by Kat Ransom
Leaving the administration office, I hear cars running on the test track and decide to walk over. It’s a brisk spring day but the sun is shining, I’m in London, and I have Lennox’s oversized Celeritas jacket on that no one would know is his but us. The scent of his cologne, mossy woods and old leather, mixes with the smell of race fuel in the air.
And, by no small miracle, I am still employed. I don’t need to go running back home a total failure. For the moment, anyway.
Security waves as I walk into the track area and take a seat on a section of metal bleachers in the sun. Everyone else is inside the track building, I feel like I’m at my own private race watching two Formula 1 cars circle the track with aero rakes all over both cars measuring airflow over each part of the car.
These cars look older and aren’t labeled with driver numbers but I can tell which driver is which by their helmets. Lennox zings past under his blue and white Scottish flag helmet and then Dildo DuPont in his neon green helmet. It’s the color of ectoplasm, slime. How appropriate.
Wrapping Lennox’s jacket around me and watching him sail around this track he drove me around and around on last night, I don’t know how I’m going to handle the latest bomb he dropped on me. He called Cooper Media and agreed to the inside exclusive.
He wouldn’t discuss it much last night but I know why he did it. He thinks it would give me security against my father’s attempts to sabotage me. And it would, Cooper Media is one of the largest media houses in the world. They’re modern too, unlike the crumbling company my father clings to that still thinks newspaper is a viable media and that social platforms are for hippies and miscreants.
Working with Cooper on this would be the nail in the coffin for my family. It may very well kill my father. I’m frustrated that I’m letting myself feel guilty about it, too. Why should I when he is trying to sue his own daughter? Because no matter how many times they hurt me, I still want my parent’s approval and love. It makes me feel weak, but it’s true.
Every time Mom calls or texts, some naive part of me hopes it will be to tell me she loves me just as I am, that she supports me no matter what. It’s never happened in twenty-six years but there’s a little girl deep inside of me still holding out hope. One of these days, Dad might come to his senses and see my career as worthy and be proud of what I’ve accomplished.
Logically, I know it won’t happen. Emotionally, I want it. No matter how much I beat myself up right now.
As soon as it was a reasonable hour in New York, I called Max Cooper back. I don’t know what I’m going to do, but Lennox said he was expecting my call. They want this exclusive, badly. It would be huge in the European and Asian markets and Lennox has denied every similar request from every publisher his entire career.
If I handed Cooper a story like this that no one else has been able to, worst case, I’d have a job no matter what my dad does. It wouldn’t be exactly what I want to do, but it would be a paycheck somewhere in their social media departments. Best case, it would be an incredible stepping stone for launching my dream firm in Sports PR.
I’m not a journalist, technically, and can’t write the piece, but Lennox told Max Cooper there’d be no journalists or photographers allowed. Max said that was even better, he wants an intimate expose not a fancy spread. I’d record interviews and take my own photos and work with a writer to develop the perfect story. Lennox mandated I have ultimate control.
I told Max I’d think about it but Lennox has already scheduled our trip to Scotland after the next race.
He doesn’t know that I’ve been warned to back him out of the spotlight. Working with Cooper wouldn’t technically involve Celeritas and I don’t think they could fire me for it since Lennox set it up, but Doofus DuPont and his privileged family can certainly make his life worse here and on track. If he gets into any more trouble with his teammate, they’ll penalize him on track even more, if not outright terminate his contract. I’ve seen it happen in other sports.
Digby is going to be extra threatened now. It’s more important than ever that I keep him and Lennox apart. I can’t let Lennox know anything else about my mandate to keep him out of the spotlight.
For both our sakes, I need to figure this out by myself.
Twenty
Headline: Gibbes Points Leader at Celeritas After DuPont Crash in Baku
Headline: Good Job Baku! Good job Gibbes!
Photo: Lennox Gibbes on Podium in Baku, Azerbaijan
F1Scooby: he can spray me down anytime…
HeadSizzlin: sticky!
