Yield

9. Cole

The air cools my sweating skin, leaning into my handlebars. A prolonged exhale tears from my throat as I sit on my bike along the practice track. Timmy calls out, walking up behind me. “Alright, I changed the oil. Changed the clutch. Everything is good on the second bike.”

I sit back, crossing my arms. “I have a sponsor for that.”

“Must be nice.” He crosses his arms over his chest covering the faded black letters on his muted orange tee.

“Place higher and you’ll find out.”

“Funny.” He spots Andy—in a black and white Fasthouse jersey—and knocks his chin up. “What’s he doing?”

“He said he’s gonna hit it in neutral.”

No sooner do I finish my sentence, Andy launches over the jump, taking the landing deep. Then he rounds the track back up to us.

“Did you hit that in neutral?” Timmy yells.

“Yeah, and still overshot it,” he chuckles.

“Practice races start in an hour. I’m gonna go, uh, get a drink.”

“Yeah, sure. I heard someone got to sign some titties today,” Timmy lifts his eyebrows up and down.

“If you say a thing to Amber, I’ll…” Andy pulls off his goggles and helmet. His “I swear, I’ll fucking handcuff you and tie rubber bands around your sack.”

“Sounds kinky,” he snorts.

I start walking my bike out of the arena and they follow, Andy pushing his behind me. “It wasn’t a big deal. Nothing more than a fan requesting a signature.”

She’s a stick in the mud. If Timmy runs his mouth to Lauren, Andy’s going to have to buy her a new car. Max has never been the possessive type. She never thought I was either, but having a woman as outgoing as Max, half of her friends are guys. I don’t know...Sometimes it fucking sucks. She has this girl next door thing combined with a little “I’ll show these guys up.” Every time someone tells her she can’t do something, she shows them they’re wrong. Guys outside our circle interpret it as flirting. I don’t want her to talk to any other men on the planet and if I told her that, she would start scoping alien planets…or tell me she is.

“Hey.” Her voice takes my ear.

Mrs. Maxine Warren, what in the fuck is on your body and why do I want to take it off?

“What are you wearing?”

She’s standing under the U-frame arena exit, looking fucking insatiable.

“Melody picked it out.” She looks down at her fitted skirt and tucked-in blouse. “It’s weird, right?” Still wearing her black Vans, classically.

“It’s different.” Scanning her body, I want her all to myself.

“Ugh.” She tips her head back. “I should’ve just worn jeans.” Pinching the end of her skirt, she tugs at it as if it’s too short. She’s worn shorts with less length.

“It’s not a bad difference.” I lay my bike on its side, sitting my helmet and gloves on top of it.

Fucking...butter.

I glide my hands down her curves, stopping on her hips, and yank her body against mine. Her breath turns invisible. What kind of man would I be if I didn’t breathe life back into her? I draw her chin up between my finger and thumb. A laugh of mostly air warms the lips that she tugs with her teeth.

“Can I bite them next?” My gaze slowly draws from her mouth to her eyes.

“Professionals at work. Watch out,” Timmy calls out, walking past us empty-handed.

Hands, hips, every part of our bodies that are touching, stay touching. I don’t so much as look at him or Andy pushing his bike out. Her eyes fall off of me for a few moments and I wait for them to return each time.

“That’s right.”

“What?” Her eyes shuffle between mine.

“You found me.”

I glide fingers down her leg and back up her bare thigh, playing at the pleather fabric of her deep red skirt. I don’t know what’s gotten into her, deciding to wear this, letting someone convince her, whatever, but holy fuck. She’s delicious.

“What am I going to do with you? You can’t expect me to wait for—” She inhales sharply as I reach her inner thigh, tugging her thong an inch with a finger. “—this.” Exhales lightly shake from her core and she leans into my hand.

“I don’t expect you to wait.”

I coat my fingers with her, slipping them up and down her pussy lips.

“Nothing is better than motorcycles and sex.”

She sucks her lips in and nods, undoubtedly thinking the words through her head before she says them out loud. “What about sex on a motorcycle?”

“Oh, you...if we break something on my bike I’m gonna be pissed, but holy fuck. Take your panties off.”

“Do they have cameras in here?”

Looking over my shoulder, her brain works better than mine because my only concern was the bike. Anyone could walk in here at any time.

Well...this isn’t over.

