Page 53 of Overdrive (Speed Demons #1)

The deafening roar of the crowd enveloped me, vibrating through my body as I stood in the middle of the sprawling event grounds.

Bright banners and flashing lights lit up every corner, proudly announcing the"Vanguard Racing xMotoMasters Charity Event.”The air was charged with a tangible energy, as fans from all over gathered to witness the exhilarating display of speed and skill.

Like I fucking cared.

Imolawas just a week away, but this pit stop was a chance for Vanguard to connect with theirMotoGPteam and their supporters on a more personal level.

I had been hesitant about participating, but Marco, always the charismatic one of our duo, had convinced me to “embrace the opportunity with open arms.”

Whatever the fuck that meant.

It was easier for him to be all nonchalant about this because he wasn't the driver Vanguard was choosing to participate in this race. And all because I thought it would be fun in my early twenties to be licensed to drive a sports bike.

“It’s not just about fans loving you; it’s about reminding them why they do,” Marco had said, pacing the room during a strategy meeting when Tessa, our PR manager, pitched it to us. “Plus, it’s for kids, Fraser. Even you can’t argue with that, you grumpy fuck.”

I only grunted in response, my eyes scanning the glossy promotional materials for the event. There were photos of customDucati bikes, charity banners, and smiling children from the hospital in Bologna filled the brochure. The concept was solid, I had to admit.

It wasn’t the event itself that bothered me, it was the thought of playing the role of the smiling, approachable driver when my head was anywhere but in the game.

Every time I blinked? I saw her. Aurélie in that silk robe, barely hanging off her body, the fabric slipping down her shoulder as she pulled the door open. The shower still running behind her. The flush high on her cheeks, golden-green eyes burning.

Aurélie in my lap, struggling for air as she begged me in French. The sweat on our skin as her arousal leaked everywhere. The soft floral, citrusy smell that was so distinctly her and permanently etched in my brain.

My gut twisted. Get out of my fucking head.

Now, as I adjusted my helmet on the starting line, the weight of the crowd’s energy pressed against me. I could feel Marco’s watchful gaze from the sidelines, headset in place and clipboard in hand, coordinating with the PR team to ensure every moment went off without a hitch.

“You ready for this, Fraser?” Marco’s voice crackled through thecommsin my ear. He stood off to the side, looking far too pleased with himself and absolutely unqualified to be giving me instructions like he was the fucking team principal.

“As ready as I’ll ever be,” I muttered, revving the bike. The engine growled beneath me as I tightened my grip on the handlebars. He didn’t need to know that I had already lost this battle.

“Don’t overthink it,” Marco added. “This is supposed to be fun.”

“You’re doing the next event,” I grumbled.

Fun wasn’t exactly my forte these days. Not when every waking moment was haunted by a certain five-foot-three, blonde-haired, golden-skinned hurricane of a driver.

And I kissed her. I fucked her.

Fuck.

Why did I do that ?

Now it was all I thought about. Her lips on mine.

Her tongue—cherries and champagne. Her body writhing in my hands, the soft, breathy sounds she made as she arched into me.

Her sweet cunt clenching around me, hot and greedy, like she was made for it—for me .

I could still feel her, aching and dripping for me, shaking when I held her down.

I’d never seen anyone come like that before, as if I’d cracked her open, as if she didn’t even know it could feel that good.

She was under my skin, carved into my fucking bones.

Even now, when I closed my eyes, I could still hear her voice, whispering filthy, claiming little things in French. Sweat beaded on the nape of my neck, dripping down my spine. I needed to stop thinking about that night. Needed to lock it away.

When the flag dropped, I kicked off and tore down the makeshift track, but I still felt her nails raking down my back, her moans sharp and desperate against my mouth, the way she drowned me in her heat.

Focus, you idiot.

The bike was responsive, its agility a far cry from the calculated precision of anF1car. The crowd cheered as I leaned into the turns, my body instinctively shifting with the bike as I navigated the course.

I saw her toned, tanned body, the flush that spread over her skin when she came, the marks I left behind.

Fuck.

I took the next turn too aggressively, forcing myself back into the present.

It was a show, nothing more. I knew it, and yet, for a brief moment, I let myself get lost in the rush. The feel of a powerful machine beneath me, the burn of my muscles, the blur of colors as I sped past—it was enough to quiet the noise in my head.

But only for a moment.

The final lap came too quickly, the crowd’s cheers swelling as I crossed the finish line. I pulled to a stop, dismounting the bike and removing my helmet as the event host approached with a microphone.

“CallumFraser, ladies and gentlemen!” the host announced, the crowd erupting into applause. “How does it feel to trade four wheels for two? ”

I forced a grin, raising the helmet in a mock salute. “Different, but exhilarating. I might have to make this a regular thing.”

