Chapter Twenty One – Seoul Thursday
I’d stayed in hundreds of luxury suites around the world—penthouse floors, skyline views, marble floors polished to within an inch of their lives. They all started to blur after a while.
But tonight, I noticed everything.
The faint tick of the modern art clock on the wall. The ice melting in the crystal glass on the sideboard. The way my reflection looked in the full-length window—sharp suit, bruised jaw, nerves I couldn’t quite disguise.
She was coming.
And I had no idea what the hell I was going to say when she did.
I crossed to the bar again, poured a second vodka I didn’t need, and stared out across Seoul’s glittering skyline. The view from the top of the tower was stupidly impressive. It was supposed to scream power, control, success.
But all I could think was—Will she think I’m showing off?
The knock came. Three sharp raps, like a gavel calling me to judgement.
I didn’t hesitate. Just moved to the door and opened it.
She stood there, haloed by hallway light. Black jeans. Fitted top. Lips glossy, eyes bright.
And the second our eyes met, all that nervous tension in my chest pulled tight again.
“Room 1004,” she said softly, like it was a password.
“Come in,” I said, stepping aside.
She entered, eyes sweeping the space with that sharp journalistic gaze of hers. I watched her take it all in—the sleek modern furniture, the skyline view, the minimalist opulence. Her brows lifted just a fraction.
“Nice digs,” she murmured.
“It’s… standard,” I said, then winced internally at how ridiculous that sounded.
She turned slowly to face me, one brow arching in clear amusement. “Standard? You’ve got a Japanese soaking tub, a massage menu, and the bed is bigger than my whole room.”
I didn’t answer. Mostly because I didn’t trust myself to.
Instead, I walked past her to the window, trying to look relaxed. “The view’s better from over here.”
She followed. Stopped beside me. Close enough that I could smell her perfume—citrus and something warmer underneath. Her arm brushed mine.
The city stretched out beneath us, lit in gold and blue. Somewhere out there, the circuit was sleeping.
But in here, something was wide awake.
“So, Champion,” she said, voice low, eyes still on the glass. “Is this the part where you kiss me, or the part where we pretend this was all a mistake?”
I turned to face her fully. And that was it. The moment.
The air shifted. The distance vanished.
And we stopped pretending.
Her words hit like a match to dry fuel.
I didn’t answer.
I just reached for her.
We crashed together—weeks of tension snapping taut. Her fingers fisted in my shirt, yanking me close as my hands found her waist, then her back, pulling her flush against me. Her mouth opened beneath mine, warm and wet and hungry.
I kissed her like I needed to consume her.
Like she was the only thing that could shut off the chaos in my head.
She moaned into my mouth and it undid me.
I pushed her backwards, blindly navigating the suite. Her purse hit the floor. I yanked her top over her head, barely breaking the kiss. My hands skimmed her waist, her hips, her ribs—greedy, desperate.
She grabbed the front of my shirt, nails catching, dragging it up. I let her strip it off me and tossed it aside. Her eyes dragged down my chest like she wanted to devour me, and fuck, I wanted to let her.
We stumbled toward the bed, bumping into the edge of the couch on the way. I spun her, pinned her against it, grinding against her with a groan. She gasped, biting her lip, pupils blown wide.
“Bed,” she panted.
“Yes,” I rasped, already lifting her again.
She wrapped her legs around me like she had in Shanghai—but this time, it wasn’t desperation.
It was surrender. I carried her the last few steps, dropping her onto the mattress like she weighed nothing.
She scrambled back and I followed, kneeling between her legs as I kissed her again—slower now, deeper.
My hand slid over her stomach, tracing the curve of her waist, up to her ribs, her breasts. She arched into me, whimpering when I dragged my mouth from hers to kiss along her jaw, her throat, her collarbone.
When I reached her bra, I paused.
She looked up at me, flushed and breathless.
“I want to see you,” I said.
She sat up, reached behind her, and unhooked it.
Then she looked me dead in the eye and dropped it off her shoulders like it was nothing.
Like she knew exactly what it would do to me.
Jesus.
I ran my hands up her sides and cupped her breasts, thumbs grazing across her nipples as I kissed her again—this time with reverence. No rush now. No fury. Just heat and pressure and want.
She pushed me back onto the bed and climbed into my lap, straddling me. Her hands braced on my shoulders, and for a long, breathless moment, she just looked at me.
“This is insane,” she said softly.
“Absolutely.”
“We’re going to ruin each other.”
“I’m already ruined,” I said.
And I meant it.
She kissed me again, slower this time, her hips grinding against mine in maddening rhythm. When we shed the last of our clothes, the frantic energy had drained away and what was left was burning heat.
Every movement. Every gasp. Every inch of skin against skin.
She took me inside of her and rode me like she was trying to memorise the shape of us together.
My hands guided her hips, my mouth caught every moan.
She came apart in my arms, her body trembling, her breath stuttering against my lips.
She was wild fire, hot skin and breath and when she came, she burned brighter.