GingerHippo: Have always been a DuPont fan but I gotta say, I’ve switched to Team Gibbes this season. He seems like an ok dude.
ScotlandMom: He signed a shirt for me! He’s a good boy!
RacingHot: Mom, that ‘boy’ is all man. :-o
Mallory
I still have no idea what I’m going to do about the Cooper Media situation even as we’ve just landed at a tiny single strip airfield on the Isle of Skye, Lennox’s home island in the Outer Hebrides. Despite that, and the extremely bumpy landing that had me burying my head into his chest, I am giddy to be here.
The flight in, before it became a roller coaster, was stunning. Passing over rocky cliffs, pastels colored homes lining the shores of the coast, and so much greenery, I am almost expecting a hobbit to jump out at me. I want to see everything, but I mostly want to see Lennox’s home, where he grew up, his life outside of F1. And I want to know for me, not Cooper Media, or for Celeritas, or even his fans.
We have an hour’s drive to his home but it’s flying past as I take in the dramatic coastline our route winds us through. Snow peaked mountains rise before deep blue waters, the earth covered in a lush carpet of moss. “Ooo what is that?” I ask Lennox, a question I’ve asked many times since we got into the “beater” car he leaves at the airport, a gray Audi.
“Loch Sligachan.” Part of me keeps asking him where we are because I want to hear him speak all the names of these locations, his accent thicker since the second we landed. It does things to me...
“Can we stop?”
“We have ten days before we’re due in Barcelona, plenty of time.”
I sigh a contented, happy breath. Ten days alone with Lennox in this incredible, isolated corner of the world. I want to turn my phone off, throw my laptop out the window, forget everything and everyone except the tattooed adonis in the car with me.
Despite driving a phenomenal race in Azerbaijan, it was hard on him because Dumbass DuPont wrecked his car again and behaved like a salty little bitch, making everyone on the team miserable. I stuck with Jack and Matty all weekend like a grade-a clinger, never letting myself be alone so Dumbass couldn’t cause any trouble. In any case, I plan to make Lennox feel much better for the next ten days.
Before I know it, we pull off the tiny main road and the car winds down an unmarked gravel drive for several minutes, passing hilly meadows and an old stone fence before Lennox punches in a code and a black steel gate opens for us. Whatever I was picturing in my head as Lennox’s home, this is not it.
First coming into view as we keep down the drive is a massive two-story garage built out of round gray and black stones, hundreds of year of weather perfecting their charm. There are at least six black garage door bays blended into the dark stone and the second story is tinted floor to ceiling windows along the front before a peaked thatched roof takes over, covered in green moss that drips down the sides of the building. It is somehow timeworn yet sleek and modern.
We drive past the garage and a few smaller stone outbuildings before pulling up to the main building. “This is your house?” I gasp.
“Aye.” Lennox pops out of the car and is rounding it to open my door for me, but I’ve already gotten it open and have jumped out, my jaw open and trying to take in the spectacular beauty. The house is ancient, more like a castle than a home, all black and gray stone construction, moss growing between some rocks, and a shale tile roof with multiple brick chimneys rising above. Li
ke the garage, there are modern windows peppered everywhere that blend seamlessly into the aesthetic. As far as I can see, it’s surrounded by brilliant greenery in all directions.
“How old is it?” I gawk.
“Not that old, it was a diatomite factory built in the mid-1800s.” Not that old? I have so many questions I don’t know where to start but I’m distracted by an orange tabby cat bounding and leaping over long grass heading straight for us.
“I think one of your fans is charging you,” I point.
Lennox turns to see what I’m pointing at as the cat reaches us and starts weaving between his long legs. He bends down to scratch the kitty’s ears, one of them missing the top-left point, and coos something to him in Gaelic. I don’t need to understand it for my hormones to shift into hyperdrive. “Come on, let’s get it over with,” he rolls his eyes at me, thinking I’m going to make more cat jokes.
Me, Lennox and the orange cat, who he calls ‘Bodach,’ traipse all around the property as he stops and refills food dishes in small stone outbuildings along the way. Hearing the kibble hit their bowls, a few more cats appear along the horizon and make their way in for chow as soon as we’re out of the immediate area.
