Page 45 of Jackrabbit

“Still, boy.”

“Okay,” Colt said, voice thick.

Christ.

He continued anyway, smoothing his hands and the balm along Colt’s shoulders, down his lats again.

“Just like that,” Beau found himself saying as he followed Colt’s spine with a thumb on either side, and Colt remained perfectly still, just like Beau had told him to be. “That's real good.”

A quiet, wanting sound escaped Colt’s throat, and Beau forced himself not to freeze.

Don't let him know you're noticing. You can't. Just finish up and get him out of here.

But he lingered, his own breathing becoming shallow as he worked, as his hands ran over hot, smooth skin. Down Colt’s obliques because the neck depended on the back. His shoulder blades, because those had to be sore too. By the time he realized he was hard, he'd catalogued so many sounds from Coltthat he knew were going to haunt his dreams. Knew, too, that he wasn't going to forget the way that body felt under his hands.

When he ran out of muscles to work, he slid his hand around to grip Colt’s jaw. His hand spread across Colt’s chin, thumb at Colt’s neck. “Gonna check range of motion.”

“Uh-huh,” Colt whispered.

He guided Colt's head through several movements. He'd done a thorough job. Colt was pliant, moving where Beau wanted him with barely a touch.

“Good. That's just right,” Beau rumbled as he gently pulled Colt’s head until he was looking slightly up instead of the way he'd been partially hunched all morning. “Good boy.”

Colt whined, a soft, desperate sound, and Beau’s cock twitched against his thigh. Had he ever heard another man make a noise like that? Oh, he wanted to hear that again.

He could. He could have Colt right here, right now. If he picked Colt up and pushed his face into the desk, Colt would like it. He’d show Beau a hundred other noises, movements, responses, would babble under Beau's hands because he was always talking, and Beau might just be able to find a creative way to get him to stop. Or to make him talk more. Beau liked when Colt talked, and he just knew he was going to like whatever filth spilled from those pretty lips.

Fucked up. This is so fucked up.

Beau gently let Colt’s face go. “Alright. All done. You ice tonight before we get to the track, y’hear?”

The chair scraped against the floor as Colt stood and grabbed the shirt from where he’d draped it over the desk. He held it bunched in front of his crotch, his face flushed, eyes dark as he looked anywhere but at Beau’s face. Beau made sure the chair back was covering his own whole lower half.

“Yeah.” Colt backed toward the door, breathing hard. “Ice. Got it. Thanks, Beau. Really. I—I should get back to work.”

Beau watched him go. The taste of ‘good boy’ was still on his tongue, the ghost of Colt’s pliant, warm body under his hands. The door clicked shut, and Beau looked down at his palms which still smelled like tiger balm and Colt’s skin.

He was so fucked.

Chapter 27

Colt had barely been able to look at Beau all week. Every time he got in the car, Beau's hands would adjust his harness just like that first night—thorough, careful, lingering—and Colt would hold his breath until Beau stepped back. He was lucky as fuck they'd been spending so much time on the track that they hadn't been to the gym. Lucky, too, that driving so hard for what turned out to be hours a night got him so exhausted he didn't even have the energy to feel the things Beau's voice made him feel now. ‘Good boy’ always echoed in his head, but now Beau wassaying it out loudand Colt was going to die.

But it was Saturday, and Saturday was his first race. And even Beau, with all his unintentional, sexy-as-fuck energy, couldn't distract him from that finish line.

“Sit still before I have you running laps around the garage,” Beau said as he stepped into his office doorway and crossed his arms. He leaned against the frame and eyed Colt’s tapping fingertips. “Race isn’t for a couple hours. You’re gonna use up all your energy before we even get there.”

Colt shifted from one foot to the other and back again. “No can do. I’m amped. Actually, a run sounds good. Can I? Because—”

“No.” Beau stood straight and came up to where Colt was trying not to hop in place like a real psycho. “We need to get the car back up on the trailer, and you need to do the pre-race check like I taught you. Then you need food, which you’re going to help me cook, and we need to get to the track at least an hour early.”

Time to move. Fucking finally. Sometimes Colt’s mind seemed to move at hyper-speed. Like time barely existed at all, especially if he was focused. Other times, it felt like every minute was a goddamn eternity. Today had moved like the latter. He’d dropped three dishes at Joyce’s, too, had been a jittery mess all day. He needed something to do before he lost it.

“Yes, okay, I’m ready." Within seconds, he was unzipped and stepping out of his coveralls. "Let’s go.”

Except he tripped on one leg of the pants and nearly face planted, saved only by reflexes honed by driving. When he pulled himself up, he was ready to go again. But a hand landed on the back of his neck. Firm. Calloused and warm, a gentle grip that still made him go immediately still.

“If you break your fool neck getting out to the garage, I’m putting it on your headstone.” His voice a low rumble, Beau squeezed just that little bit.