Page 16 of Holeshot Heathen

Chapter 15

The next meet, I can’t wait to see Ryder. I look out of the window at him, but he’s snapping at his dad and throwing stuff around. I’ve never seen him like this, but it makes me nervous, so I hang back. I was hoping I could maybe say hello or have a conversation with him. I don’t know how, but I”m trying to find a way to spend some time with him. But he’s clearly in a mood and can’t even bear to be near his dad. I decide to give him a wide berth for now, and I hang back near the window and watch him.

They start to prep the bike in silence. His dad gets up, places his hand on Ryder’s shoulder, and Ryder hangs his head, shaking it. His dad rubs his shoulder and walks away. He gets lost in his world working on the bike, doing all his checks, tyres, breaks, oil, and fuel, and then wipes down the plastics. When he’s finished, he flops down on his behind against the van. He brings his knees up, rests his elbows, takes a deep breath, and scrubs his hands into his thick, jet-black hair.

He sits like that for a while before letting his head drop back onto the van and screwing his eyes closed. He shoves his legs out in front of him and crosses them at the ankles. He seems to relax a bit, but from here, I can’t tell what he’s thinking. Is he angry or upset? I find myself wanting to know. He looks peaceful, relaxed, but I’m not sure.

I stand to leave, but I hesitate. This may not be the best time to try and strike up a conversation. It could make matters worse, and I shudder at the thought. I don’t want to go back to hating each other.

I’m assuming because my feelings have changed, that his feelings have too. What if, even after helping me, he still despises me? I take my seat back in the shadows. I watch and wait. It’s almost time for the race, but he hasn’t moved. I’m not sure if he’s asleep or just ignoring the world, so I head out of the motorhome, and as I click the door shut, his eyes flick to mine. They’re red, like he’s been rubbing them, or crying, or maybe tired.

He sighs in annoyance and rises to his feet, turning and walking away from me. I don’t know why, but it hurts. It shouldn’t, but for some reason it does. And I can’t help but stutter a breath.

I avoid him as much as possible for the rest of the weekend. I watch him. I pleasure myself in the shower thinking of him, and I follow him. I stalk him across social media and try to find as much information as possible. All the time, I keep him in view as much as I can. The boyfriend hasn’t been here this weekend, and I’m praying to whoever that it has ended, and that’s why he’s not around. I smile to myself and hope that they’re broken up.

He barely talks to anyone the whole weekend. Pulling up at the start gates, he barely looks around, focusing only on the track. He’s fast out of the gate, and he reaches the first corner in second, and I’m in fourth. He’s aggressive but precise. He takes the tight line wherever he can and sails over the tabletop and whoops like he’s riding on smooth tarmac. When he hits the ruts, he powers into them harder than ever, spewing dirt up as his tyres grip and propel him forward. He wins the race, which is beautiful to see, but he doesn’t seem pleased.

He’s still angry and wound up. I can tell from how he holds his shoulders, the tension in his hands as he wheels his bike back to the pits, and the permanent scowl on his brow when he removes his helmet. His eyes seem almost darker somehow. The usual gold flecks in those dark brown eyes that normally look like stars in the night sky are dim, barely a flicker.

After the last race, he heads to the shower block, and I decide to follow him. I grab a towel to make it at least look like I’m going to shower. I can say mine is broken. That’s a believable excuse, right? I grab my shower gel, too, and head over there.

I gently push the door open and creep in, letting it shut quietly behind me. I hear voices coming from further in.

Quietly making my way deeper into the shower block, I hear Ryder’s voice. “On your fucking knees.”

There’s a muffled noise before I hear his voice again. “Is this what you fucking want, slut? My dick pulsing down your fucking throat? Well? Is it?” he spits.

“Yes, yes, that’s what I fucking want. You know that’s why I followed you in here. I’ve… been waiting for you.”

“That so? My dick that good, huh?” Ryder questions.

“Fuck yeah!” the other voice whispers.

“Beg,” Ryder says, I can almost hear him smirk.

“What?” the other voice whispers out.

I can’t make out who it is. I just know it’s another man. I’m holding my breath, frozen by his words and the tone of his voice, it”s so deep, so commanding, and so fucking sexy.

