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I don’t mean by team doctors, or by those last coaches who never cheered me on in Polish. I mean that I always willingly worked the hardest for someone who was on my side. I feel the same rush now when Rae yanks my trousers down far enough that the head of my dick is visible over the underwear he reaches for next.
He pauses. Not due to hesitation this time. I guess the long look he takes is his version of taking a mental photo. He can go ahead and sketch my cock all that he likes later. For now, I strain without meaning to, sliding against the seat until I’m a few inches closer. My back is wedged against the driver’s side door, and this angle doesn’t make for easy fucking; in fact, it’s uncomfortable as hell, but that’s okay. My later coaches trained me to play through that without complaining.
Rae had been trained to do something different. He observes before issuing another order. Following it comes as easily asbreathing when he says, “Up,” again, only more quietly than the first time.
He shoves our shirts behind me, which act as padding when I settle back, everything softer apart from my dick. That’s never been harder, so maybe I have a care kink. His touch is another contrast once he gets my underwear out of the way, if only barely. I’m tied by the tangle of my trousers, by Rae trapping my hands in his, and I couldn’t care less. Not when our fingers thread and Rae looks up like I’m…
Like I’m…
“So glad I got to come back.” He barely touches where I want him to so much that I’m already sweating with sexual tension. “So fucking glad,” he says quietly enough that I barely hear him over the drumming of my heart. It hurries. Rae doesn’t. He acts like he’s got all the time in the world to trace the outline of my dick before bending to kiss where the head shines.
That’s where he makes an equally quiet promise. “Not gonna fuck it up.”
He means his project. His book. A story he wants to weave with pictures but he told me he didn’t know how to start in one of his texts sent while camping.
That’s what I assume as he sucks the head of my cock. Then my brain disengages.
All I can do is hang on, and I need to after his fingers unthread from mine. Who knows why that feels like falling, but he must notice. He slides a hand up my forearm to press one of my hands higher.
I find the headrest then and cling on.
He guides my other hand to the steering wheel next, and I have no idea how he does it while flicking my frenulum with his tongue. I don’t even know how to describe what that does for me. All I know is I grab hold tightly, anchored where he wants me, and it is all that stops me from squirming away at the graze of histeeth when he takes me deeply. This edge of danger must do it for me the same way care does—I taste precome when he lurches up to kiss me.
He gets busy freeing his own cock, and I’d help him if I could let go, only I can’t. Hauling in deep breaths is all I can manage, and if I thought his gaze was busy before, I was mistaken. I’m his sole focus. It’s a lot. So is seeing him watch me open my mouth for the finger he taps against my lips.
I suck it with a good idea of what is coming.
I’ve never wanted more to be fully naked. To have a whole bed to spread out on, and yet these tight confines also do it for me. This tangle of trousers. These work boots stopping me from kicking them off. It all does it for me. So does this tight clutch I can’t let up on the steering wheel and headrest.
I can’t let go.
Can’t look away.
Have to stay right here and watch as he strokes himself off, intent now on pressing that wet finger just inside me.
His mouth finds the head of my dick again then, and…
I’m gone.
Shattered like I thought could happen to the Land Rover windows. The whole world crashes off its axis, tumbling like we’ll both fall and join that car I once saw glint under quarry water, only I don’t sink.
I can’t, not when Rae looks up, that dark gaze locking with mine as he says this hoarsely. “I’m not gonna fuck up this chance. I’m gonna work as hard as you do.”
I didn’t hit the bottom of a quarry, but that single sentence?
The way he sees me?
It wrecks me.
I also still cling to a headrest and the steering wheel, watching him get off, and who cares if the spatter of his come lands on my trousers? He can stain them as much as he likes.You better believe I’m not moving, not when it’s my thigh that he braces on, fingers digging in hard enough to leave his own mark on me.
I stay right where he needs me to be until he stops panting and raises his head to remind me of what he looks like after coming.
He’s so fucking pretty.
So strong too.
He needs to be to prise my fingers from their death grip.
