moaning and my leg bleeding.

  The emerald in her eyes seemed to have deepened somehow with her need, turning them almost black. There was no mistaking the urgency. She wanted this hard and fast too. There would be plenty of time for tenderness later.

  “I love you.” I told her, my voice husky.

  She moaned against me wiggling her hips. With that assurance, I pushed inside her with one continuous stroke, pausing only when our hips were pressed together and there was literally no further I could go. I hesitated there for just a moment, feeling her heat around me, enveloping me, welcoming me just as she had before. It was the same but different, somehow more intense, as though the waiting had made it better.

  Or maybe it was the loss of blood from my shark bite that was causing me to hallucinate.

  Another gasp escaped her throat and her eyes rolled back briefly. She pulled the leg I still held in my hand free and wrapped it around my waist, bringing the other up as well so that her body was firmly clamped against mine prompting me to moan out loud. I put an arm under her shoulders and the other under her ass. In that position, I was able to pull her upper body against mine while she fused our lower bodies together with her legs around my waist.

  “Jameson,” she sighed, relaxing slightly in my arms.

  “Sway,” I grunted. “Jesus Christ...”

  I could feel myself edging toward climax already and I didn’t want to hold back even if I could. It had been months, far too long since we had sex, and I wanted it, needed it as soon as possible. Our movements became frantic, arms, hands and legs flailing around, searching for the need. As we rocked against each other, the door creaked with each thrust while the wind howled throughout the house.

  I grabbed Sway’s thighs and unclasped her legs from my waist, prompting a grunt of dissatisfaction from her until she saw that I was simply moving them up to my shoulders. Positioning them that way and then grasping her hips, I could pull her body against mine. The thrusts came faster, almost roughly and I tried to remember to be gentle but she was pushing faster too.

  Clutching my arms, her nails dug into my skin moaning and tossing her head back and forth against the door. I could feel her body tensing around me again and knew I would join her this time.

  I bent at the waist, still holding her legs over my shoulders, and continued to push inside her. She thrashed a little bit under me from the sensations but I was able to keep her in place with my grip on her legs and the angle I maintained, pressing her body underneath mine.

  She moaned, needlessly telling me what was already obvious from her body. With a final hard thrust, I felt my own body tense and let go. The relief and euphoria pouring over me in waves—an animalistic growl rang through the house, and I wasn’t entirely surprised to realize it was coming from me, ripping through me as an audible echo of the intensity I felt from the bottom of my feet to the ends of my hair. The pulsing continued much longer than I recalled experiencing before.

  Sex with Sway before the baby had been incredible, indescribable, but it was a pale shadow compared to this. I couldn’t get enough.

  I don’t know how much time had passed before I was able to move enough that I could release my grip on my wife’s legs. I let them fall to my sides but made no effort to pull away from her or pull myself from where I still rested inside her.

  Her eyes were closed but she ran her hands through my hair absently, gathering herself together. I turned my head so I could lay my cheek against her chest as I came down from the mind-shattering high I had just experienced.

  “We didn’t make it to the bedroom, sorry,” I murmured eventually. “And the bedroom is fucking amazing,”

  “Like that’s somehow your fault.” She chuckled. “Did you see me rushing in there?”

  “True.”

  We were still in the entryway of the house, on top of the broken door, when I heard someone clear their throat. This startled me for two reasons. One, it wasn’t me who did that, and two, if that was Sway, she’s clearly sick because that was a man’s voice.

  I turned quickly looking over my left shoulder, still lying on Sway.

  “Me desculpe sir?” A gruff male voice asked, standing in the doorway.

  Sway screamed, arms thrashing around, legs kicking as she tried to cover herself with her shredded clothing.

  “Who is that...who the fuck is that?” she wailed.

  I tried desperately to cover her but it wasn’t helping.

  I had a couple of thoughts. One, how long had he been watching? And two, who the fuck was he?

  “Who is that Jameson?” Sway asked on the other side of the kitchen, hiding behind the counter.

  How she was able to see enough to find the kitchen was amazing to me. I could barely make out my own feet.

  “Quem é você?” I asked.

  I knew a little Portuguese, which was actually beneficial given these circumstances but I also wasn’t sure if I was making any sense.

  When I was in high school my parents made me take two foreign languages and piano lessons just so I had other interests. Though I became good at them too, racing always held my attention the longest.

  “Eu sou manutenção. Eu esqueci de desbloquear a porta,”

  “What’s he saying?” Sway asked frantically and I could now see she was holding a fork behind my back. “What the fuck is he saying?”

  I turned to her, both of us still completely naked. While I tried to comprehend what he had asked, I was more concerned with my wife holding a fork.

  “I swear to god, if you stab me with that goddamn thing and I will never have sex with you again.”

  The man chuckled.

  “Gostaria de um sir chave?”

