Chapter 7: Paddock Peril
The air in the private lounge shimmered with a kind of low-grade hysteria. A techno-fusion beat pumped through hidden speakers, competing with the clatter of glasses and the shrill laughter of sponsors' guests. Perfume, expensive and cloying, warred with the distant, acrid tang of race fuel wafting from the garages below. It was a bubble of curated excess, and Lando felt the walls of it closing in.
He’d done the rounds. Smiled for the cameras, accepted the hollow congratulations on his impending pole-position start, endured the too-firm handshakes from men who saw him as a brand, not a person. Through it all, he’d kept Aya in his periphery. She was a study in cool efficiency, shepherding a nervous junior sponsor through a conversation in rapid-fire German, her expression one of polite interest. But he saw the slight strain at the corner of her eye, the way her fingers tightened minutely around her tablet. She felt it too—the performative weight of it all, the stark contrast to the raw truth of his sheets just hours before.
He needed air that wasn’t filtered. He needed her.
Catching her eye across the room, he gave a barely perceptible jerk of his head towards a curtained archway labelled ‘Staff Only’. She held his gaze for a heartbeat, then nodded once, turning back to her conversation with a final, graceful smile. He slipped through the archway, the noise dampening immediately. The corridor beyond was utilitarian, lined with crates of champagne and spare linen. A door to his left was ajar, revealing a small storage room with a stainless-steel table used for arranging floral displays. It was empty.
Two minutes later, she was there. The door clicked shut behind her, sealing them in the sudden, profound quiet.
“You’re vibrating,” she said, leaning back against the door. Her voice was low, her eyes drinking him in. The chaos he’d been holding at bay all morning was plainly visible to her. Only to her.
“Need you,” he said, the words stripped bare. He closed the distance, his hands coming up to frame her face. The kiss was desperate, a search for anchor in the storm. She kissed him back with equal ferocity, her fingers tangling in the hair at his nape, pulling him closer. He walked her backwards until the edge of the cold steel table hit the backs of her thighs.
“Lando,” she gasped against his mouth. “The race… anyone could…”
“I don’t care.” It was the truth. In this moment, the only reality was the heat of her mouth, the frantic beat of her pulse under his thumbs. He hiked up the sleek fabric of her skirt, his fingers finding the damp lace of her underwear. A dark, possessive sound rumbled in his chest. “Fuck, you’re wet already. For me?”
“Always for you,” she breathed, her head falling back as he ripped the lace aside and slid two fingers into her. She was soaked, hot, clenching around him. He worked her with rough, eager strokes, his other hand fumbling with his belt.
He turned her abruptly, bending her over the cool table. Her palms flattened against the metal, her ass presented to him, the ruined underwear a dark contrast against her skin. He shoved her skirt up to her waist, his gaze raking over her. He freed his aching cock, giving himself a rough stroke. He was dripping with need.
“Gonna fuck you right here,” he growled, positioning himself at her entrance. “Gonna make you remember this when I’m in the car. Every bump on the track, you’ll feel me.”
He drove into her in one brutal, searing thrust. She cried out, the sound echoing off the concrete walls, her knuckles turning white on the table. He didn’t pause, setting a ruthless, piston-hard rhythm, his balls slapping against her with each deep plunge. The table groaned and shifted under their weight.
“Yes, yes, god,” she chanted, pushing back to meet him, taking him deeper. The filthy, wet sounds of their coupling filled the small room. He gripped her hip with one hand, the other tangling in her hair, pulling just enough to arch her back.
“This cunt is mine,” he snarled, pounding into her. “My perfect, tight fucking cunt. Gonna come in it, mark it, so you–”
The door swung open.
Lando froze, buried deep inside her. Aya went utterly rigid beneath him.Time crystallised.
Daniel Ricciardo stood in the doorway, one hand still on the knob, his usual easy-going smile frozen into something else entirely. His eyes took in the scene: Aya bent over the table, skirt rucked up, Lando’s hands on her, their joined bodies. For a three-count, nobody moved.
Then Daniel’s expression shifted. The shock melted into a wide, knowing smirk. He didn’t look away. He stepped fully into the room and pulled the door closed softly behind him. He leaned back against it, crossing his arms over his chest. His gaze was direct, appreciative.
