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And then nothing.

My head whips up as he leans back, uses his fingers to coat his cock in my wetness, and begins to stroke himself. Slowly. Adeptly. Thoroughly. Thumb sliding over the precum on his head before the palm of his hand slides all the way down until it hits the base. And then repeats the process all over.

This.
This is the repercussion of my begging. He's withholding my orgasm while making me watch him chase his.

And holy hell, I'm not sure if it's much of a punishment, because I am so turned on by the sight of him, by what I do to him, by seeing my arousal on him, that I'm afraid to look away for a single second.

But when I force myself to take my eyes from his hand as it begins to pick up the pace on his cock, his eyes burn into mine. And that single look alone is almost as arousing as watching him jack himself off.
Almost.

Especially as our gazes hold and the unmistakable sound of him working himself harder begins to fill the room. His teeth dig into his lower lip. His breathing speeds up. His head falls back and a guttural groan overshadows all other sound.

And I can't help myself. I've never seen something so damn sexy or been so aroused in my life as I am from watching him. My hand goes between my thighs without thought. My fingers slip into my wetness before sliding
back up and circling over my clit, already swollen and sensitized from his touch.

I fight my own need to close my eyes and fall under the haze of pleasure, because I know watching Zander is enough to help me get there. The sense of voyeurism has brought me to new heights of arousal.

The thought of getting off watching your lover get off does something incredible to me.

The visual before me and the emotions within me create a potent combination that has my breath growing shallow, my body aching, as I watch the strain of Zander's forearm, the swell of his dick, his crest disappear between his thumb and forefinger before coming back out to his visceral groans. I falter momentarily and close my eyes under the ecstasy of the moment.

And when I open my eyes, Zander's blue gaze looks back at me with absolutely no barriers between us. In an instant, every single boundary between us is erased.

Because letting someone see you pleasure yourself is almost more intimate than pleasuring each other. The veil is dropped. You're completely exposed in a primal intimacy.

The moment he shoves up, I scoot my ass off the edge of the bench. The jingle of his belt as he picks his jeans up off the floor and digs in the pocket. My hand still circling my clit gently. The rip of foil.

“Getty . . .” The groan of my name is part
Are you ready?
and part warning he's not going to last long. And it's okay, because I'm so primed, neither will I.

“God, yes . . .”

I catch the quick flash of his grin, followed by a moaned, “Fuck,” as he parts my folds and slides into me without stopping, from root to tip. His fingers dig into the sides of my hips as he tries to hold on to some restraint.

But I can't. Mine's gone. I rub my finger over my clit, my hips lifting out of necessity to drag the crest of his cock over the sensitive bundle of nerves that are burning for him. And once he hits where I need him to, I begin to buck my hips against his to urge him on, to tell him what I need.

Restraint has snapped. Control lost. In an instant we're a mass of hips thrusting and voices crying out and hands grasping and fingers digging. The room fills with a symphony of noises but ends with our both calling each other's name moments apart as we succumb to the moment, to the challenge, and to each other.

“G
etty.”

The room is still dark, the clock on the nightstand reading three fifty-five a.m. My mind tries to clear away the haze of sleep as Zander's hand runs up and down the length of my back.

“Mmm?”

“I've gotta go, sleepyhead.”

Now, those words get my attention. My mind startles awake and I shove up to a seated position.

“No. Don't get up. Go back to sleep.”

“No. I'll get up.”

“Please, go back to bed. I just wanted to say good-bye before I left.” He leans forward and presses a kiss on the top of my head, his lips lingering there long enough that I wrap my arms around his hips and just hold tight.

“I programmed Rylee's phone number in your phone. Just in case you can't get ahold of me and need me. You can call her. She'll know how to find me.”

“'Kay. Thank you.” My face presses harder against him and I draw in his scent. The leather of his belt feels cool on my cheek.

Another kiss on my head. “See you in a few days.”

