My hands glide over the topography of a champion's back, mapping muscles that will tomorrow steer eight hundred kilograms of purple beast around Albert Park at three hundred kilometers per hour. And somehow, I'm the lucky bastard who gets to touch her.
"Lower," Blair commands, her voice muffled against the massage table. "Right side needs more pressure."
I adjust immediately, pressing my thumbs deeper into the knot beneath her right shoulder blade. The hotel room smells of lavender massage oil and the faint metallic scent of ambition. Outside our window, Melbourne's skyline twinkles like the promise of tomorrow's podium champagne.
"Yes, right there," she purrs, and I feel that familiar flutter in my chest. Even after four years together, I still can't believe Blair West lets me touch her like this.
The portable massage table the hotel staff wheeled in earlier creaks slightly as Blair shifts her weight, the sheet barely covering the curves I've memorized like my favorite racing line. Her electric blue hair, freshly touched up for the cameras, splays across the pillow, a stark contrast against her perfect skin.
"You're thinking too loud," she murmurs.
I laugh softly. "Just remembering when we met. You were this fierce little karting demon who made my sister cry."
"Melissa didn't cry," Blair corrects, a hint of that competitive edge sharpening her voice. "She threw her helmet and called me a cheating bitch."
"And then you winked at me in the paddock."
"I winked at the cute boy whose sister I'd just demolished," she says, and I can hear the smile in her voice. "Strategy."
I work my way down her spine, remembering those early days when I was just Melissa Woods' annoying little brother, trailing after my sister and Mom through international karting circuits while Dad stayed home managing Mom's accounting firm. Back then, Blair was just another girl racer, talented, sure, but not yet the force of nature who would eventually crush my sister's F1 dreams in that brutal F2 championship battle last year.
"Remember when I asked you out in the Silverstone paddock?" I ask, pressing into a particularly tight muscle. "After you qualified on pole in F3?"
Blair laughs. "You were shaking. It was adorable."
"I was seventeen and terrified!"
"And I said yes because you were the only boy in the paddock who knew the difference between understeer and oversteer." She rolls her shoulders under my hands. "That, and you had the prettiest eyes."
I lean down and nibble gently on her ear, breathing in the scent of her shampoo, something expensive. "You always know exactly how to make a boy feel special."
She smiles, those silver eyes catching the lamplight when she turns her head slightly. "And you always know how to help me relax."
I hesitate before asking the question, my fingers still working the tension from her lower back. "Are you nervous? For tomorrow?"
Blair is quiet for a moment. P5 in qualifying with Zyn Zenith had shocked everyone, everyone except her. The rookie who wasn't supposed to be ready for the big leagues had just put herself ahead of most of the grid on her first race.
"Nervous?" she finally says, and there's something in her voice I can't quite place. Not the media-trained Blair who gave flawless interviews after qualifying, but something rawer. "Why would I be nervous? This is exactly where I'm supposed to be."
I keep massaging, saying nothing. After years together, I've learned when she's building walls.
"Nick," she says after a moment, softer now. "Come here."
I move around the table until I'm facing her. She props herself up on her elbows, not bothering with the sheet that slips further down her back.
"Tomorrow," she says, reaching for my hand, "I'm going to show everyone what I showed your sister last year." Her fingers tighten around mine, almost painfully. "That I belong here. That I'm going to own this grid."
I look into her eyes, seeing that familiar fire that first drew me to her. It's beautiful and terrifying all at once.
"I've always known you deserve to be here," I say, meaning it. "You've worked harder than anyone."
Her smile is victorious. Sometimes I forget how different this world is from where I came from. I was twelve when it happened, some cosmic hiccup that dropped me into this mirror universe where women are the aggressors, the champions, the ones who pursue. Nine years later and I still find myself jarring against the intensity of it all, especially with women like Blair.
"But next time you run into Melissa," I add carefully, "maybe we could dial back the rivalry a bit? She's actually doing really well in Formula E now. Second in the championship after just four races."
Blair's face darkens immediately. She scoffs, pulling her hand away from mine.
"Your sister got what she deserved," she says, sitting up fully now, the sheet forgotten. "Formula E is where drivers go when they can't cut it in F1."
