41. Chapter 41
Beau watched Colt with his fire suit around his waist, slowly pulling off a black Dead Wake hoodie with a death moth emblazoned across the chest while someone took a hundred pictures.
The neon pink compression shirt underneath rode up, showing his abs, his tattoos—one inch higher and the camera crew from Dead Wake would see the dark purple hickey Beau had left next to Colt’s right nipple.
That perfectly built chest with its spattering of hair just a shade darker than Colt’s head. How it had felt in his mouth, his hands, how those pecs would feel against his—
Stop.
"—so hot," a girl sighed from somewhere near the hauler. The Dead Wake crew. "You think he's single?"
"I think he's gay." Another girl, quieter. "That's what the track forums say. We're supposed to watch for anything we can use in his ads. He's controversial here."
"He's pan." A man's voice. Beau's hands stilled on the wrench. "Told me right before he railed me to within an inch of my life."
The girls' squeals were loud enough that Beau had to glance over. Short guy, dark hair, thick beard. Leaning in like he was sharing a secret, but his voice still carried across the garage.
"Andre! When?"
"Two years ago, maybe? Right after my top surgery." A pause. Beau's jaw tightened. "He was... God, he was so good. Treated me like a filthy slut and like a king all at once."
Beau dropped the wrench. It hit his boot, and pain shot through his toes, sharp enough to make him hiss.
"Oh my God, tell me everything—"
"Six times," Andre said, grinning with pink cheeks. "He doesn't do relationships, but he's very active in the community, if you know what I mean."
"A man whore," one of the girls sighed with a dreamy smile. "I love it."
A slut and a king.
Six times?
Every time Colt had begged to touch Beau, that incredibly hot babbling about having Beau sit on his face—Colt was a giver in bed, wasn't he?
Of course he was. He didn't just want to be told he was good, he wanted to earn it.
That's why he didn't seem content with just taking like a lot of men Beau had slept with. He needed—
Exactly what Beau wasn't giving him.
He wanted to. That was the problem, wasn't it? The wanting. That burning feeling Beau hadn't felt for a man in years and years. Had never felt for a man so much younger than him. It bordered on need, and Beau couldn’t afford to need anyone.
Need made him possessive, controlling, worried. Need made him start fights because he wanted to keep that person safe. Made him push and push until he drove them to do something reckless just to prove they didn't need protecting.
Like how Sutton had gone out on that track after—
He slammed the thought down before it could finish. His chest tightened, the familiar phantom smell of burnt rubber and scorched metal clawing up his throat. He focused on the wrench in his hand until the weight of it felt real again.
"Hey, Andre."
Beau looked up in time to see Colt wander toward the group—but not before Colt's gaze found him first. Just for a second. A flicker of green eyes, a hint of a smile.
Then Colt slung his arm casually over Andre's shoulders, easy and familiar. "I like the beard. Almost didn't recognize you with it."
Christ. Of course he remembered some random hookup from years ago. Charming little shit.
Beau pulled out from under the hood and dropped it closed hard enough that the sound echoed.
"Thanks!” Andre rubbed his beard. “It came in patchy at first, but it's been great the past year or so.”
“Rourke,” Beau snapped. “Car's ready. Get in and start your warm-up.”
“Hey," Andre said as Colt started to pull away. "If you've still got my number…”
Colt grinned and slid his hand down Andre's back, squeezed him close. “I'm currently off the market. Got myself on a tight leash." Colt's eyes flicked to Beau, just for a second. "But give me a call in four months."
Andre laughed. “Like that, huh? I'll set a reminder.”
Four months. Said so goddamn casually.
Beau’s hands tightened on the wrench until his knuckles went white.
Four months, and then Colt would be gone—off to Charlotte, to Liberty, to men like Andre who'd worship him the way he deserved.
Men who weren't broken. People who weren't so goddamn scared of losing someone that they pushed them away before they could get too close.
People who weren't Beau.
Which was what they'd agreed to, what they both needed, and Beau needed to get his head out of his own fucking ass before he screwed even this up.
"Rourke," he said again, his voice rough. "Now.”
Colt gave Andre one more squeeze and jogged over, pulling his suit arms up as he did. “Yes, sir.”
“Dead Wake wants two laps for the ad.” Beau tucked his wrench in his pocket and zipped up Colt’s suit. “Then I want fifteen once they're gone.”
“Fifteen,” Colt groaned. “Sadist.”
A game. Everything was a game to Colt. Beau's jaw tightened.
Four months. Four months until Colt went back to men like Andre—men who'd let him give and take and worship, men who weren't so goddamn broken they couldn't accept a simple touch without flinching.