I can’t help but smile at how adorable this is, the big, strong, tattooed bad boy that he’s supposed to be, refilling cat food bowls. “You need a refresher on how secure I am in my masculinity?” He asks me, grabbing my ass and pulling my hips into him along a worn path amongst the fields.
“I would like a refresher course on this,” I smirk and cup his package, “but I’m not teasing you about the cats. I’m more woke than that and honestly, my ovaries are on fire.”
“There are probably antibiotics for that,” he laughs, his eyes bright and alive. He’s different here. The way he walks is easy, his shoulders are relaxed. He’s comfortable. This is his sanctuary.
He says the cats kind of came with the property and they’re all spayed or neutered, a few like Bodach he can touch but the others are wild. His dad even comes by every day to feed them while Lennox is gone. “At the marina where Pop worked, there were always cats hanging around the fishing boats. There’s a local group I support, they get all the cats fixed, get ‘em their shots,” he shrugs.
This man. I can’t take any more.
I pull him to me by the waistband of his jeans, “If you don’t take me inside and fuck my brains out, I am going to explode. Literally explode, Lennox.”
He takes my head in his warm hands and lowers his lips to mine, his tongue sweeping over my bottom lip and then exploring my mouth. I moan and push into him, needing to feel his hardness, his body close to mine, and slide my hands around him. We make out in the middle of the lush grasses, the complete freedom from anyone who might see us makes me want to tear his pants off and go at it right here. I slip my hands under the hem of his shirt and run my hands up his back, needing to feel skin.
“Jesus your hands are cold,” he jerks back chuckling. It’s pretty chilly here, my panties are not the only thing damp, and there’s a decent ocean breeze swirling past us. I’ve been too preoccupied to even notice I’m a little cold. “Come on, I’ll show you one more thing then we’ll go inside and I’ll warm you up.”
Following a worn path in the long green grass, the sounds of the ocean become stronger, waves crashing on the shore. Deep blue water comes into view as we get closer, whitecaps moving their way toward shore, and then we near the steep drop off. “Oh my god,” I gasp. Rocky cliffs fall before us and meet the earth with black basalt stones and sand as far as the eye can see. Far below us, the beach juts out creating natural pools where waves crash then slink back out to sea. Gulls swoop the cliffs, the only witnesses to Lennox and I standing at this point. The rugged beauty and isolation are awe-inspiring and humbling.
“Why do you ever leave this magical place?” I whisper to Lennox, standing beside me with his hands in his pockets, brown locks of hair blowing in the wind, gazing out to the sea. I’m wearing a hoodie and have goosebumps whereas he stands in a thin white tee shirt facing the headwinds completely comfortable. He belongs here, of this place.
“I’ve never brought anyone here before,” he says, still watching the horizon.
“No one?” How can that be? Surely he’s brought women, girlfriends, Kate the Waif, home before.
He shakes his head. “It’s my escape from everyone, everything.”
My stomach falls and I wrap my arms around myself. I feel like a monster, I can’t do this Cooper Media piece, this is his. No one else’s.
“If I didn’t want you here, you wouldn’t be here,” he misinterprets me shrinking in on myself. But his words help another worry, anyway. “Come on, let’s get you inside.”
“It’s beautiful,” I tell him as he puts an arm around me and we start back to the house.
“Yeah well, you haven’t seen the inside yet.”
Lennox turns off the security system inside the front door while my eyes dart from one side of the massive space to the next. The old factory building has been gutted and turned into an open floor plan home with dramatic two-story ceilings over much of it, original dark wood beams running parallel to the roof, exposed stone over several walls. It is a stunning space that pairs an industrial loft with a warm, cozy cottage. Or, it will be when it’s finished?
“Needs a lot of work yet,” he says leading me into the kitchen. It’s the size of my New York apartment and the windows overlook the coast letting in rays of natural light, elegant white farmhouse cabinets sit below custom concrete counters and copper fixtures pop against the dark stone. The top cabinets are not installed but are still in their boxes piled up against the far wall. Wires for the lighting dangle down and switches in the wall are exposed waiting for the drywall to be finished.
