Page 19

Finishing top of the podium in Hungary, Belgium and the Netherlands has lit a rocket up my ass. It’s a thrill to be having the best season of my career. It’s even possible I could challenge the points record of the championship, but I don’t want to get ahead of myself.

I guess it also helps that in my evenings and on down days I’m getting proper quality time with Harper. I’m not willing to credit him for my good fortune, but I’m not denying that I feel great.

But I can’t lie and say he doesn’t help. I’ve never cared too much about having someone to ‘come home to’, but, right now, I can see the appeal. Even when we aren’t hooking up, I feel like we hardly leave each other’s sides. It’s easier in the motorhome than it is in hotels, we cook together and don’t rely on the catered meals from Hendersohm. We can curl up on the sofa late into the evening and watch TV like, dare I say it, a normal couple. We aren’t one. I don’t think? I don’t know? I have no clue where we stand.

Since Belgium when I tried to raise the issue of us being exclusive, I haven’t mentioned it again. It didn’t exactly go well, and although Harper came back and said all the right things, we’ve still not clearly defined what we are to each other. I’m trying to be cool, calm, and collected so as not to overwhelm him or scare him off.

It’s all new to him, this relationship business. He’s not said it in so many words, but I think I’m the only person outside of Johannes that he’s been with more than once. I’m trying not to pressure him. I figure we just need to take it one day at a time for now, but I can see, in the not-so-distant future, that we’ll have to talk about it.

I’m sure it’s going to go as well as pulling teeth, but I don’t want to be a casual-sex partner forever. If I do decide to retire at the end of the season, I don’t just want to be thrown away because it will no longer be convenient and easy. If this is my last season, I won’t be his teammate anymore, travelling the world with him and keeping his bed warm.

As I step down from the podium in the Netherlands, I look to my left and see Harper doing the same from where he’s been keeping third-place warm. He shoots me the most scandalous look I’ve ever seen. His eyes are all heat, as if he wants to drop to his knees right now and reward me for yet another first-place finish. I’m glad my racing suit and the layers of fire protection I’ve got on will disguise my growing erection.

I still look around, scanning the bank of flashing cameras, hoping that none of them caught that look being sent my way or interpreted its meaning.

We’ve done such a good job of keeping this just between the two of us so far, and I don’t want to screw it up now. I don’t want to scare him off. I don’t want to rock the boat at Hendersohm. And I don’t want any distractions from the media that get in the way of our performance on the track.

The comments, I’m sure, would be either incredibly homophobic or would accuse us of cheating by employing team tactics that disadvantaged other drivers. In either case it would be absolute bollocks, but we’d spend hours denying it and the sponsors wouldn’t like it. Little do they know, our sexual chemistry thrives on us being competitive. There’s no world in which I would give up a podium position to help Harper win, and I know he feels the same.

‘Good job, yet again, Walker,’ Harper says in a hushed tone. It’s a perfectly tame comment that doesn’t need to be whispered. To everyone who likes to write about us it’ll look like teammates congratulating each other, but I know there’s a different kind of praise behind those words. Praise and a promise.

We’ll get back to the motorhome and draw the blinds in every room. Before we’ve even showered, he’ll sink to his knees and show me just how proud he is of my win.

Great.Now I’m definitely fighting a boner.

I need to distract myself or there’ll be no hiding it and then we really will have a sex scandal on our hands. Journalists aren’t stupid and they love to put two and two together and come up with five – except this time it would be four and we’d either have to lie and deny it or go public with our rel?—

With whatever we are.

‘Not too bad from you either, James. Any chance of you breaking second any time soon, though?’

‘And take the shine off you, golden boy? Hardly. But don’t worry, I’ll take you down. Can’t be on top forever.’

If his tone doesn’t give him away then his cheeky smirk will.

I start planning exactly what I’m going to do to him when we’re back in the confines of the motorhome, with no eyes or microphones on us.

Except first of all, we have to do the press call. Deep breaths. Nails down a chalkboard. Buckets of vomit. Rats in a bag. Car accidents and serial killers. ARGH!

It’s not perfect, but it’s helping.