Grabbing my helmet and gloves, I pick my bike up and begin walking it out of the arena. The observation deck is wrapped in thick black curtains and tightly secured. “Follow me.” I flick my head to the side.

“Where are we going?”

“There’s a clip on these uh, heavy curtains.” Leaning my bike over, I unclip the highest point and then the next one, pulling it back. “There’s space under here for extracurricular activities.”

“Does everyone know about this or is it hidden knowledge?”

“Don’t know, don’t care.” I nudge for her to go in front of me. Rich, sweetness transfuses as she walks past. God, she smells good. “Hold this.”

She takes the curtain, and I push my bike through and lower it to the ground. “Got it?”

“Yeah.”

She turns around, right into my arms. “Good.” I rock her, slow dancing to nothing besides the music she heats my body with.

“Stop playing around, I can feel that.”

“Oh, my big dick.”

“Your average dick.” She half shrugs.

“Okay. Well, you wouldn’t want any of this average dick would you?”

“I’d be interested.”

“Tell me it’s big then. It’s huge,” I exaggerate. “And it’s not gonna fit.”

Her laugh is short and blunt. “You have to let it out before I can make that judgment call.”

“Yeah,” I nod, pinching my lips and furrowing my brows. “You’ve never seen it before.” Her amusement plays across her face. “Are you as horny as I am or do I need to work harder?”

“I’m a week off my period. Hormonal high, baby,” she jokes. “You, dragging me in here…needing me right now…” Her doe eyes widen, innocently, and then narrow, tauntingly. “Kiss me again.”

I glide my fingers across the small of her back, jerking her body against mine. Pressing my lips to hers, our noses touch. Her cheek brushes my shadow and I kiss her the same way I’ve always kissed her. They say it fades—being tongue-tied so deep you feel like you’ll die if their lips leave yours. It’s true in most cases because we become comfortable and consumed in the grind. I’ve made enough mistakes. Kissing Max with less effort, less desire than a decade ago is one I’ve never made. I’m always hungry for her taste. Her pressure. Her deep face sucking that instantly makes me want to rip her clothes off.

“I want you so bad,” I mutter against her mouth.

“Get it out.” Her words near a whisper.

I unzip my red and white riding pants, getting my dick out.

She obnoxiously gasps. “That’s never going to fit.”

“We’ll make it fit.”

She laughs and cups her hands over her mouth.

“That’s not nice.”

“You know what you’re doing, regardless.”

That’s the truth. I drop to my knees, rolling her skirt. I fold the fabric over and over, till she’s wearing a band of material across her hips. We shouldn’t mess around. She’s thinking the same thing, glancing over her shoulder. It’s the second or third time I caught her doing it. I should rush. Getting inside her soaking wet pussy would be easy, yet I can’t help what she does to me when I watch her fall apart, when she gets nervous we’re going to get caught, and how she gets weak in her knees when I tease her with my mouth. She’s always waiting for me to catch her when her will to stand falls short.

Lips to delicate skin, she watches me, gently touching my shoulders.

Fingertips to smooth legs, traveling, gripping, squeezing, relishing for it will be gone too quickly and I’ll be fucking her, holding her mouth shut while she begs for mercy.

I loop my finger to the fine strings high on her hips, drawing them down. She uses me to steady herself, lifting her legs one by one for me to get them off.

Reaching back, I dangle them from the handlebar.

“You can have those back later.” Before she gets a word out, I pull her thighs wide, running my tongue between her legs. “I can’t wait.” Effortless, I stand, lifting her by the thighs. I shuffle to the bike with my riding pants sliding down my legs. Setting her down, I pull my pants up, lifting it. “Go between my arms. I’m going to need your help steadying the bike for a minute.”

“Okay.” She adjusts, sticking her ass out and digging her forearms into the seat cushioning, she holds it up the best she can.

Fuck.

Fuck. Fuck.

I can’t remember the last time we did this. This is the view I want hanging in my garage. The biggest fucking portrait ever, taking up half of the wall. That red skirt rolled up on her hips, tucked black top, and her hair swept to one shoulder, on her toes, looking back at me, waiting for my cue.

“I’m going to tell you now...this isn’t going to last long.”

“I want a milkshake, anyway.”

“How about a creampie?”

“Sounds like my diet is gonna consist of a lot of sugar today.”