“Fucking beg. You want my dick so fucking bad, beg.” Ryder chuckles, and it’s a sound that goes straight to my dick. It’s not a nice chuckle, though. It”s dark, twisted, and it calls to me. My palms are sweating, my breaths are quickening, and it feels like my heart will fly out of my chest at any minute.

“I want you. I want your fucking dick so bad. I want you to fuck my mouth so hard, and then I want you to bend me over and fuck me hard like you did last time, so fucking hard, so I can feel you for days. Fuck, I need you so bad. Please?” the other voice whines.

I’m panting now. My heart is pounding twice as fast. I shouldn’t be here. I shouldn’t be listening to this, but I can’t help myself. The way Ryder has this other man begging for him… I can’t walk away.

“Choke on it, you fucking track slut.” The other guy groans before I hear muffled noises, and I can picture Ryder sliding his dick in between his lips and choking him on his dick.

“That’s it, track slut, let me fuck that pretty little throat of yours. I want to fuck it raw. So, every time you try to talk, all you can think about is my dick pushing against your fucking tonsils.”

There”s a humming, and I can picture him trying to nod, trying to swallow around his dick, and choking it down. My breath hitches.

There’s gagging and choking before I hear a pop. “Bend the fuck over, slut. Part those fucking cheeks… Now!” he barks. I’m assuming when the guy doesn’t move quick enough. “I said fucking part them.” I hear him spit before the other guy screams out. Ryder grunts. “Fuck, your slut arse is so fucking tight. Hold tight, motherfucker. You’re about to get what you wished for.”

There’s a noise that sounds like Ryder has slapped the guy’s arse, then a punishing rhythm of skin slapping on skin.

I turn and rush out of there. I’m overstimulated, flushed, and aroused. The cool air hits me when I step outside, and I jog back to the motorhome. Pushing in through the door, I slam it shut, resting my back against it and panting. Fuck, that was intense. He fucks like he rides… hard, fast, and by the sounds of it, he’s as talented at fucking as he is at riding.

I’m still panting and flustered when I hear his van door open and then slam shut. He’s stood at the back of the van, wet hair curling already at the ends, grey joggers that are slung low on his waist and a white vest top. He’s wearing white trainers. He shakes his hair, and it’s almost like a commercial in slow motion. His muscles flex and twist, his tattoos come alive as he moves, and he’s never looked so… delicious.

I wish it was me in there with him. Would he be like that with me? Forceful, dominating, aggressive, his dirty mouth did things to me, and I hope one day he will say things like that to me. I want to choke on his dick. I want him to make me, and I realise how fucked up that sounds, but I’ve never been as turned on as I am right now. I slide down the door, and my arse hits the floor. I still gasp for breath. The more I think about him, the more erratic my breathing becomes till I make my way into the bathroom and relieve myself. I’m not proud of it, but there’s no other way.

As we drive away at the end of the weekend, I feel like I’ve missed my window of opportunity to interact with him. There’s no racing next weekend as there’s a higher competition on with the team we’re both trying to get into. Normally, I don’t attend those things, but I’m wondering if he will be there to show his support and watch the professionals. Ismile as I think that maybe I should go, and maybe with not participating in the racing, he might even talk to me. When I get home, I start to feel excited. I start to plan outfits to take, pack, and repack. I want to look my best, and I want him to notice me. I catch a glimpse of myself as I walk past the mirror. I look different. I look lighter, happier. I have colour in my cheeks, my eyes seem brighter, my skin looks glowy, and I can’t help but feel nervous. What if he doesn’t want to be friends? What if he’s already made up his mind that I’m to be avoided? I start to panic a little. I take a breath. I can’t sit here all week guessing at what-ifs. I need to show him I’ve changed, or at least that I’m trying to change.

The week flies by, and as I head to the track, I start to feel nervous. What if he’s not there? What if he is, and he won’t talk to me?” My hands are sweating, and the driver pulls the motor home into the camping side of the car park and couples it up as I park up close by. I probably should learn to do this myself. We’re a little further away than normal as we’re not competing, but the driver goes to meet his lift back home. He will be back to collect the motorhome Sunday night unless I fuck everything up and need him to collect it sooner.

I watch outside to see if I can see him, but nothing, and I start to think he won’t show up until I see the van pull up. It’s right at the other end of the car park, but I know it’s his van. I sit and watch him through the window as he saunters across the car park. He turns and walks in the opposite direction, and I slip out behind him and follow him.

