G-Force (Commitment, a gay romance series Book 2)

by Karen Botha

  The pain pops and a relief swims from my shoulder blade.

  “That must feel better.” He continues to slide along the whole of my back in long strokes. The back of his nails graze my skin as he trails his hands back down to the waist of my underwear, before increasing his pressure and easing out the cricks in my back.

  He stops to bend over, kisses my ear, nuzzles his face into the crick at the back of my neck.

  I turn and strain so he can reach my lips for a full, lingering kiss before he disappears back down to my waistband. I lift my butt and he pulls down my pants.

  Elliott

  As I pull down Kyle’s pants, his cock catches. I reach around to his warm front and unhook them, caressing his hard length for a second, before slipping them down his legs, over his feet and dropping them on the floor.

  Suddenly my clothes are in the way and I almost rip them off in my eagerness to be naked with him, to feel our skin on skin as we appreciate the intimacy of simple touch.

  When I’m naked, I lie down on my side, my front touching his left side and I stroke him. I draw protracted, lazy strokes, up and down his body, wanting nothing more than to enjoy the feel of his skin under mine and for him to derive the same pleasure.

  I’m hard, but this is about lingering, gentle movements together.

  His arm is up by my face, and it’s easy to reach my lips forward and plant them in a quick succession against his bicep. Kyle turns, lifts that arm and hangs it over my body, his face meeting mine, his gorgeous eyes closed as he focuses on the moment. Our breathing matches as our lips meet in a languid kiss. Our tongues intertwine, an idle exploration. When there’s nothing left to explore, Kyle rolls back onto his stomach.

  My hands trail over every inch of his naked skin, working the tight muscles, ignoring only between his legs.

  “Ahhh,” Something about his tone is different. He’s relaxed, his voice is low and his tempo sleepy.

  I trail my kisses between his shoulder blades, up to his ear, climbing on top of his back and melting the muscles in his shoulders.

  “Softer,” he whispers and I adjust my pressure. “Hmm, that feels great.” As I relax, I glide my hands up his back and under his wide shoulder blades admiring every visible muscle in his toned physique.

  My stroke reaches the rise of his glutes as they meet his spine. As I slip down his legs so I can massage the hard mounds, he groans again. “Amazing Elliott. Don’t stop.” I still don’t speak to him.

  I take the side of his butt cheek against my hand and slide upwards like the professionals, connecting hard pressure on large muscles. “Ohh.”

  His legs spread wider, and I wobble, take the hint, and let my hand tease between his legs. I avoid touching any of his genitals, letting my hands chase down the soft insides of his legs to his feet, circling around his ankles, down to his toes, scraping my nails back up, over the back of his knees. He shivers.

  “Do you like this?” I whisper as he releases a muffled moan into the pillow.

  “Hmmm.”

  “Good.” I kiss the soft skin, let my tongue run up the inside of his legs, parting him further as I kneel between him. When I reach the top of his thighs, I suck the flesh. His hips buck, and he trembles.

  “Elliott, touch me for God’s sake. I need to feel you.”

  I’m still quiet. I smile, but he can’t see. I push both my hands around his butt cheeks, let them roll the flesh up and I fan out to the sides. He lifts, allowing me to caress the underside of his trim torso. My fingers flick over the sensitive skin, avoiding the throbbing cock pushing into the mattress as I lean and kiss his rounded ass cheek.

  Running my fingers back up, I splay his cheeks, dip my tongue between and flick against his rim. He starts to pound into the bed, groaning as his throbbing cock gets some relief from the friction against the covers.

  I run my hand up between the top of his thighs. He opens his legs wider and reaches for the bedside table.

  He passes me the tube he collected from the side without speaking. The room is silent. He can hear me unscrew the cap and I drizzle the liquid between his crack. He clenches as the cold gel hits his hot skin, before spreading wider again, his feet dangling off the edge of the mattress.

