Novels by KeeKee

Elias' POVI arched off the bed. The stretch burned in the best way. He curled them immediately, finding that spot and rubbing while his mouth closed over one of my nipples again. He sucked and bit and worked his fingers deeper, scissoring, adding a third until I was open and wet and pushing down onto his hand for more.“Please,” I said, voice already wrecked.“Please what?”“Fuck me.”He pulled his fingers free, slicked his cock thoroughly, and lined up. The blunt head pressed against me. He pushed in slow at first, watching my face, letting me feel every thick inch until he was buried to the hilt. We both exhaled. He stayed still for a long moment, forehead against mine, breathing with me.Then he started to move.The first thrusts were deep and measured, long strokes that dragged over every sensitive place inside me. Sensual. Controlled. His mouth found mine again, softer now, almost tender, while his hips rolled in a steady rhythm. One of his hands slid between us and wrapped arou

Elias's POVI won the Westbrook Invitational in April, by six tenths of a second, and I spent the next ten minutes forgetting how to breathe.It happened the way the best things do, without warning. Four laps from the end, Adrian and I were nose to tail through the esses, trading the lead like a conversation we'd been having for years. His car was faster on the straights. Mine was better through the slow stuff. Every lap, I stayed glued to his gearbox and waited for the gap, the single mistake that would tell me where to strike.It never came. Adrian didn't make mistakes anymore. Something had changed in him since the winter, a steadiness that had nothing to do with throttle control. He drove like a man who had nothing left to prove and nothing left to hide.So I made my own gap.On lap thirty-one, going into the final hairpin, I braked later than I had ever braked in my life. I could feel the car trembling under me, tyres on the edge of letting go. I could see Adrian's helmet turn a

Adrian's POVThe apology came on Monday, in writing, on university letterhead.Elias read it standing by his kitchen window with the paper held out at arm's length, as if it might bite. 'The board of trustees wishes to express its sincere regret...' 'Mr. Kane's scholarship is hereby reinstated in full, retroactive to the date of suspension...' 'The program welcomes both drivers back with the full support of the administration.' He read it twice, then folded it carefully and set it on the counter."They spelled my name right," he said."That's the bar?""It's a start."We stood there in the gray morning light, not touching, grinning like idiots.The sponsors came back more slowly. A few never did. Greer's company issued a statement so carefully worded it said nothing at all. But three others called Coach Daniel within a week, and a small regional brewery, run by a woman whose son had once been bullied for being gay, offered to double their contribution. Mrs. Holloway read the contract

Elias's POVAdrian drove to his father's house at two in the morning, and I sat in the passenger seat with my phone pressed to my ear, listening to him breathe.It was Dana's idea. She'd arrived at my apartment at 1:40, still in her raincoat over pajamas, and listened to the whole plan with her mouth pressed into a thin line. 'You are not walking in there without a recording,' she'd said. 'Record everything. Keep the call open. I'll be on the line with Detective Ortiz.' She'd handed Adrian a tiny black lapel microphone, and then she'd looked at him in a way that made me think of my mother. 'Don't be brave. Be smart.'Now the Vale house loomed ahead, white columns glowing under floodlights. Adrian parked in the circular drive and turned off the engine. He looked at me."Stay in the car.""I'm not letting you go in alone.""You're not alone. You're a phone call away.""That's not the same.""Elias." He took my hand and kissed my knuckles. "If he sees you, he'll stop talking. I need him

Adrian's POVI didn't sleep that night. Neither did he, though we both pretended to.We lay side by side in his narrow bed with the lights off, the streetlight throwing a pale stripe across the ceiling, and talked in whispers until the sky turned gray. I told him what I was planning. I told him about the camera, the live stream, the three-line outline I'd scrawled on the back of a pizza flyer at 3 a.m. He listened without interrupting, his head on my shoulder, one hand flat against my chest."If you do this," he said at last, "there's no going back.""I know.""Your father will cut you off.""He's already cut me off. I just haven't admitted it.""The press will tear you apart.""They're already doing it." I turned my head and kissed his hair. "I'd rather they tear apart something true."He was quiet for a long time. Then he said, very softly, "You don't have to do this for me.""I'm not doing it for you.""Adrian.""I'm doing it for us." I let that sit. "And for the guy I used to be,

Elias's POVThe trustees met on Monday at ten, and by Sunday night I'd already been convicted by everyone I'd ever shared a garage with.It started with the group chat. Mine had forty-one members, mechanics, drivers, and engineers, and for two years it had been nothing but memes and tyre pressures. On Sunday it went quiet. By midnight, three people had left. By morning, someone had changed the name from 'Pit Crew' to a word I won't repeat.My teammate Marcus, who had once lent me his jacket in a downpour, sent a single private message. 'Don't come to the garage. People are pissed. Sorry, man.'I read it six times. Then I put on my one good gray shirt and went anyway.---The boardroom had a window over the quad and a table long enough to land a plane on. Twelve trustees sat along one side in dark suits. At the head was Arthur Hargrove, heavy and white-mustached, with the flat eyes of a man who had decided the verdict before the trial. Mrs. Holloway sat to his right, silent. And at the