We both laugh and he’s an absolute sight. I can’t stop looking at his swollen lips and the mess I’ve made of him. ‘Kiss me.’
His kiss tastes like me and I’m greedy in the way I lap up the cum that’s trickled down his jaw. All I can smell is me on him, my scent, my laundry detergent. It’s intoxicating. I don’t even hear the first knock at the door as he tries to climb off of me.
‘Noooo,’ I whine as his feet hit the floor. I just want to keep kissing him. It’s the only good thing I have going for me tonight.
‘The food’s here.’ He chucks me the remote from the end of the bed. ‘Pick something to watch and I’ll get everything sorted.’
It’s not how I thought I’d be spending the evening. I was hoping we’d sneak in a round of celebratory sex after I pulled out the fastest lap in qualifying today. But as he sets up our dinners and I pick some comedy movie and we eat side by side chatting about everything and anything, I realise it could be so much worse. I’m lucky to have him, to be cared for by him and I can’t take that for granted.
It’s been such a nice evening that it makes it so easy to delete Jackson’s message and his contact details once Caleb leaves to go and sleep in his own bed.
ChapterTwenty-Six
Caleb
Aday at the racetrack without Johannes is not something I want to experience again.
Anton is way too green for this level of racing. He could do with some more time in the lower levels, and he struggles to take on board even the most straightforward command. I said box– box, and yet he managed to miss the fucking pit lane. I could have screamed. I did, when my mic was turned off, and Ian had to prevent me from throwing it out of reach so I didn’t have to communicate with him.
Not a good day in the office, especially when Anton finished nineteenth and even that was only because another driver ended up not finishing due to an engine problem. It was almost embarrassing considering the incredible car he’s in.
‘How’s Johannes doing?’ Ian asks as we finish packing up. I’m not sticking around to assist with the garage pack-up tonight. I’m ready to run back to Jo and make sure he’s doing okay.
‘Two broken ribs and feeling absolutely distraught that he couldn’t be out here today.’
‘Yeah. And watching this shit show today probably hasn’t helped. He going to be okay for the next one?’ Ian asks, as he shoves his laptop into its case and throws his satchel over his shoulder.
‘I don’t think anyone will be able to stop him, even if he isn’t.’
‘He’ll be back before we know it. Just one race, Nathan was saying.’
Yeah, well, Nathan would have liked it to be no races, so I’m not sure how much I value his opinion. ‘Anyway, I’m off. Need to get back to, uh, work on my thesis this evening and sleep. Yeah, I’m tired.’ I try to force out a yawn.
Ian eyes me suspiciously. Normally I’d be here all evening, but I’m out the door before he can even say goodnight.
* * *
‘Honey, I’m home,’ I call out as I slip my keycard into his hotel room door. He smiles, but frustration is etched in the way theroom is an absolute mess of crumpled sheets of paper from the colouring book I thought might keep him occupied and several chocolate-stained room-service plates.
‘Fucking finally,’ he grumbles. It’s much later than I predicted, but he knew I’d have no choice but to go to the grid today. It’s not like the team has a backup race engineer.
I know Johannes is ready to climb the walls right now, but the doctor said for the first couple of days at least only light movement and exercise. Johannes is pulling threads out of the expensive bedspread right now, though, which tells me how bored he must be.
We’ve got each other off more in the last twenty-four hours than the whole time we’ve been dating, settling for messy hand jobs and blow jobs on my part, but it’s been something to do. I’m pretty sure it was a blow job that convinced him to actually watch the race today. Even if he did say it would be on low volume and he couldn’t promise he’d actually pay attention. I didn’t believe him for a second. He’d want to catch Nils pulling up into fifth place on the grid, his highest starting position so far, and his pride wouldn’t let him miss that success for his teammate.
I tug off the team jumper, folding it before draping it over the armchair and then slipping out of my trousers and boxers as he wolf-whistles. I’m in desperate need of a shower and to slip into something comfy before we spend the evening in bed together again.
‘Let me wash quickly and then I’ll take over keeping you occupied, okay?’
‘Leave the door open so I can watch.’ I almost do as well, just to give him a little bit of satisfaction, because this being unable to race thing is clearly making him cranky, but I know it’ll only tempt him up out of bed and he’ll be naked under the spray with me before I can blink an eye.
I grab a clean pair of his boxers and close the bathroom door behind me. ‘How’re the ribs feeling?’ I ask, which is probably a stupid question.
‘Urgh, not good. Feels like someone’s trying to snap my body in half– and not in the good way like when I’m being bent over the back of a couch.’ Well, at least he hasn’t lost is sense of humour, or his libido. That’s something.
‘You’re taking the painkillers, though, right?’ I know some athletes can be too proud and stubborn to take them, not wanting to appear weak.
He grunts. ‘I’m taking them exactly as the doctor said. They make me fucking sleepy though, so that’s fun.’