Andre would call. Colt would answer. And some other man would get to feel what Beau had felt two nights ago—Colt desperate and eager, begging to worship, to give, to prove he was good.
Fine. If that's all Beau had, he'd make damn sure Colt remembered every second of it.
He lowered his voice. “That what you like, Colt?”
Colt's eyes lit up, and his grin widened. His breathing hitched, just barely—but Beau felt it under his thumb. “Maybe. Why don't you find out?”
“You have yourself a good run, and we'll see, how ‘bout that?” Beau finished with the collar and handed Colt his balaclava and helmet.
“What's your definition of a good run?” Colt asked.
Beau leaned in, just close enough that only Colt could hear. "Fast. Tight. And you better not come until I tell you to." He straightened, voice returning to normal volume. "Clean lines. No mistakes. Show me you can focus.”
“Yes, sir,” Colt agreed, watching Beau with exactly the kind of focus he gave the track.
They stood apart from the Dead Wake crew as the majority of them packed up their cameras. The boss and one other guy remained, fiddling with a drone they'd had to fight to get approved.
“Good boy.” Beau said it loud enough for anyone to hear, casual as any coach praising his driver, and turned away before Colt could respond. He didn't need to look back to know Colt was grinning like a fool.
Beau waited until the guy had it up in the air and gave Beau the nod of approval before he connected to Colt’s radio. “Alright, go.”
The car roared, the drone zipped after it. Colt showed two beautiful, perfect laps. He was silent over the radio the whole time. By lap four, the camera crew had packed up and their boss was shaking Beau’s hand on his way out.
“How was that, Coach?” Colt asked when it was just the two of them. “Tight enough for you?”
“Concentrate.” Tight. Heat. The way Colt sounded when he had Beau’s mouth.
How would he sound when he had fingers, a tongue, Beau’s cock?
“You’re getting sloppy on the exit of two.
You’re chasing the thrill, Colt. Letting the back end step out because you like the way it feels to catch it. Stop playing with yourself.”
“Playing with myself.” The smirk in Colt’s voice was clear. “You gonna play with me instead, Beau?”
“Not if you don't give me the clean laps.” His eyes followed as Colt dove into turn 3. “Downshift later. Wait for it. Wait. Now. Hard on the brake, but keep the nose up. Don't let it dive. Smooth, Colt. If I see that chassis twitch, we’re done for the night.”
“Jesus,” Colt whispered as Beau watched him deliver exactly what Beau had asked for. “You getting me hot on purpose? Because this lace—it's tight. And the vibrations, your voice. I think I could come like this.”
Christ. Colt would absolutely make himself come all over that lace right in his car while Beau listened. Filthy, beautiful slut.
“Boy, you better not,” Beau warned, hard just thinking about it anyway. “You have laps left.”
Harsh panting crackled over the radio. “Might not be able to help it. Your voice gets all growly when you're mad. Makes me wanna—”
Colt cut himself off with a moan and took the next turn with textbook precision. And damn if that didn't just make Beau harder.
“Box,” Beau snapped, his hand gripping the radio so hard the plastic bit into his skin. “Right now.”
“Ooh talk dirty to me, baby,” Colt purred.
Beau turned toward the hauler. “You got thirty seconds to bring it in.”
Colt pulled up twenty-nine seconds later, cut the engine and nearly fell out of the car in his haste to get to Beau. He dropped his helmet on the ground, his balaclava on top, and stalked toward the hauler like he was the one hunting.
Beau smirked.
“Thank God, Beau, I think I'm gonna burst.” Colt reached for Beau the second he was close enough.
Before Colt’s hands could make contact, Beau moved.
He snagged the back of Colt’s sweaty neck in a firm grip, and Colt made a soft, needy noise.
Then Beau used his grip to drag Colt inside and snapped the door shut behind them.
He didn't give Colt a chance to speak—grabbed the front of his suit and pulled him into a bruising kiss.
Colt groaned into Beau's mouth as Beau shoved him against the side of the hauler and set to work getting his suit undone.
“Yeah.” Colt pushed forward to get the arms of his suit off and nearly got tangled. Beau kissed and licked down Colt’s throat, savoring the salt of him, and Colt tipped his head back for more. “Fuck. Please. I swear to God, I have been hard the entire day. I'm gonna die.”
“Did it to your goddamn self.” Beau growled it into the skin of Colt's neck as he helped Colt get the suit down. He ran his hand down to the front of Colt’s shorts, his palm skimming the hardness, the warmth, the wet.
Beau's cock twitched in his jeans. “Christ. You really were gonna come in there, weren't you?”