  “Yes, I’d like a key.” I took the key from him expecting him to leave but he just stood there, staring at my wife. I lost it. “Are you fucking kidding me? Se perda imbecil!”

  “Desculpe sir, desfrute da sua estadia,”

  The man, who we never got a good look at, turned and walked away. I wasn’t even sure what he said but Sway’s giggling brought me back.

  Fearing a return of anymore guests, I tried to right the door I tore down. Sway continued to laugh at me trying to get the door back up with the wind blowing. It wasn’t exactly easy.

  “Why are you laughing?”

  She couldn’t stop giggling long enough to answer right away but eventually she did.

  “That was like horror movie shit. I thought he was going to murder us.”

  “And that’s funny?”

  “Yes.” She started giggling again which in turn caused me to start laughing.

  Soon we’re both laughing to the point we could hardly breathe.

  Tangled together on the floor, our bodies reacted to one another and continued where we left off.

  “Should we at least make it to another part of the house?” I whispered.

  “I’m partial to the entryway now.” She whispered back. “But we should clean your leg up first.”

  I glanced down at the bloody mess. Now I saw how this all resembled a horror movie. We even had the puddle of blood.

  “There’s time for that later, honey.” I smiled kissing her lips. “Right now is all about me and you.”

  8. Blend Line – Sway

&n
bsp; Blend Line – There is a line painted on the track near the apron and extending from the pit road exit into the first turn. When leaving the pits, a driver must stay below it to safely “blend” back into traffic.

  We were finally in the bedroom. The windows and doors were open as the moist humid air surrounded us, dampening our burning skin.

  The hurricane was losing strength outside but the power was still out and the palm trees swayed in the steering winds while debris continued to hit the sides of the house.

  It was slightly arduous to define the moment we were in but it was just us on an island, alone.

  Well, the Rain Man could be out there somewhere but right then, it was just the Mama Wizard and the Dirty Heathen.

  His right hand swept across my sodden upper thigh, hitching it further up his hip and then rolled us over so I was on top of him. I looked down at him, his gaze was intense and I couldn’t take it anymore. I leaned forward and captured his lips with mine, molding us together.

  Do you ever think about what each kiss should feel like? Are they all epic fairytale kisses? Should they be?

  I can only say what they feel like with my dirty heathen. When his lips touched mine, every single time they touched mine, I felt it everywhere. I felt it from my toes to the tip of my nose. My heart would beat faster, my stomach fluttered with butterflies as though I was falling in love all over again. It was so consuming, so intense that I never wanted to come up for air. I would get lost in the moment and give myself to him entirely with each kiss.

  Twenty years from now that might be different but for now, I was going to enjoy my butterflies and tingling.

  With the storm surging once again, pelting the windows and doors with rain, my mind drifted back to our time in Savannah when our relationship really took a twist.

  This was different.

  Back then, I didn’t know what I was to Jameson. Now, I had no doubt in my mind that he loved me and wanted all of me, even the crazy irrational side that had no sympathy for his shark scratch or his geography sense.

  “You are so beautiful...” Jameson murmured against my lips.

  For so long Jameson held so much of himself back, afraid of letting anyone, including me, see the real him. But the thing he never realized was that was all I ever saw.

  I never saw him as Jimi Riley’s son. I never saw the famous Jameson—the Jameson that could rarely go anywhere without being hunted down by pit lizards or garage groupies. I always saw the eleven-year old shit head that knew what he wanted. I saw the confident steadfast man that he became.

  Now that we were married, he seemed different. He appeared to have let go of the barrier he’d put up around himself and let me love him for who he was knowing that I would never break his heart.

  He showed me passion I’d never dreamed of with every touch and every kiss. He let me love him in all the ways I already did.

  Even so, it was easy to see the change that occurred in him. He was baring his soul, his heart to his wife.

  Jameson also knew me. He knew what each moan meant. He knew that when I bit down on my lower lip, I was relishing in everything he was giving me. He also knew what it felt like to have my hands caressing his body, as I knew what his felt like. We knew everything there was to know about each other.

  Jameson and I were good at the dirty talking and press forging but this time; it wasn’t even close to that.

  This time, it was slow. Every movement was like slow motion. Our breathing was low—but ragged. Our movements were dawdling—but passionate. Our kisses were deep—but tender.

  “Look at me, honey.” He whispered and moved so he was hovering over me again. His left hand was behind the nap of my neck, his right resting against my thigh he wrapped around his waist and then he began to move. Never breaking his steely gaze from mine, my lips moved from his to kiss his shoulders, memorizing how the muscles felt against the sensitive skin of my lips. His warm breath washed over me, overriding any coherent thought I may have had.

  It didn’t take long before our desire gave way and our movements were driven. Jameson’s hand was still wrapped around the back of my neck, his fingers digging into my skin. His right hand was on my hip, securing me to him as his movements sped. Our tattered breathing filled the air and when we finally let go, it was just as intense as it had always been, maybe more.

