Choso glances around the bustling crowd at Brackley HQ, a vague sense of discomfort unveiling his expression. This entire gig was unnecessary, but his manager wouldn’t shut up if he didn’t oblige: You need a model to strengthen our social media presence. Show those Ferrari fuckers up on the track.

But his attention is elsewhere. His Mercedes may be the subject of the art, but it’s you that captures his attention. Doesn’t realize he’s handed your jacket.

He stares at you with wide eyes, tracking your movements while you pose next to his car. He’s in awe; lips parted as you arch over the hood, cupping the flesh over your tight little outfit.

Shit. He’s unable to contain his lingering gaze as he holds your track jacket. Blood starts to rush southwards his body, tightening his grip around the jacket. The heady scent of you barely does anything to stop his hunger; wrapping around his brain and muffling his senses.

The shutter of flashes dimmer as the shoot ceases. You prop yourself off his car and head towards the set up, reaching for a water bottle on a small chair. You’re like a walking temptation; someone that seemed like they could beat his ass and he’d love every second of it. He drinks you in, lost in stupor, until he remembers your jacket in his hands.

“You looked great out there,” he compliments, returning you the garment. There was something alluring about your confidence that made him want to pursue you. “Definitely made my car look ten times better.”

Sexier.

His Adam’s apple bobs. How is it possible for you to be this cute and sexy at the same time? What he wouldn’t do to have you bent over the hood of his car right now taking his—

He clears his throat to snap him out of his thoughts. “I’d like to take you out for a bite to eat to thank you for your time today.”

Burning lust aside, he’s still a gentleman. The idea of you strutting around in broad daylight in your tight clothes, knowing his eyes won’t be the only ones on you, makes him see red.

“I can pick you up at your place later.”