The night before race day in Las Vegas, the city lights twinkle through the hotel window, casting a warm glow across the room. The excitement of the Grand Prix looms, but right now, it’s just you and Charles, unwinding after a long day of interviews, media obligations, and team prep.

You’re sitting on the edge of the bed, scrolling through your phone, the room filled with soft music. You hear the sound of water running from the bathroom, the muffled splashes mixing with the low hum of the Las Vegas Strip outside. You smile to yourself, knowing Charles is likely winding down after his hectic day, preparing for the big race tomorrow.

The bathroom door opens, and a cloud of steam spills into the room, momentarily obscuring the air. Then, Charles steps out, towel wrapped low around his waist, droplets of water still clinging to his dark, damp hair, which is tousled and perfectly messy. His skin, still glistening from the shower, looks impossibly smooth, and the sharp definition of his features—his jawline, his collarbones, the sculpted planes of his chest—seem even more striking under the soft light of the room.

He meets your gaze, and his lips curve into a playful grin. “Enjoying the view?” he teases, his voice low and raspy from the heat of the shower.

You bite your lip, trying to suppress a smile as you look him up and down. “I wasn’t expecting this much of a distraction before race day,” you reply, your voice teasing but filled with affection.

He walks toward you, his bare feet making soft sounds on the floor. As he gets closer, you feel your heart race. His presence is magnetic, and you can’t help but be drawn in. He leans down, placing a soft kiss on the top of your head, his damp hair brushing against your skin.

“You think this is distracting?” he whispers, his breath warm against your ear. “Just wait until I’m done with you tonight.”

The air between you shifts, the chemistry undeniable. You glance up at him, seeing the spark in his eyes—the same one that always sends butterflies through your stomach.