  I trail my finger in the fluid and tease between his legs, down to his balls, the back of my nails alerting his nerves. His balls retract, tightening to my touch. Before I leave them, I slide my now silky hands up his back, resting my skin on his, working his shoulders again.

  “Is that what Mr. Beaumont would like today?” I whisper as I brush my mouth against his ear.

  “Mr. Beaumont is a very happy client thank you, but Mr. Judd may continue. I’m happy to pay for extras,” he groans in a gruff voice.

  Kyle

  Elliott gives me the most glorious massage, but all he’s done is get me warmed up. I haven’t communicated that this is the time. Everything is right. There’s no need to wait any longer. I’m fit and healthy, and I’m on vacation with the love of my life and I want to give myself to him.

  My body shivers to his every caress, and all the while I’m trying to lead him on the path to self-discovery and I’m on fire with the prospect of what is to come. Elliott’s fingers are working inside me and my head is spinning. I’m keeping my hand away from my throbbing length. I don’t want to blow this before it’s time.

  His cock is slamming against my leg as he pushes into me harder, following my instruction to fit in a third finger. The sting only excites me more. This is the preparation for the big one, for the point of no return. I widen my legs, draw up my knees so I’m resting face down on my chest, my butt raised so he can finger deeper, while I press against him.

  My pulse is racing. My heart pounds in my skull. This is it.

  I grab the condom and pass it to him.

  “Huh?” He’s confused. His pressure slackens a second while he considers the ramifications.

  “Put that on, Elliott.”

  “What? Huh? OK. Are you sure? I want to hear you say it, Kyle.”

  Love floods my soul for this man who will do anything to keep me happy. “I want to give myself to you, Elliott. Now put the condom on and fuck the life out of me would you?”

  He laughs. He can’t rip the packet open with his slimy hands so he passes it to me. Ripping it apart, I roll the rubber down his length. He throbs between my grip, sending my head and my heart racing.

  My eyes meet his, their bright blue focus hooded with desire and an understanding of how enormous my gift to him is.

  “How do you want to do it?” he asks. My gorgeous, confident Elliott Judd is nervous. His breath is light. His voice catches and he coughs.

  “We can do it like this?” I hitch my legs onto his shoulders.

  “This might be better,” he lays on his back, stroking his magnificent cock. “Sit on me and then you can lower down.” He nudges his length forward with two fingers at the base. “You’re in control then.”

  “OK.” I straddle over him and he works my dick with his lubed fist. He’s gentle, just giving enough stimulation to work me up again. With my thighs spread across his waist, I lower down until his penis connects with me. Fireflies wake up in my stomach. His hand twists in a figure eight over my throbbing cock. I adjust so he’s in the right place and take a breath before lowering onto him. He works me faster, ripping up and down, over and round. My head starts to swim as the enormity of what we’re doing fills me with total elation. Elliott holds steady, gripping the bed covers with his free hand to prevent his natural response to thrust inside me.

  I snap my head back, and as my eyes roll closed, I catch his smile. His soft face emblazons on my retina, sexy lips, red and swollen as he chews his bottom lip. The intimacy of the shared moment loosens his toned features, warming his ice blue eyes while he’s forced to follow my lead. I slide him within me, ignoring the sting, concentrating instead on the pulsing of my cock, and of his as we move, forward and back grazing my g-spot with just the right force.

 
“You look the most amazing I’ve ever seen you,” Elliott mutters, his eyes drinking in every aspect of this moment.

  I relax, start to move faster, loosen up and begin to enjoy not only being taken by the man I love, but the process of demonstrating that love. My erection is rock solid, throbbing against his hand and as I move, I forget to concentrate on the individual elements that are creating my pleasure and instead on the series of shock waves ricocheting around my system, igniting nerve endings where I didn’t know they existed, transporting blood to my head so my ears rush, and freeing my soul.

  “I’m close. Come with me,” I groan.

  Elliott lets go of the bed clothes, begins to buck against me, his strength thrusting a powerful tide through to my balls and making my penis ache.

