He stares unabashedly, then licks his lips.
“Absolutely stunning. You have no idea how badly I want to bury myself between your thighs. Walking away from you and this perfect, glistening pussy will be the trial of a lifetime. It’s taking every ounce of willpower I possess to tear myself away.”
His praise causes heat to simmer in my core.
“I’ll see you around the paddock later, yes?”
Licking my lips, I bravely open my legs a little wider.
“Yes, Mr. Steele.”
His eyes blaze with lust as he homes in on the apex of my thighs. With a slight shake of his head, he forces himself to look me in the eye.
“Please eat something before you head out for the day,” he says, switching gears. “Or should I text ahead and have Mick prepare something?”
I shake my head, fighting back a smile. “I’ll eat before I leave. You better get going.”
He gives me a final heated once-over, then snatches his clothes from the floor and walks out of the room.
CHAPTER 28
ALARIC
The race was shit. Pure and utter shit.
There were unexpected showers between laps twenty-two and thirty-eight, and when it rained, it poured. We couldn’t get the timing right on our pit stops, and boy did it show. A very late safety car was our only saving grace, allowing Ferris to pit on lap fifty-nine and finish P10.
Heath took the brunt of the fallout for our fumbled strategy, finishing P17—second to last place given the DNFs of the race.
Despite it all, I made a note to text my friends from Abrams-Rhea and Kelly to congratulate them.
Now I’ve got post-race responsibilities to take care of. One of the most banal and humiliating parts of this sport is speaking to the media after a lousy performance. Reporters all want to talk to the winners, but theyreallywant to chat with those of us who have had a bad day.
As I stalk toward the garage, I pull in long, calming breaths to prepare myself. I spot Ferris first, clapping him on the back, congratulating him on powering through and securing the point for tenth place.
I check in with both sides of the garage as well. The engineers, tire technicians, and mechanics all play vital roles in the success of this team. They fought hard today, and I’m sure they’re all exhausted, especially after the five pit stops on Heath’s side.
I catch the eye of my chief mechanic and longtime friend Carlos and tip my head toward the back of the garage.
Wordlessly, he follows. “Hey, boss,” he greets, the exhaustion clear on his face. “Tough one out there today, eh?”
I appreciate his attempt to soften the blow. Calling today’s shit show a “tough one” is akin to casually stating the Eau Rouge corner at Spa is a bit tricky to navigate. Understatement of the fucking century.
“Could you hustle the crew along and get everything packed up? I’d like you to take the garage out for a nice dinner on me. Let’s give them a chance to unwind and blow off some steam tonight rather than leave Spain on a sour note, yeah?”
His face lights up. “Any budget, boss? Okay to buy them a few rounds?”
“No budget.” I fish my credit card out of my wallet and hand it to him. “But cut them off after three rounds and ensure they all get home safely.”
“You got it,” he confirms, pocketing the card. “This’ll mean a lot to them.”
“Just trying to keep morale up,” I admit, though his response eases my foul mood a bit.
There’s no race this coming week, but the week after, we’ll be in Monaco. The Monaco Grand Prix may be iconic, but it’s both challenging and boring for most teams. It’s the shortest race of the season, yet it requires the most laps. The city circuit is tight, with sharp, winding corners that make it practically impossible to pass. Based on our performance so far this year, we’ll be lucky to qualify in the top ten and even luckier to finish in the points.
I leave Carlos to share the news with his crew, dodging people as I head through the corridor that leads to the drivers’ changing rooms.
Outside Heath’s door, I stop and knock softly.
