Page 14

Ihave entered a whole new level of petty. I set an alarm for ten minutes before Kian’s usually goes off – he sticks rigidly to a schedule so it’s not difficult to notice. I make a mushroom and ham omelette and a cup of hot blackcurrant, making sure to create as much mess as possible, and then I plonk myself down on the sofa in the lounge and wait. Anticipation tingles in my stomach, spreading to my whole body.

Just like clockwork, at 6.28am, Kian emerges from his bedroom to begin his 6.30am yoga. At first, because it’s still dark in here, he doesn’t see me. But when he turns the light on, he jumps out of his skin.

It’s hilarious.

‘You wanker! What the hell?’

He’s growly, his morning voice thick and rough. Christ, it’s almost enough to have me sporting a semi. If I could get him to say my name right now I’d probably cum in my pyjama bottoms.

I say nothing, just kick my feet up on the coffee table as I take another bite of my toast.

‘Do you mind?’ he asks irritably, from where he’s unrolling his purple yoga mat in our living room. He’s wearing an oversized vest and the tightest shorts I’ve ever seen. They cling to the tree trunks he calls thighs and I’m mesmerised by the way his quads clench when he’s annoyed.

‘Do I mind what?’ I play dumb because it’s just so much fun to see him wound up.

‘This is not a spectator sport.’ It comes out in his best teacher voice, but it doesn’t deter me.

‘Coulda fooled me,’ I say, eyeing his junk in those tight, tight shorts.

This is going to fill my wank bank for years. I’m not giving up the opportunity to see him do downward dog for anything.

‘You’re not moving.’

‘Thank you, Captain Obvious.’ I tuck my feet under myself and get cosy, grease dripping out of my folded omelette and onto my fingers. I lick off the drips and hear him take in a sharp breath.

It’s too easy!

I stumbled to the bathroom yesterday morning to go for a piss and caught the end of the routine. I might have been bleary-eyed at first, but I was very quickly wide awake. Appreciating how every single one of his muscles was on show, extended and bulging, as he held the position. He was beautiful. His eyes were closed and his breathing was controlled, his face relaxed and blissful. I don’t think I’ve ever felt the way he looked. I didn’t know whether I wanted to fuck him or be him.

I’d even made an early morning snack. What did he want me to do, throw it away?

‘Whatever,’ he grumbles, and proceeds to start his routine by sitting cross-legged and closing his eyes. He then rolls his neck and shoulders and moves fluidly into a full-body ritual that makes him seem like he’s on elastic or made of water. I don’t know how to describe it except that it’s an experience to see him be so completely centred, so relaxed, and so incredibly hot at the same time.

I actually start to feel like a voyeur, watching something deeply personal or private. His ass looks amazing, strong and muscular with hollows in the cheeks as he clenches.

Especially when he bends over into what I believe is called a sun solution.

‘That’s right, worship me.’

He chuckles, before quickly rearranging his face into a scowl, turning away from me completely.

Not that I’m complaining because it only gives me another perfect view of his perky ass, hugged by the thinnest layer of Lycra. If I didn’t know Kian, I’d think he was doing it to tease me.

But I do and I know there’s probably a reason he’s wearing these shorts. Most likely for breathability or so he can move with more ease.

I don’t care what the reason is, I’m just grateful he decided to pull them on this morning.

I want to bend him over the coffee table and then take him from behind. The compulsion becomes so strong that I’ve forgotten my hot drink and the toast in my hand. Completely lost in the way his body moves. Until it’s over and he finishes up with some breathing.

He lies on his front, his palms flat on the mat and then pushes up so his spine is curved and his head is thrown back. I watch his pulse throb in a vein in his neck and think what an absolute killing he could make selling videos of himself doing this on OnlyFans.

I’m also starting to consider giving yoga a go – how hard could it be?

My mouth feels dry.

I’m not even sure why I’m doing this anymore – not this; it’s obvious why I’m still doing this. I mean, winding him up. Pissing him off. Trying to get a reaction out of him. When I set the alarm last night I was chuckling with glee at how mad he was going to be, but, sitting here now, the only one who’s being tortured is me.

Kian’s gone out of his way to make it clear that the kiss was a mistake. I can take a hint, and since he exits every room I walk into, well I’ve taken the hint massively. To the point it’s starting to make me mad.

Right now, though, I’d do anything to convince him to kiss me again. I want to feel the drag of his lips over mine, his fingers digging into the skin of my hips, my stomach, my thighs. I am dying for any kind of touch from him. Just one touch, one time. I need something to take the edge off.

Except I know it wouldn’t be enough. Once will never be enough with him.

I know this as clearly as I know my own name.

And that’s the problem in a nutshell.

I’m a lone wolf, not a pack animal. No one has ever believed in me the way I believe in myself. I was always told I’d never amount to anything. I was always abandoned, left behind, tossed away like rubbish in a skip. The only person I can count on is me. Even Johannes – the one person I trusted with my whole life –is barely around anymore. I know he’s found someone else, and at first it felt like the sky was falling down. I couldn’t breathe, I couldn’t think, I couldn’t see. So I drank until I didn’t care anymore.

And then I called Kian.

But I don’t want a relationship. I don’t want to start to depend on someone, to need someone, to love them.

It would be the end of me.

That was what I needed to remember to stop myself doing anything stupid.

Wanting someone more than once would never work. Not for me. Not ever.

I sneak out whilst he’s scrunched up in some kind of contortionist shape on the mat. The fun’s over.

I’m still straining in my pyjamas, though, so I need to go and take care of that.

I can’t have him, but that doesn’t mean I can’t get off to the image of him being so perfectly elongated in a sun-salutation pose.

It doesn’t take much, a couple of tugs and I’m spilling into my fist. It should be enough. I should be spent, but it doesn’t work.

