The thought of her seeing the post made my stomach twist. Would she laugh? Roll her eyes? Message me to call me an ass?
Probably all three.
But deep down, I hoped she'd understand what I was really saying:You belong here.
I didn't need her to respond. I just needed her to see it. And maybe wonder if it meant more than it should.
Suzuka.
Even the name carried weight, a legacy carved into the very asphalt of the circuit. It was the track of legends and heartbreaks, its twisting corners and unforgiving straights demanding both respect and precision. I'd raced here before inF2, clinching a hard-fought podium, butF1was a different sport entirely.
This was where dreams had been shattered. WhereAyrtonSenna andAlainProst'srivalry reached its peak. Where JulesBianchi'scrash had cast a shadow over the sport I loved. The weight of history lingered in the air, a constant reminder thatSuzukawas as dangerous as it was iconic.
I rolled my shoulders, trying to ignore the tightness as I leaned back against the padded wall of themotorhome. The day's practice session had been grueling, the car's balance fighting me through the high-speed corners. The simulations hadn't done justice to the intensity of driving anF1car here. Every lap demanded total focus, leaving no room for error.
My time had been respectable—better than respectable, actually—but I couldn't shake the nerves that coiled in my stomach. Even with all the telemetry data to dissect, all the adjustments to make, I knewSuzukawasn't a track you conquered. It was one you survived.
I glanced down at my phone, half expecting something fromCallum. It had become a habit, looking to see if he'd messaged me first or liked one of my posts. And there it was—a notification from Instagram. The post he'd made about Shanghai.
Keep bringing the heat—this grid needs it.
A smile tugged at the corners of my lips, though I hated myself for how much his acknowledgment meant to me. I'd already seen the fan edits, the memes, the endless commentary about our so-called rivalry, but his post had added fuel to the fire. He was making a statement, one that was as much for the public as it was for me.
My fingers hovered over the screen before I typed out a quick reply.
@aurelie.dubois.47: Hope you’re ready for more of it. ;)
The second I hit send,my stomach bottomed out. Shit. Why did this feel more exhilarating than an overtake?
I stared at the screen for a moment longer, wondering if I was playing a game I didn't fully understand.CallumFraser was a distraction I couldn't afford, not when every session and every race was a fight to the finish. But damn it if he didn't make it harder to keep my focus.
With a sigh, I turned back to the telemetry data on my tablet. There were adjustments to be made, corners to analyze, and a race to prepare for.
The man who made my pulse race? He'd have to wait. And if I couldn't keep him out of my head by race day… I was in deeper trouble than I thought.
The morning air was sharp,filled with pine and damp earth as I ran the secluded path outside theSuzukaCircuit. Just after sunrise. I'd hoped the run would clear my head, burn off whatever the hell had been eating at me since Shanghai.
Did it help? Not fucking really. Because then I saw her. And I nearly fucking tripped.
Aurélie. Black sports bra, black leggings, slick with sweat and gleaming like cherries dipped in champagne—bubbly, dangerous, and sweet enough to ruin me. The temptation to sin with her was stronger than anything I’d ever felt before, a forbidden taste I wasn’t supposed to want, but couldn’t stop chasing.
Flushed skin. Heaving chest. Stomach tight. Hair tied back, jaw set. She looked like war. Like sex. Like everything I'd ever wanted to get on my knees for.
My dick twitched instantly. Fuck.Me.
I tried to look away. Ireallytried.
But then she tilted her head back to catch her breath, and my feet stuttered, and I was staring like a complete amateur. Eyes locked to her body. The flex of her abs, the bounce of her tits with every step, all that exposed flesh.
Jesus. She shouldn’t look that good while training—drippingin sweat, flushed and fierce, like sin in motion. I was supposed to be functioning like a normal person, not picturing her on all fours in my bed while the rest of the world disappeared. I wanted to ravage her, sink my teeth into her, taste her, mark her. Drag her into the trees, press her against something solid, and devour her whole.
What the fuck is wrong with me?
She slowed to a stop right in front of me, that smirk playing at her lips. The kind of look that belonged in dark corners and backseats.
“Struggling, Fraser?” she teased—voice breathy but laced with challenge.
I recovered fast, shaking my sinful thoughts off and matching her stride. “Didn't expect to find you here. Thought you weren't a morning person.”