  “I’m ready.” He let’s go of me and sinks deep, one final lunge inside me and we release. My hips buck forward, my breath catches in a cry and my body is filled with love.

  Elliott

  The rest of the vacation is a wipe out. We don’t move from that hotel. So much for the road trip. We spend our time in bed, lolling around like lazy newlyweds on their honeymoon. It’s the final night and Kyle has insisted we get out of the room and go and see something of America.

  “Come on. I haven’t traveled like you, and we’re leaving soon,” he says.

  We head to the local pub again and have a few beers and chicken wings out of a plastic basket lined with grease proof paper. The place is full of burly bikers, and I’m leaning forward on the rough hand-made table, my chin in my hand watching everything and nothing while he chats.

  “Where would you love to go that you’ve not been to yet?” he asks.

  It makes me think. “I don’t know. With twenty countries on the racing calendar, plus holidays there’s not many places left.”

  “How about Norway?” he asks.

  I nod. “Yeah I haven’t really considered Scandinavia. It always seems so cold.”

  “They have some lovely summers; one of my friends went years ago. Raved about it.”

  An idea formulates as he talks, and I only half listen.

  “Hey, you’re Elliott Judd aren’t you?” A drunk with a mullet who has obviously been at the far for quite a while wobbles over.

  “I think you’ve got the wrong person,” I say, taking a swig of my Bud.

  “No, I definitely haven’t. I’d recognize you a country mile away.” He points his finger as if this is some kind of explanation.

  I shake my head, unsure what to do. He seems sure of himself which is somewhat of a surprise seeing as we’re in the middle of nowhere.

  “Yep, you are.” He holds his phone up with a picture of me holding up a trophy in Monaco last year.

  I hold up my hands. “OK, I’m sorry. I was just trying to keep a low profile.”

  “Well, I’m sorry, but see, I know my racers.”

  “How so?” I shouldn’t have asked. I know better. Shit! It just came out.

  “Well, I’m a driver myself. Not like you. At the local track. I could have been where you are now, if I’d had the money.”

  That grates. My parents went without so I could race. I’m no privileged kid whose parents had nothing better to do with their weekends than run around the country spending their hard earned cash on motor repairs. I swallow down the anger burning in my throat, ignore the urge to scream at his ignorance.

  “Yeah, I could be as good as you if I had the access to your resources. You’re only as good as you are because of your car you know.”

  I laugh. I don’t find him amusing, but it diffuses my anger. I use it in TV interviews too, along with an innocuous reply, “You think?”

  “Sure, I do. You’re the best racing driver who was discovered, not in existence. They’re two different things.”

  Kyle looks me in the eyes, knowing I’m about to be pushed over the edge. He scowls at our new friend.

  “Indeed. Now, we could put you to the test if y’all like?”

  What can I do? If I say no then he’ll think I’m scared of the challenge.

  Kyle

  Here we are the next morning, arriving at the go-cart track to prove that Elliott can beat some local heroes.

  “Now don’t slam them into the ground. Leave them with at least a small element of their self-respect,” I plead.

  “Really?” I laugh. “He wasn’t bothered about my self-respect when he straight out said I was only good because I have a great car. Forget that I got picked from the hundreds of other kids who were after the same chance.”

  “I bet he doesn’t even turn up. He was pretty far gone last night. He’s probably still in bed sleeping it off.” I try to pacify his agitation.

  It doesn’t work. He’s antsy.

  I followed him here at way more than the 50 mph maximum speed limit, and now I’m hunched down watching him pace the length of the gate at which we’re meant to meet Bobby, our new friend.

  The only time that we succeeded in keeping a low profile as planned this trip was when we were holed up having the most amazing sex in the world like two teenagers. The rest of the time, we have, no, Elliott has, succeeded in raising his profile.

  He argues the case that it’s good for his PR. Bullshit. He couldn’t resist this challenge and generally he can’t resist the opportunity to show off.

  I’m exasperated. This is a sign of how life will be. Him saying he wants one thing, while being totally oblivious to how he really feels. At least I’ve got the measure of him now.