I took firm hold of her and flipped her onto her back, barely breaking contact between our bodies.
I buried myself deep inside her and captured her lips with mine again.
We moved slowly together, writhing in the dimly lit suite at the top of the shimmering glass tower.
I was lost in her and spinning so far beyond my control that I had no choice but to cling to her like my life depended on it.
She came apart again, crying out with the intensity of it. I followed a moment later, shuddering and gripping her so tight I was scared I’d leave marks.
But she didn’t seem to mind.
She grasped my waist, pulling my body flush against hers. Both of us were slick with sweat, hearts pounding like engines.
And for a long moment, we didn’t move.
Didn’t speak.
Just breathed.
Eventually, I eased out of her and collapsed at her side. I reached down and pulled the sheet over both of us.
I turned my head. She was looking at the ceiling, lips parted, hair a mess, eyes still hazy.
“You okay?” I asked quietly.
She nodded.
Then turned to me. “That felt… real.”
I swallowed hard. “It was.”
Silence.
The city glowed beyond the glass. Traffic hummed far below.
And somehow, lying next to her, everything in me was loud and still at the same time.
I was supposed to have control.
But with Elena Archer in my bed, I didn’t want it.
We lay in silence for a long time, her head resting on my shoulder, one leg hooked over mine. The sheets were rumpled, our skin cooling in the air-conditioned hush. The city shimmered beyond the window, but in here, everything was slow. Still.
Eventually, she stirred. Just a shift of her hand, tracing a line across my chest with one finger. It tickled a little. I didn’t tell her to stop.
“Your heartbeat’s slowing,” she murmured.
“You got me revved.”
She smiled against my skin. “Good.”
I looked down at her, curling a loose strand of hair around my finger. “You're dangerous, Archer.”
“Tell me something I don’t know.”
A pause stretched, soft and breathable.
Then, quietly, she asked, “Are you still angry with me? About the article?”
I didn’t answer straight away. Not because I didn’t know—but because I didn’t want to shatter the moment.
“No,” I said eventually. “I’m not angry.”
She tilted her chin, eyes searching mine. “You sure?”
I nodded. “It was fair. Sharp, but fair.”
“That’s rare praise from you, Volkov,” she said, smile tugging at the corner of her mouth.
“You earned it.” I traced the line of her spine, slowly. “Moretti’s the one who should be worried. You made him look like a damn fool.”
Her smile faded a little. “He did that himself when he hit you.”
“Huh. True.”
“Does it hurt?” She ran a gentle finger along my bruised jaw. I tried not to flinch.
“Only if I put pressure on it.” I captured her wrist in my hand and lowered it to my chest. Curiosity gnawed at me. There was something else I had to know, even if it killed the mood. “Are you going to follow through with the other story?” I asked at last, my hand stilling against her back.
“I’m already in too deep not to.” Her voice was quiet, but resolute.
I stared at the ceiling. “You really think Obsidian’s cheating?”
“I do.”
“And me?” I tensed slightly, worried I’d pushed the wrong button. But Elena rubbed her cheek against my shoulder, a subtle shake of her head.
“No. I believe you don’t have anything to do with it.”
“Good. Because I don’t. I’ve been watching the car, every moment I can. I haven’t seen anything. Are you prepared to be wrong?”
She stiffened slightly. “I have to be open to that, but I don’t think I am.”
That made something cold and sharp settle in my gut. How far would she push this? Would it tear us apart when it was the very thing that had brought us together?
She pushed up onto her elbow, looking down at me. “You want me to drop it?”
“No.” My voice was rougher than intended. “No, I don’t. Just… be careful. People who mess with power usually end up as cautionary tales.”
Her expression softened. “I know. Like my Dad.”
“Exactly.” Everyone in our sport knew what had happened when Ian Archer blew the whistle on a cheating scandal twenty years ago.
He’d been a respected mechanic but after that he was frozen out of the entire sport.
“You’ll be seen as a pariah.” My voice was achingly soft and I kept hold of her to show her that I wanted to keep her safe.
“I’m not scared.”
“I know.” I looked at her. “That’s what worries me.”
We stared at each other for a long moment.
Then she laid back down and rested her head on my chest again. I wrapped my arm around her without thinking.
“You know,” she said quietly, “I never planned to fall into bed with a driver. Let alone the subject of a story. There’s probably some ethical rule about it.”
“Probably. I never planned to get punched on live television, either.”
She laughed, a low sound that vibrated through me. “At least we’re both full of surprises.”
“Yes,” I said.
“You’re one big walking surprise.” Her voice was slowing, softening, tiredness taking hold.
“Hmm?” I nudged, gently.
“Those texts earlier. I didn’t know you were that funny, or flirtatious.”
“I’m as surprised as you are,” I murmured. My own fatigue tugging at my eyelids. “But I think I’m out of surprises for tonight.”
“Same,” she whispered, already drifting.
She fell asleep like that, draped over me like I was a safe place to land.
And I lay there, reluctantly awake, wondering when the hell she’d become mine to worry about.