‘Kian, how does it feel to take home three first-place finishes in a row?’ the first journalist asks. She’s got a microphone outstretched on a long stick, and there’s a camera man moving behind her to get the best shot. I’m not even sure who she works for.

‘Incredible, absolutely incredible. Of course, this is every driver’s dream to be on top of the podium and defending my title, but I treat every circuit like a completely new start and never take any win for granted.’

‘I’m sure, especially in your final season?’

I smile tightly as I reply. ‘I’ll let you know when I get to my final season.’ It’s a diplomatic answer and she laughs, and that’s enough for me to move down the row to the next.

‘You’re having an incredible season, Kian,’ the next guy comments. He’s got a handheld recorder reached out over the barrier to capture my answer to whatever he’s about to say next. ‘Some would say your best one yet. What would you say is contributing to that?’

Harper.

His name almost rolls off my tongue and I have to work really hard to keep my thoughts in line.

The journalist clears his throat, prompting me, a single brow raised as if trying to figure out what’s taking me so long to answer. Apart from the handful of bad interviews at the start of the season, I have a good track record of being pretty slick when it comes to the media. Mostly because I’ve been used to it my whole life, I reckon.

When Mum was at the height of her fame, we couldn’t leave the house on our own. We were escorted to school, to friends’ birthday parties, to clubs and activities – anywhere, really. There were reporters at the end of our drive, outside the gates, hounding us from such a young age, desperate for Chastity Walker’s kids to say or do something silly.

I’m so zoned out that the journalist has repeated the question and I finally find my voice again. ‘Sorry man, apparently the high of the win has gone to my head. Must be some kind of extra altitude on top of that podium, eh?’

I’m sure he’ll run with some quote about me being on top of the world or even being cocky about winning again. I don’t care.

‘I’d just have to say it’s experience now. I’ve been doing this for well over a decade, and at Hendersohm we work like a family. We’re a well-oiled machine and we’ve got some incredible guys in the garage making sure these cars are perfection for us. The team’s nailed it this season. Paired with good driving and weather conditions … I’m hopeful it can continue for the rest of the season.’

‘A lot of changes for Hendersohm this season, though. At the start you seemed a bit shaken both on and off the track by Elijah Gutaga’s injury and the subsequent arrival of Harper James.’ Here we go again. ‘How do you think Harper is getting on? It’s his rookie season and he’s making quite the splash. Has his presence had any effect on your performance?’

‘I think the rankings both today and over the season so far speak for themselves. Harper’s having a great first season after dominating lower-category racing last year. He works incredibly hard and deserves all his success.’

‘And what about when Elijah’s back to full health? Who would you rather have as a teammate?’ He’s a cheeky fuck. Not in any world would I be able to comment on that and I would be in big trouble if I did. I also don’t know what I would say.

‘You know I can’t comment on that. I’m sure the bosses will make the best decision for the team and they’re lucky to have two fantastic drivers to choose from.’ I step away quickly to avoid saying anything stupid. I have no clue what the line-up will look like when Elijah’s better or even this time next year. I haven’t even decided whether I’ll be here.

Elijah and I have obviously kept in touch throughout his recovery and I know he had a set-back when one of the incisions became infected. He’s still got a way to go before he’s back.

The rest of the interviews move along in the same kind of fashion. There are a lot of questions about what’s going well, and thankfully not a lot of nit-picky questions about what can be improved. Though I’m doing well enough to start thinking about challenging the record for championship points within a single season, even I’m not immune to the knowledge that there’s always more I can be doing.

Anders claps me on the shoulders as I make my way into the pit. I can’t think of many teams where the principal is always there waiting for us when we come off the track.

‘Son,’ he starts, and I have to work on steadying my breathing in order to keep my emotions in check. My own father may be a piece of shit, but I’m lucky to have been blessed with a father figure in this sport. A proper role model. Someone who isn’t only concerned with the money we draw in, but who actually loves the sport and his team. ‘Absolute brilliance. I thought I saw some good drives from you in your early career, and last season especially, but this was fantastic. Your poise and focus, and your ability to decide when to take the risk and when to cut it smooth … it astounds me. I’m so proud of you.’

