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  Praise for Karen Botha

  Totally unique story. I went back and reread parts because I could not believe what I was reading.

  LISA - About Naked Truths

  The trials and tribulations that these men go through to find a happy ever after keeps you on the edge of your seat. With plenty of sexy times the set is definitely worth it.

  CARMATH - About Buckle Up, G-Force & Jump Start Boxset

  Besides being fast-paced, humor and romance were additional bonuses.

  AMAZON CUSTOMER - About Naked Lies

  buckle up

  Commitment Book 1

  Karen Botha

  Contents

  Hello from London

  1. Prologue Elliott

  2. Kyle

  3. Elliott

  4. Kyle

  5. Elliott

  6. Kyle

  7. Kyle

  8. Elliott

  9. Kyle

  10. Elliott

  11. Kyle

  12. Elliott

  13. Kyle

  14. Elliott

  15. Kyle

  16. Elliott

  17. Kyle

  18. Elliott

  19. Kyle

  20. Elliott

  21. Kyle

  22. Elliott

  23. Kyle

  24. Elliott

  25. Kyle

  26. Elliott

  27. Kyle

  28. Elliott

  29. Kyle

  30. Elliott

  31. Kyle

  32. Elliott

  33. Kyle

  34. Elliott

  35. Kyle

  36. Elliott

  37. Elliott

  38. Kyle

  39. Elliott

  40. Kyle

  41. Elliott

  42. Kyle

  43. Elliott

  44. Kyle

  45. Elliott

  46. Elliott

  47. Kyle

  48. Elliott

  49. Kyle

  50. Kyle

  51. Elliott

  52. Kyle

  53. Elliott

  54. Elliott

  55. Kyle

  56. Kyle

  57. Elliott

  58. Kyle

  59. Elliott

  60. Kyle

  61. Elliott

  62. Elliott

  63. Kyle

  64. Elliott

  65. Elliott

  66. Kyle

  67. Elliott

  68. Kyle

  69. Elliott

  70. Kyle

  71. Elliott

  72. Kyle

  73. Elliott

  Other books by Karen Botha

  THANKYOU

  74. special thanks

  About the Author

  Hello from London

  Hi everyone,

  Good to meet you!

  I’m Karen and I’ve spent hours of my life getting to know Elliott and Kyle. I adore them, to me they’re real people, I understand their quirks and they write their own stories.

  Sound mad?

  Haha, yeah I get it!

  But listen. Elliott and Kyle are there for our entertainment; enjoy them, fight with them and buy into the world in which they live. This is a place where fantasies rule, one which they have created for themselves, and what’s better than being a spy on their wall?

  So, don’t take them too seriously, and if some facts don’t tie in with our lives, what does it matter? These guys have their own universe which is way better than the reality we’re all trying to escape.

  Likewise, this is total fiction, do not for whatever reason think that these guys are based on anyone in motor racing. They are not, they are figment of my imagination, created from pure personal pleasure.

  So, all that’s left is for me to wish you happy reading and I’ll see you on the other side.

  Mwah

  Karen x

  Prologue Elliott

  “I sure do like the look of this,” she drawls as she strokes the striking red hood of this season’s car. I don’t even know her name, but that’s not important as she bends over to match her scarlet talons to the paintwork, “See honey, it matches.”

  “Hmm.” I’m so not impressed by the color of her nails, but she’s also flashing me the color of her panties as her short denim skirt rises above her cowboy boots. Now, that I can be interested in. “Isn’t that a charm?” I mimic her American accent, not quite rounding my London vowels enough to be correct, but more than enough to elicit a giggle from her plump lips.

  I grind up behind her forcing her to hover closer to the hood of my favorite machine. My hands brush up against the milky white of her thighs. When they reach the crease where her legs develop into tight, round buttocks, she shifts her ankles to widen her stance and props herself against one elbow, turning.

  “Oh, now aren’t you the playboy?” She purrs her words as her hair falls, covering one side of her face.

  “I’m not playing around, baby.” I pull the crimson lace of her lingerie until it scissors between the cheeks of her bottom, flaunting their firm plumpness. My other hand tugs the roots of her hair, exposing her throat while simultaneously straining her panties until she gasps from the friction.

  “You are one naughty boy.”

  She’s right, but I ignore the same drivel I’ve heard a thousand times. I’m listening to the rush in my head as my cock sends blood cascading around my body, pumping energy into my recesses that awaken in anticipation of imminent ecstasy.

  I push my index finger under the lacey elastic waistband and trail it south, releasing the tension between her legs. I let out a groan as I drag my finger down her dark crevice, then through her parted legs as the back of my finger collects a layer of her silent wanting.

