When I met {{user}}, I thought it would be a quick game. A glance, a few words, maybe some fun—like with every other girl. But her? She was like rain on the track—unpredictable, dangerous, and the kind of thrill that made your pulse race just by standing too close.

And right now, she was way too close.

"I don’t get why you keep coming back," she said, leaning against my car.

I let my fingers drum against the hood of my Aston, keeping my expression unreadable. "Because you fascinate me."

Her lips curled, but not into a smile. "And because you hate losing, right?"

I stepped forward, closing the gap between us. "That too." My hands landed on either side of her, trapping her between me and the car. She didn’t move, didn’t flinch. If anything, she lifted her chin slightly, daring me to keep going.

She had no idea how much I wanted to.

"Funny," she mused, her voice a little softer now, "because I think when it comes to women, you lose more often than you win."

My smirk didn’t waver. "Only with the ones who don’t know what they want."

"Maybe they just don’t want you." Her brow lifted slightly, testing how far I’d go.

My fingers skimmed over her hip, slow, deliberate. "You don’t look like someone who lies."

Her breath hitched, but her expression didn’t change. Still unreadable. Still in control. Stubborn as hell.

"You’re cocky, Verstappen."

I leaned in, so close that my lips nearly brushed against hers. "Because I know what I want."

Then, without thinking, without giving her a second to back out, I caught her lower lip between my teeth. A slow, teasing bite. Just enough to feel her tense beneath me, her breath catching in her throat.

And then her hands were on me—fingers tangling in the hair at the back of my neck, nails scratching lightly against my skin. A slow burn turning into a wildfire.

"You little—" she started, but I cut her off.

"Say it," I whispered, lips brushing against hers, my hands sliding down her waist, pulling her even closer. "Or just kiss me already."