Off the Track Series, Book 1
Amelia has a last name that opens doors. A last name she didn't ask for, but can never shake. A legacy. Legacy be damned, she wants to make it on her own. And she has. After years at EPSN, she lands the job of a lifetime...
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I nearly cried when we left the yacht for our separate flights to Azerbaijan. Charles asked me if anything was wrong and I said lied to say no. When all I really wanted to say was yes, I really don't want to go back to reality and acting like you don't mean everything to me rather than just a driver for my family team and um, please don't make me.
But I didn't. So here we are again, back in action and under wraps like always.
And this week it's been harder than ever. Between sponsor parties, back from the break press, work on the cars and practice we've not had one chance to speak during the day or enjoy a meal together. The one conciliation is that at least every evening we manage to wind up in the same bed.
Baku is such a tough track, Charles almost doesn't podium. A victory for Max but with Carlos crashing out not a great one for Ferrari.
And after our first week back at the track we're too worn down for even sex tonight, unusual for us but we are literally glued to the bed. Energy zapped right out of us. We both skipped the party to stay in, saying a lot about our energy levels.
Staying in means lazy clothes and room service. It means cuddles and kisses instead of whispers and smiles across the room. So yup, I much prefer staying in.
Laying on our sides, our toes run along each others as we chat about the week so far.
"When was your first time?" His tone changes from serious to mischievous in seconds.
"At the paddock?" Would be the logic question but judging by his face alone that's not what he means.
"No!" Charles laughs "The first time you had sex."
Opf.
Not something I wanted to think about tonight.
So I use my best diversion skills and flip the topic "When was yours?"
No way it was older than sixteen. The man has always had great looks.
"Erm, fifteen." He admits as a bit of pink rises to his cheeks.
"Charles Leclerc are you blushing?! Tell me everything," Giggling at what is sure to be an interesting story. You can't always be mr. smooth, especially at age fifteen.
Avoiding eye contact he starts "Well.. I met a girl on the beach. A tourist. You know how boys are at fifteen? We all talk big but desperate to get laid."
Grinning up at him, because I do. But boys are like that well beyond fifteen in my experience.
"She was older than me, and uh well I tried to stick it in I couldn't. Blocked and I absolutely panicked, not sure what I was doing wrong," Blocked? What the hell, this story is gold. "So I kept on trying and just pretended like nothing was wrong. I barely got the fucking tip in. She's looking at me so fucking weird my dick almost goes soft."
Unable to help myself, I'm categorically roaring with laughter now. "Stop it! Or I won't finish the story." His tone is demanding and usually works for me but now it only serves to make me want to giggle more. His face is so flushed, so I eventually pipe down for him to continue.
"Then she pulls away without a word, reaches in and yanks a bloody tampon out," Oh fuck, this is truly the awkwardest sexual encounter I've ever heard of. His blushes are totally called for. This time he joins me in the giggles, the story too awkward too not. "It flung out everywhere! No fucking lie she says 'Stick it in me' so I did, maybe lasting four pumps."
Actually weeping with laughter now. I'm so glad to know this story.
"That takes the cake! Most awkward story of losing your virginity I ever heard." It sure as hell is.
"Hey!" He mock protests with a kiss to my nose "I told the boys it was amazing. If you ever tell anyone about this I'll have to kill you." Finger wagging in my face sternly. At this point my side is killing me from all the laughter.
"I'd haunt you for the rest of your life." He's not the only one protesting now.
His toes resume rubbling mine as the laughter fades into silence. "Tell me about yours then?"
Nope.
Don't think so.
A story I've kept under lock and key my entire life, and is sure is hell is not coming out tonight.
"I was fourteen. It wasn't great."
"Damn, even younger than me. I knew you were the hotter one of us," He's lying but I don't call him on it and settle myself with taking the compliment instead. "Story to tell of it?"
The lightbulb for the perfect escape plan practically shines above me. "Mhmm, I'm going to have a smoke." And start to pull away from under the comfy cosy hotel bed.
If I leave the room for a bit he'll probably check his phone, and with any luck be too distracted to remember when I come back.
Solid plan.
But not solid enough. He catches my arm as I pull away, forcing me to look him in the eyes once more and not get the easy escape I'd wanted. Our eye contact makes me feel exposed. Like he can see right through me. Like he already knows.
He doesn't, but he can see the pain I'm hiding. "Amelia?" My name is a question I don't want to answer but have revealed far too much of already on my face.
After nearly ten years, is it okay to talk about it? It sure as hell doesn't feel like it.
My heart and my head are torn. "I don't want to talk about it Charles," The very words meant to put up the wall betray me as my eyes start to tear up. Damn it. He's gotten me now. "Let's just say... It, uh - wasn't something I wanted."
Charles pulls me into his arms and I allow the tears to flow. The walls to break down. Something about his embrace gives me the strength, the security to be honest. So I tell him everything except who. He doesn't need to know that. He doesn't judge, doesn't tell me what I shouldn't have been partying so young. That I shouldn't have accepted a drink from a stranger. That I should have ran away when I still could.
With each tear he wipes away a weight is lifted from me. With each encouragement, I feel lighter.
Known and accepted still. Safe still. Cherished still.
The memories are so engrained in me at this point, I fear I'll remember it the rest of my life. The night when 'no' didn't matter. When I wasn't strong enough to get away. The night that taught me to keep men at arms length. Not to trust.
A trust somehow the man whose arms I cry in is teaching me may actually be possible. Perhaps I'm still lying to myself about the may. It is possible. Please, please don't break my heart I hope silently as I cling to him. Please let this last forever.
