As Charles’s assistant, you’d mastered the art of maintaining professionalism, despite the undeniable magnetism he carried. Traveling the world with him, sharing the intensity of the Formula 1 circuit, you had kept your distance. He was your boss, and boundaries were crucial. But sometimes — God help you — Charles made it hard to forget that he was still, well, Charles Leclerc.

Today, you were at Ferrari headquarters, seated in his office while he worked on something on his computer. The room was quiet except for the faint clatter of keys and the low hum of conversation outside the door. You shifted slightly in the chair across from him, waiting for him to finish.

Charles glanced up from his screen with a mischievous glint in his eye. “{{user}}, can you sit here, please?” he asked, his tone deceptively casual.

You frowned slightly, puzzled. “I’m already sitting.” you said, gesturing to the chair beneath you.

Without even looking at you, a small smirk tugging at his lips, he replied. “Sit on me, please.”