Cupping her pussy, I use her to wet my hand and stroke over my length. She’s so fucking wet. She keeps looking back at me with big fucking doe eyes. A hand between her legs, one of her fingers slips inside, thrusting in and out. The bike starts to wobble and I tower behind her, taking a hand to each side of her, keeping it still.

“Let me give you something a little thicker to work with.”

Another bite to her smirk has my head tipping back and my eyes rolling with it. Lowering, dragging, slipping my dick back and forth in her wetness, she takes charge, reaching between her legs again to push me inside. Her toes raise, perking her ass up higher against my thighs. Then, her hand runs across her side, down her back. She caresses her ass gently, lifting everything open as I thrust deeply in and out of her. I know what she’s doing.

“Are your fingers wet, baby?”

“Mm, uh huh,” she moans, slowly pressing into her hole with a single digit, fucking her ass while I take her pussy. She knows how to get herself off when I tell her I’m not going to last long. She doesn’t depend on me to make it happen. That’s Max, always taking care of herself because she’s afraid to let anyone else in.

“Fuck, you feel so good. So fucking good,” I pant. And she pants and moans and I look up, remembering someone could hear her. By the way, she’s clenching and squeezing around me, she’s as close as I am and I don’t know if I’m going to be able to hold her mouth shut.

I wrap my hand over her lips, sliding off to her chin as I thrust in. My thumb tugs at her bottom lip and she embraces it, sucking it in her mouth with a sweet moan.

“Fuuck,” a heavy breath takes my voice cutting into short shaky exhales.

She cries out and I can’t stop her, squeezing my grip harder on the bike’s seat with every emptying pulse. Her heels fall flat and I slip out of her as she pulls her hand from her back, hanging onto my bike for dear life. Draining my dick with a few tugs, I pick my boxers and riding pants up from my ankles and adjust myself.

“Was that good?” I ask with confidence.

Her face stays buried, but she holds up one hand, giving me a thumbs up. My laughs don’t fade as I fix her skirt, stretching it to where it belongs. She lets my bike down slowly and straightens, giving me those eyes like she’s already waiting for round two. I stop her as she reaches for her dangling thong.

“Cole, I need those.”

“No, you don’t.”

“Your cum is dripping down my leg. I can’t walk back to the truck like this.”

I groan, wishing I could see her walk out of here with me falling from her pussy like some sort of victory, but she’s right. She can’t.

“Fine, wipe it up.”

She cleans up the best she can and hands them to me.

“What? I don’t have any pockets. Tuck them into your bra or something.”

“Ew,” she fusses. “I should have left you keep them on the handlebar.”

“Too late now, lovebird. Give me a kiss.” Her lips meet mine, tenderly and accepting. “I’ll meet you out there after I run the bike to wrench.”

“Okay, I’m going to the bathroom.” She holds up her hands, revoluted. “And then try to avoid everyone till I get to my bag.”

“You packed another outfit, didn’t you?” I squat, keeping my eyes on her as she walks toward the curtain.

“I’ve been in this for two hours and it’s already gotten me in trouble.”

“That’s because you look fucking hot.” Picking up my bike, I follow her. “Why would you wear that though?”

“To drive you insane,” she exaggerates.

“You succeeded...in thirty seconds.”

“Good because I’m going back for my pants.” She turns on the outside of the curtain, reaching for the clip to secure it. There are guys in the arena standing with their bikes. Did they hear us?

She faces me. “The black leathery ones?” I ask.

“Those are Anika’s fault and I like them,” she calls walking away. Card girl.

Max only dresses up for the big events, but I’m not mad. My ripped jeans and a dirty tee lovebird could wear a canvas sack and I’d be ready to tear it off. Anytime she wants to let Anika talk her into playing dress-up, I’ll be there too.

“Watch the ruts on the first turn.” The gate is lined with bikes. Every rider getting in the zone, telling themselves they got this. It’s in the bag. It’s theirs.

Wrong. It’s mine.

This is what I’ve been working for all season and I’m tired of coming up short.

“I’m gonna get a holeshot. I’m not worried.”

“That’s the way to think. Let it eat,” Dad double-taps my helmet and backs off the line.

“Hey! I gotta warm up… real quick, real quick,” Timmy shouts. He gets off his bike and twists at the waist, side to side, then bends forward with his gloved hands on the ground. “This is called downward dog. Maybe you heard of it.”

“Yeah, but I’m never in that position,” Andy sneers, pulling his goggles into place.

