Page 112 of Off the Grid

“No. Not here. I cannot have sex with you here. I’m partially your boss. Your—”

“I know what you are. And for the record, that makes it even more tempting. Even fucking hotter.” I groan at the thought.

“You are seriously crazy.”

I rest a hip on the table, never taking my eyes off hers. “I’m sure you’ve had a tough time getting some of the guys on board with listening to a woman. Especially since you seem to be stepping in for your dad every now and again. It might ease your stress if I let you have your way with me. Take control. Grab me by the cock and lead me around by it.”

“More like lead it right into my mouth,” she murmurs, her cheeks flushing and eyes darkening.

My grin is immediate. My cock hardens. “You think I’d complain about that?”

“What I think is that you’re out of your mind.”

“You’re the one who offered to pay me for sex.”

“You’re the one who gave it to me for free.”

We wage a visual war as the sexual tension virtually combusts in this room. I glance at the table she’s seated at and quirk my eyebrows. Definitely a useable surface. “Before the end of my . . . tenure here.” I almost choke on the thought of being relegated back to F2. “I’ll get you to fuck me somewhere in the paddock.”

“I’ll be your paddock pussy?” she asks, amused. “You’re pretty sure of yourself.”

“I’m a racer, Camilla. I live for the danger. I have to be sure of myself. And this? This I’m sure of.”

com

CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

Riggs

“Box. Box. Box,” Hank says.

I grit my teeth, my concentration unwavering as I chase after Evans.

One more place.

I want one more spot up the grid.

It’ll be the highest one-two finish for Moretti in five years . . . and it’s just within my reach.

If I shave off another hundredth of a second, I’ll be within DRS range on the next straight. I’ll slingshot past Evans, hope for a caution to save the tires, and end the race with the highest finish I’ve personally had for Moretti thus far.

“Box. Box. Box. We have harder tires ready for you,” Hank says.

“These are fine. Let me stay out.” My voice vibrates with the higher downforce of the car. I fight against the pressure it exerts.

Evans is right there. Right fucking there to reel in. C’mon, fucker.

My arms are tired.

My legs strained.

My eyes are burning.

So goddamn close.

“We need to box.”

I’m flying down the last straight, trying to shave off that time, waiting for Hank to tell me DRS is enabled.