He kisses my shoulder blade. "Does my beautiful queen want to come together?"
"Yes," I gasp, the word barely audible between moans.
He caresses my face tenderly, then pulls my hair back slightly as his movements become erratic. The combination of sensations pushes me over the edge, and I come apart around him just as he finds his release. Our bodies shake together, united in pleasure, his grip on me tightening as if he's afraid I might float away.
Afterward, William holds me carefully as he withdraws. He disappears briefly to dispose of the condom and returns with a warm, damp towel. He cleans me with gentle strokes, his touch now nurturing rather than passionate.
"You were loud," I tease when I've caught my breath.
He blushes slightly, rubbing the back of his neck. "Yeah, well, you weren't exactly quiet either."
"I know," I admit. "I surprised myself."
He kisses my cheek, his eyes soft with affection. "It was downright sexy, so you're forgiven."
I chuckle, and he pulls me into his arms, our bodies fitting together perfectly. He reaches for the comforter, pulling it over us both.
"Come on, let's sleep," William says, his voice already heavy with drowsiness.
I nestle against him, my head on his chest, listening to his heartbeat as it gradually slows to a steady rhythm. There’s a sense of safety in his arms.Like home.
Chapter 32
Tunnel vision
William
Morning light filters through a gap in the curtains, painting a golden stripe across Violet's sleeping face. I prop myself up on one elbow, drinking in the sight of her—hair splayed across the pillow, lips slightly parted, completely at peace. No furrowed brow of concern, no tense shoulders carrying the weight of an entire racing team. Just Violet.MyViolet. The thought hits me square in the chest with a force that leaves me breathless. She's mine now. My girlfriend. The word seems foreign yet perfect on my tongue, like a password to something precious I've been chasing my whole life.
She snores softly—a delicate, barely-there sound that makes my heart swell. Who would believe that Violet Colton, the terrifying force that makes grown men in the paddock quiver in their boots, makes this adorable little noise when she sleeps? It's a secret I get to keep. A privilege I've earned. I thought itwas adorable during our roadtrip last year but this close? This perfect? I’m melting.
I reach out, my fingers hovering just above her cheek before gently brushing a stray curl away from her face. Her skin is warm, soft. Without all her armor—the tailored suits, the perfect posture, the unflappable professional mask—she's somehow both smaller and infinitely more magnificent.
The digital clock on the nightstand reads 7:15 AM. Driver's meeting at 9:00. Monaco Grand Prix today. I should be focused on that—on the impossible turns, the unforgiving barriers, the razor-thin margins between glory and disaster. But all I can think about is how I don't want to leave this bed, this moment, this woman.
I slide out carefully, trying not to disturb her. The floor is cool beneath my feet as I pad to the bathroom. Under the shower's spray, I let yesterday's qualifying and last night's confessions wash over me. Fifth on the grid. Not ideal for most circuits, but Monaco is different. Strategy matters here more than raw speed. And then Violet—finally saying she loves me, finally stepping into what we both knew was inevitable. Water runs down my face, and I'm grinning like an idiot at the shower wall.
I dress quickly—black and red Colton Racing T-shirt, black jeans, my lucky socks hidden under everything else. The paddock awaits, and with it, the circus of pre-race activities. Media, strategy sessions, strategists making final adjustments to the race plan. The familiar rhythm of race day.
I'm sitting on the edge of the bed lacing up my Dr. Martens when the sheets rustle. Violet shifts, her eyes fluttering open, still cloudy with sleep. She stretches with feline grace, unself-conscious in her nakedness, and my heart does a backflip. How is it possible to want someone again so badly when you've just had them hours before?
"Morning, beautiful," I murmur, abandoning my half-tied boot to move toward her. My lips find her cheek, warm and smooth. She smells like sleep and sex and herself—a scent I could recognize blindfolded in a crowd of thousands.
Her eyes focus on me, soft and unguarded in a way they rarely are. It's like being granted access to a secret version of Violet that exists only in these private moments. I want to bottle this look and keep it with me always.
"What time is it?" she asks, voice husky with sleep.
"Eight. I'm heading out to meet Tom, EJ, and Maya for the driver's meeting." I brush my thumb over her cheek, unable to stop touching her now that I'm allowed to.
She sits up, the sheet falling away to reveal all of her. The sunlight catches on her skin, illuminating every curve, every plane, every perfect inch. I gasp dramatically, clapping a hand over my eyes.
"Good heavens, madam! Your breasts are showing! The scandal!" I peek through my fingers, feigning Victorian shock at her nakedness while forcing a super posh accent I clearly don’t have, even after years living in the UK. "What would the neighbors think?"
A pillow hits me square in the face, followed by Violet's laughter—bright and uninhibited. I catch it with the reflexes that have saved me on many a hairpin turn, tossing it aside with a flourish.
"Your aim is improving," I tell her, grinning. "Maybe we should get you back in a car."
I move closer, suddenly shy despite everything we've shared. "Before I go... can I get a kiss from my..." Heat creeps up my neck, into my cheeks. "My girlfriend?"