The living room next to the kitchen is an enormous open space with a stone fireplace larger than most cars, its chimney rising all the way to the roof far above us. More windows line the walls and overlook a meadow and a big brick patio space. In the middle of the room is a single grey couch, wood coffee table, and the biggest television I’ve ever seen, sitting on the floor.
“How long have you lived here?” I ask. Calling this a bachelor’s house would be a gross understatement. Even unfinished, it is magazine worthy in design, but it’s… empty. It echoes when we walk on the stained concrete floors. There isn’t a single photo, throw pillow, or personal item anywhere.
“A couple of years, I guess,” Lennox shrugs.
I stay silent as we mill about. I want to ask him why he hasn’t had it finished yet, but I don’t want to be rude or have him think I don’t like it. It’s not like he doesn’t have the money, a good construction crew could finish everything in a week. It’s gorgeous and I’m grateful to be here with him, I wouldn’t care if he lived in a tent. I’m also dying of curiosity but keep it tamped down so I don’t overstep any boundaries.
He reads my mind or body language and continues, “I haven’t really had the time to finish it. Pop and I plug away at it here and there.”
“You are doing the work?”
“The major stuff I had done, gutting it, framing it out, the windows and roof and whatnot. But I wanted to do the rest myself. I just never get around to it. It was still an old factory inside when I bought it, but it had good bones and character. And I wanted a change.”
“I had no idea you were so handy.”
“My tool work is second to none,” he winks at me, then strides to me and wraps his arms around me from behind.
I lean back into him. “Thank you for bringing me here.” His lips drop to my neck and I roll my head to give him access. He takes my earlobe between his teeth and plants soft nibbles down my neck and collarbone, pulling the collar of my hoodie as much as it will give until he growls and tears it off over my head.
I reach my arms behind me trying to touch him but I’m trapped inside his strong arms holding me tight against him as he bites and licks and sucks on the sensitive skin of my neck. I wiggle my as
s back into the hardness I feel growing at my lower back. One of his hands moves under my bra and cups a breast.
I moan and arch my back as his thumb works my nipple into a hardened peak and he flattens his other palm across my abdomen then slowly drags it lower and into the front of my jeans. Dipping his long fingers into the front of my panties and into my slick folds, he growls into my ear, “Mmm, who are you so wet for, love?”
“You,” I hiss and pull one arm free to bring up behind me and loop around his neck. My nails dig into his neck as he strokes his fingers up and down over my crease and then dip inside of me. “Oh god, I need you.” His fingers slide in and out of me, his thumb working my clit.
My body is jerking and wiggling from pleasure but I’m nearly immobile from his tall, hard body behind me, his arms holding me firm against his torso. I’m surrounded and contained by his limbs and completely at his mercy, he’s taking away all my control again and it’s turning me on so much. I’m going to come from this if he doesn’t stop. “Lennox, take me,” I beg.
His hand comes out of my panties and he wraps his arms around my waist, carrying me against him until we’re back in the kitchen. He drops me next to a counter, windows before me with the ocean beyond. “Bend over,” he pushes my back down and goes to work stripping my jeans down and over my feet, then his hard cock presses into me from behind again. He grinds himself against me several times, his hands running up and down my back.
He stops for a moment and I expect the sound of his zipper but I feel the stubble of his chin on my inner thighs instead. “Oh god,” his hands spread my legs and his tongue runs over the cloth of my panties before he slips them to the side. His tongue pushes inside my channel and I push my ass back to him and grip the cold concrete counter I’m flattened against.
“So wet, you taste so good,” his deep voice rumbles behind me as his tongue laps the length of my pussy. Over and over he strokes me and drives me into a frenzy with the tip of his tongue before he covers me with his whole mouth and sucks my clit. I spread my legs wider for him and he wraps his arms around my thighs practically lifting my feet from the floor and holding me against his shoulders.