He steps back. Our fingers link out of habit. As always, the need to connect seems instinctive on both our parts.

“Fly safe. Have fun. Good luck.”

“I'm gonna need it.” I appreciate his chuckle and return it with a smile he can't see in the dark. Then sleep calls me back as my eyelids start feeling heavy.

“Bye, Socks.”

Our hands release.

“Bye,” I murmur.

His footsteps down the hall.

The sound of the front door.

The click of the dead bolt.

“I love you, Zander.”

I fall back on the pillow. Close my eyes. And don't even bother to wipe the lone tear that escapes and slides down my cheek.

Friends with benefits don't kiss you on the head good-bye in the dark of the morning.

They leave a note on the counter.

They text from the airport.

They don't kiss you good-bye.

T
he infield is abuzz. The vibration of a car testing on the track rumbles in my chest. The rev of a motor elsewhere adds to the sound. The sensations are like a second skin.

I feel at home. And strangely I feel out of place.

My hat lies low over my eyes, my bag slung on my shoulder, as I search for the coach and hope that the man I flashed my credentials to minutes ago doesn't put two and two together. It didn't seem like he knew who I was, so hopefully my appearance will stay under the radar—this is something I need to do on my own time frame.

Because fuck if I'm not going to need time and courage to go with it when I face Colton.

I hit the row where all of the racers' coaches sit, massive motor homes that serve as a refuge for the racers while we're at the track, and instantly spot the one I've sat in for countless hours over the years. The trepidation I'd felt increasing with each footstep into the raceway dissipates instantly at the knowledge Rylee's in there.

Crossing the distance, I climb up the steps, peek my head inside the unlocked door, and knock, calling out her name. “Ry?”

The look on her face . . . her yelp in surprise . . . Then she rushes the few feet to me and almost knocks me over
with the force of her hug. And I just hold on tight, emotion taking over as so many things hit me.

How strong her love is for me. How she picked up the broken pieces of a seven-year-old me and helped put me back together. How she didn't give up on me when so many others would have discarded me as damaged goods.

The things you forget when you're in your day-to-day life. The things you appreciate when you step back into it with an all-new perspective.

What kind of person gets the chance to have two mothers love him as fiercely as I have?

A damn lucky one.

And it's the expression in her tear-filled eyes and the smile wide on her lips when she pulls back that reinforces this fact and guts me all at the same time, knowing what I put her through.

“You're here!” she finally sputters out before pulling me against her once more like I'm going to disappear again. And I do the only thing I can, laugh out loud and hug her tighter. The subtle scent of vanilla she's worn for as long as I can remember fills my nose and makes me really feel at home.

Once her surprise is out of the way and she's calmed down, then asked a million trivial questions, made a hundred observations—I look tan; I look good; where was I?—we sit down together on the couch. Silence descends as she gives me the time I need to say what I want to say.

Just like Getty does.

The thought flickers and makes me smile as I take a deep breath and lean forward with my elbows on my knees.

“I'm sorry,” I finally tell her with a nod of my head. Her violet eyes search mine when I look up and meet them. Voicing my feelings has never been an easy thing for me, even with her. Add to it the situation I've put myself in, and I don't know where to begin. So I start with the truth. “A few months ago something was delivered to my house. . . .”

I proceed to tell her everything. The uncertainty I felt about the box. The shock over the autopsy report. The hurt that I hadn't known. The betrayal I felt because they
had to have known. The rash of emotions I went through. My fight with Colton. The hurtful things I said to him. My trip to the island. Helping to repair Smitty's house. How it felt good to use my hands. And my unexpected roommate. Fighting with her. How by watching her go through her battles, I realized I held on to my anger like a shield. Wore it like a grudge. Used it to punish myself.

And then I tell her about finally opening the box. The unexpected letter. My mom's wishes for me. Her wedding ring sewn in the dog.

Tears fill her eyes. Her hand covers her mouth. She nods while tears slide down her cheeks. Her expression tells me she hurts for me. That she's proud of me. That she loves me.