The host laughed, clearly eating up the crowd’s reaction. “You hear that, folks? Maybe we’ll see Fraser inMotoGPnext!”

The cheers grew louder, but my smile felt like a mask. My head was elsewhere. Still consumed with thoughts of her.

As the host moved on to interview other participants, I stepped away, the adrenaline fading as quickly as it had come. Marco was waiting for me, a bottle of water in hand.

“You were great out there,” Marco said, clapping me on the back. “The fans loved it.”

I nodded, taking a long drink. “Glad someone’s enjoying themselves.”

Marco’s expression softened, his usual teasing replaced with something closer to concern. “You’ve got to let it go, mate.Whatever’seating at you, it’s going to drag you down if you let it.”

Marco didn’t know how deep this ran. Hell, I wasn't even certain that I knew.

A week later, the low hum of the sim filled the room, punctuated by the whir of the steering wheel as I forced the sim car through yet another lap.Imolaunfolded before me in precise turns and straights, the details so vivid I could almost feel the tires gripping the tarmac.

Except my focus wasn’t on the track—it was on the rhythm, the motion, the desperate need to lose myself in something I could control. Except I was making too many mistakes.

I was pushing the car too hard, taking corners at speeds that would have put me into a fucking wall in real life. I wasn’t driving—I was fighting, and I was about to crash.

It wasn’t the track I was thinking about.

It was her, always her.

Her voice, soft and breathless, whispering, “I just want you. ”

The feel of her body beneath me, the way shegaspedwhen I slid into her, her mouth open as she shattered around me. The moment her knees were pushed to her chest, her fingernails dug into my skin, panting, begging, fucking pleading ?—

I took a turn too wide.

"Whoa, Fraser, take it easy." Marco’s voice cut through the haze.

But I didn’t stop. I kept my hands on the wheel, kept pushing because I was angry and frustrated that she seemed keen on this "one night only" bullshit.

A week and a half since Miami. Since the last time I'd talked to Aurélie . And no amount of practice laps or punishing workouts had managed to pushherfrom my thoughts. Nothing could erase her.

I didn’t mean to want her this much.

“That’s enough, mate,” Marco said, disrupting my thoughts again.

I ignored him. Kept my foot pressed flat to the simulated accelerator. If this had been real, I’d be wrecking the car, and my whole fucking life, too.

Please. I need to come.

I was one fucking step from flying toLuminisHQ in Paris and showing her exactly why she couldn’t keep running from me. We both wanted more than one drunken night. It was all I could think about.

You jealous idiot.

And God, I fucking was. Thinking someone else was in her hotel room that night? I was seconds from storming into that bathroom and losing my shit. Instead, she’d let me press her into the wall and toy with her robe.

She fucking wanted this as much as I did.

I overshot the braking zone. Such a stupid fucking mistake that I was barely paying attention to.

My heart pounded. Every part of me was wired too tight.

“Callum.”

I swore under my breath and tore off the headset.

Marco leaned against the doorway, arms crossed. “Still no response from her, then?”

I knew what he was really asking. I took a slow sip from my water bottle before answering. “No. ”

Marco let out a low whistle. “Probably for the best. Gives you time to get your head on straight before practice this week.”

I grunted, yanking a hand through my hair in frustration. I needed a haircut. Needed it shorter at the nape of my neck so I stopped fucking thinking about her fingers twisting the ends and her nails scoring my nape. I kept checking for those marks in the mirror like a goddamn masochist.

Straight. Right.

As if I wasn’t replaying the way her legs trembled around me, how she writhed beneath me. Or picturing that ridiculously sexy blush on her cheeks, the wild, desperate look in her eyes when I teased her with her toy. When I praised her, claimed her, whispering everything that came to my mind.

I shouldn’t have said any of that, but I fucking meant it.

Marco’s voice dragged me back to earth—because clearly, he was the only thing keeping me from losing my fucking mind. I didn’t answer. Just kept my eyes on the wall, anywhere but Marco.

“Right. That’s why you’ve been glaring at your phone like it personally insulted your family.”

I scowled, because he was right, and that was the worst part.

The internet had been relentless since Miami. The “Frabois” videos were fucking everywhere, all over social media. But the ones of just her. The ones where she looked so effortlessly stunning, where she was happy without me, those ones stopped me in my tracks, every time.

“They’ve got too much time on their hands,” I grumbled.

“And you’ve got too much tension in yours.”

I shot him a glare. “Anything else?”

Marco hesitated. “Just one thing.” He stepped in front of me. “When you see her inImola, don’t do something stupid.”

My stomach tightened. “Like what?”

“I don't know, stare at her like she’s the only thing that matters.”

I didn’t respond, but Marco’s words hit the mark. I'd already done something stupid, and that was letting myself catch feelings for Aurélie Dubois. And, honestly? I was already in too deep to stop.