Chapter Twenty-Three
Lily
The moment our lips touched, the world felt right again.
Henri kissed me back instantly, desperately, his hands coming up to frame my face like he was afraid I might stop.
For this one perfect moment, nothing else existed except Henri’s hands in my hair and the taste of rain on his lips and the feeling that I’d been holding my breath for months and could finally breathe again.
When we broke apart, we were both breathing hard, foreheads pressed together in the mist.
“Lily,” he whispered, and my name sounded different in his voice.
His eyes were dark with something that made heat pool low in my stomach. I could see the exact moment he made his decision. His throat worked, like he was swallowing down one last objection. Then he moved.
Henri opened the door of the Beetle, and after some squeezing in, we collapsed into the back seat.
His eyes held mine with every bit of intensity from the kiss. The rain continued its gentle patter, creating a cocoon around us. I didn’t think beyond the next few heartbeats. Not with him looking at me like this. Not when he was giving me the space to pull away if I wanted to.
The morality contract, the championship, the hatred between our teams—none of that was on my mind.
Just him.
I closed the distance first, kissing him again, slower this time, like I was testing the ground beneath my feet. He responded immediately, a quiet sound slipping from him as his hands came up to my hair, threading through it, pulling me closer, until there was no room left between us.
“Fuck,” he murmured against my mouth, breath warm and unsteady. “Is this a terrible idea?”
“Just shut up and kiss me.”
I kissed him again, cutting off anything else he might’ve said, and this time there was nothing gentle about it.
The kiss turned hungry, desperate, all the tension that had been wound tight between us finally snapping.
His shirt was gone before I fully registered it, tossed aside carelessly as our hands roamed everywhere at once, learning, claiming.
His bare chest glistened with a mix of sweat and rain, and I made sure to leave kisses up and down it.
His muscles tensed while I explored with my fingers, tracing each defined line.
He grabbed my face, pulling me back to him.
The cold of his fingertips on my bare skin shocked a gasp out of me.
He was smiling when I pulled back, his lips shiny and his pupils blown wide.
Henri’s hands moved urgently as he pulled my shirt over my head, discarding it carelessly. His eyes darkened as he made sure to pay attention to each breast, before moving back up to my jaw, then down my throat, biting just shy of painful.
And God, I loved every moment of it.
“Fuck, mon c?ur, you’re so beautiful.”
When I finally got my hands down to his waistband, Henri let out a hiss, and I knew that sound was something I would never get tired of. His hips rose off the seat, pressing into my palm, his eyes never leaving mine even as he kicked one leg free from the denim twisted around his ankle.
We stripped off the rest of our clothes—fumbling, laughing a little when my foot got stuck in my underwear.
Henri’s hands were everywhere, warm and sure.
He kissed down to my collarbone, teeth dragging just enough to pull a whimper out of me.
I bit his shoulder, and he grinned against my neck, breathing hard.
Then he stopped. Just for a second. His eyes locked on mine, and I could see everything in them: heat and desire and want and need. All tied up in a beautiful little bundle.
I could’ve asked him anything right then. Has anything actually changed? What happens tomorrow?
But I didn’t.
He kissed me again, slower this time. Careful, like he was memorizing me. His palm cupped my face, thumb brushing my cheekbone, and God—every worry I had just melted. All that was left was how badly I wanted him.
Henri pulled back just enough to reach for his jeans, fishing a condom from his wallet. He held it up, eyes on mine, waiting.
“Fuck yes,” I said.
As he put on the condom, I watched him, hard and ready. He throbbed with anticipation, pressing one hand to my hip, the other guiding himself, and our eyes met as he pushed inside.
I gasped. Good God he felt just as amazing as I remembered.
He went slow, holding me close, our foreheads pressed together.
Every inch made my head spin. I grabbed at the headrest to steady myself, and Henri’s fingers dug into my waist. We found our rhythm together, hips moving in sync with the rain drumming on the roof and our ragged breathing.
Each thrust felt different, better than the last. His arm stayed locked around me while his other hand slid up my back, fingers tracing patterns across my shoulder that made me shiver.
I started rolling my hips, slow and deliberate. Henri’s rhythm faltered—just for a second—and I grinned down at him. He laughed, breathless, gripping me tighter.
“Tu vas finir par me tuer.” His eyes were dark, desperate, wanting. “You’re going to be the death of me.”
I liked seeing him like this—all his walls down, face flushed, looking at me like I was the only thing that mattered. I liked that I could do this to him. We kept mumbling half-words against each other’s mouths, things that didn’t quite make sense but didn’t need to.
I braced one hand on the ceiling as he thrust up into me, harder now, more desperate.
