“Just talk, Frankie.” I was a little short with him, but that was his own fault for always being a little shit up until now.
“Here.” He reached into his pocket and handed over an envelope. It was addressed to him at the hotel we were staying at. I pulled the letter from the envelope. Inside, cuttings from magazines and newspapers had been arranged to spell one simple sentence.I lOVe YoU frAnKIE.
I shivered. “Damn, that’s creepy.”
“I don’t want to tell my Dad. He’s always been overprotective, and he might pull me from the team,” Frankie said.
I laughed despite the severity of the situation. “That’s your worry? We keep the hotels we stay in confidential. You have yourself a stalker. I would worry more about that than your place on the team.” I handed the letter back to him. “Talk to team management. Or your father. They can decide whether to involve local police or find a way to make you safe. Don’t sit on this and wait for it to get worse.”
Frankie hesitated before stuffing the letter into his jeans pocket. “…OK. Thanks for the advice, Sebastian.” He stood up, for a second seemingly unsure of where he was going, and then headed for the door. “I really am sad to see you go. Sorry I was such a twat.”
Twatsounded so funny in his American accent that I couldn’t keep up the frown. “Learned that one from your new British teammate?” I joked.
Frankie just gave a half-hearted shrug and closed the door behind him.
Theo
Across the grid, Sebastian’s eyes locked on to mine. And he grinned. It was feral, predatory as he stalked across the tarmac towards me. His overalls were tied around his waist, and the thermal under-layer clung to his body like it was painted on.
God, I wasdown bad. So bad that I didn’t even notice as Brooke sidled up to me. “Christ, you could cut the sexual tension in the air with a knife,” she said.
“Shut up,” I said as she mimed using a bread knife in the space between Sebastian and I.
“How’s it going, sexy Spaniard?” she shouted over at him. Sebastian’s smile just widened as he got close to us, and he sidled alongside me.
“Do I look feminine today? I that why you find me sexy?” he asked, stroking his stubble.
Brooke just laughed. “Nope. I like ‘em butch, Sebastian. Remember that in case any Remini lady-mechanics look my way.” And with a cackle, she was walking back towards BritishRacing’s garage. Leaving us alone on the track. Well, alone except for the hundreds of drivers, mechanics, celebrities and millionaires.
Sebastian leaned in, so close we could kiss. But he didn’t. “What do I get for beating you today?” he asked.
“You still want to bet?” I asked. “With everything we’ve done, with what we…are?”
Sebastians lips brushed my ear as he leaned ever closer, and I thanked every version of God for the thick sleeves of my overalls, hanging at my waist and covering up any sign of arousal.
“Why don’t we have a little fun with this, now we have new boundaries? Whoever wins calls all the shots tonight.” Sebastian nipped at my earlobe and then leaned away like nothing had happened.
“Fuck, well I’m never going to win when I’m thinking aboutthat,” I muttered. “Deal.”
“That ass is mine,” Sebastian said, a little too loud for comfort. But two could play at that game. I wasn’t above psychological mind tricks to win a race, even if he was my boyfriend.
“If I win,” I started, grabbing him by the collar so that I could put my lips to his ear, “I might just make you fuck me anyway.”
And with that statement, and an erection that I hoped no paparazzi could capture, I sauntered away. And on to the race.
Monza was known as the temple of speed for a reason. The racetrack on the outskirts of Milan was one of the simplest Moto 1 tracks, but its long straights allowed for the cars to pick up some real speed. Real speed was exactly my problem.
The race started in the middle of one of those long straights, and it was almost seven hundred metres before the first bend.
I was an expert at late braking, and my car was fast in the curves of the track, the chicanes and difficult bends. I was not as fast as every other car on the straights. And I was starting this race in eighth.
My only consolation was that my main competitor for the championship, British Racing’s Max Burnham, was only a couple of spaces ahead of me. And in the second row, I could spot the back of Sebastian’s car. He was starting the race at an advantage. But I’d come back from worse.
The thought of his skin against mine.
Nope, not thinking it. Not letting those thoughts get to me.
Sebastian holding my wrists above his head as he fucks me.