  I yank the sliver of elastic away from her, then let it snap back into place. It twangs, and she shivers, letting out a sharp yelp at the sting, before her voice changes to a throaty groan as she thrusts her hips forward. She collapses, reaching her hand behind and clutching my solid length through my still intact works uniform.

  “Oh, you want me, baby. I feel you.”

  I jab a finger inside her, then out. I add another while I release myself from my racing fire suit with my free hand. I roughly slide the zipper down, my outfit pooling around my feet.

  I can barely shove my clothing out of the way before I’m plunging into her, grabbing at her hips. I tear into her, forcing her away, then ramming my thick cock into her again with the maximum force for which I’m known.

  I won’t see her again; I don’t need to be an amazing lover. She’s satisfied to be bent over my car while I slam, balls deep into her from behind.

  And I’m satisfied with that.

  It’s a win/ win.

  Kyle

  It’s the first day of my new job as a race mechanic for one of the leading motor teams in the world. I can’t explain how long I’ve waited for this. The company had me jumping through hoops before I finally received the letter inviting me to come on board.

  The pay isn’t as considerable as you’d expect, but the prestige is tremendous. And the lifestyle, well it’s one for a single man, that’s for sure. I’ll be abroad for the best part of eight months out of twelve, traveling around the globe to compete in races that test my skills to the core. The rest of the year, I’ll be running flat out developing next season’s car.

  I’ve entered into this late. It’s the first day of track testing the new car. A disagreement with a previous employee means I’ve been offered a chance to show them what I’m made of. It’s a huge deal, so I’m grabbing this opportunity with both my greedy hands.

  “We’ll practice pit stops.” James, the number one mechanic, says.

  I snatch my tire, remove it from the cover which keeps it up to temperature wh
en we take it off the heating chamber, and run to the front of the garage.

  “Keep the cover on. Elliott will be practicing his pit stop procedure too, so the tires don’t need to be fitted,” James says.

  “Oh, OK.” Fuck, first rookie error and I’m only five minutes in. I start beating myself up. Hopefully the tires will warm back up to temperature again before we need them.

  I don’t have time to be overly hard on myself. The two drivers, Elliott and Brad, make their entrance.

  But only one stands out.

  Elliott Judd.

  He’s dressed the same as Brad, they walk at the same pace, and they’re even roughly the same size. But he’s brighter. The only way I can describe it is that he has color around him like no one I’ve ever met. A star quality. The tabloid hacks are right.

  The second driver pales away against the white walls of the garage while Elliott glows.

  Time slows as I watch every detail of that walk he’s taking to his car. The way his foot lifts with an energetic bounce before he lifts his other heel to take his next step. The way his eyes glisten at nobody in particular, just exhilarated to be in the pits and driving for another season. The way his fingers grip his metallic helmet in one hand as he swings it in time with his stride. He’s every ounce the star I’ve been led to believe.

  He stretches up his fire-retardant hood and tucks in a mop of blonde waves. As he continues his journey to his flame red car, he drags his helmet over his skull, squashing his cheeks until the only part of his face which is visible are a pair of stark blue eyes haloed by long, almost white lashes.

  And they look at me.

  Directly at me.

  I catch my breath.

  Those gorgeous calm eyes smile at me for far longer and far more deeply than is necessary, and I’m locked into a moment of I don’t know what. The ice of their blue is drawing me into a frozen lake of emotions, frozen in the moment, frozen out of everyday society.

  I’m not sure what I’m feeling here.

  I’m drowning in him. I just don’t realize it yet.

  Elliott

  I’m pumped. I’ve been waiting for this day for months. New car, new starting procedures, new race rules. Yes, the simulator is a fabulous asset, but there’s no rehearsal like the real thing. And today is the day.

  I trust my team which helps my confidence in the car’s safety. That means I can discard any nerves and allow my adrenaline to feed into the excitement which will drive me to reestablish myself as the top driver in this sport again. Psychologically, it helps if word gets out among the other drivers that I’m killing it on the track, so I’m psyched for today.

  “Who’s that?” I ask through the team radio in my helmet. “The new guy with the tire?”

  “He’s Kyle Beaumont. He’s a fresh recruit and excellent. Don’t worry,” James replies.

  I’m anything but worried. Taller than me and broad, this guy lifts the wheel like it’s made of a lightweight foam. Jeez, even the guy’s jaw is strong. I linger a moment on his wide set shoulders and his firm neck. They’re adorable. His dark hair is shaved close to his head, so he has no protection from the sun. He scrunches his eyes against the bright light streaming into the garage. I bite my lip and I’m thankful no one can see under my helmet.

  I can’t stop thinking about the guy as we run through pit stop after pit stop. When our eyes locked, the world slowed and another meaningless second shifted into a hot fury of passion. I watch in the mirrors as he slides a quick succession of tires onto empty wheel nuts without an ounce of first day nerves. His work is perfection. He’s perfection.