He enters the track and goes to talk to a few of the guys on the team. How does he do that? He’s so at ease, like he’s known them for years, and they share a few laughs before he moves on to the next group. One of their recruiters is there, and he walks towards Ryder with his arm outstretched, shaking his hand and clapping him on the shoulder. I know my position is almost guaranteed, but I also know it’s because my father has thrown around words like ‘financial contribution’, ‘sponsorship’ and ‘perks’, and I know he’s buying my place. But Ryder could actually make it on his own. It”s then the nerves hit. What if they decide they can live without the money? Essentially living without me, and I get overlooked or I get pushed out. Normally, I would go on a rampage and throw my teddies around till I get what I want, but as I stand in the shadows and stare after Ryder, I can’t help but feel he deserves it more than me. He’s definitely more talented, and although he doesn’t have the financial backing, he is someone people would come to watch, not only because of how talented he is but because of how he looks. He’s literally everyone’s wet dream. He’s sexy and mysterious. He has that bad boy image that I apparently have a thing for. He has beautiful, pink plush lips that I want to kiss, and his eyes are dark, almost black looking, with the flecks of gold rimming them.

He’s the whole package to me, and women, and I can’t help the jealousy that rises in me, and that’s when I realise that’s not the only thing rising.

Just the thought of Ryder has my balls aching and pulling up into my stomach, and my dick is rock hard. I’ve never ever been with a man. I’ve never really wanted to. I’ve fucked women, girls, lots of them, but looking back, it’s been almost clinical. I rub the heel of my hand into my dick to get some relief, but it just aches.

I turn, needing to head back to the motor home to relieve myself, when I hear a gruff voice. His gruff voice. “What you doing here, Arch?”

It makes my dick pulse, and I clench my eyes shut in sheer panic as I try not to turn around, sporting my raging hard-on. I clasp my hands in front of it and slowly turn around.

“Ryder.”

I gasp, as he’s closer than I thought. I have to lean back to look up into his eyes. My mouth sags open before I catch myself. “Pardon?”

“You okay?” He frowns at me, and I nod. “Soooo?” He smirks.

“Soooo?” I repeat, and he chuckles.

“Arch, what you doing here? You never come to these things.”

“Erm, yeah right, erm I, erm its, erm…” I stutter out, and he laughs.

“Okay.” He smirks again. He turns to leave.

“Have you eaten?” I blurt out.

He looks puzzled but shakes his head. “There’s a place down the road. I was gonna go and get a burger. Do you wanna come with me?”

“With you?” He looks at me like he can’t figure me out before adding, “Why would you want to have dinner with me? You fucking hate me, Arch!”

He laughs, shakes his head, and turns, taking a few steps away from me. The pit opens up in the middle of my stomach. Shit, I’m losing momentum here.

I blurt out, “Sorry!” It just bursts out of me fast, loud and panicked, and his eyes flick to mine. “I wanted to say… sorry.”

I thought it would be hard to say. I’ve never said it before. I’ve always thrown money around or threats, so I didn’t have to say it, but I’m finding I want to say it with him. I want him to see me as a decent guy.

He folds his arms across his chest, and his thick biceps bulge. I immediately feel the need to lick my lips. I swallow and blush.

Looking down at the ground, I sigh, “I’m sorry. I just wanted to say I’m sorry.”

“Yeah, we’ve established that.” He frowns.

I tight-lipped smile at him and then walk away. I shake my head and mentally berate myself. I scrub my hands into my hair and tug at the roots. I see an empty can and kick it before storming into the shadows. I berate myself for thinking it would actually be easy. Someone like him would go out with me, and I would buy him a burger, and what? He would fall in love with me? It gives me time to think about what I’m really contemplating here. He’s gay. Am I gay? Am I bi? Do I actually like girls, or did I just ‘do’ girls because it was easy? It was what was expected. It’s what’s set out for me because it was something Father planned and always did.

I can’t help but feel foolish, but I head back to the motorhome to get some rest and see what I can come up with tomorrow. Maybe I can get him to like me, or do I like him just because he doesn’t want me? Most people want me for something: money, standing, power, or who my father is. No one’s ever wanted me for me, but when I don’t even know who I am, how can I expect anyone to want me?