LOGINDEREK'S POV My phone buzzes while I'm sitting in the driver's room, scrolling through messages I have no interest in answering. I almost ignore it, assuming it's another notification from the team, until I notice the unfamiliar number on my screen. I open the message, and my stomach drops. It's a photograph of me entering Aleks's private trailer late at night. The angle is clear enough to show my face and the entrance. Whoever took it knew exactly what they were looking for. A second message comes through. - Nice composition, Hawk. Shame if the press gallery got a closer look at your late-night habits. Let's talk tomorrow morning before media day. - I stare at the screen, my thumb hovering over the photograph. Aiden. I can't prove it's him, but the smug, calculated approach is familiar. He's been watching us, waiting for something he can use, and now he's found it. I zoom in on the picture, checking the background and the angle. Whoever took it was close enough to get a
Aleks's POV The team's celebration is already in full swing by the time I get changed and make my way into the hospitality unit. Someone has cranked the music up, the mechanics are still in their race suits with champagne dripping from their sleeves, and Gunnar is standing on a chair, announcing a one-two finish to anyone who will listen. I accept a hug from Andrew, a clap on the back from Marcus, and a plastic cup of something that's mostly foam, and I smile in all the right places, though part of me is still sitting in my cockpit, replaying Brooklands. Derek is across the room, surrounded by half the garage, with a bottle in one hand and Mandy hanging off his shoulder. He's grinning, the same obnoxious grin he's been wearing since the podium, and I wait for him to catch my eye and send me the smug, triumphant look I've already prepared a reply for. I'm ready for it. I almost want it. It never comes. He glances toward me once, and then something changes in his face and he looks
DEREK'S POV The media pen behind the media center is packed with journalists, microphones, and flashing cameras. I stand in front of them with my cap pulled low, wearing the professional smile our PR team insists makes me look approachable. "Derek! How does it feel to win at Silverstone?" "You and Aleks made contact on lap thirty. Was that intentional?" "Is the tension between you two finally getting out of control?" I resist the urge to roll my eyes. "Winning at Silverstone feels great. The team worked hard, and we got a one-two finish. As for the contact, we were both fighting for position. That's racing." "But surely the team isn't happy about two teammates nearly taking each other out?" "Well, neither of us ended up in the barriers, did we?" A few journalists laugh, and I give them another smile. I answer the remaining questions about race strategy and tyre management, but my mind keeps drifting back to Aleks. More specifically, the furious look he gave me aft
Three days laterDEREK'S POVI sit in pole position, gripping the steering wheel as I stare at the five red lights above the starting grid.The air over Silverstone is thick, while the roar of twenty engines drowns out everything else. Right beside me is Aleks, sitting in an identical team car.We've spent the entire qualifying session fighting over fractions of a second, and I've beaten him to pole by barely a tenth.Naturally, the arrogant bastard spent the rest of yesterday acting like he'd personally done me a favor by letting me win.Well, he'll have plenty of time to admire my rear wing today."Alright, Derek," Marcus says through my earpiece. "Good launch, clean first corner. Don't get dragged into anything stupid.""No promises." I smirk inside my helmet."Derek, I'm serious.""So am I."The first red light comes on, followed by the second.I tighten my grip, holding the throttle steady as the remaining lights illuminate.Three.Four.Five.The lights go out.I release the clu
I climb back onto the bed, and Derek reaches under the pillow and pulls out a second, flatter box. He drops it on my stomach without a word."Take the top off. Wear that instead."Inside is a bra in the same bright pink lace as the panties, thin-strapped and almost weightless. I pull the crop top over my head and fumble with the clasp until Derek makes an impatient sound, turns me around by the shoulders, and fastens it himself, his knuckles brushing my spine. When I turn back, he stares at my chest like it's the only thing in the room.That's when the doubt creeps in. A bra and panties. Is that what this is, Derek trying to turn me into a woman so he can keep pretending he isn't gay? The thought sits in my stomach like a stone, but then I see the way his eyes drop to my cock straining the pink lace, and the hunger on his face has nothing to do with a woman.He lets out a little growly sound, hips rocking to rub his cock against the soft lace covering my junk. He uses his nose to nudg
Aleks's POVThere's a small black box sitting in the middle of Derek's bed when I walk in, tied with a ribbon, and Derek is standing by the window with his arms crossed and his eyes fixed on anything but me. He nods at the box and says, in a voice that's trying very hard to be casual, "Open it."I lift the lid and look at what's inside.Black lace. A bra with thin straps and delicate cups, and a matching pair of briefs folded neatly beneath it. I stand there holding the lid for a long moment, because I've been braced for every kind of humiliation Derek could invent, but this one hadn't crossed my mind."What is this?""What does it look like?""A threat." I glance up at him, keeping my face blank. "Is this part of the blackmail?""Yes." He says it too quickly, and then clears his throat. "Put it on."I should be offended and tell him exactly what he can do with his lace, and a part of me wonders if that's the point, if he's waiting for me to refuse so he can watch me squirm. But when







