Page 77 of Dirty Air
Fritz grips Henry’s wrist and drags it from his hip to the front of his stomach, where he bulges with the intrusion. “Can you feel yourself in me?”
“Fuck, Fritz.” Henry presses down on the bump and thrusts against his hand. “You’re so small, I’m gonna—fuck—gonna fill you up.”
Henry stills, but his cock throbs deep inside of Fritz as he comes with a low groan. When he finishes, he falls forward, trapping the driver up against the glass.
His breath is hot and heavy, burning Fritz’s neck. “Fuck.”
“Yes,” Fritz answers, his arms finally giving out. He shifts and the limbs fall uselessly to his sides. “Fuck.”
Time stands still as they breathe together against the window overlooking the city. The condensation distorts the lights, blurring them together.
Henry is the first to move and Fritz hisses as the man gingerly withdraws himself, pulling out slowly. “Easy,eeeeeasy.”
Once they’re successfully separated, Henry kisses Fritz’s shoulder before staggering over to the desk.
“Not the bed?” Fritz asks, confused.
“Something I gotta do.” Henry uncaps the hotel pen with his slicked hand and shifts through the papers scattered over the surface of the desk. After a few marks he turns and faces Fritz. “Okay.”
“Okay?”
“Okay.”
Henry’s face scrunches as he tugs at his condom, tying it off and popping it in the trash. He hobbles over to the bed and collapses bare naked on the top of the covers. “Okay, I signed the contract. I’ll send it to Adam tomorrow.”
Fritz whoops as he pounces on the bed, nearly throwing himself into Henry’s side. “Was it the sex?”
“No,” Henry mutters into the mattress. “It was your ‘together we do not suck’ speech.” He grunts, shifting until he can see Fritz’s face. “I don’t want to race without you either.”
Fritz dives in, peppering his bald head with kisses.
“Hey.”
Fritz groans and pushes back at whatever’s bothering him so early in the morning. He tries to hang on to the tail of his dream as it slips out of his fingers.
But it was sonice.
“Fritz, I think someone’s looking for you.”
He can hear it now, an incessant pounding on his hotel door.
With another long-winded groan, Fritz finally opens his eyes to a wall of bare skin. He’s tucked under Henry’s armpit—warm, slightly sticky. There’s a patch of wet skin, right where his mouth is. He pulls back, a little disgusted, though it’s probably just his own drool.
“I don’t think you want me to answer that door,” Henry says as he pushes Fritz off of him. “It sounds like German.”
Fuck.
Fritz is a little disoriented, but he still knows he needs to cover his dick, no matter who’s at the door. He stumbles to grab boxers and shoves them on, noting too late that they are definitely inside out.
Whatever, as long as his dick is hidden.
He checks the peephole and sighs before opening the door enough to peer through. “It is too fucking early for this, Dieter.”
His trainer is dressed and he’s towing luggage. “Early? You have thirty minutes before the van picks us up. Have you packed?” Dieter looks down at the strip of visible skin. “Did you forget you need to wear clothes on planes?”
“I can pack fast.” Fritz still has a slobber-wet chest in his bed, waiting for him to return. “See you downstairs.”
“I thought so. Let me help you pack, then.” Dieter pushes against the door. “I’ve already checked out, so it’s not a problem.”