"Yes," I sigh, rubbing my temples, "and she knows that. My mom tells her that constantly." I sit on the edge of the massage table, trying to find the right words. "What I'm saying is... you beat her. Your rivalry with my sister is finished. You won. There's no reason to carry it anymore."
Blair studies me for a moment, her silver eyes calculating something I can't quite read. Then she rolls her eyes dramatically and flops back onto the table.
"True," she says, stretching her arms above her head like a satisfied cat. "It's time for new rivalries anyway."
I see my opening and take it. "Yeah, like that Ivy girl looks like a great rival, right? Same car, three-time world champion, pole position..." I count off on my fingers. "Melissa is old news. Let's be nice to her and push all this old hate toward Ivy now, yeah?"
Blair's eyebrow arches dangerously. "Ivy Hunt?"
"I mean, I haven't met her yet," I backpedal slightly.
Blair sits up abruptly, the sheet falling completely away as she swings her legs over the side of the table. Even naked, she somehow radiates authority.
"Ivy Hunt is exactly who I'm going to destroy tomorrow."
"Oh?" I breathe, suddenly hyper-aware of her proximity.
"First lap, first corner," she continues, reaching out to pull me closer by my shirt. "I'm going to show Miss Three-Time-Champion what real hunger looks like."
I find myself drawn into her orbit, helpless against the gravitational pull of her confidence. My lips find the curve where her neck meets her shoulder, planting a soft kiss against her racing-warm skin.
"Tell me more," I murmur against her neck, trailing kisses upward.
Blair tilts her head, giving me better access as her fingers tangle in my hair. "I'm going to fucking end her winning spree," she says, her voice growing breathier as my lips work their way up to the sensitive spot below her ear. "The team principal said to be patient, to learn from Ivy, but I'm going to make her learn from me instead."
I nip gently at her earlobe again, feeling her pulse quicken beneath my touch. There's something intoxicating about Blair like this, naked, powerful, plotting domination on the world stage. When she talks about racing, about winning, she exudes a confidence that makes me weak.
Her lips crash against mine, hungry and demanding. She pulls away just long enough to stand up from the massage table, gloriously naked and completely unashamed.
"Enough talk," Blair says, her silver eyes gleaming with that same predatory focus she brings to the track. She grabs my hand, her grip firm and decisive. "Come on."
Before I can respond, she's tugging me toward the bathroom, her blue hair catching the light as she moves with that same grace that makes her a demon behind the wheel.
"The massage oil…" I stammer, but she's already pulling my shirt over my head.
"Will wash off," she finishes, backing me against the cool tile wall of the shower stall. Her fingers make quick work of my belt, then my jeans. "That's the point."
The shower springs to life, steam rising around us as Blair strips away the last of my clothing. Water cascades down her perfect body, tracing paths I want to follow with my fingers, my lips. She pulls me under the spray with her, and I'm lost in the sensation of her wet skin against mine.
"You think too much," she murmurs against my mouth before claiming my lips again. Her hands roam over my chest, my back. "Stop thinking."
I obey, surrendering to the moment as hot water pounds against our entangled bodies. Blair presses me against the tile, her kisses growing more intense, more demanding. My hands find her waist, then slide lower to cup her perfect backside, pulling her closer.
She laughs against my mouth, a sound of pure satisfaction. "That's more like it."
We're slick with water and desire, hands exploring familiar territory that somehow feels new each time. Blair nips at my bottom lip, then trails kisses down my neck, across my collarbone. I gasp when her teeth graze my shoulder, just hard enough to leave a mark.
Her hands slide from my chest as she turns away from me, placing her palms flat against the shower wall. The water runs in rivulets down her back, following the perfect curve of her spine before cascading over the swell of her ass. She looks back at me over her shoulder, silver eyes half-lidded with desire.
"You need to do all the work tonight, baby," she purrs, arching her back further. "I need to conserve my energy for tomorrow."
My breath catches in my throat at the sight of her, powerful yet vulnerable, offering herself to me. "Anything you need," I whisper, moving closer until my chest is flush against her back.