“Well,” Daniel drawled, his Australian accent lazy in the thick silence. “That explains the strategy meeting.”
Aya whimpered, a sound of pure mortification. She tried to straighten, but Lando held her fast, his own shock giving way to a feral, defiant possessiveness. He wasn’t stopping.Not now.
“Little help, mate?” Daniel said, his eyes flicking down to where Lando was still sheathed in Aya. He reached into the pocket of his team polo and pulled out a single, silver-wrapped condom. He tossed it underhand. It landed on the table beside Aya’s clenched fist. “You’re the champ. Should set a better example. Safety first.”
Lando caught it, the crinkle of foil obscenely loud. He didn’t pull out. He slowly withdrew, his cock sliding from her with a wet, lewd sound that made Aya shudder. He sheathed himself quickly, his eyes locked on Daniel’s. The challenge was silent, but clear: You watching? Then watch.
He pushed back into her, just as deep, just as hard. Aya’s breath hitched. She turned her face away from Daniel, biting down on her own clenched fist to stifle a moan. The metallic taste of her ring filled her mouth.
“That’s it,” Lando grunted, resuming his rhythm, slower now, more deliberate, performative. He kept his eyes on Daniel as he fucked her. “See what you’re guarding, Dan? See what’s mine?”
Daniel’s smile didn’t waver. He adjusted his stance, his gaze dropping to watch the joined rhythm of their bodies. “I see it,” he said, his voice low. “Took you long enough.”
Lando’s control began to fracture under the dual stimulus of Aya’s tight heat and Daniel’s voyeuristic presence. He focused on Aya, on the tremors running through her, on the way her teeth were sinking into her own flesh to stay quiet. He leaned over her, covering her body with his, his mouth at her ear.
“Let go,” he commanded, his voice rough. “He’s watching. Let him hear who makes you come.”
He hammered into her, finding a spot that made her eyes roll back. The bite on her fist wasn’t enough. A broken, sobbing cry tore from her throat as her orgasm seized her, clamping down on him in violent, rhythmic waves. Her body shook against the table.
It was the permission he needed. With a final, deep snarl, he buried himself to the hilt and came, his own release racking through him, his forehead dropping to her sweat-damp back.
Silence descended, broken only by their ragged breathing. Lando slowly softened inside her. He stayed there for a moment, his body shielding hers. Then, carefully, he pulled out and disposed of the condom in a nearby bin.
Aya didn’t move, her face still hidden. Lando gently tugged her skirt down. He turned to face Daniel, who was still leaning against the door, looking utterly unfazed.
“Not a word,” Lando said, his voice hoarse but clear.
Daniel held up his hands in mock surrender. “Wouldn’t dream of it, mate.” His eyes flicked to Aya, and his expression softened, just a fraction. “You alright, Aya?”
She finally pushed herself upright, her face flushed, her composure in tatters but reassembling by the second. She didn’t look at either of them, instead smoothing her skirt with trembling hands. “I need to… check the media schedule,” she said, her voice barely a whisper. She brushed past Daniel and was out the door without another look.
The two men were left alone in the room that smelled intensely of sex.
Daniel let out a long, low whistle. “Fuck, Lando.”
Lando ran a hand through his hair, the post-coital clarity crashing into him with the force of a wreck. “Yeah.”
“You’re in love with her.”
“Yeah.”
Daniel pushed off the door and clapped a hand on Lando’s shoulder.“Good. It’s about time. Now go win a fucking race. She’ll be waiting.” He nodded towards the door. “And for the record… she’s terrifying. You’re a lucky bastard.”
Daniel left, pulling the door shut behind him.
Lando stood alone in the silent room, the ghost of her heat still on him, the imprint of her body on the cold steel table. He took a deep, shuddering breath. The chaotic energy was gone, burned away, replaced by a single, crystalline point of focus.
He adjusted his clothes and walked back into the roar of the paddock club. His eyes scanned the crowd until he found her. She was by the window, back straight, tablet in hand, speaking calmly into her headset. As if sensing him, she turned her head. Their eyes met across the crowded room. Her gaze was steady, deep, and held a secret knowledge that seared him to his core.
He nodded once.
She gave the slightest, almost imperceptible smile, then turned back to her call.