more than a need

The morning light seeped through the sheer curtains of my hotel room, casting a soft glow across the crisp white sheets. I lay still, staring at the ceiling, my mind replaying every second of last night with Lando. The way he had leaned in, his lips almost touching mine, only to pull away with that infuriating smirk.

"You have to ask for it," he had whispered, his breath warm against my skin before he walked away, leaving me standing there, stunned and aching.

What the hell was he doing to me?

I groaned, dragging my hands over my face as frustration coursed through me. Lando Norris was a game I wasn't sure I wanted to play—but it was already too late, wasn't it? I was in too deep, teetering on the edge of something reckless and consuming.

Snapping myself out of it, I pushed off the sheets and headed to the shower, letting the cold water shock me back to reality. I had work to do. Today wasn't about Lando and his maddening smirks. It was about Arthur Leclerc and the blatant nepotism that had gifted him a Ferrari reserve driver role.

The Monte Carlo skyline stretched behind me as I made my way to Arthur's apartment. My heels clicked against the pristine pavement, my mind already formulating questions for the interview.

Arthur greeted me with a polite smile, his apartment sleek but modest compared to his older brother's. He seemed nervous, adjusting his watch as he led me inside.

"So, Arthur," I began, recorder set on the coffee table. "Straight to the point. Do you think you've earned this reserve seat, or is it just the Leclerc name carrying you through?"

His jaw clenched. "I think I've worked hard for this opportunity. People forget the results I've had in F3 and F2."

"But no race wins in F2, right?" I countered, arching a brow. "You understand why people are skeptical."

Arthur exhaled, clearly irritated but keeping his composure. "Of course, I do. But Ferrari wouldn't put me here if they didn't believe in my potential."

"Potential is one thing. Results are another."

The interview continued, I cutting through PR-friendly answers with my usual sharpness. By the end, Arthur looked exhausted, and I had all the material I needed.

I sat at a small corner table in a restaurant overlooking Monaco's harbor, the scent of fresh seafood and espresso mingling in the air. The midday sun reflected off the endless line of luxury yachts bobbing in the marina, the kind of obscene wealth that was just a casual backdrop in this city.

I twirled a fork through my linguine alle vongole, mu laptop open in front of me. The words of my article on Arthur Leclerc stared back at me, sharp and unapologetic. I never softened my opinions, and this wouldn't be an exception. I knew the backlash would come—accusations of being too harsh, of underestimating Arthur, of stirring controversy for the sake of clicks. But truth wasn't always pleasant.

As I took a sip of my Aperol Spritz, me phone buzzed next to my plate. 

Lando.

My breath hitched. I stared at the screen, debating my next move.

My pulse spiked. Damn him. He was too smooth

Cocky bastard.

Damn him. The memory of last night surged back, his lips so close, the tension so thick I could barely breathe. I hated how much I wanted him.

It didn't take long before there was a knock on my hotel door. I barely had time to steady myself before opening it, revealing Lando in a fitted black shirt, hair tousled from the wind, green eyes burning into mine.

No words were needed. One second, we were standing apart. The next, his hands were on me, his lips crashing into mine in a kiss that was anything but careful. It was desperate, reckless—months of tension finally snapping like a live wire.

I barely registered the door slamming shut behind us. His hands traced down my spine, pulling me closer until there was no space left between us.

"Say it," he murmured against my lips.

I knew what he meant.

"Norris..."

"Say it."

"I want you."

That was all it took. Clothes were lost in a blur, lips never parting for too long. His touch was everywhere—demanding, possessive, like he was making up for every second he had waited.

And I let him. I had fought this for quite a while, convinced myself it was dangerous. But right now, danger was the last thing on my mind.

The world outside didn't exist. There was only this.

Only us.

Social Media Reactions:

@F1Gossip: Spotted: Emilia Davenport leaving Arthur Leclerc's apartment today. Business or pleasure? 👀

@TifosiQueen: I can even keep up with this Emilia girl, first Lando, then Charles, and now she's been seen with Arthur? what type of joke is this.. such a slut

@LandoFanboy44: Why is Lando liking tweets about Emilia's article on Arthur? Something we should know? 👀