Nico

I turned him back around, dropped to my knees once more, and sucked him with renewed ferocity. I took him to the hilt, using my throat and tongue relentlessly.

Alaric’s moans turned into broken, desperate cries, his hips fucking my mouth as he chased release. When he finally came, he screamed out loud, pulsing hard on my tongue.

I swallowed every single drop, milking him through the intense orgasm until his legs shook.

I rose slowly and kissed him deeply so he could taste himself on my tongue.

Then I pushed him back against the wall, dropped to my knees again, and spun him around so his chest pressed to the stone; then I yanked his pants and underwear down further, exposing his ass completely.

I spread his firm cheeks with both hands and dragged my tongue slowly up the cleft. Alaric jerked and moaned loudly. I licked him again, slower this time, circling the tight ring of muscle with the flat of my tongue before pressing the tip inside.

I tongue-fucked him deep and thoroughly, licking and sucking and thrusting my tongue in and out while my hands held him open.

He was shaking, pushing back against my face with broken sounds falling from his lips as I ate him like a man starved. I slid one finger alongside my tongue, pushing it inside slowly, then a second, curling them just right while my tongue continued its relentless fucking.

I finger-fucked him deep, stretching him open, finding that spot inside that made him cry out and tremble under my touch. I kept licking and fingering him for long, filthy minutes, making sure he moaned out loudly and was sobbing with pleasure.

Then I stood up, turned him around slowly, and kissed him once more. I pulled back slowly from the kiss, my lips still brushing against Alaric’s swollen ones. His chest heaved against mine, eyes dazed, body trembling from everything I had just done to him. I brushed my thumb over his bottom lip, smearing the mess I had left there, and gave him a satisfied, possessive smile.

"I’ve gotten what I want, princess," I murmured, my voice low and rough with lingering pleasure. "I’ll see you in Bahrain."

Alaric stared at me for a long moment, and something unreadable flashed in his hazel eyes. He looked wrecked. His lips were red and bruised, his hair wild, the white off-shoulder shirt crumpled and stained, and that black choker was still tight around his neck.

The sight sent a fresh wave of dark satisfaction through me. I had ruined him yet again without fucking him.

"Anything wrong?" I asked, tilting my head.

He shook his head quickly. "Nothing," he muttered. "I’m leaving, and this will be the last time this is ever happening."

"Oh really?" I grinned wickedly at him. "You really think that I am going to—"

"I don’t care," Alaric cut me off, the anger evident in his tone. "You got your bet already, so let this be the last time we ever meet." He started to turn away, but I caught his wrist gently.

"Do you want something else? Do you want me to fuck you, Alaric?" I questioned, wondering if the reason why he was suddenly angry was that I didn’t fuck him.

"I don’t care about that, Nico. I fulfilled your end of the bet and that’s it. I don’t want to have anything to do with you anymore!"

I heaved a deep sigh, noticing the hard lines forming on his face. He was mad.

"Alright, but you shouldn’t go out like that," I said, gesturing at his ruined clothes. The silky white shirt was wrinkled and marked, his pants barely fastened. "Wait here. I’ll go inside and get you something clean to wear."

Alaric didn’t respond. 𝕗𝚛𝚎𝚎𝐰𝗲𝗯𝗻𝚘𝚟𝚎𝗹.𝕔𝐨𝕞

I turned and walked toward the room, but with every step, sharp pain shot through my bare feet. The shattered wine glass had left several small shards embedded in my soles, and I was only feeling the pain now.

I limped noticeably, my jaw clenched against the sting, but I didn’t stop. I disappeared into the room, found a fresh black button-up and comfortable pants that would fit him, and headed back to the living room.

When I returned, it was empty. Alaric was gone, leaving behind only his scent. I stood there for a second, clothes in hand, staring at the spot where he had been. The warm night breeze carried away the last traces of his scent. I sighed heavily, a strange mix of irritation and something softer settling in my chest.

He had run. Of course, he had. I had made him mad again.

I sank onto the couch. The glass shards in my feet throbbed with every movement. I leaned forward and began carefully picking them out one by one, wincing as each tiny piece came free. Blood smeared across my fingers, but I barely felt it.

My mind was still on the rooftop—on the way Alaric had looked falling apart under my mouth, on the broken sounds he had made, on how perfectly he had surrendered in the end.

Once the worst of the glass was gone, I stood up and made my way to my bedroom. I pushed open the large wardrobe door, revealing the hidden space behind it.

A secret room.

The secret room was small, painted red, and dimly lit. Every wall was covered with photos of Alaric.

There were pictures from his debut day as a rookie driver—young, bright-eyed, standing proudly next to his first Formula 1 car.

There were shots from his early races, podium celebrations, and intense moments behind the wheel. There were dozens of them. Some candid, some official.

I had them all because, in truth, I was a big fan of Alaric De Villier.

Still a fan.

I stepped inside and closed the door behind me. The room felt like a flashback reel of his career.

I ran my fingers over one photo where he was laughing on the podium, champagne spraying everywhere. Another showed him in the cockpit, focused and fierce.

I had collected them quietly over the years, telling myself it was just a fanboy moment, but standing here now, after tonight, the truth was impossible to ignore.

I had been obsessed with him long before the Maldives. Long before his accident.

I stared at the wall of images, my heart beating heavily in my chest.

Alaric was the reason why I became a racer. I was dealing with high expectations from my family when we first met. It was his rookie year when he had won a race; I had run from home just to watch the race, and while he was waving at a fan, his eyes met mine and he smiled at me. Ever since then, I became a fan and vowed to surpass him.

Then the accident happened, and it was the most terrifying moment of my life.

"Alaric," I muttered as I ran a hand through his rookie racing picture. "I don’t want you back on the grid—not because I hate you, but because I am scared that something might happen to you again."

I sat down on the small bench in the middle of the hidden space, surrounded by years of captured moments of Alaric De Villier, and let out a slow, conflicted breath.

Bahrain was coming. There was no turning back now, no matter what I did. Alaric was determined to return.

And whatever this was between us... It was only getting more dangerous, because I desperately wanted to claim him as mine only.