Chapter Thirty-Three
Lily
I’d finally said it, and damn, it felt liberating.
“I beg your pardon?”
“You heard me.” I kept my voice level, though my heart hammered against my ribs. “You’re fired as my manager… and if we’re being honest, you’re probation as my mother.”
“Lily, you’re upset. I understand. But let’s not say things we can’t take back—”
“I’m not taking it back.” I stepped closer to her—close enough to see the micro-calculations happening behind her eyes, the pivot she was already planning, the angle she was about to work. I’d watched her do it my whole life.
“You let Ollie into my room after you knew what he’d done. He published my private life, Mum. He took the worst thing happening to me and turned it into content, and your reaction was to check the engagement numbers.”
She drew herself up, her chin lifting the way it always did when she felt cornered. The posture of a woman who had never once admitted fault in her life.
“Everything I’ve done has been for your career.”
“No.” The word choked out of me. “Everything you’ve done has been for yours.
You negotiated a morality clause into my contract so sponsors would feel comfortable—not so I would.
You took that threatening note I gave you and buried it, because dealing with it might’ve been inconvenient for the brand.
You pushed Ollie at me because a media boyfriend looked good in a press packet.
Everything you’ve done has been about controlling me, not helping me. ”
Her mouth thinned to a pale line. Henri shifted by the window but said nothing. He was letting me do this on my own, and I loved him for it.
“You don’t mean this,” my mother said, quieter now, the dismissal dressed up as concern.
“I’ve never meant anything more.” My heart ached, but I didn’t look away. “I needed a mother this season, but instead, I got a publicist.”
She picked up her handbag from the sofa with a deliberate slowness, every movement a performance of dignity. At the door, she turned back. Her eyes were bright, and for one terrible second, I thought she might actually cry.
“You’ll regret this,” she said.
The door closed behind her, and the room went still. I stood in the middle of it, breathing hard, my hands shaking at my sides. Something enormous had just shifted—a load I’d been carrying for so long my spine had curved around it, suddenly gone, leaving me standing straighter than I had in years.
When I turned around, Henri was still standing there, watching me with awe.
“You just fired your mother.”
“I just fired my mother,” I confirmed, and suddenly, I was laughing.
Henri crossed the room in two strides, pulling me into his arms. I buried my face against his chest, feeling the solid warmth of him anchoring me as the laughter dissolved into something that might have been tears.
“You’re shaking,” he murmured into my hair.
“I know.” My voice came out muffled against his team polo. “I can’t believe I just did that.”
His arms tightened around me. “I can.”
I pulled back enough to look at him, and the expression on his face made my breath catch.
“She’s your mum,” he said softly, brushing a strand of hair from my face. “That couldn’t have been easy.”
“It should’ve been harder.” I leaned into his touch. “But after everything… the lies, treating me like property, the control, it was the easiest thing I’ve done all season. Well, until I tell Felix about my suspicions on Ollie, at least.”
Henri’s thumb traced along my jaw, gentle and deliberate. “I almost can’t believe it.”
“I know…” I reached up, covering his hand with mine. “And to be honest, I don’t know if they’re all him, but it doesn’t matter right now. I told Felix I’d leave this with the team, and that’s what I’m going to do.”
He leaned down, resting his forehead against mine. “I don’t know if I’ve said it enough but I’m proud of you, Blackwood.”
I took a moment to look at Henri. He looked bashful, of all things. Henri Dubois, who could stare down journalists and rivals with equal intimidation, was standing in my hotel room looking almost nervous. His hair was more disheveled than usual, his hazel eyes uncertain in a way I rarely saw them.
“I should have told you about my visit with Felix—” he started.
I didn’t let him finish. Instead I crashed my mouth to his, pouring everything I couldn’t say into the kiss.
All the pride, all the gratitude, all the anger I’d been holding onto, all the fear I’d been carrying.
It all translated into this—into the way my hands fisted in his shirt, the way his arms wrapped around me like he’d been waiting for permission to hold me this close.
The kiss was passionate and messy and perfect, Henri stumbling backward slightly before catching his balance and pulling me tighter against him. His hand came up to cup the back of my head, fingers tangling in my hair, and I made a sound against his mouth that might have been his name.
When we finally broke apart, both breathing hard, Henri’s eyes had gone from uncertain to smoldering.
“I read the article,” I managed, my voice rough.
“Lily, I—”
“You beautiful, brave, absolutely reckless idiot,” I said, cutting him off again, but this time with a smile.
A slow grin spread across his face. “Is that your way of saying thank-you?”
“Thank you,” I said, more seriously now. “For what you did. For being honest. For…” I swallowed. “For caring enough to do that.”
“Always,” he said simply, his thumb tracing the line of my jaw. “And Lily, I’m so sorry. I just… After Silverstone, I had to tell Felix.”
“I know,” I agreed. “God, I should have said something when you told me to. I was such an idiot.”
Henri leaned in closer, his lips grazing mine ever so softly.
“We’re going to remove this stupid fucking relationship clause,” I said, watching his eyes widen. “We don’t have to hide anymore, Henri.”
“What do you mean?”
“Felix is going to get rid of it. Luca doesn’t have one, and Rennen doesn’t care.” I leaned up to kiss him again, softer this time. “So, this—us—we can actually do this… if you still want.”
Henri’s laugh was quiet, almost disbelieving. “That might be the best thing I’ve heard all week.”
“Better than your article going viral?”
“Infinitely better.” He rested his forehead against mine, his hands settling on my waist. “Though, I have to admit, the response has been overwhelming.”
“You knew it would be,” I said. “Now it’s my turn to be proud of you, Henri.”
