Chapter Forty-Seven
Poppy
I wake to the sound of my phone buzzing uncontrollably on the nightstand.
My eyelids feel heavy, my limbs are deliciously sore, and my entire body is thrumming with the lingering aftermath of last night.
But before I can even process it, another buzz vibrates against the wood, followed by another.
I groan, reaching blindly for my phone, my muscles aching in the best way possible. I squint at the screen through sleep-heavy eyes, only to be met with -
Dozens. Of. Messages.
My heart stutters in my chest.
Emma: POPPY. WHERE THE FUCK ARE YOU?
Jas: Please confirm you are alive, darling. We are very worried.
Leah: Oh my god - checked her location. She’s at a hotel.
Not just any hotel. She’s at one of the F1 hotels.
Emma: ARE YOU SERIOUS???
Jas: I actually cannot breathe. Poppy, we need details.
Immediately.
Emma: F1 HOTEL, POPPY???
Leah: Is she dead? Is she alive?
Is she currently suffering a heart attack due to an orgasm-induced coma?
I groan loudly, flopping back against the pillows as I scroll through them.
Of course they tracked my location.
And of course they googled the fucking hotel.
I squeeze my eyes shut, my mind spinning as fragments of last night flood my senses.
Frederic holding me close after he wrecked me. His lips pressed to my shoulder as I drifted off.
The way he made love to me twice more through the night - slowly, gently , but still with that unshakable dominance, still with that signature possessiveness that drives me insane.
And yet, there was something different in the way he moved. Like he was savouring me, like he was claiming me all over again.
The contrast is driving me crazy, but before I can think on any of it, a deep, familiar voice pulls me from my thoughts.
“You’re awake.”
I blink up in surprise, my head turning towards the now-empty side of the bed.
And there he is.
Standing in the doorway, looking devastatingly good in nothing but a pair of grey sweatpants that hang sinfully low on his hips .
His hair is messy, jaw still very freshly shaven, and I can’t form a response before he’s already moving towards me.
I don’t know how I missed the large tray that he was carrying - clearly, my brain is just not with it this morning - and I watch as he places it carefully down on the bedside table closest to me before leaning down, his lips brushing mine in a soft, slow morning kiss.
It’s too much.
It’s not enough.
“Good morning, mon ange, ” Frederic murmurs against my lips, his voice still husky with sleep.
I blink up at him, still processing - still recovering from the last twelve hours of my life.
“Sleep well?”
A knowing smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth, like he already knows the answer.
I scoff, dragging the sheets a little higher as I sit up against the headboard.
“Oh, sure. After you finally let me sleep.”
Frederic chuckles, the sound low and satisfied as he reaches for the tray he set down moments before.
“Can’t imagine what might’ve kept you up.”
I roll my eyes, but the effect is entirely ruined when he lifts the tray onto the bed and settles in next to me, his body warm and solid against mine.
And then, he removes the lid.
Oh .
This isn’t just room service. This is a full-blown banquet .
Freshly brewed coffee, two types of juice - orange and apple, because apparently, he’s a thoughtful overachiever - a plate of golden, flaky croissants and pain au chocolat, a bowl of fresh fruit, yogurt with honey, cereal, and a plate of perfectly scrambled eggs with toast on the side.
I blink.
And then I blink again.
“…Did you invite half the hotel to join us?” I ask, arching a brow.
Frederic simply grins, reaching for a croissant and tearing a piece off.
“I didn’t know what you’d want,” he responds smoothly, popping it into his mouth.
“So, your solution was to order everything on the menu?”
His lips twitch, like he’s debating whether or not to say something cocky.
“You know me, Poppy,” he says eventually, smirking as he lifts a steaming cup of coffee and hands it to me. “I don’t do things by halves.”
I huff out a laugh, taking the cup from him.
“No, you definitely don’t.”
I take a careful sip, and oh, god .
Even the coffee is perfect.
“You approve?” he asks, watching me far too closely.
I hum in response, setting the cup down on the tray as I survey the spread once more.
“Clearly, you were very concerned about my wellbeing.”
He leans back against the pillows, grinning lazily. “Couldn’t have you starving, could I?”
“Yes, because I was obviously at risk of malnutrition.”
His chuckle is warm, easy. “You never know.”
