Her tone was neutral.
And she wasn’t looking at me. That frustrated me.
“Dubois.” My voice was rougher than I intended. “Taking it all in?”
She nodded, shifting slightly to the curve ofTamburello. “It’s… sobering.”
“It always is.” My voice dropped lower. “Senna was…” I trailed off, because how the hell do you describe everything?
At the mention of his name, her expression softened. For a fleeting second, I saw something unguarded in her. Something real.
“He was your hero, wasn’t he?”
“Still is. I wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for him. Watching him race on old recordings… it made me believe it was possible. Even when everyone else told me it wasn’t.”
“It’s strange, isn’t it? How someone you’ve never met can shape your entire life.” Something about the way she said it made me study her. There was something there. Something pointed. She wasn’t just talking about Senna.
“Who shaped yours?” I asked, my voice quieter now. I stepped closer without thinking, just wanting to be near her.
For the first time in almost two weeks, I had her attention—but she hesitated. Her gaze dropped to the ground. “I’ll hold those cards close.”
I frowned, but she continued.
“The easy answer is my brother.” She was quieter now, almost distant. “He was always the fearless one. The one who made me believe I could be more than…” She shook her head. “More than what the world expected of me. But he broke the rules.”
I nodded. “And you?”
Her fingers tapped lightly against her crossed arms; a subtle rhythm, like she was keeping herself in check. “I followed the rules. Until I didn’t.” There was more to that statement. I could feel it. Justlike I knew there was more toher, but she only let me in so far before shoving me out again.
I didn’t push her. She’d come to me eventually, even if the waiting killed me. She hadn’t spoken to me since the marina in Miami, and I wasn’t about to scare her off now.
“Looks like he was right,” I said, quirking my lips. “You’ve proven everyone wrong.”
Her eyes snapped back to mine, and for a moment, the tension between us crackled like static electricity.
“Have I?” she murmured, her voice laced with challenge. “Or am I still fighting to prove it?”
That hit me harder than they should have. I took a step closer. She did, too, her shoes scraping the ground.
Aurélie liked fighting me. She liked losing to me even more, though she would never admit that. But I knew by the way she’d fought me that night in Miami. Fought our connection the whole damn time and thought she’d escaped me until I showed up at her door. That's when she showed me just how much she liked losing when she melted into me and came apart when I rubbed her clit.
Christ. Get it together. Focus on something else.
She looked calm here, serene, even, but I’d spent enough time around her to know better. The faint crease between her brows, and—fuck, nope, it wasn’t working. I was distracted as hell.
Her lips?Ugh.Glossy. Pink. Kiss-bruised still, if I let myself believe it. I remembered how they tasted, how they looked wrapped around my name, how they felt—soft and sinful and all mine.
My body wasnotlistening to me.
She exhaled, shifting slightly. That faint scent of something floral wrapped around me. “I’ve always known I was sleeping next to a loaded gun,” she said, then tilted her head. “Wait, is that a real phrase in English?”
I didn’t give a shit what the phrase was. I just wanted to hear her saying it again. In French this time. I nodded, grinning, still reeling. “Yes, but I don’t care if it is. You say shit like that and I’m already half hard.”
Aurélie’sface turned pink, and yeah, my heart tumbled a little at the sight. “I’m… sorry I haven’t responded.”
She’d made it seem like it was a mistake when she kicked me out. Like she could erase me—us—that easily. But I’d been inside her now, had felt every ridge and detail of her, had seen the way she looked undone, heard the way she fucking begged.
I just want you.
