Total pages in book: 132
Estimated words: 134961 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 675(@200wpm)___ 540(@250wpm)___ 450(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 134961 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 675(@200wpm)___ 540(@250wpm)___ 450(@300wpm)
The top half is unzipped slightly, the sleeves tied loosely around his waist, revealing the black compression shirt beneath - thin enough that I can see every defined line of his chest, every contour of muscle.
He was built for this.
For racing. For commanding attention.
For making every single person in this venue watch him, wait for him.
Even with the world’s eyes on him, somehow, he still manages to steal all of my focus, too.
And yet, somehow, he makes me feel like I’m the only one in the world.
I love our game. The chase, the teasing. The way he commands me so effortlessly, how I push back just enough to keep things interesting.
I love how he enjoys my defiance, how he bends me to his will without ever forcing me, how I always, always end up right where he wants me.
But I also love the other side of him.
The man who sends me flowers and gifts - not just as grand gestures but as quiet reminders that he’s thinking of me. The man who orders me cars and makes sure I have everything I could possibly need before I even have to ask.
The man who fucked me against the door of an abandoned room with reckless, possessive hunger - only to check on me afterward like I was something to be cared for, something to be cherished.
And that’s the part that gets to me the most. That’s the part that terrifies me.
Because I love being with him.
And I can’t bear to think about the fact that in just a few more days, we’re supposed to go home.
I don’t know what that means for us. Fuck; I don’t even know if there is an ‘us’.
All I know is that I don’t want this to end.
Just then, he spots me.
Even from this distance, I see the flicker of recognition in his face - the slight narrowing of his sharp blue eyes, the way his lips twitch before curving into a slow, wicked grin.
That grin does something to me.
I barely have a second to prepare before he lifts a hand, exaggeratedly puckers his lips and blows me a kiss.
I burst out laughing, shaking my head at his audacity.
Arrogant bastard.
And yet, my stomach flips, warmth creeping over my skin.
He knows exactly what he’s doing to me. He always does.
Still smiling, I raise a hand in a small wave, my heart hammering against my ribs.
There’s movement behind me, and I glance over to see Jas watching me with an all-too-knowing expression. Her head is tilted slightly, her arms crossed as she leans against the doorway of the lounge, and I roll my eyes, stepping back inside, my fingers still tingling as I sink into the seat beside her.
“What?” I ask, my smile still lingering.
Jas just shakes her head, her expression soft, her eyes warm.
“Nothing. It’s just nice to see you happy, Pops.”
My smile falters, just for the briefest of moments. A fraction of a second.
A tiny crack in my composure.
Because I am happy.
And that’s what terrifies me the most.
Chapter Sixty-Three
Frederic
The paddock is alive with an electric tension.
From mechanics making final checks, engineers murmuring to one another over radio comms to the hum of engines filling the air like an unrelenting battle cry; I can feel the weight of it pressing down on my shoulders, buzzing through my bloodstream like a live wire.
Race day.
The energy here is different today - it’s sharper, heavier.
This isn’t just another practice session, another qualifying lap.
This is our final day in Monaco.
Everything about this race demands perfection. Every turn, every millimeter of track, every fraction of a second matters.
I roll my shoulders back, exhaling slowly and forcing my body to stay loose as I stand near the garage. Matthieu, my race engineer, is beside me, running through the final prep, his expression sharp and focused.
"Track conditions are solid - temps are rising slightly, but no rain expected," he says, flipping through his notes on the tablet in his hand.
I nod, stretching out my fingers and letting the information settle in my mind. Good. The last thing I need is unpredictable weather fucking with our strategy.
"Tire strategy?" I ask.
"Softs to start, but we’ll reassess midway. If there’s a safety car, we might shift plans. Two-stop if degradation kicks in too soon, but otherwise, we hold position."
I glance up at the sky - clear blue, sun high. No chance of complications.
"Everything feeling good?" Matthieu asks, his eyes flicking over me, reading my body language like he always does.
I roll my neck, feeling the familiar sharp focus settle over me.
It’s like a switch being flipped - my mind zoning in, my body tuning itself for the battle ahead.
"Yeah. The car’s dialed in."
Matthieu claps a hand on my shoulder, firm and steady.
"Go out there and do what you do best, Moreau."
I nod once, and then check my phone one last time.