But she doesn't utter a single word before I blow out a breath and say the words that began the conversation. “I'm so sorry. All I can tell you is that Colton was right. I needed to step away from everything, to take a long look at myself and deal with my own shit. I'm sorry I didn't let you in, Ry. But I was hurt. Thought you'd lied to me. Kept something so important from me, when now I know it doesn't matter. Whether you knew or didn't know, you were being a parent. You were protecting me from the bad things, just like my mom tried to protect me from the stuff in my house. That's your job.” While I'm talking, Rylee reaches out and covers my hands with hers. A mother's touch. A way to tell me she understands. “I told myself I couldn't come back until I faced whatever the box held and finished the repairs for Smitty. I wanted to prove I'm a man of my word again. That I'm different from the man who hurt his family, his team, himself . . . and I did face it. It gave me the closure I never really knew I needed but now understand it was what I was always seeking. I still have to finish a few minor things on Smitty's house, but I had to come back and face Colton. There's nothing I can say to you other than thank you for giving me time, for letting me figure it out on my own, and . . . I'm sorry.”

Her lips spread in that soft smile that has been there encouraging me, comforting me, laughing with me for
most of my life, and I immediately know it's going to be okay. “You don't need to apologize to me, Zander. A parent loves their child no matter what they do. That's just how it is. While I wished you would have talked to me so that maybe I could have explained to you and forgone all of this, I'm glad now that you didn't.” My heard jerks over to her, surprised by her words. “I think figuring the answers for yourself was ten times more powerful. It will mean more to you. You'll trust yourself now.”

I nod my head. Clear the emotion clogging in my throat by taking in a deep breath.

“I knew, Zander,” she confesses softly. “But you are right. It was my job as your guardian and then your parent to protect you. Did it really matter for me to tell you about the autopsy findings? Your mother wasn't going to survive whether you touched the scissors or not. So why add that burden to your already aching soul? I made the choice. I'm sorry it caused you pain, because that's exactly what I didn't want to happen, but I did what I thought and still think was the best for you.” She wipes a tear away and I hate the sight of it, that I've made her cry, but can't do anything about it.

“I've missed you. I've worried about you. You were out of control when you left and I feared the worst, because I know pain like that can cause you not to care about yourself. I can't tell you how happy I am to see you whole and healthy . . . and changed.”

“I didn't bring it with me, but I'll show you the letter—”

“No.” Her smile is kind, eyes compassionate.

“No?”

“That letter is something you've waited over twenty years to find, Zander. It's her gift to you. I don't need to see it. The man before me who's all grown up is all I need to see to know how powerful her words were. Okay?”

“Okay.”

She stares at me, eyes narrowing, and a knowing smile plays at the corner of her mouth. “I'm glad you met whoever this Getty woman is, because it means you didn't go through it all by yourself, and as your mother, I'm so glad you weren't alone.”

“I'm glad I met her too.” My mind drifts back to that first night we met and I can't help but smile.

We talk a bit more about the island, about my brothers, catching up, and I promise her I'm here for a few days before I leave, but we completely avoid talking about the one person that I still need to speak to.

“Is he in the pits?”

Her smile is automatic. The love in her eyes genuine. “Yes. He already tested. He's with Becks making adjustments or bullshitting. One or the other.”

My mood doesn't lighten at her teasing comment, because this is the tough part. “I need to go talk to him. Make things right.” I rise from the couch and kiss the top of her head.

“Zander.”

I turn back at the sound of her voice just as I'm about to step out the door. “Just so you know, Smitty never told us where you were. And Colton never told me what happened in that hotel room. He's kept that between the two of you, even though whatever happened has been eating at him. He's spent a lot of time sitting in your trailer with your car. Not sure what he's thinking about when he's there . . . but I just thought you should know that.”

Fuck.

I nod my head in acknowledgment. My chest hurts.

Time to make amends.

To just jump.