When his thumb pressed against me in just the right way, circling, I couldn’t hold back anymore.
I came hard, gripping his shoulder, my whole body tightening around him.
It rolled through me in waves that left me gasping.
He wasn’t far behind. I watched his face as his rhythm broke apart. His whole body went tense under me, fingers digging into my hips, and he groaned, low and rough, saying my name like a prayer as he held me tight, moving me up and down in his lap.
I collapsed onto his chest, boneless, face buried in his neck.
I could feel his pulse racing against my lips.
His skin was warm and damp, and he smelled like sweat and rain and us.
He wrapped his arms around my shoulders and kissed my hair, lips staying there for a long moment while we both caught our breath.
“I’m glad you got me into this car,” I said quietly.
His eyes found mine, soft now, a little dazed. “Me too.”
His fingers traced slow, lazy patterns on my lower back. The rain kept falling outside, softer now, almost gentle. I wanted to ask what he was thinking, but it felt too good right now—too easy. And honestly? Part of me was scared of the answer. Scared it might break whatever this was between us.
So, I didn’t ask the burning question, and instead it sat between us. I shifted slightly, and Henri’s grip tightened, keeping me close. Neither of us spoke. The rain had softened to barely a whisper against the roof.
Eventually, reality crept back in.
“We should probably…” I started, but I didn’t finish.
“Yeah.” Henri’s voice was rough. He helped me ease off him, and we moved carefully in the confined space, reaching for our clothes.
Getting dressed in the back seat of a Beetle proved significantly less sexy than getting undressed had been. Elbows knocked into windows, my bra strap caught on the door handle, and Henri’s jeans proved difficult.
We finally emerged into the damp evening air, looking thoroughly disheveled despite our best efforts. Henri’s hair stood up at wild angles where I’d run my fingers through it. My lips felt swollen.
His friends were going to take one look at us and know exactly what had happened.
Henri caught my hand as I moved toward the front seat, spinning me back to face him.
“Lily—”
“Tomorrow,” I said quickly. “Let’s just… Tomorrow.”
He nodded slowly, but his eyes held questions I wasn’t ready to answer.
One day at a time.
My phone buzzed in my pocket, and at first, I tried to ignore it. But then it buzzed again.
Ollie:
Racing in Heels just dropped. You look amazing. Don’t read the
comments.
Don’t read the comments was never a good way to start a press video.
“Fuck.”
Henri glanced over. “What?”
I was pulling up social media, my thumb flying across the screen. The Racing in Heels segment had been posted an hour ago, and the comments section was a disaster.
Are you kidding me with this? Why is she talking about her looks
instead of her pole position?
This is exactly why people don’t take women in motorsport seriously.
Embarrassing.
Lily Blackwood is better than this. Who approved these questions?
“Do you feel pressure to look good?” Jesus Christ. What year is
this?
I scrolled further, my chest tightening with each new comment.
She should’ve walked out. Lost all respect for her.
Bet the male drivers aren’t getting asked about their beauty
routines.
“Lily?”
I looked up at Henri, and the concern in his eyes made something crack open inside me. I handed him my phone without a word.
He scanned the screen, his jaw tightening. Then he scrolled. And scrolled.
“Merde.”
“Oh God,” I groaned. “Maybe I should’ve walked out. My gut told me in the moment that I was setting women in racing back fifty years.”
Henri handed my phone back. “You didn’t have a choice, Lily. We’re contracted to these interview segments.”
“I should have just paid the fine.” I shoved my phone in my pocket, resisting the urge to throw it into the nearest body of water. “I should’ve refused. Should’ve made them ask me real questions.”
“Your team arranged this, didn’t they?”
I nodded, throat tight. “It’s an F1 sponsored segment—or was. Not sure it’ll continue after this mess…”
Henri grabbed my chin, forcing me to look at him. “Oh, Lily. This isn’t on you.”
“Tell that to everyone calling me an embarrassment.” I ran my hands through my hair, which was still damp from the rain and thoroughly mussed from what we’d just done in the Beetle.
“God, what if this follows me? What if every interview from now on, they bring this up? ‘Remember when Lily Blackwood talked about moisturizer instead of racing?’”
“They won’t.”
“You don’t know that.”
“I know you,” Henri said quietly. “You’ll make them forget. One brilliant race, one perfect interview, and this becomes nothing.”
“You really believe that?”
“You’re Lily Blackwood.” His mouth curved into something almost like a smile. “Racing in Heels will be a footnote. We’ll think of something,” he added. “Don’t worry.”
The rain had stopped completely now. Water dripped from the Beetle’s roof, each drop catching the sun.
“Okay.”
“Okay?”
“Okay.”