I pick up a pain au chocolat, eyeing him suspiciously as I take a bite.
His eyes darken immediately, and I freeze.
It’s then that I realise: I moaned .
Just slightly. Just barely.
But by the look on his face, he definitely heard it.
Frederic exhales slowly, his jaw tightening, his gaze flicking from my lips to my throat and back up again.
I swallow quickly, fighting the flush creeping up my neck.
“ Anyway ,” I clear my throat, desperate to change the subject, “you’ve got a busy day today, right?”
He takes a sip of his own coffee, nodding. “Meetings, interviews, press, team debriefs, track walks, simulator sessions…”
I blink, taken aback. “That’s… a lot.”
“Comes with the job,” he shrugs, appearing completely unbothered.
“Well, I won’t keep you then,” I say, starting to push the sheets back. “I’ll get out of your hair.”
His dark brow lifts slightly, like he wasn’t expecting that.
“No rush,” he says, reaching out casually to tuck a loose strand of hair behind my ear, his fingers brushing my jaw as he does.
Despite myself, my breath catches at the touch .
The quiet intimacy of it is startling.
“ Eat ,” he murmurs, his thumb tracing lightly over my cheek before he pulls away. “The world can wait a little longer.”
And just like that, I realise that I am so, so gone for this man.
* * *
The drive back to my hotel is quiet, but my mind is anything but.
I shift in the backseat, my thighs still aching, my body still buzzing from the morning’s events.
Frederic had not let me leave without another round - this time, though, it had been in the shower.
The moment I stepped inside, the hot water cascading over my skin, he’d followed. I barely had time to react before his hands were on me - gripping my hips, pressing me against the cool glass.
"Going somewhere?" he had murmured, his voice deep and teasing as his lips brushed against my damp shoulder.
My hands had pressed against the glass as our bodies molded perfectly together, his wet skin flush with mine.
“I should hurry,” I’d managed, even though we both knew it was a lie.
He’d hummed as his hands skimmed down my sides, tracing over my stomach and hip bones before his palms splayed possessively over my thighs.
"Should you?" he had mused, kissing purposefully up the curve of my neck.
My knees had nearly buckled when he slid a hand between my legs.
“I don’t want to slow you down,” I’d whispered, but he had simply hushed me in response, his voice nothing but velvet and dominance as one hand gripped my throat, tilting my head back against his shoulder.
"Just let me enjoy you a little longer."
I had melted, completely and utterly at his mercy, and what followed was pure, slow-burning torture.
His movements were deliberate. Every thrust was deep, every kiss was slow, and his hands roamed over me like he had all the time in the world.
He had whispered in my ear - filthy words, soft confessions, promises of what he'd do to me next time.
“You love being full of me, don’t you, Poppy?” he’d murmured as he fucked me, and I had whimpered desperately, my nails digging into his forearms as he angled his hips just right.
"So fucking perfect ," he had growled.
And when we had both finally come undone - my body essentially boneless in his hold - his arms had wrapped around me from behind, anchoring me to him as we stood under the stream of hot water, catching our breath.
He had pressed a slow kiss to my temple, his lips lingering just long enough to make my chest ache in a way that had nothing to do with lust.
And that had scared me more than anything else.
Now, as I step into my suite - my very lovely, very expensive suite, which suddenly feels tiny compared to his - I realise that I miss him already.
Which is stupid.
I shake the thought away and barely get my bearings before a high-pitched squeal erupts from the bed .
“Oh my god - she lives ,” Emma exclaims, launching herself at me the moment I walk in.
Jas follows, smirking as she leans against the couch. “Well, well. Someone’s been busy.”
I scoff, playfully shoving Emma off me, but she’s already grabbing my wrist, her eyes locking onto the Cartier bracelet still gleaming on my skin.
“Look at this!” she gasps, spinning my arm to admire it from every angle. “Fucking hell. I cannot believe you kept this from us!”
“Damn,” Jas whistles. “ That is not just any bracelet.”
I sigh, running a hand through my hair as I move further into the suite, placing my bags down.
“It’s really not that big of a -”
Emma gasps dramatically, cutting me off.
“Not that big of a deal? Not that big of a deal ?! Babe, that man is wooing you. You know that, right?”
I laugh, shaking my head. “You’re insane.”
