Commitment Collection 2- Ignition; Turbo Charged; Pole Position, page 7
part #4 of Commitment Series
Today is a big day though. I’m looking at a new closed-circuit wind tunnel we’ve invested in. The technology we were using before was archaic and was too expensive to run. We must run our wind tunnel consistently to get the best aerodynamics on a car. Without being able to do this we’ll never be able to drive the car around the track at speed in one piece. This will be the kit that will inspire the design of our race machine next year and beyond.
However, this isn’t as simple as getting hold of an off-the-shelf kit. We’ve had to source a huge piece of concrete so that the factory doesn’t take off when we run the fans and expand the air. That needs space, so we’ve built a new building on the side. This is my first real investment in Judd Racing beyond buying the company, and it’s an exciting day for me.
It’s also something the press needs to know about. The more messages we can get out to the community that we’re investing in the long-term future of the team, the more sponsors we’ll attract who are essentially the lifeblood of our development.
This is also another moment that Kyle will miss out on and I’m sad to my core that I’m moving forward without him. Our lives are on the same trajectory, but we’re not aligned in our progress. Of course, we’ll arrive at the same end point, but I don’t like taking a different route than my gorgeous hubby.
I take some pics which I hope will help to keep him included in the changes I’m making alone. I send them over to him so he can pick them up when he’s on his break. I include a simple message, “Wish you were here.”
I click send before I notice I’ve missed off my kiss at the end. I send a second message ‘X’ as an afterthought, then worry I shouldn’t have just left it off. Now it’s obvious I’d missed it. I would never have not included a kiss when we were a fixture in each other’s day. We both know that. It was as much a habit as rolling over in bed and cuddling him in the mornings before we both head to our bathrooms and shower. Now I barely check my phone before I crawl out of bed before the sun rises.
Elliott
I’m heading for some home comforts this weekend and I can’t wait. Kyle has built the stations where we’ll work out. While I’ve been exhausted all week, now that I’m on my way, all the tiredness I’ve felt has evaporated.
We’ve gotten into a groove on our Friday evenings. After work, Kyle prepares dinner while I drive back to join him for the weekend. The time I arrive home is variable depending on the state of the traffic, but he always manages to cook something which can be ready just as I walk through the door. It’s a simple routine, but I love it; it’s the sign of home.
Plus, much as Florian will kick me, my nutrition has gone downhill since I’ve stopped racing and it’s wonderful to have a proper home cooked meal as many times a month as I can be here.
I don’t smell anything when I walk in today though, and usually where Kyle is waiting at the door to greet me, today it’s still closed when I arrive. I push it open, “Hi, honey, I’m home.”
Kyle appears at the top of the steps in our high-ceilinged hallway. “Oh, you’re back early. I didn’t realize what time it was.”
His cheek is creased. “Were you napping?”
“Caught! I didn’t sleep too well this week. I was just trying to get a bit of shut eye before you came home.” He slinks down the stairs. “I thought we’d probably be up all night.” He winks, arriving on the bottom step and reaching to kiss me on the side of my face. His lips catch on my stubble.
“You OK?” I tilt my head, taking in his demeanor.
“Of course, why?”
“I don’t know, you just seem different.” I’m used to being eaten alive when we meet after a week apart, but today, he seems, well, distracted and much as I don’t want to be one of those men who expects his dinner to be ready as soon as he steps foot in the house, the lack of food is also a move away from what Kyle has allowed me to get used to.
“Ah, I’m just tired.” He pads off down the hall toward the kitchen. “Do you want anything particular for dinner? I thought we could have spaghetti bolognese.”
Don’t get me wrong, I’m OK with bolognese. It’s not my first choice, but also not my last. All I’m saying is it seems a little, well, ordinary for a coming home meal. Previous meals have included stuffed chicken breasts, pork chops with spicy Brussel sprouts, and beef casserole which had been simmering on the stove top for hours. “Yeah, that’s fine.”
I head to the fridge for a glass of wine while Kyle works at the stove. “Would you like one?” I hold up the bottle.
“I’ll have a beer please.”
Something has shifted and our conversations which usually flow with ease, are now stilted. It's as though we've forgotten how to understand each other.
I start up a new one, to test the water, “What have you been up to this week?”
“Ah, not much. I’ve just been working and working out. I watched the rugby, but you didn’t expect me to miss that did you?” He smiles, but it doesn’t light up his face like it normally does.
There’s no lead for me to latch on to. Kyle is giving me a shopping list of his week’s activity, minus the personality.
“Here, let me help.” I go to stand beside him, wrap my arm around his waist. He tenses, it’s only brief, but I spot it before he relaxes into my side.
Kyle
I’m not sure if it’s because I’d been sleeping when Elliott arrived home and I wasn’t prepared for his arrival, but something wasn’t right between us when he turned up. I’ve never had to prepare for my husband, and love of my life before. And it unsettles me.
We tried to chat easily like we normally do. I told him what I’ve been up to during the time since I last saw him, but even that was awkward. I couldn’t remember much of what I’ve been doing. It’s like the week has passed in a blur and when put on the spot with recounting my activities, they all just slipped out of focus. What I could recall, I struggled to add color to. And so, our conversations have run dry. We speak, the words come out of our mouths, but that innate communication isn’t there.
