Cruise Control

📖 Free with Kindle Unlimited

He controls everything. His job. His schedule. His jaw. His white-knuckle grip on a steering wheel. The only thing he can’t control is what happens when the man in the passenger seat puts a hand on his neck and says two words that change everything.

Nate Cordero hasn’t taken a break in three years. As operations director for a Denver logistics startup on the verge of acquisition, he’s the man who holds the machine together — and the machine is killing him. When his college friend asks him to drive a restored 1969 Camaro SS from Denver to Savannah, Nate agrees because three days alone with nothing but highway and engine noise sounds like the closest thing to peace his brain can manufacture.

Then his friend adds a caveat: his younger brother needs a ride to Atlanta.

Wes Nakamura is 6’2″, impossibly calm, and observant in a way that makes Nate feel like he’s being slowly taken apart. He’s a freelance music journalist and photographer who moves through the world like nothing can rattle him. Within the first hour, he reads Nate’s white-knuckle grip and clenched jaw and does something no one in Nate’s life has ever done: instead of telling him to relax, Wes starts managing the tension out of him — with touch, with his voice, with a steady authority disguised as easy-going charm.

What starts as a hand on the neck in a Kansas traffic jam becomes something neither of them can explain away. By the time they’re splitting a motel room outside Topeka — one bed, no alternatives — the question isn’t whether something will happen between them. It’s whether Nate can let go of enough control to let it.

You’ll love this if you enjoy:

✓ A praise kink so devastating it rewires a man’s brain chemistry in a Kansas traffic jam
✓ “Good boy” deployed for the first time in bumper-to-bumper traffic
✓ A one-bed motel scene that escalates from shoulder massage to pinned wrists
✓ Backseat sex in a 1969 Camaro
✓ The filthiest, most emotionally devastating hotel room scene you’ll read this year
✓ “I don’t know how to need someone” — spoken barefoot at 1 AM on a motel doorstep
✓ 71,000 words of road trip, yearning, and the most explicit praise-kink slow burn in MM romance
✓ Guaranteed HEA