  “Well done.” James pats me on the back as I hop out. Practice is over and it being the first day back, I’m pumped but know I’ll crash later. I need to do something to keep my spirits high.

  “Thanks. Can I see Kyle in my trailer when they finish up here?”

  “Sure?” James eyes me.

  “Yeah, I’d like to get to know him. My life will rest partly in his hands, after all.” I grin so James knows I’m teasing although the jibe is fact. He slaps me on the back and doesn’t say a word as he walks off, leaving me to my thoughts.

  * * *

  My trailer is the size of a small house, as is its cost, but I much prefer to stay in this if I can when we’re away. The hotels that some other drivers stay in have way too many paparazzi gathered outside for my liking, plus with smart phones these days, every individual is a pap. There’s no escape.

  Yes, I admit, I use the free publicity to my advantage when it suits me, but the rest of the time I prefer my privacy. It’s key to being able to function within the very real constraints of fame. It’s rough enough not being able to go shopping without my security detail raising objections about not having scouted the place out first. But when it comes to the real personal stuff, while I’m not shy about my sexuality, nor my promiscuity, it still doesn’t do to have the people you’re seeing worrying about their faces being plastered over every media platform, social or otherwise.

  Moreover, shallow as it sounds, I do have an ego, and I’d much prefer my playmates to be bothered about spending time with me rather than being featured with me for their own gain.

  Some call that selfish.

  Perhaps it is.

  But show me someone who wouldn’t be put off by being a mere accelerant for another’s fame. I prefer my partners to be at least interested in our bedroom shenanigans.

  And so, my motor home is my haven. This way, I’m not allowing strangers into my house, but I still maintain privacy and the luxury of having my own belongings around me when I’m on the road.

  There’s a knock at the door and it surprises me. I’m too busy ruminating over nothing, but then I hadn’t anticipated Kyle’s arrival to be so soon. I’ve barely finished my shower and my paltry towel is still strung around my waist.

  Ah, to hell with it. He’s hot anyway.

  “Hi, come in. Sorry about my appearance, you caught me off guard.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry, weren’t you expecting me? I can leave. I was told you wanted to see me.”

  “No, I was expecting you. I just didn’t realize that much time had passed, that’s all. Come in.”

  I step aside, ushering him inside. Our bodies brush in the tight entrance, setting off an obvious bulge in my groin which is so not appropriate. That’s all I need, a big, juicy hard-on poking out from under this flimsy towel. It barely covers my modesty as it is.

  “I wanted to say hi and get to know you as you’re new on my team. We’re a unit and it’s important for us all to be on as good as terms as possible. While we’re here to work, I find that work to be way more effective if we all get along.”

  I imagine us connected, my shaft rubbing in and out of his tight ass. It’s not doing any good for my crazy cock which is following mental instructions to the letter. I turn away from him, toward the chill of the fridge.

  “Can I grab you a drink? I have water, or water.” I bend, calming my head in the open cool box. “Sorry, it’s full on season now, so I’m on lock down, diet wise.”

  “Hey, don’t worry. Water is fine, thanks.” His voice is gruff. Low and deep, like chocolate. Come to think of it, the whole of Kyle Beaumont is a decadent delight.

  Kyle

  When he answers my knock at his trailer, he’s still dripping from the shower and with only the tiniest towel laced around his waist.

  Well, that was a shock!

  I step back and find it necessary to apologize for my arrival even though my understanding is that he asked me to visit.

  That said, I find time to appreciate the results of the hours of grueling exercise these drivers go through. It certainly shows. I thought my schedule was intensive, but I have nothing on this guy. He’s not as big as me, smaller by nature, but he is cut. The V which nestles into the top of his towel takes my breath away and I stand back, eyes wide, breathing rapid.

  It just dawned on me, Elliott Judd, superstar Elliott Judd, has not only asked to see
me in his motor home, but he’s so relaxed around me, that he’s dressed only in a towel. This is the Elliott Judd!

  I enter his trailer. This is his personal space and more of a home than any other he owns, when you consider the amount of days of the year that he spends living here. The fresh smell of shower gel lingers in the air, and the windows are condensed in their top corners despite most of them being thrown open in the unusually warm weather. It’s not what I expected from a superstar. In fact, it’s kind of normal but not disappointingly so. I’d expected more glamor from the rock star racing driver, but he could be anyone caught off guard during his day-to-day routine.

  He chats small-talk while he dresses in the other room. The door is ajar and I can see him in the clear half of a steamy mirror. Maybe it’s his super-stardom that has me feeling embarrassed, because if it were anyone else I’d not blink an eye if they dressed, or even undressed, in front of me, but Elliott Judd has me scanning the walls for some kind of distraction.