Chapter 100 Aurélie
aurélie
There's no strategy, no training, no fucking PR rule that can fix how much I need her. Not want. Need. I'm ready to abandon the whole fucking championship just to get her on her knees again. –Callum
If there was a trophy for acting completely unbothered and having the best poker face, I deserved it.
Especially right now, when I was sitting in a driver debrief with all the drivers—reserves included—all eyes on the screen at the front of the room, nodding along to data I wasn’t absorbing.
All while trying not to squirm in my seat.
Why? Because Callum had just texted me something way too fucking suggestive for work.
Callum
Think I’d last longer than your cooldown lap?
I drew in a slow breath through my nose, attempting to regulate my breathing, and bit the inside of my cheek. My legs crossed, as if that would do anything to quell the heat building between them.
I was fine, this was fine, everything was fine. He just existed to fluster me, and fuck him for being able to do it so goddamn easily.
A representative from the FIA stood at the front of the room, motioning toward footage on the screen of overtaking disputes and track limit violations from Monaco.
I tried to focus on what they were saying—I really did.
And after a moment of steady breathing, I was able to tune in.
Apparently we were getting a refresher on wheel-to-wheel etiquette before the race weekend began.
Like we weren’t the most elite drivers in the world, but whatever.
The long tables we sat at were arranged in a rectangle, so all the drivers were essentially facing each other, but we were all turned toward the screen. A quick glance at the others showed several of them zoning out. I was struggling with it too, just for different reasons.
The damn Scottish bastard that sat directly across the room from me, occasionally glancing in my direction.
My phone lit up again, and I almost dreaded looking. But I couldn’t resist, because it was him, and I had no self-control where he was concerned.
Callum
Actually, no. Probably not. Not with the way you sounded last time.
I still hear it in my dreams.
I’m one more night without you from those turning into wet dreams.
Mon Dieu.
This man needed to be locked up. This was diabolical. Pure torture.
I coughed, or maybe I choked. One of the two, I wasn’t sure, because all I could suddenly think about was all the filthy sex we’d had and how uncontrollably primal it was between us.
Kimi turned in his chair to glance at me, one eyebrow raised. “You alright, Dubois?”
“Yeah,” I whispered, so as not to disturb the presentation. “I was just thinking about sector three.”
He didn’t press me, but the corner of his mouth twitched like he knew I was bluffing. He probably did. My face felt ten thousand degrees too hot, which meant I was probably flushed. As soon as he turned back around, I opened my camera app and confirmed my cheeks were red.
Fuck me.
Across the room, Callum was sitting far too composed, with one ankle resting on the opposite knee, face unreadable as he leaned back casually.
Ugh. How annoying. Next to him, Marco was leaning forward with his forearms on the table, looking like he was actually taking this seriously, eyes glued on the screen.
Before this debrief started, Callum and I were called into a meeting room with our PR crews and team principals. They laid it all out for us how things would be from now on:
“There’s not enough focus on the sport anymore.
The press isn’t talking about your driving or this rivalry like they were earlier in the season.
They’re speculating on the what-ifs of a relationship we can’t confirm or deny.
It’s distracting from your performance, and frankly, from the entire championship battle. ”
They’d handed us identical packets of new protocols like they were a set of commandments.
I grimaced as I skimmed. No more joint interviews, no shared appearances, no physical contact, lingering glances, or proximity in shared zones.
No media days overlapping, no sponsorship events between our teams, nothing highlighting our rivalry anymore. Not even staying in the same hotels.
Absolutely zero acknowledgment of two people falling hopelessly in love.
And I knew in my brain this was the right call. For both our sakes, for our careers, for our focus. But damn, this was going to suck. They were taking away every opportunity for us to see each other during race weeks.
According to them, this was “just until things settled.”
Right. As if headlines gave a fuck about settling.
My phone buzzed again.
Callum
Bet you’re wet under that skirt right now.
I bit my lip to stop the smile before it could form. I didn’t move, just schooled my reaction to appear as nonchalant as him. I tapped out a quick reply with one thumb beneath the table.
Bet you’re hard under the table.
No more than ten seconds passed. He was too fucking good at this, and that was suspicious.
Callum
Come find out.
I set my phone face down on my bare thigh and focused on the screen ahead again. All things said, I really did need to pay attention. It was the only way I’d get ahead in this world, and I needed as much ammunition as possible.
A slow-motion playback of the contact I’d seen before the safety car was deployed flickered by, and I caught sight of my car carefully navigating the wreckage.
A steward standing next to the representative who’d been speaking the whole time stepped forward and said something about aggressive defending.
A driver in the back of the room grumbled about consistency.
It sounded like Morel, and it probably was based on the grumpy tone.
That fucker could burn in hell.
I raised my hand. “Are we considering revised guidelines on minimum leaving room requirements? It was mentioned in the notes emailed to all of us yesterday.”
The steward nodded. “We’ll clarify that in the driver’s meeting tomorrow.”
Kimi leaned toward me and elbowed my arm. “You’re being awfully engaged for someone who’s mentally getting railed right now.”
I scowled at him but didn’t dignify him with an answer. In my periphery, Callum’s head tilted just slightly almost as though he was trying to hear what Kimi had murmured to me.
My phone vibrated on my thigh, but I didn’t pick it up right away.
I was the one who started all of this, anyway.
Because as soon as we’d left the meeting room with our teams, I’d excused myself to use the restroom and took the opportunity to send Callum a dirty picture.
I’d unzipped my team jacket, where underneath I wore a V-cut sports bra—I had a workout scheduled after this meeting—and pressed my arms together.
It made the swell of my tits look fantastic.
It was a great selfie. A subtle lip bite, the angle from high up so he had a straight view at my breasts, the taut skin of my stomach on full display.
My message to him was clear and taunting.
Bet you miss this mouth.
He hadn’t responded to that one in words. He just sent the peach emoji, the tongue and a devil face. Which, in Callum Fraser sext, was practically poetry.
I had no one to blame but myself. Okay, and him, because he was dishing it right back.
The session wrapped with a reminder that all incidents would be monitored more closely this weekend and it may take longer to hear from Race Control of potential penalties. And that said penalties would be harsher for repeat offenders.
Ahem. Looking at you, Morel.
I internally rolled my eyes at that warning, because that was a fat fucking lie. They weren’t even listening to my warnings about Morel and his posse of little bitch drivers who couldn’t handle losing to a woman.
Sexist assholes. All of them.
“Let’s keep it clean this weekend, yeah?” the first representative said.
Too late for that.
I stood, stretched, and grabbed my phone, quickly unlocking it and tilting the screen so no one could see whatever he’d sent next.
Callum
I swear to God, if I don’t get to fuck that perfect mouth again soon, I’m going to lose it. Every time I close my eyes I see you choking on me like the good girl you are. I need you. I’m not sure I can handle jacking off to only the sound of your voice again.
Please.
I snickered, even though my blood heated and my nipples hardened. I wanted to let him sit with that feeling for a bit.
It’s been, like, two days.
Callum
Yeah, and I’m DYING.
“Do I even want to know what you two are talking about?” Kimi asked from beside me as we left the room.
I shook my head. “Don’t ask questions you don’t want the answers to.” I threw a glance over my shoulder to see Callum watching me as all the drivers shuffled to leave. Smirking, I faced forward once more and ignored his text.
Barcelona had barely started, the stupid fucking new rules of our PR teams still fresh, and we were already suffering.
The rest of the season was going to be long.