I slide my hands along her sides, feeling the slight tremble beneath her skin as I trace the contours of her hips. The shower's steam envelops us in our own private world as I position myself behind her. I tease her entrance with the tip of my erection, drawing small circles that make her breath hitch.
When I finally push forward, the sensation is overwhelming. A moan escapes me as I sink deeper, her body's snug warmth drawing me in. Blair looks back at me, her blue hair plastered to her neck, a victorious smile playing on her lips.
"You just can't get enough of how tight I am, can you?" she asks, her voice filled with satisfaction.
I can barely form words, managing only a ragged "Yeah" as I begin to establish a rhythm. My hands grip her hips, steadying her against the slick tile as I lose myself in her.
"That's it," she encourages, pushing back against me. "Show me how much you want me."
I increase my pace, driving deeper with each thrust. The bathroom fills with the sounds of our pleasure, echoing off the tiles. Blair reaches back with one hand, fingers tangling in my wet hair, pulling me closer.
"Deeper," she commands, voice ragged with need. "I want to feel you completely."
Blair suddenly pushes back against me with unexpected force, her perfect ass pressing into my hips, driving me impossibly deep inside her. I grab her hips instinctively, holding on like they're the only thing keeping me anchored to this reality. My fingers dig into her slick skin as she grinds against me.
"Oh god, Nick, yes…" Her words dissolve into a series of escalating moans, her body tensing around me. I can see her face in profile, eyes squeezed shut, mouth open in ecstasy as she starts to cum. The rhythmic pulsing of her walls around me is too much to bear.
"I'm going to…" I barely manage to gasp out.
"Outside, outside!" she cries urgently between waves of pleasure.
It takes every ounce of willpower I possess to pull out when every instinct screams to push deeper. With a herculean effort, I withdraw just in time, my release painting hot streaks across the curve of her back as I groan through the most intense orgasm I've had in weeks. The shower water immediately begins washing away the evidence as I shudder against her.
We stand frozen in place, both panting heavily. My legs feel like they've been replaced with wobbly gelatin, barely supporting my weight as I lean slightly against her for support.
"Sorry, baby," Blair says after catching her breath, turning to face me with a mixture of satisfaction and apology in her silver eyes. "You know how it is. I can't have your cum stuck in me tomorrow, distracting me during the race."
"Of course," I nod, still trying to regulate my breathing. "Race day tomorrow. I get it."
After our shower, I watch her go through her pre-race routine with military precision. Moisturizer applied in circular motions. Hair carefully dried but not styled, that's for the team's stylist tomorrow. Protein shake consumed while reviewing corner exit speeds on her tablet.
I'm still toweling off my hair when Blair's phone suddenly blares the distinctive alarm tone she uses for race weekends. The digital display reads 9:50 PM in bold numbers.
She glances at it and sighs, setting down her tablet. "Alright baby, it's time for you to go."
I nod, trying not to let my disappointment show. We've been through this routine dozens of times, but it never gets easier.
Blair's face softens just a fraction. She crosses the room and places a gentle kiss on my lips, her fingers trailing along my jawline. "You know I'd keep you here if I could."
"I know." I gather my things, stuffing them haphazardly into my overnight bag. My own hotel room is just down the hall, close enough for convenience but far enough to ensure Blair gets her mandatory eight hours of uninterrupted sleep.
The nights before races always feel the loneliest. I'll toss and turn in my empty bed while Blair sleeps the perfect sleep of a predator preparing to hunt. But she needs this, the silence, the darkness, the complete absence of distraction. Even my breathing would be too much noise for her finely-tuned pre-race senses.
"Tomorrow," she says, walking me to the door, "you'll be kissing a race winner."
"I already am," I reply, stealing one last kiss before stepping into the hallway.
Her silver eyes gleam with something between affection and possession. "Sweet dreams, Nick."
"Dream of victory," I tell her, our standard parting words on race weekends.
The door closes between us with a soft click. I stand there for a moment, my hand lingering where hers had just been. Then I trudge down the corridor toward my solitary room, already counting the hours until I can see her again.
"At least I have enough time to stream a little before I go to bed."