Page 92 of Jackrabbit

“Boy.”Beau's voice was rough, warning.

Colt didn't care.

He took every turn like a knife edge, no brakes and no mercy. The smell of rubber cooking hit his nose as he burned through a thousand dollars of Goodyear's finest just to hear Beau catch his breath over the comms. The car was like an extension of himself—thrilling, perfect,alive. The engine didn't scream anymore; it roared in a single, unbroken note. He wasn't fighting the machine; he was playing it.

“Last lap. Turn four.” Colt’s sides ached from the G-forces repeatedly shoving him into the harness. He was gonna pay for being a shit later. “Jackrabbit.”

“Colt, don't you dare pull that shit again.”Beau was as angry and breathless as Colt, and Colt could just picture him—hard and aching and furious.

Colt was about to piss him off more, and just the thought of it had him twitching in his panties. He was screwed up that way.

He’d spent the whole run in a trance, carving the oval into a jagged, perfect diamond. Fast and tight, just like Beau had asked. This time, he stayed low, hugging the inner white line like he was chasing that draft from P1. When he had less than a millisecond between action and a crash, he hammered the brakes and yanked the wheel, the pivot sending a jarring shockwave up his spine. The car fought, but he was stronger, took the V and left a trail of blue smoke behind him as his car hopped and caught.

“Hell, Colt.”Beau’s voice was strangled.“Where the fuck did you learn to diamond like that?”

Colt laughed, giddy with the thrill, the adrenaline, the sound of Beau's voice. He liked knowing he could throw Beau. Liked knowing he could flap the seemingly unflappable. “I didn't. Saw Pace Roberts do it once on TV. Thought I'd give it a shot.”

“You—this was the first time you've ever done that?”

He continued his cooldown lap, his hands starting to shake with the aftershocks of what he'd just done. God, he was gonna be sore tomorrow.

“Where the hell else would I have done that?” Colt checked his tire temps because he wasn't an entire fool. “You've been with me every single time I've been in a stock car, Beau. And that's not the type of shit they allow in karting for minors. The track moms would have had me out on my ass.”

Radio silence dragged as Colt’s car cooled. Was Beau mad? Horny? God, Colt hoped he was the second one. Even though it wouldn't do jack shit for him right now because, yeah, he wanted to get off. But he wanted to taste Beau more, and he wouldn't be allowed to. Colt wanted to get his mouth on Beau's skin, his balls, his a—

“Bring it in. We got shit to talk about.”

***

Beau was waiting for Colt by the hauler when Colt pulled up, arms crossed, and watching Colt with his jaw clenched, his eyebrows pinched. He’d tucked it up into his waistband, but Colt could still make out that tell-tale bulge at the front of his jeans that told Colt everything he needed to know—even furious, Beau wanted him.

He knew the pattern now, could see it playing out as he unstrapped his helmet and popped his harness. Colt had just done something Beau saw as reckless and stupid, and Beau was going to want to take him apart for it. Gethis hands on Colt, prove he could control him here because Colt was being an uncontrollable shit out on the track. As he pulled himself out of the car and unzipped his sweat-drenched fire suit, he felt Beau’s eyes digging into him. Watching. Waiting. Probably ready to pull Colt into the hauler and destroy him so thoroughly he forgot how to care about anything else.

Not today.

The suit top bunched around his waist, his compression shirt riding up, his shorts riding down with the weight of the Nomex. He didn’t miss the way Beau’s eyes tracked down to the flash of red lace as Colt stalked toward him, sweaty, sore, and absolutely getting his goddamn way.

One second before Colt reached for him, Beau’s eyes met his, and he could tell Beau had finally realized that Colt was on A Mission. Too late. Colt pressed right up into his space, grabbed the front of his shirt with one hand, threw the other around his neck, and yanked him down into a hungry, needy kiss. Beau huffed as Colt shoved him back into the side of the hauler and straddled Beau’s thigh so he could grind himself down and pant into Beau’s open mouth.

Colt poured every ounce of filth he had into that kiss—tongues, teeth, rutting shamelessly against Beau’s thigh as Beau grew harder against his hip.

Then, when Beau’s hands slipped down to finish opening his suit, when his knuckles dragged against Colt’s poor, neglected cock, Colt dug his fingers into Beau’s thick hair and yanked him off. Beau made thatnoiseagain—that dark, hungry groan—and Colt nearly regretted his decision.

Nearly.

“I know you like to take me apart, Beau.” He leaned forward and bit down on the cut of Beau’s jaw, licked the salt from his stubble, and rolled his hips. “But I want to taste you, too.”

Beau’s hands froze on Colt’s hips, his breath hitching. “Colt—”

It took every ounce of willpower in his body, but Colt stepped back, away from the warmth, the scent of Beau’s cologne, his sweat. Fucking pity. But needsmust and all that shit. “You don’t get to touch me again until you get your head out of your ass and let me touch you back. Can you do that right now?”

Silence was his answer, but he wasn’t worried. Beau’s lips were kiss-swollen and wet, his pupils blown. He’d break.

“That’s what I thought.” Colt pressed his hand against Beau’s chest, lingered, ran his thumb along Beau’s hard nipple, before patting him twice and turning to walk off.

He made it to the hauler door and stopped to kick off his shoes so he could slip the rest of the way out of his suit. Made sure the way he bent to pick them up showed off his ass in the best possible way, and kept going. Beau watched him, speechless, as Colt got up into the hauler and hung his suit, stored his shoes, and switched into the sneakers with the pink soles.

When he stepped out, Beau had his hand over his mouth and chin.