Timmy hops back on his bike, kicking his legs out and back in, then taps both sides of his helmet viciously. He can get pumped all he wants. He’s not getting past me. Andy’s my teammate and that fucker can take second.

The stands are full and the crowd cheers with the announcer’s words, muffled behind four-strokes revving and coaching yelling their last reminders.

Stay focused. I got this. Exhale. Revs. Nothing, but the revs.

The card girl struts down the line. Then, the second, standing center track, turns hers sideway.

When it turns to seconds upon that gate drop, everything fades. The guy next to me doesn’t exist. I only see one thing standing between me and that first curve.

The gate drops. My heart races.

Here we go. Here we go!

The people in the stands hold their cheers for the moment they see bikes separating in the first turn. Who takes the holeshot? Who’s in second and third? Where’s their favorite rider?

I search for the inside, following through the rut.

Holeshot. Holeshot!

Fuck yes!

Here we go. Here we go!

Drop gears.

Go. Go.

Fuck. Yes.

It’s deep.

Fucking ruts.

My rear tire slides out and I’m forced to make up time on the whoops, keeping my chest forward and my elbows slightly bent. Every rider knows, one mistake can cost you a race. The wrong rut, cross-rutting, a slick spot. Each move makes the difference between first place on the podium or getting picked up by med. I’ve had my share of both.

Okay.

Okay, okay.

Sketchy!

Sketchy.

Fuck!

Mud clouds my vision and I rip my tear-off from my red 100% goggles, letting it fly to the track.

I got this. White and green flag. Halfway to the win. Passing my team, I check the pit board.

Andy! The fuck?

He bounces off of me taking the corner. My only choice is to take the outside. He passes me, cutting forward. I take the inside of the next corner, passing him and getting a little squirrely. He finds an entry back to the front. We look over at each other, knowing the game of fucking cat and mouse is going to end in one of us winning or both of us lying in the dirt. Neither of us wants a penalty a loss of points or a fine.

The crowd roars or at least I’m betting they are. Not much makes it into my head besides reminders of form. Take risks without losing the technicality that creates champs. I’m not letting him pass me again.

Transitioning from standing to sitting, I corner, taking the deepest rut. Dragging my front brake and sliding forward, I fully commit. I take the lead. Andy gets hung up with Tallen three seconds behind him.

White flag. Last lap.

Go. Yes.

Fuck the exhaustion, the tiring muscles, and the sweat dripping from my scalp. Take the inside at the curve and stay in the groove.

Checkered flag.

Oh, shit.

Send it. Send it.

Holy shit!

Holy motherfucking shit.

Yes. Fuck! Yes!

My first win of the season and it’s a huge event. Holy fucking shit. This is what I’ve been working towards. I fucking got it.

Pat smacks my back, as stoked as I am. The team huddles around me, a few of the guys hoisting me into the air in celebration. They all feel it. All of the time and hard work...paying off. The heated blood shaking through my body, through all of theirs...it’s worth everything.

“The bike is running real good. Real good,” I acknowledge their support. We finally got it tweaked right.

“We did it!” He cheers. “Thatta boy!”

Andy took third after a short-lived battle with Tallen, and Timmy...well, he still doesn’t have a sponsor. I’ll give him hell later. We know he can keep up with the big boys or he wouldn’t be on this track. Three guys from the same hometown in one massive event...it’s unheard of. And I don’t see it lasting forever. Kael Tallen is from fucking Germany and Drew Archer raced in the Australian Championship before he joined us. Timmy is likely to retire after this season and it sucks to see him go. His dad is dying to hand the keys over to his masonry company.

Fuck. I can’t believe it.

This is what I’ve been fighting toward for years. Tallen and Archer have been killing it all season, but I finally got it. I hit that flow and it happened. Yeah, it happened. To have this win...fuck, it feels good. It’s monumental. Every. Fucking. Time.

Riley runs across the dirt in her red number twenty-six shirt, cheering. Her little arms sail up. “Sweet pea, did you see Daddy?”

“Yeah, you really send it!“ The guys laugh in unison. She’s something.

I pick her up as my beautiful wife approaches. “Hell yeah,” I smile.

“Cole! I’m so proud of you.”

“Thanks, lovebird.”

“What that fuck was Andy doing?” She yells, talking about that little game we had.

“Showing off. What else?” I laugh, hugging her tight.