บททั้งหมดของ Driven To Obsession : บทที่ 1 - บทที่ 8

The engine’s roar is still ringing in my ears, but it’s the smug, infuriating smile on Aleks Mcray’s face that’s really making my blood boil.I tear off my racing helmet and wipe the sweat from my forehead before slamming it onto the prep table inside the garage.Second place. Again.And who took the top spot on the podium?The golden boy himself.Aleks stands a few feet away, surrounded by mechanics and press cameras, looking like he just stepped out of a luxury watch campaign. Not a single strand of his blonde hair is out of place. No sweat, no exhaustion. Just that insufferable, old-money composure that makes me want to put my fist through a wall.He doesn’t even look like he tried. That’s what pisses me off the most.“Great lap out there, Derek,” my lead engineer, Marcus, says, giving my shoulder a brief tap. “P2 is solid points for the team.”“Solid isn’t first,” I bite out, unclipping my HANS device and dropping it beside my helmet. “I had him on turn four. I held the inside lin

DEREK'S POV The private chalet in the Swiss Alps is way too big for just two people, but somehow, Aleks still manages to take up all the space.The driver brought us up the winding mountain roads two hours ago, dropped off our bags in the grand foyer, and vanished. I drag my suitcase into the master hallway, glancing down the paneled corridor. Aleks is already standing in the doorway of the primary suite—the one with the massive balcony overlooking the snow-capped peaks and the king-sized bed."I'm taking this room," he says calmly, not even bothering to turn around as he unbuttons his coat."Like hell you are," I say, dropping my bag on the floor. "We toss a coin for it. That's how it works."Aleks turns around slowly, leaning against the doorframe with his arms crossed. His expression is completely blank, the exact same face he puts on for the post-race press conferences. "I arrived at the door first, Derek. It's efficiency, not competition.""Everything with you is a competition,

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,

Aleks POVSo fucking thick.An appropriate cock for my rival.Christ. Jesus fucking Christ.I can't remember the last time someone fucked my mouth like this. When I suck cock, I'm the one in control. I set the pace. I decide how it ends. I don't let other men get this domineering, this filthy, this rough with me.I'm a top. A fucking great one.This is so damn wrong.But God, I've never been harder in my life.I yank my zipper open and pull my aching erection out. I moan around Derek's cock and start stroking myself desperately, tears stinging my eyes from the intensity of it. The weight of him on my tongue, the hardness filling my mouth, the sheer humiliation of kneeling here and taking it. It's wrong and forbidden, and it feels so fucking good I could scream.Derek fucks my mouth faster. The wet sounds are utterly obscene as he grinds the head against the back of my throat, pulls out, and slams in again. And again. And again.Tears run down my cheeks. I'm fisting myself furiously, d