“Don’t have to,” he pants. “I’m almost there, too. Just keep doing whatever the fuck it is you’re doing.”
I grit my teeth and double down, hitting that magic spot over and over until his body jerks and he tightens around me. He shouts my name as thick ropes of come jettison from his cock, splattering his chest and abs and filling the air with the sharp, pungent smell of sex. Then it’s my turn and I’m emptying myself into him, bathing my cock in my own come.
I lean down and lap up a dollop of the creamy white liquid, kissing him and tangling my tongue with his so I can share it with him. Then we collapse onto the damp sheets, sweaty and satisfied. He snuggles into me, and I pull him into a warm embrace, not caring that now we’re both covered in come.
“So—” He trails off, tracing circles on my chest with his finger.
“So—”
“I know I said I was ready to come out—”
“Having second thoughts already?” I push back his sweat-soaked hair and kiss his forehead. “It’s all right if you are. We don’t have to go public until you’re ready.”
“Hell, no.” He kisses me fiercely. “I want everyone to know you’re mine and vice versa.”
“Even your father?”
“My father can go fuck himself.”
I want to jump up and celebrate like he’s back on the podium, but I also can’t bear the thought of leaving this bed and his warm, pliant body, so I settle for taking his hand and twining our fingers together.
“Sounds difficult,” I say playfully. “And painful.”
“I’m serious.” He props himself up on one elbow so he’s looking down at me. “Brazil was the last straw. I’m done twisting myself into knots trying to please him.”
“I am so fucking proud of you.”
We share a kiss as my spent cock slips out of him. I gently disentangle myself and head for the bathroom, returning a minute later with a couple of damp towels. I toss one to him and use the other to wipe myself down. When we’re clean, I take his towel back and throw it and mine into the bathroom. Then I slide back into bed and draw him to me again.
“I want to come out,” he says, apparently still stuck on that topic. “But I want to wait until after our summer break.”
Every July, FIA rules require that the teams shut down for fourteen days straight. In the past, I always hated the break. With no family left to speak of and what friends I had on the circuit all spending the time with their loved ones, I was always at loose ends, never knowing what to do with myself. That was part of the reason why it was so easy for me to turn to booze during my self-imposed hiatus after Stefan’s accident.
But now, I’m suddenly looking forward to the time off. Maybe Grady and I can run away to some secluded tropical island where no one will bother us. Or just hole up in his Monaco apartment and spend the entire break making each other come and watchingThe Great British Baking Show, with occasional breaks to eat, sleep, and shower.
“Like I said, the decision is up to you.”
“I just want us to have some time together before we’re at the center of a media circus, like Cristian and Jasper.”
“I’d like that, too. The time together. Not the media circus.” Although he’s right, it’s inevitable. Cristian and Jasper have been an item for months, and the frenzy still hasn’t died down.
It won’t be pretty. I’m not great with the press in the best of times, and once we’ve gone public, the media certainly won’t be on their best behavior. There will be lots of intrusive, embarrassing questions and a certain amount of people who aren’t going to approve of our relationship no matter what we say. But if that’s what it takes for us to be together, then count me in.
“We can spend the break together,” he says, echoing my thoughts. “Use the time to figure out what to say to Jacques and Elodie and how to—”
I silence him with a sloppy kiss. “I know slow isn’t in your vocabulary, but I need you to slow down, Flash. We can worry about all that tomorrow. Right now, sleep is screaming my name.”
“Okay, old man.” He curls into me. “Tomorrow.”
CHAPTER20
Ben
“How about Fiji? It’s only a nine-hour flight from Japan.” I stare at my computer screen, where I’ve loaded an article on the most popular beach vacations. The idea of spending two weeks in a tropical paradise with Grady wearing nothing but board shorts or his birthday suit is infinitely appealing to me. “Or Hawaii. That’s eight hours.”
It’s qualifying day in Melbourne and we’re running out of time to decide where we want to spend the break, which starts after next week’s race at Suzuka. I’ve suggested virtually every island in the Caribbean. And a few in the South Pacific. Hell, I’d be happy staying in Japan. Or hiding out at his place in Monaco. But for some bizarre reason, he’s fixated on going to—wait for it—my hometown. Clearapple, Kentucky, population 1,436. And nary a beach in an eight-hundred-mile radius. Four hundred if you count the Land Between the Lakes.
There goes my fantasy of Grady emerging from the water à la the dripping wet and drop-dead sexy dude in that period drama my mother made me watch with her when she was sick. All six fucking hours. Although I have to admit, it was almost worth it for that one scene. If I didn’t already know I was bisexual, my instant hard-on would have clinched it for me.
