5: On your knees Derek

DEREK'S POV

Having Aleks Mcray completely under my thumb feels better than winning pole position.

By noon, I'm sitting on the leather sofa in the living room, my feet propped up on the glass coffee table as I watch the snowfall outside the windows. The chalet is quiet, except for the sounds coming from the kitchen.

Aleks is making lunch.

The image is absurd.

The golden boy of Formula 1, the guy whose family owns half of Monaco's private banking sector, is standing at the stove in a black fitted sweater, sleeves rolled up, chopping vegetables for me.

He moves with the same mechanical precision he uses on the track. Clean cuts. Neat piles. No wasted motion.

But his jaw is clenched so hard I'm surprised his teeth haven't shattered.

“How long on those eggs, Mcray?” I call out, letting my voice trail lazily across the room. “I'm starving.”

Aleks doesn't turn around immediately. He finishes plating the food, takes a slow, steadying breath, then turns to face me.

His face is a mask of ice, but the faint pulse beating rapidly at his neck tells a completely different story.

“They're done.”

He carries the plate over and sets it on the glass table in front of me.

Scrambled eggs, toast, sliced avocado.

Perfect, of course.

“Look at you.” I smirk, picking up my fork. “A natural. Maybe when your racing career falls apart, you can apply to be my personal butler.”

Aleks stands over me, arms folded across his chest, staring down at me like I'm something he wants to wipe off the bottom of his boots.

“Eat your food, Derek.”

“What, no 'sir'?”

I look up at him before taking a slow bite.

He doesn't bite.

He simply narrows his blue eyes and takes a half-step closer. The control he tries so hard to project is beginning to crack around the edges.

“You think you've won,” Aleks says, standing over the couch, his posture stiff and his eyes burning with fury.

“I have won.” I look up at him. “I have the recording, Aleks. I own you.”

Aleks let out a cold laugh, so bitter it almost makes me blink.

“You own a pathetic little misunderstanding, Derek. That's all you have.”

I pause, my fork hovering over the plate.

“A misunderstanding? I heard you, Mcray. You were literally jerking off into your pillow while begging for me.”

“I was stressed,” Aleks snaps instantly, his voice cracking out of its usual flat tone for the first time. “I had a headache, I couldn't sleep, and I was exhausted. It meant nothing.”

“Right. And my name just magically slipped out of your throat while you were getting off?”

“It was a reaction to the argument in Gunnar 's office!”

Aleks steps closer, his blue eyes blazing, his composure finally slipping.

“You were the last person aggravating me before I went to bed. My mind was racing, and your fucking voice was stuck in my head. That's all it was. A fleeting, meaningless thought.”

I set my fork down as my amusement disappears.

“Meaningless?”

“Completely.”

Aleks tilts his chin up, putting every ounce of his old-money arrogance back into his posture.

“Don't flatter yourself, Derek. You're an aggressive, undisciplined nightmare on and off the track. The idea of me actually wanting you, of me ever touching you... it's disgusting. I wouldn't touch you if you were the last person on earth.”

Something in my chest snaps. Anger surges through me, wiping away every trace of my laid-back act.

He thinks he can turn this around?

He thinks he can sit there and act like I'm beneath him when I hold his entire life in my hands?

I stand slowly, stepping into his space until our chests are nearly touching.

Aleks doesn't step back.

But his pupils dilate, and his breathing hitches as the height difference disappears between us.

“Disgusting?” I whisper and let out a smile. “That's cute, Aleks. Really cute.”

I reach into my pocket, pull out my phone, and tap the screen once before holding it up between our faces.

The audio file is right there, ready to play.

“You want to talk about what's disgusting?” I growl, staring into his eyes. “You're going to prove how much you hate the thought of touching me. Right here. Right now.”

Aleks stiffens, his jaw tight.

“What?”

“Get down on your knees,” I command. “Get down on your knees and suck me off, prove you're not affected by me by not getting hard, Or I press send and post this recording to every sports journalist in Europe before you can say jackpot.”

ALEKS'S POV

He's bluffing.

He has to be.

Derek is impulsive, arrogant, and loud, but forcing this—demanding something like this—crosses a line that shatters every unwritten rule.

“You're out of your mind,” I say, my voice steady, though my throat feels like it's full of glass. I refuse to let my gaze drop below his chin.

“Try me, Mcray.”

Derek growls as he steps closer, until the toe of his sneaker bumps directly against the front of my boot. He tilts his phone between us, his thumb hovering over the display.

“You said it yourself. You wouldn't touch me if I were the last person on earth. So prove it. Show me how much you despise me while you're down on the floor, taking every single inch of me.”

Heat washes down my spine.

The threat of the recording is real enough to end my life as I know it, but it's the unhinged intensity in his dark eyes that locks my knees in place.

I pushed him too far.

I took his fragile, volatile ego and slashed at it, and now he wants submission to stitch it back together.

“You think this makes you powerful?” I ask. “You think forcing me into a corner proves you're the better driver? It just shows how terrified you are of me.”

“Terrified?”

Derek lets out a bitter laugh, taking another half-step forward until his chest is practically touching mine.

“I'm not terrified of shit, Aleks. I'm sick of you looking at me like I'm dirt under your feet when you're the one caught lying in bed whimpering my name.”

“It was a mistake,” I whisper. “A momentary lapse in judgment that you're clinging to because you have nothing else.”

“Keep talking,” Derek says, his thumb pressing harder against the edge of the phone. “Keep pretending you're above this. You know what happens when I hit play. Your father sees it. The sponsors see it. Gunnar sees it. You'll be off the team before the sun goes down.”

My teeth bite into the inside of my cheek.

The embarrassment of the ultimatum burns through my veins, but beneath the terror and outrage, a dark thrill coils tight in my gut.

He wants to ruin me.

And God help me, I want to let him try.

He's demanding the one thing I've destroyed myself trying not to dream about, only he's demanding it as humiliation—a weapon to put me in my place.

“You press that button, Derek, and there's no going back,” I force out, my voice barely above a whisper. “You break this, you break everything. For both of us.”

“Then don't make me press it,” Derek snaps. “Three seconds, Aleks. One...”

“Two...”

I don't let him reach three.

Keeping my eyes locked onto his, holding onto every last shred of defiance I can gather, I slowly sink down to my knees.