It’s high praise from him, and I’d be flushed a deep shade of rouge if I were back in my teens or early twenties. Now, well, now I soak it up. My muscles cry out with a decade’s worth of aches and pain from the toll this sport takes on the body, so it’s nice to hear that they’ve been worth it.

‘Thanks, sir. Really appreciate it.’

‘And the way you’ve taken Harper under your wing… I know he still needs a few of the sharp edges knocking off, but he’s learning some really good habits from you. Becoming a proper asset to Hendersohm.’

It’s almost nicer to hear good reports of Harper – why is that? I’m still contemplating my future on the track, but I know that whether I stay or go at the end of the season, it will be my choice. Harper doesn’t have leverage yet – one good season doesn’t guarantee his seat next year. Especially when Elijah’s fit and ready to go again.

I don’t envy the tough decision Hendersohm will have to make.

‘He’s doing great, but I don’t think it’s anything to do with me. He’s got natural talent.’

Fingers drag across my back and I feel my whole body go ram-rod straight. I don’t even need to turn around to know he’s behind me, and that he heard at least some of what I just said about him.

Thankfully, no one seems to notice his intimate touch. Anders congratulates Harper and they start talking about the specifics of opportunities he had to sneak up into second, before going over to Ash so they can see the details in the data.

I don’t know how he still has so much energy. The thrill of winning wears off quickly nowadays, and I’m left with nothing but a heavy weight of exhaustion. I can feel it in my bones. They want nothing more than to collapse into bed and take the weight off for a little while. I don’t even have the energy to look at data today.

At just thirty-four, I probably shouldn’t feel like this. I’m in my prime, but it feels like the sport has aged me. I’m sure most drivers feel like this – and sports professionals in general. It’s a short career to stay on top of elite performance, whether you run, throw, kick or hit. I need a good massage. I’ll get one in the diary from the physio before we head off on the road to Italy next, for our final stop of the European tour.

Or maybe I’ll get Harper to put his magic hands to good use when we get home. He can iron out some kinks in my more intimate muscles. I’m sure I’ve probably pushed my glutes real hard today.

I have a fair wait, though. Harper’s mind does not stop working nor his mouth moving as he sits beside Ash at his makeshift desk in the garage, stats and figures flying across the screen as Harper analyses every number. Not that I’m complaining – I’m happy to sit back and watch his pure enjoyment of this sport. No one seems to enjoy it as much as him. Whatever might be said about his lax attitude towards training and self-discipline, no one can knock his passion.

Or maybe it’s just because I see it all going on behind the scenes. I see the way he lies in bed some nights watching hours of footage to learn from other drivers and his past races. He stews over his slower laps, his mistakes and his missed opportunities, and takes even more care analysing the details of his faster laps. Harper James just wants to keep improving and that’s damn admirable, whatever way you look at it. Forget the choices he makes in his personal life, I want to tell every journalist, just keep your eyes on his drive.

It’s over an hour later when he tugs on his team hoodie and strides over to where I’m scrolling through my phone and texting with Elise.

‘You didn’t need to wait.’

There’s surprise on his face, that I’ve hung around for him. Little does he know I’d have waited longer. Another hour. Two. Longer, even.

‘Thought we could walk back together, that’s all.’ I’m measured as I speak – a lot of the team staff are still milling around and packing up our team pit to prepare for transport to Italy.

‘We’d best get going then, huh?’ Surprise morphs into excitement and then quickly into pure lust as he takes me in. I’ve had some physio and done some stretching in the meantime, but I’ve still got my kit on. I don’t think I’ve ever been subject to such appreciative eyes.

We don’t speak on the walk back to the motorhome, but we don’t need to. Even though we’re keeping our distance as we move, there’s a zing of electricity bouncing between us. It’s the promise of what’s to come the second the door to the outside world closes behind us.

I haven’t even taken off my trainers when he mounts me like a bloody tree. He’s lucky I have the upper body strength of a weight-lifting pro, because I’m practically having to hold him up as he mauls my face with his lips.