Jas grins. “No, but she’s right. This isn’t just a one-night-stand Cartier situation. This is a ‘ he wants you as his ’ Cartier situation.”
“How do you know the difference?” I ask, feigning curiosity.
Emma ignores my question entirely. “Well, who is it?” she asks. “Who are you choosing as maid of honor at your wedding?”
I groan, flopping onto the couch and sitting myself down next to Jas. “Emma, please, stop . I barely know him!”
“Yet here you are, dripping in Cartier, fresh from his suite, looking like you’ve been thoroughly fucked . ”
I glare at her, and Jas snorts.
“Well?” Emma says, placing her hands on her hips as she blinks down at me. “Am I wrong?”
“Oh, babe - you’re already his,” Jas comments. “You just don't know it yet.”
I roll my eyes, but the words hit a little too close to home.
Because the truth is, I do know it.
I just don’t know what to do with that knowledge.
Clearing my throat, I straighten up. “Actually, there’s something I need to tell you both.”
Emma and Jas exchange a look, and I take a breath, exhaling slowly.
“Frederic… let something slip last night. Something about Jacques.”
Jas’s brows knit together. “Jacques? What about him?”
I hesitate for a moment.
“He’s been lying.”
Emma frowns. “Lying about what?”
“About the house,” I say, glancing between them. “About… about the yacht. About pretty much everything .”
Jas blinks, clearly trying to process. “Wait. What do you mean?”
I press my lips together, then sigh.
“The house we went to for that first party? It wasn’t his. It’s Frederic’s family home.”
Emma’s jaw drops. “No fucking way.”
I nod. “And the yacht? It wasn’t just some ‘ connection of Jacques ’. It’s Frederic’s .”
Jas leans back, exhaling. “Holy shit .”
Emma looks like she’s having a full-on existential crisis.
“But - wait. This doesn’t… Leah’s been staying there. At the house. At Jacques’ house.”
I roll my lips together, unsure of what to say.
“I just… I don’t know much about it. I didn’t want to prod too much or react in front of Frederic. I was in shock, and I didn’t know what he’d think, or how much he knows, and I just… Yeah. I don’t know,” I sigh. “What I do know is that the house isn’t his.”
Silence passes between us all for a long moment as the girls process my words.
Jas is the one to finally break it, letting out a long, low whistle.
“Leah’s going to lose it.”
Emma nods, then pauses, frowning.
“But Jacques must have some money, right? How else is he affording all these extravagant gifts?”
She gestures towards the handbag of Leah’s that I had taken out with me last night, and Jas tilts her head, considering.
“He must have something , surely. I mean, you can’t just fake wealth to this level, can you?” she asks. “He’s buying Leah all these designer gifts, taking her out to the best restaurants, getting us into places that don’t even take reservations - he has to have money.”
Emma scoffs. “Yeah, but whose money?”
They both turn to look at me, and I sigh, rubbing my temples.
“That’s the question, isn’t it? ”
Jas exhales sharply. “Okay, but let’s think about this logically. If he’s been pretending to be wealthier than he is, then one of two things will happen. Either the whole thing comes crashing down spectacularly in front of Leah, or -”
“- Or we still get into VIP for the Grand Prix, have an amazing fucking time, and let her deal with Jacques after,” Emma finishes smoothly.
I blink at them both. “So you’re saying we just… let her continue being fooled?”
“I’m saying we don’t ruin her fun prematurely,” Jas shrugs. “Leah’s a big girl. If we’re right about Jacques, she’ll figure it out eventually.”
“Exactly. And telling her now?” Emma waves a hand. “She’d just say we’re jealous. She’d never believe us.”
And that’s the truth of it. Leah has been absolutely besotted with Jacques since the second we got here. She’s convinced he’s the perfect billionaire future-husband she’s been looking for - rich, charming, and a little mysterious.
The moment we say something, she’ll dig her heels in and refuse to hear it.
I groan. I hate when Emma is right.
“Besides, if we tell her before the race and it all goes to hell, there goes our VIP access,” Jas smirks. “And I, for one, would like to drink champagne and watch overpriced cars go very, very fast.”
Emma grins, raising her glass in mock salute. “Cheers to that.”
I roll my eyes, but I know they have a point.
I’ll keep it to myself - for now.
But something tells me this isn’t over.