  “Where is he?” He spits.

  “I don’t know El, but try not to get wound up. It won’t help you if he turns up and you’re spoiling for a fight.”

  He scowls and comes over to stand next to me.

  “It looks like an OK track.”

  “It looks like a piece of shit track.” It’s an outdoor one, with makeshift crash barriers made from old tires.

  “Hey!” Bobby pulls up, hopping out of his beat up pick-up and claps Elliott on the back.

  “Hi Bobby.” I smile and wave from my position behind him.

  “Are you racing today too, Kyle?”

  “I don’t know. I wasn’t planning to. I’m no expert. But I can if you have space. It would be fun?” I look at Elliott for some kind of direction although really, I know he won’t want me getting in his way. A laugh rises from my stomach at the thought and I swallow it back down. He’ll be hopping mad.

  “Y’all follow me then.” Bobby waves us over to a dilapidated barn with a wobbly desk which is as old as the ninety year old chap behind it. To one side, there’s a line of go-carts, to the other, three skinny guys with mullets wearing checked shirts and dirty jeans sit on bales of hay drinking beer. It’s 10 am.

  They stand as we approach. “You weren’t kidding around then?” One of them guffaws at Bobby, tipping the peak of his baseball cap at us.

  He shakes his head, “Why would I do that, man?”

  They amble over, phones at the ready and there is to be no further progress with the booking in procedure until everyone has sufficient selfies.

  “Come on then. Let’s do this. We have to fly out this afternoon.” Elliott claps his hands, his PR grin plastered over his face.

  The process of dealing with the legalities of the race takes about one second before we’re told to hop in the carts.

  “Everyone line up,” Elliott instructs as he shuffles his vehicle forward.

  Everyone follows suit and I’m quite proud of myself as I am able to line up alongside them all.

  The old man who checked us in ambles over, his right thumb fiddling with the rope looped through his trousers in place of a belt. “Now boys, I don’t want any trouble. Play nicely.”

  Everyone nods, the boys jeer, and I smile. Elliott is focused. He has that hard stare he gets when he drives. I can’t believe how seriously he’s taking this.

  “Are you ready?” the old man asks. Without waiting for our reply, he shouts, “1, 2, 3, GO!”

  I shove my accelerator to
the floor and my cart moves off. Behind everyone else’s. I don’t understand the issue; my pedal is down to the floor and yet I’m still lagging at the back. I press harder, feeling like I could cram my foot through the base and I’d still not speed up.

  The boys are jostling at the front and to be fair, Bobby is running a close second to Elliott.

  “You won’t win!” His screams filter back to me.

  Elliott ignores him, staring ahead, cutting the corner of the track and almost taking out Bobby’s front end.

  Before I know it, I’m being lapped and Elliott is whooping as he passes.

  ‘Fucking prick,’ I laugh. ‘I’m going to get him to change a tire in under two seconds, see what he thinks to that.’

  The race finishes in a foreseeable order. Elliott is of course number one because he is way more than an average driver in a great car. The rest are sandwiched between Elliott’s first place and my rather predictable last position.

  I throw a V with my fingers at him as I pull up at the finish line. The others are already out of their carts and starting to congregate. Elliott is waiting for me, glowing at his win. You’d have thought this was a world championship. He jumps on the front of his tiny car as he would after winning any race and punches the sky.

  “Winner,” he hollers before running over to me as I finally finish my lap of shame, planting a huge kiss on my lips.

  “Whoa, what’s going on here?” Bobby sneers.

  “Just kissing my man before I start my victory dance,” Elliott beams.

  “Your man? Nah man, we don't have any of that around here.”

  Within seconds the group has circled around Elliott in a horse shoe. “He’s your man? You two are together?” Bobby laughs, but it’s not a fun laugh. He sounds as though he’s verging on hysteria and his eyes have narrowed. I’ve never noticed before how pale his complexion is. Thin, blue veins bulge under the paper thin skin beneath his eyes.