Page 48 of Hyperspeed
Well . . . that was no one’s business but my own.
Out of the Pit Lane & into the Fire
Kai
Race weekends were my idea of heaven, though as constant hubs of activity, others might think they were a nightmare.
Everyone was always on the move. Whether it was crews working on vehicles, strategists working out plans for the weekend, or drivers working with their personal coaches.
Then there was the pressure to perform. From the moment you arrived on Friday morning, all eyes were always on you—your team, your competitors, and the spectators who paid a lot of money to be there. Practice sessions were an exhibition for the other teams to see how you managed the track. Qualifying was a competition in itself, because your performance determined your starting position for the race.
There was never a dull moment, and rarely an opportunity to rest.
Yet I was like a diamond—pressure formed the best parts of me, and I sure as hell loved showing off. I was self-aware enough to know I was a cocky bastard, so being watched and performing at my best in front of the crowd and my competitors was right up my alley.
But while I was an exhibitionist on the track, the love of being watched hadn’t followed me to the bedroom. And stars help me if anyone ever discovered what now lived rent free in my wank bank.
Ever since my little self-love session, I hadn’t stopped thinking about the rookie—in ways that weren’t safe for work.
The man had starred in fantasies so filthy, I was convinced at least three positions violated intergalactic law. One of them required flexibility I’m not even sure he had, and I’d spent far too long picturing how his stubborn ass might prove me wrong.
I’d refused to wank in my bed since that night—not while perverted thoughts of Rev were running rampant in my mind—but that meant I was running up my water bill, because every boner sent me straight to the shower to knock one out under the spray.
I mean, if there was no evidence left behind, did it really happen?
Of course it fucking did.
Mentally, I was a mess.
Physically? Immaculate.
And I’d gone through a bottle of body wash like it was holy water, just days after restocking.
Don’t even get me started on the lube.
Thank god I had a race to distract me. So when I stepped off the shuttle at the start of the weekend, my mind was firmly in race mode.
For about five minutes.
I’d avoided Rev for most of the weekend, hiding inside Nexus’s garage when I wasn’t on the track.
To the team, I probably looked more determined than ever, and Jax assumed I was trying to make up for my previous third-place finish at Crystal Barricade.
I let him believe it, because what was I supposed to say?
“Sorry, mate, been furiously jerking it to the rookie all week and now I don’t trust myself to make eye contact.”
No, that wouldn’t go down well.
I might not have seen Rev in person, but he was still everywhere. A glimpse of him on the highlights reel and I was half hard. Someone mentioned his name, and my cock perked up like it’d been waiting. A few too many wanks and I’d developed a Pavlovian response to the word “Rev.”
So imagine my horror when I finally bumped into the fucker an hour before the race.
I was hyped up for lights out after a successful qualifying session the day before. I’d snagged pole position without even breaking a sweat, out-qualifying Dray by only a tenth of a second. He’d put up a good fight, and I expected he would today too.
But after a poor performance in the last race, I was glad to be back at the front of the pack. Plus, I’d obliterated last year’s lap record, setting a new personal best that had Ailor beaming like a proud parent.
I was visualising the track in my mind when Rev strolled out of Zenith’s garage.