‘Sometimes, I wish I could watch you drive from the sidelines again,’ he murmurs between kisses. ‘It’s so fucking hot. Even when you overtook me I think I was turned on.’ His lips are on mine, then on my cheek, my jaw, and my neck until he’s meeting the fabric of my T-shirt. ‘Need this off.’

‘Need you in the bedroom first,’ I reply, releasing him from my grip so he can jump down.

His hand finds mine and he leads us to my bedroom like it was his idea. My back can’t take another session on the couch.

He’s stripped off my clothes before I can even cross the threshold of the room. He yanks his own clothes off, too, and then we’re falling back on the bed, hands and lips everywhere they can reach.

It’s undoubtable how much we want each other. It’s been weeks of messing around, switching between blow jobs and hand jobs, a little rimming and the occasional venture into ass play. Yet we still haven’t discussed what comes next and who’ll be doing what.

I’m vers, so I’m happy either way, but I’m intrigued to discover how this will change our dynamic.

I don’t want to ruin the moment, but it’s time. We both want more – the question is am I fucking him or is he fucking me?

‘How do you wanna do this?’ I ask, injecting my voice with a casualness I don’t feel.

‘You. Inside me,’ he replies. Despite not having been sure of his preference before, somehow this surprises me. His hand snakes around my dick, and he gives it a sharp tug to get this party started.

I decide to take the prep work slow and steady since something tells me it’s been a while since he’s had someone inside of him and I don’t want to ask. Better to be safe than sorry.

I intend to go slowly, but once I start licking and using my spit to get him nice and ready, I’m as keen to get going as he obviously is. I push in first one wet finger and then a second, in and out, while my other hand plays with his dick and his balls. I get a third finger ready and start pressing.

Harper’s writhing against my fingers, begging for more. He starts to back himself on to them and I love the sight of his ass working its way onto my hand. It’s not something I ever thought I would see, but I know it will live rent-free in my head for the rest of my life.

I can’t wait to get inside him, but the second I pull out my fingers, I realise I don’t have a condom.

I don’t even remember the last time I packed them, never mind kept them to hand. I really don’t do this a lot.

A laugh escapes my lips and Harper’s eyes fly open, startled by the change in pace. I’ve been dying to get inside him and now I’m stalling.

‘What?’ he asks, leaning up on his elbows. ‘Why’d you stop?’

‘Do you have a condom?’

‘Oh, for fuck’s sake, Kian. I thought you were Mr Prepared?’

‘Just hop off the bed and go and get one. I know you have a stash – at least, I hope you do.’

When Harper comes back with one and gets back on the bed, I thrust my fingers back inside him and find his prostate right away, which has his hips pistoning up off the bed.

‘You bastard,’ he pants as I set a frantic pace.

Ignoring him, I line up our dicks, both of them slick, and with every thrust of my fingers we slide against each other. It’s nearly too much even for me and I don’t have someone stimulating my G-spot at the same time. I can’t even imagine how good Harper’s feeling.

Before we both slip over the edge, I slide on the condom and start to nudge my way inside of him. At first, just the tip, but he’s quickly breathing out so push fully inside of him. It feels so damn good, and when I look up from the way his ass is stretching around my cock, he’s enjoying it, too. He’s looking at me with an intensity that surprises me, and I know for sure then that this isn’t something he’s done much of before.

His breath hisses between his teeth, and he grunts as I push all the way in.

‘Fuck!’

He reaches down and starts pumping his dick and he groans and closes his eyes.

I start thrusting and it doesn’t take much to coax him to the edge, our sweat pooling between us. With one more thrust I can feel I’m close, but the sight of his release coating his belly is the final trigger and I cum hard, calling out his name as I do.

I collapse beside him and he rolls into my side, both of us struggling to catch our breath for a second, before the room falls quiet. I take the condom off and dispose of it, and when I return, he whispers something into my chest which I don’t quite catch. I go to ask him to repeat himself, but his eyes are closed and he looks peaceful.

Harper’s breath evens out, little puffs blowing against my chest hair, and we fall asleep in a tangle of limbs, our bodies slick with cum and sweat, my heart full of the prospect of what this thing between us could be.