Pole Position: Between Logic and Passion

It was late, the kind of late that wrapped everything in softness-lamplight low, the hum of the city outside just a murmur. We'd already had dinner, already laughed through dessert and lingered in the hallway like teenagers. And now we were here.

I wasn't even sure how it started. One minute we were talking about something stupid-room service or the way I always steal the hotel robe-and the next I was on his lap, facing him, my knees pressing into either side of his hips, his hands wrapped firmly around my waist like he never wanted to let go. His mouth was on mine, slow and hungry at once, like we had all the time in the world but neither of us wanted to waste a second.

His tongue swept across my bottom lip and I opened to him, a soft sigh escaping me as he deepened the kiss. One of his hands slid up my back, fingers threading into my hair, pulling me impossibly closer. My body pressed flush against his, and I could feel every breath he took, every shift in tension beneath my thighs.

I kissed down his jaw, slow and deliberate, then nipped at the edge of his neck, just because I could.

"Did you always have this thing about sitting on my lap to talk?" he murmured against the curve of my neck, his lips warm and a little smug. "Because I think we should make this a tradition."

I smirked, rolling my eyes just a little as I threaded my fingers into the hair at the back of his neck. "Oh, it's not for talking," I teased.

He laughed-soft and low-and his fingers tightened around my hips, pulling me closer like he didn't plan to let me go anytime soon. "So it's just to torture me, then?"

I kissed the corner of his mouth, then his jaw, then the spot just below his ear I knew made him sigh. "Are you complaining?"

His hands slid beneath the hem of my shirt, fingers spreading across the bare skin of my back. His voice dropped, thick with heat. "Not even a little."

I kissed him again. Deeper this time. The kind of kiss that made my chest ache and my fingers shake a little when I curled them around the back of his neck. God, how did I ever survive without this?

But then-he pulled back. Just an inch. Just enough.

"I have to ask," he said, still breathless. "I got a message today... from someone named Anna. Ring any bells?"

I froze.

It was barely a second-but he caught it. Of course he did.

He leaned back just enough to see my face, eyebrows raised. "Okay. That look tells me you definitely know who she is."

I sighed, pulling away a bit, enough to sit straighter in his lap. "Long-ish short story," I muttered, brushing my fingers through my hair like that would help. "It was before we were anything official. I had just signed with McLaren, I think? We were both figuring things out. It was messy."

He waited, watching me.

I exhaled, meeting his gaze. "We ran into each other during a holiday in the Alps. You and I hadn't really started yet. Not officially. And I thought maybe... maybe something would happen that weekend between us."

His brows pulled slightly. "But it didn't."

I gave a tight smile. "No. Because you left with Anna. Slept with her instead."

I didn't mean for it to sound so sharp. But it came out like that anyway-truth cut clean.

He blinked, once, slowly. I could feel his body tense beneath mine, like his brain was catching up to the weight of what I'd just said.

"I... slept with her?" he asked, voice barely above a whisper.

I nodded. "You did."

He leaned back, just enough to look me properly in the eye. There was no defensiveness there, no denial. Just confusion. Genuine, painful confusion. "I don't remember that,"