I just want more. I want his mouth on my dick. I want his hands digging into my ass while he sucks my balls.

Fuuuuck!

Luckily, my day’s packed with interviews, a sports massage and some physio, followed by some social-media commitments to advertise the Austrian event. They’ve asked for me, along with one of the Swedes, Johannes and Yorris. At least they’ve picked some of the more entertaining drivers, the ones with personalities, so I’m sure we’ll have a laugh.

Even better, afterwards we all head out together for dinner and drinks. Kian might not want to socialise with his competitors but I don’t see what the problem is.

Yorris is an interesting one. I don’t know him that well, and I’m not sure about him at first. He gives off ultimate asshole vibes in a way that’s neither cool nor sexy, but once you get a couple drinks in him he’s bloody hilarious.

‘That guy’s been staring at you all night.’ He’s pointing the neck of his beer bottle at a gorgeous twink who, as correctly said by Yorris, can’t take his eyes off of me.

The twink’s not even trying to be discreet and when we make eye contact he beckons me over.

‘Right then, lads,’ I say, clapping my hands against my thighs, ‘enjoy the rest of your evening. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.’

Johannes slides out of the booth so I can get out, shooting me a disapproving glance that almost replicates one of Kian’s, but there’s no stopping me.

The cute guy’s an easy score. My hand on his shoulder and three seconds of unwavering eye contact is all it takes for him to agree to get out of there with me.

It’s only when we’re outside the bar and getting into the Uber I’ve summoned that I realise I’m not quite sure where I’m going to take him.

My bed in the motorhome is really comfy, but the walls are paper thin and Kian’s definitely going to hear.

Which is perfect.

I’ll show him what he’s missing out on.

‘I’ve never been fucked by a celebrity,’ says the twink the second we’re inside the motorhome. It’s an instant turn-off. They’re all the same, just looking for their five minutes of fame.

It never used to bother me at first – it felt nice to be worshipped – but recently it’s started to give me the ick. I almost want to stop and tell him to bugger off home.

But I don’t. Instead, I pull him towards my room and we start fumbling in the doorway. He’s trying to unbutton my jeans and I’m working my way down his buttoned shirt, trailing little kisses and nips across his collar bone until his skin flares red and he’s mewling every time I sink my teeth in a little further than I probably should.

‘You’re so fucking good at that. My friend was right about you last year.’

Bloody hell! Why couldn’t he just keep his mouth shut? I’m regretting not keeping a ball gag in my travel kit.

I don’t justify his stupidity with a response, instead I bite into the skin of his shoulder, and this time he winces.

Good.

I quickly kiss it better though. I don’t want tomorrow’s tabloid headlines to be calling me a biter – or some kind of weird fetishist cannibal.

Anders would not like that.

The twink works my jeans and boxers down my thighs, leaving them around my ankles, and then sinks to the floor. He’s eye-to-eye with my dick and he starts running his tongue over the tip before tracing the underneath of my shaft, leaving me whimpering out a moan. I reach for something to brace myself against and find the door frame as this man does magic things with his mouth.

He’s loving every second of it, hollowing his cheeks and sucking hard, taking as much of me as he can into his mouth. He gags slightly as my dick slams into the back of his throat.

He’s talented, I’ll give him that, and at least it’s stopped him ruining the mood by saying stupid shit. I really need this release after what occurred in this trailer earlier today. Eyes closed, summoning up the memory of this morning’s yoga session, I can almost imagine it’s Kian on his knees in front of me.

Nothing’s going to stop me getting off right now.

‘You’re taking the actual piss now!’ Kian hisses from his doorway. The guy, whose name I can’t remember, is startled into choking on my dick. ‘Do whoever you want in your room, but this is a joke. We have to share this space. I don’t want to be stepping in your fucking cum on the way to the bathroom.’

The twink is terrified and gets up off his knees. I’m lucky he doesn’t take my dick off with how quickly he pulls away.

‘Fuck! Is that Kian Walker? You share with Kian Walker? Man, you’re so lucky. I’d much rather be blowing him than you – no offence.’ Why do people bloody say that when they’ve clearly just said something offensive?

‘No, thanks,’ Kian says, but it does nothing for my bruised ego. I’d rather be sucking Kian Walker’s dick, too.

‘You should probably leave,’ I suggest, and he’s out of here faster than a rat up a drainpipe. ‘Thanks for that,’ I say, turning my attention back to Kian.

The front porch light illuminates him in his doorway. He does not look happy, the tips of his ears and high points of his cheeks are beetroot red and I’m not sure if it’s because he caught me getting my dick sucked or because he’s been woken up.

Either way, he looks cute all ruffled up like this.

It’s only then I remember that my dick is still hanging out, and it definitely did not get the memo that it’s time to stand down. I think I’m even more turned on now than when I was balls-deep in the twink’s mouth.

Yet I know that if I don’t pull my boxers up Kian’s probably going to amputate my dick, so I tug them up quickly, along with my jeans.

‘About fucking time,’ he says, still lingering in his doorway like the dirty little creep he is.

‘Disappointed?’

Even in the dim light it’s hard not to see how his eyes darken, almost like he maybe is disappointed. Or maybe it’s just wishful thinking.

‘Only that I have to share this place with you for eleven more weeks.’

It’s a stone-cold lie. He’s not even selling it to himself, never mind me.

‘Keep telling yourself that,’ I say, dropping the bombshell almost as quickly as I dropped my trousers for the guy whose name I still can’t recall. I step back into my room and slam the door closed behind me, imagining him rushing over to peep through a crack while I finish myself off.

It’s fast, hard, and I don’t even try to be quiet when I cum.

My only regret is that this door doesn’t have a peephole so I can see just how much I’ve shocked him.