Page 19 of Wrecked (Dirty Air 3)

I exit my room, forgoing a shirt in favor of finding out what the fuck is going on. My feet stop as my eyes land on the object of my frustrations.

And I mean all my frustrations.

The mental kind. The physical kind. The kind making my dick twitch to life in my shorts.

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sp; Elena wears a tiny scrap of clothing better suited for a Victoria’s Secret runway. Her silky nightgown hugs her curves with the hem hitting her mid-thigh. The globes of her ass call to me, begging me to check out what’s underneath her tiny dress.

“Good morning.” She speaks in a singsong voice that doesn’t suit her. The way she speaks and the look she sends me over her shoulder scream mischievous.

Either I’m experiencing the best fucking dream or a living nightmare. The smell of eggs and bacon tells me this is all very real. My dick throbs in my shorts as I assess Elena’s legs and arse. That fucking arse.

Shit. This is actual torture.

“Do you want breakfast?”

Well, fuck. Who am I to say no? With Elena looking like a wet dream, I’ll take anything she has to offer.

I sit at the dining table, hoping to hide my growing erection. My eyes track her every move. From the way she grabs the coffee mug on the top shelf to her bending over to check on the bacon in the oven.

Every fucking move she makes teases me. I honestly can’t wrap my head around her nice behavior, especially after me being a dick to her yesterday.

Her shining eyes fail to match the fake frown plastered on her face. “Are you okay? Your face looks a bit pained.”

That’s not the only thing in pain.

She walks over, holding a full plate of food in front of her. I could absolutely get used to this kind of treatment. Maybe having a babysitter isn’t the worst thing after all.

She leans in close, hitting me with the scent of strawberry shampoo. “This situation can go two ways. Either we can treat each other with respect, or you can act like a dick to me. But if you choose the second option, be aware that I don’t take shit lying down. There’s more than one way to torture someone.” Her eyes move from my face to my crotch, eyeing my erection.

Shit. This is both hot yet so fucking wrong. “And I’m being tortured how? Seems like I’m getting the better end of the deal with breakfast and a show.”

“Oh? You thought this was for your benefit? More like I scheduled you two back-to-back interviews after your race because everyone knows you love the spotlight. Although the added blue balls to your morning is a plus.” She smiles wide.

The way she plotted for me to have the worst day impresses me more than it annoys me.

“You played me.”

Elena shakes her head. “Think of this as an enlightenment.” She walks toward her room with the plate of what should have been my breakfast. “P.S. If you want breakfast, call room service for yourself. I’m not your maid.” Her smirk is the last thing I see before she shuts the door to her room.

Elena motherfucking Gonzalez proved herself a worthy opponent.

Game on.

The crew runs around the garage, running last-minute checks before the Australian Grand Prix. The Xanax I took after breakfast has worked its way into my system, turning my anxiety into a temporary issue of the past. I take the right amount to dull the worries while staying alert because the last thing I need while driving a car at three hundred kilometers is a panic attack.

Elena smiles at me from a corner of the garage, gloating about her move earlier.

I take advantage of a busy Elías to talk to her. “So, that’s how it’s going to be between us? I push, you pull?”

“That depends. Are you going to be an ass to me for the entire season?”

“I don’t know.” I genuinely don’t. It’s not like I can predict when shit will hit the fan for me.

“How reassuring.”

I let out a low laugh. “Some call me unpredictable.”