“I think we need to shag,” I say eventually when enough is enough.
Elliott’s eyebrows dance. “Well, that took me by surprise. I thought you weren’t interested in me today. I’ve not even had my ‘welcome home’ smooch on the doorstep.”
He’s right. We’ve not kissed at all. When he wrapped his arm around my waist it felt alien; it wasn’t even like that the first time he did it, so today totally floored me. “It’s been a bit awkward hasn’t it? I’m sorry. I think we need to force the intimacy, get back on track.”
Elliott recoils, his brow furrowed, and his eyes scrunched. “Force the intimacy? I don’t want to force myself on you, Kyle. I never want to do that.” He doesn't move, but it's as though he's recoiled further from me.
“Oh, don’t be daft. I don’t mean it like that. What I mean is let’s close down some of this distance. Now. I’m not being forced.”
Elliott stands back, quietly looking at me. “I don’t want to force it,” he mutters again.
“You’re not. It was a bad choice of words.” I take a step into the divide that separates us, feel his warmth as I enter his space and wrap my arms around his waist, tugging him until we meet front on.
I cup his cheeks in my hands, stare into his eyes. “I’m not being forced. I want this distance to be gone as much as you. We just need to get used to being in each other’s territory again. That’s all I was saying.” I hold his gaze, imploring my overly sensitive, beautiful husband to understand that I want to want him.
His eyes are glassy though and a stab lances through my core at the sadness in them, at his hurt. But the lancing frees all the emotions which I’ve locked away because missing him is too painful if I allow them to run loose. But now they are unrestrained they wash through my veins like heroin would for an addict. I’m flooded by a current of love, of desire surging through on the crest of a wave and on instinct I slam my mouth against his. I press tightly against his seal until he allows me inside and in ways more clear than mere words, I permit him to feel the frustration that if it could, would rip the words already spoken from my throat.
Our mouths are locked wide, all barriers broken down in that one move. Our teeth crash together as our tongues weave around the void, biting and nipping, delving and sucking, taking anything and everything from the person we hate to miss.
Elliott
We end up in the lounge somehow, and I’m planted on Kyle’s sofa with my feet locked over Kyle’s shoulders while he kneels with his head directly in line with my aching crotch. He’s three fingers deep inside me and my eyes have rolled back in my head.
“Keep your eyes open, I want you to see who is going to fuck you,” Kyle orders with a gruffness to his voice which makes me buck my hips.
I snap open my eyelids, but my focus is hazy as Kyle bends to take my solid length down his throat. I bellow his name, “Oh, Kyle, you feel amazing.” He gags, raises his head, sucks until dimples appear in his cheeks then twists and drops those swollen red lips to the base of my shaft. I grab his head to stop him, his short spikes stabbing at my fingers. He is good, too good.
“Not yet. It’s too soon.” His eyes, dark with desire, meet mine and he understands. He crawls onto my knee, plants his ass cheeks either side of my cock. I know what to do, I mop some lube from the plastic bottle and grip him, cupping my other hand around to grab his butt as I work him fast, as though we have no time to spare.
As my rhythm takes a hold of his body, his hips start to move, and he rasps as his breath catches, “Faster. I’ve missed you.” He rubs his base over my cock lying rigid beneath his rocking, setting my aching balls on fire again.
I’m so turned on right now and my heart is thumping so fast that I’m surprised there’s enough blood in the rest of my body to keep me alive. My head swims. My heart beats swifter and my hand beats them all as I bring Kyle to the brink of what is sizing up to be the best orgasm we’ve ever had.
“Turn around.” He stops. Twists me at my waist until I’m pinned with my arms on the back of the sofa. “You ready?” He’s not asking for a verbal answer, so I barrel back toward him as he checks with a nimble finger. The next thing I feel is the end of his solid member punching against me.
He holds me steady by my hips, and I concentrate on relaxing to enable me to accept his full length. The ache as he takes what he owns has me grabbing for my cock and working it hard until I loosen where he’s probing and take him deep.
“Guess it’s been a while.” Kyle’s teeth nip at the lobe of my ear, trail around my hairline to the back of my neck as he pulls out and grunts, forcing himself all the way down. As he smashes against my nerve center, I frantically pull on my cock, resting my chin against the cushioned seating and reach back with my second one to drag my husband all the way. He cries out as his body overshadows any clear thought and his pleasure explodes against my prostate. The force of Kyle’s spasm pushes me over the edge and I surge forward, emptying all that pent-up frustration over my stomach and chest.
Elliott
I head back to work the following Monday feeling like we’ve turned a corner. Something has shifted, but we’re adapting and of that I am proud.
We’re under pressure. There’s no denying that and it’s the first time we’ve experienced something that could divide us.
Everything else that has been thrown at us in the past have been issues we can join forces over and attack together. While in theory we can do that, we’re rapidly learning it’s not so easy when you are located in different geographic locations where communication is further hampered by conflicting schedules.
