In my fantasy, our newfound rivalry transformed into something else entirely. The tension between us crackled like electricity, igniting a different kind of fire. His touch was rough and demanding, matching his reputation on the track. But there was an undeniable allure to his confidence, a magnetism that pulled me under, despite the danger flashing in red at every turn.
As I changed the setting, chasing that elusive release, I let myself sink deeper into the fantasy, imagining his lips all over me, him thrusting into me. The thought sent a shiver of excitement down my spine, fueling the growing heat between my thighs.
The vibrator worked its magic, sending waves of pleasure through me as I detonated into a million fragments. I bit my lip to stifle my moans, riding out each wave until it was just me and my erratic breathing in the room.
The fantasy was gone, and in its place was a peace that threatened to pull me under. I turned my vibrator off, dropped it back into the nightstand, and rolled over.
This time, slumber was a welcome reprieve from my thoughts.
The engine growledbeneath me like a caged beast, vibrating through my entire body as I sat on the grid after the formation lap.
My fireproof gloves creaked when I tightened my hold on the wheel. My pulse thundered, matching the roar of twenty engines. The heat of the Australian sun bore down through my visor, but I didn't feel it. All I could focus on was the track ahead.
This was it. My first GrandPrix. No simulations, no testing, nohypotheticals. Just me, the car, and the grid.
“Aurélie, remember what we talked about,”Henric'svoice crackled in my ear. Calm and steady, he was the anchor keeping me grounded. “Stay clean into Turn 1. Let them fight it out ahead of you. Pick your moment.”
The lights above counted down, each one an exclamation point on the moment I'd been waiting for my entire life. Five lights. Four. Three.
“Understood,” I replied, my voice measured despite the storm brewing in my chest.
Ahead of me, the front rows glinted in the Australian sun. Fraser's black-and-red Vanguard car was inP3, his helmet tilted slightly as though he were looking back at me. My stomach twisted. Fraser wasn't my problem right now—the pack was.
Twolights. One.
The world held its breath.
And then—lights out and away we go.
My reflexes took over as I slammed the throttle, the tires gripping the tarmac with a squeal as I launched forward. The thunder of engines around me was deafening, a symphony of chaos as the grid surged toward Turn 1. Cars darted left and right, jostling for position, but I held my line, my eyes locked on the apex.
“Incredible reaction time,”Henricsaid, his voice sharp now, focused. “You've already gained two positions.”
I surged intoP4, side by side with Fraser as we approached Turn 2. My heart raced as we fought for position, with Fraser refusing to yield. For a brief, exhilarating moment, I matched him corner for corner, my car holding steady against one of the best on the grid.
But the midfield pack was relentless. As we exited the corner, I had to defend againstTomaszKowalski. He dove toward the inside like a man with something to prove, forcing me to brake early or risk contact—a brutal move that cost me. I could've been more aggressive, but at the risk of an unnecessary but likely penalty by theFIAif I wasn't careful, I maneuvered accordingly. By Turn 3, I'd fallen back toP6.
“Stay calm,”Henricreminded me. “You're in a good position. The race is long.”
By Lap 5, the chaos had settled into a tenuous order. I'd heldP6, fending off a particularly aggressive move fromMax Schreiber. Behind me, the pack was a swarm of predators seconds behind one another, waiting for the slightest mistake to, as they said the night before, “box me out.” Ahead, the gap toP5was shrinking with every sector.
“Pace looks good,”Henricsaid. “Tire temps are stable. Keep it consistent.”
“Copy,” I replied, my focus narrowing to the task at hand. Consistency. Precision. This was my race, not theirs.
Fraser had already pushed intoP2by Lap 8, his pace as unrelenting as his reputation promised. The cameras would be eating it up—him battling for the lead while I fought my way through the trenches.
His car danced through the chicane with the kind of fluidity I'd only dreamed of achieving. The bastard made it look effortless. For abrief, infuriating moment, I wondered if he was enjoying the difference in our races.
Meanwhile, two cars had already taken each other out and a virtual safety car was deployed for three laps.
Lap 15. I'd closed the gap toP5, only to find myself caught behindKowalski. He was defensive, aggressive—and, frankly, a pain in the ass. Every attempt I made to pass was blocked, every line I tried was covered. The frustration built with every lap, my knuckles aching from gripping the wheel as I searched for an opening.
Lap 20.Kowalskiwent wide through Turn 9, leaving the inside line open just long enough for me to dive through. My tires screamed in protest, but I made it stick, and my car surged ahead as I claimedP5.
“Beautiful move,”Henricsaid, his voice warm with approval. “Now focus forward. Gap toP4is two seconds.”
I glanced at theleaderboard, barely seeing it at such high speed.Kimiwas inP9. My teammate was in the points, too, proving the car was capable. BothLuminiscars scoring today would send a message: we weren't just filling the grid. We were here to compete.