  Our foreheads rested against each other, I listened to his heartbeat slow.

  “I love you, Sway.” He whispered to me, winded.

  “I love you too.”

  I felt as if everything I’d been through recently was like this hurricane pulsating outside.

  Like it was almost some sort of metaphor for what our lives had become. A hurricane comes to shore destroying everything in its path, leaving you with the devastating aftermath.

  I’ve learned over the past year that it’s not about the storm. It’s about the aftermath and what you make of it and how you recovered from it. Sure, some storms in your life can be so damaging to you that it’s hard to come back. But coming back, rebounding, restarting, that is what really makes you who you are. That’s what defines you and those pages within your story as my mother said.

  The more I thought about what my mom’s letter meant to me, the more I realized she was exactly right.

  She was right when she said everything that happened to you were the pages in between the story of your life but it doesn’t dictate your future. You control that.

  I was going to decide how this was written. I was going to write my own happy-ending.

  Despite creating my own happy-ending, one thing held true, you can’t avoid the storm. Sooner or later, it’ll find you. But the best part about a storm, in my mind, was relying on the one you love to pull you through it and letting him.

  Through everything, Jameson was here to pull me through it. And I let him.

  Still naked, laying there for a good hour, we listened to the waves breaking against the shore as the sun began to rise. The lighting in the room had changed from cerulean to a soft but glowing pink with ginger hues.

  “I miss Charlie.” I whispered against Jameson’s bare chest tracing circles over his scar from where his chest tube was after his accident in Pocono last year.

  “I do too.” He murmured placing a kiss on my forehead. “He was a special man to a lot of people.”

  “I felt like he came over that morning to say goodbye.”

  “I know what you mean...before I left for Daytona he pulled me aside and gave me this long speech about how I needed to take care of you and Axel.”

  I propped myself up on my elbow. “What did he say?”

  His lips twitched into a smile blinking slowly. “He told me that you will always be his little girl.” His hand brushed my hair away from my face. “He told me that no matter what—put you first and I’ll have no regrets in life. He also said not to work my life away and he told me...that he felt like I’d always been a son to him.”

  Slumping back against his chest, I felt the vibrations of his voice as he continued speaking. “You know...Andrea and Mallory asked if we wanted to put a memorial race on the schedule for the weekend of Charlie’s birthday.”

  Choking back tears, it took me a moment to actually speak. “I think that’s a good idea.”

  I found that even if you move on to acceptance, it’s hard to let go entirely.

  To me, that’s the hardest part is letting go I think, but it’s a necessity. Healing and acceptance can’t begin until then.

  You remember though, and that’s what you should do. That’s the healthy thing to do. Hold on tight to those memories, they’re all you have left.

  They were all we had left.

  The rest of our days on the island were usually spent indoors and in bed with each other.

  We made it to other parts of the house but spent most of our time enjoying each other. This year was going to be crazy and I knew that. I intended on taking advantage of the alone time and he seemed to be on the exact same page.
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  The disaster of getting here didn’t end once we were arrived. It seemed anytime we ventured outside something bad happened.

  The one time we took a swim in the ocean I was stung by a fucking jellyfish.

  This wouldn’t have been so horrible, but it stung like a motherfucker and Jameson spent more time trying to convince me he should piss on my leg than helping with the burning.

  Again, I wasn’t impressed with his lack of concern for my burn. He seemed more concerned with the fact that he needed to pee on me.

  My response, “Listen asshole! This is not the time to be marking your woman. I need serious help!”

  He threw his head back in a fit of laughter and then stopped suddenly, glaring. “It’s just a scratch.”

  He was mocking me and I was not having it.

  “That’s a scratch.” I pointed at his shark scratch. “This,” I gestured toward my very red welted calf and quite possibly the worst jelly fish burn ever handed out. “Is a sting...and it BURNS!”

  “I refuse to have this argument with you again.” His fiery stare shut me up, for a moment.

  I sat there in the hot white sand, blowing on my jelly burn when he chuckled. “It’d be a lot simpler if you’d just admit for one, it’s more than a scratch and two, let me relieve the pain.” He then followed this shit head of a statement with a wink.

  Resorting back to childlike tendencies when angry, I threw sand in his face. “Jerk,”

  Our entire trip was like that.

  When out-and-about, it was horrible. When alone together in the confines of the house, nothing else matter but us.

  All of this just led to one thing, we said fuck it on the exploring and just had sex.

  A part of me wondered if this would be our marriage. If so, we’d spend a large amount of time inside.

  When it was time to leave I think we were both ready to see Axel.

  This was the longest we’d been away from him and I couldn’t wait to see his smiling face. For only being two months old he smiled more than any baby I’d ever seen.

  Why wouldn’t he smile?

  His parents were awesome. Sure, we were inept as hell but still...awesome.