The very nature of being separated from the one person you rely on is duty bound to royally screw that up. It has taken some time to find our way of dealing with these pressures alone. It’s far more difficult without the usual support of a partner.
I’m flying high. Nothing can stop me.
And so, when it’s time for me to attack my gym session with Florian tonight, I’m bouncing off the walls with excess energy.
The man can try to break me, but today I’m not for the breaking.
Until, he says the one thing I wasn’t expecting. “It was great watching the rugby with Kyle the other night. He’s really not such a grump when he isn’t working out.”
I do a double take. “You watched the rugby match with Kyle?”
“Sure, didn’t he tell you? After our training session last week. We set the world to rights. I suppose his size should have forewarned me. In hindsight, he looks every inch the rugby player but I wasn’t expecting him to be quite so clued up on the game. Most people in England follow football.”
“Yeah, he played a lot as a kid.” Why didn’t Kyle tell me this? Did he and I missed it? I swear I would have remembered.
“What night was this, I can’t remember.” Not that it matters. Kyle didn’t tell me. He had beers with another guy, in his house, our house, and he never thought it was worth telling me.
Florian is talking, droning on in the background but I’m not listening, even though I’ve asked for his answer.
No. I’m wondering if this is why Kyle didn’t kiss me when I arrived home, why he wasn’t bothered about me even being there.
A million questions run through my brain, each becoming increasingly accusatory toward Kyle than the last. By the time I’ve finished, I’ve concluded he definitely had a fling with Florian the other night. This was the time I couldn’t get a hold of him and the next day, we didn’t speak for ages either.
Not properly.
This was the marker in the sand for when things changed between us. I just didn’t notice it then.
I am the fool who knocks along blindly thinking that everything is OK when it’s clearly not.
To be fair, he couldn’t have screamed it any louder in the kitchen with his proposal to shag. I mean, I’m not against giving it hard and fast to the man of my dreams in any way he wants, but it was a rather clinical suggestion to get over the hurdle which had laid down in front of us.
“So, come on then, Elliott. Enough of this chatter. I know your game; the distraction technique should be taught at training college. Pick up that kettle bell.”
And I do.
I go through the rest of my work out without letting on to the man who may be about to ruin my marriage that I have my suspicions about what really went on the other night between him and my husband. I continue, clinging on to any ounce of remaining pride, my heart shattered. I will not reveal how much I can be hurt.
I take his orders, throw the weights around as though they are sweets, and don't even see the sweat dripping into a pool under my nose as I exercise to the extreme.
Kyle
I can’t get hold of Elliott, but it doesn’t concern me anymore. We started out this new routine trying to keep a handle on each other’s calendar, but it became clear, more with the way his constantly fluxed than mine, that it was an impossible task and life would be way easier if we just accept defeat.
I’ve sent him a few texts, and I’ve heard back, but nothing overly chatty so he must be knee deep in meetings.
After finding Florian, my role in the company is once again over and I’m starting to feel like I could do with another task. Florian is defiantly doing the right things and so there’s nothing further for me to do. I’m looking forward to him taking over the training of the team and seeing just how much he can improve their performance through mere fitness alone. I’m assuming that’s Elliott’s next move in the not too distant future.
On that note, I drop him a text. Rugby is on again this week and it was nice to have some company.
It doesn’t take long before I get a reply. “Sure, I’ll be right over.”
Elliott
I can’t speak to Kyle. I don’t know if it’s because I’m hurt, let down, or shocked. It could be because I don’t actually know what to say. My head is telling me that this isn’t true. Kyle would never cheat on me. He’s just not built like that; we’re not built like that. We’re one unit.
But, isn’t that how people get caught?
You hear women all the time prattling on about how most men are cheaters, but how they’re lucky because they chose a good one. ‘He’d never do that.’ I don’t want to turn into one of those characters, blindly believing in the good of your partner, simply because it doesn’t suit you to accept the truth that’s glaringly obvious to every onlooker.
I do the easy thing and ignore him. For the first time since we got together I don’t make any attempt to return his calls. I keep the communication stream alive with the odd text here and there to buy myself some valuable headspace to understand what is happening and how I feel about it.
I know I could ask him. We could just have the conversation, but he’s not going to admit to anything untoward, is he? So, there’s no point. I may as well work this out myself.
But, I’m not good on my own anymore. There was a time, before Kyle, when I assumed I’d be running my own affairs forever. It suited me. I can reach that place again.
Problem is, I need to get a move on because time is ticking. I need to work this shit out before Kyle gets suspicious and starts asking me questions I’m not prepared for and unable to answer.
And that’s when I make the decision. I slip my phone from my pocket, ignoring the PowerPoint presentation being clicked through on the screen by some young buck trying to impress me with massaged figures, and I type.
“I won’t be home this weekend. I’m drowning, need to deal with things in the office.”
I press send before I have a chance to rethink. This is the right thing to do. It’s already Thursday. I am nowhere near ready to face Kyle. I can’t even speak to him right now. How will I manage being in the same space as him, sharing his bed and making love?