“You know, I thought I’d feel more shame about all of this, but instead? I feel relief. Like I’m Atlas, but I’ve finally been able to put the weight of the world down. And the team? God, they were so kind and thoughtful. And just happy to hear I’d gotten help.”
“We’re going to be okay,” I said, and I wasn’t sure if I was telling him or myself.
Henri kissed my forehead, gentle and reassuring. “Yeah,” he agreed. “We really are.”
He kissed me again, slower now, all that restraint from earlier evaporating.
He didn’t try to take control—not at first. His hands were everywhere they were supposed to be, but he waited for me to make every next move.
I pushed him back toward the bed, letting him fall onto the plush duvet.
His eyes were hungry as he watched me, and I loved every moment of it. Loved how his eyes darkened.
Loved him.
It was as if he knew what I was thinking. Henri pulled me down on top of him, kissing me again. Hungrier this time. When we parted, he looked at me, his hazel eyes boring into mine.
“Je t’aime, Blackwood,” he whispered softly.
“I love you too, Dubois.”
There was nothing gentle about the way I eagerly undid his belt. My hands shook a little, but Henri’s didn’t. He let them fall to his sides, palms up, as if to say, Go on, surprise me. I’m all yours.
Kneeling between his thighs, I looked up at him, daring him to look away first. He didn’t—not even when I yanked the zipper open and tugged his trousers down.
The way he watched me, eyes wide but glassy, mouth barely open, was better than getting pole position.
I wanted him to know what I meant; that what we’d just said to each other meant something to me.
He meant something to me.
I dragged my tongue along his hip bone, barely grazing, slow enough to torture. Henri shuddered but didn’t make a sound. He was stubborn—almost as stubborn as me. I could have made a bet that he’d try not to break first.
Finally, I reached his hard, throbbing cock.
I didn’t take him in my mouth at first, instead licking the tip, long and slow. Looking up, I caught him watching, his pupils now completely blown with desire. My tongue drew a lazy circle around him as my ears enjoyed every moan and grunt he let out.
His breathing began to quicken, and I pressed my lips harder around the tip, sucking and letting him slide free, slow enough to make him twitch.
After a few more teases, I swallowed him.
He gasped, one knee jerking, and I let my hands brace his thighs so he couldn’t thrust, which only made his groans louder.
“Fuck, Lil, I can’t,” he panted.
He grabbed my shoulders, pulling me off him, and before I knew it, I was being thrown onto the bed, my pants and shirt now discarded.
He was faster than I’d ever seen him, rolling me onto my back and pinning my wrists above my head with one hand, the other tracing my ribs, my hip, the hem of my underwear.
I almost laughed. He was the desperate one now, trembling as he hooked his fingers into the fabric and yanked them down my legs.
He kissed everywhere but where I wanted, teasing me, the slide of his mouth up my thigh, across my hipbone, lingering just a breath away from where I was wet and aching.
“Oh, Henri, fuck, more,” I gasped, squirming.
He smiled against my skin, and then, finally, his tongue was on me, slow and confident, unhurried, as if we had all night. As if we didn’t have a race weekend to get back to.
His fingers left my wrists to cup my thighs, spreading me wider, holding me steady as he devoured me. And that was the only word for it. Henri Dubois, F1’s golden boy, was tongue-deep in me with every moan and curse I gave him lapped up one by one.
My head thudded back against the pillow, body arching to meet him. And then he stopped, and I heard a crinkling noise form. He pulled out a condom, sliding it on, his face desperate for me.
“I need you, please.”
I nodded, as hungry as he was, and pulled him back down on top of me.
He didn’t hesitate. Not even for a second.
He lined himself up with a single, hungry thrust, and I yelped out of shock at the intensity of it, at how good it felt, how much I needed this—needed him.
Henri groaned, the sound vibrating into my neck where his lips had found my skin again.
He started slow, like he needed to get used to the way we fit, but it wasn’t long before he was thrusting hard enough to rattle the headboard.
“Fuck, Lily.” His voice was ragged, each word digging right into me. “God, you feel so good.”
I could barely answer, too busy rocking up to meet him, sucking in gulps of air, feeling that pressure build too fast in my core. He was so deep, every inch of him making me feel owned, and I loved every moment of it.
I bit his shoulder, hard, and he only groaned louder, thrusting harder and faster. The headboard banged against the thin hotel wall. Henri’s hand found my jaw, the pad of his thumb stroking my cheek with a reverence that didn’t match his movements.
“I love you, Lily,” he said again, and I believed it with every ounce of my heart.
“I love you, too,” I managed, and then his hand was on my nub, working it in tight, rapid circles while he thrust into me.
When I came, I bit his shoulder again to stifle the scream, clenching around him so hard his rhythm stuttered, and for a moment I thought he’d come right then—but after another few thrusts, he was joining me in absolute ecstasy.
He collapsed on top of me, body heaving for air. We lay tangled for a while, catching our breath. His hands roamed lazily over my body, tracing my wrists, my hip, the curve of my thigh. For the first time in weeks, my brain was silent, and I just soaked in the warmth of him.
Henri rolled to his side, pulling me with him. He found my hand and laced our fingers together, kissing my knuckles. “You’re incredible,” he whispered, his smile lazy and soft. “I’ve never wanted anything more in my life than this.”
I pinched his shoulder, grinning. “Well, now that we’ve broken every team rule in the book…”
“Technically, no more rules,” Henri reminded me, smug.
I snorted. “Just don’t get too cocky. I still plan to beat you tomorrow.”
He leaned in closer, giving me a small peck on the cheek. “I expect nothing less, Lillian Blackwood. Not from you.” His smile turned wicked, familiar and new all at once. “See you at the finish line.”