Lewis Hamilton x Wife!Reader
Summary... Four girls are chosen for a once-in-a-lifetime experience: spending a day with Lewis Hamilton as part of a Drive to Survive fan segment.
Trigger Warnings: Mild language. Emotional vulnerability. Themes of privacy, media attention, and public exposure.
A/N: This story is overwhelmingly soft, supportive, and heartwarming. I hope you guys enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. All feedback is welcomed. Have a beautiful day! Let me know if you would like another part of this story. Happy reading.
The Day We Met Him
The Netflix logo fades to black.
Then:
"Drive to Survive – Season 7, Episode 3: More Than a Champion"
The screen lights up with a shot of Silverstone Circuit, the sound of engines rumbling like thunder in the distance. But this time, instead of team radios or dramatic crash footage, it opens in a cramped London flat—four girls piled on a sofa with wide eyes and disbelief on their faces.
“Pause it. Please pause it!” Tati yells.
Mimi’s thumb fumbles over the remote. They all freeze as the frame catches their four names printed on the screen beneath the words:
“Four lucky fans. One unforgettable day.”
Jules is already crying. Bella just gasps and slaps a pillow against her chest.
The camera cuts back to older footage: the moment Netflix reps arrived at their door, the pure chaos of four best friends screaming, tripping over themselves, and sobbing while a producer announced they’d been selected to spend a full day with Lewis Hamilton.
It feels like a fever dream.
Until the next scene begins.
________
The Hamilton Residence – 7:03 AM
Soft morning light pours across the floors of a sleek, airy home. Everything is warm neutrals, scattered sunlight, and signs of life—framed photos, half-filled coffee mugs, toddler socks on the stairs.
The narration begins in the background.
“Lewis Hamilton has spent the last two decades becoming one of the most iconic figures in sports history. But today, he invites us into a chapter of his life no one’s ever seen before.”
It’s quiet. Too quiet. Then you hear the faint hum of a lullaby mobile and the low murmur of a baby’s coo.
And then, he appears.
Lewis walks through the kitchen barefoot, hoodie half-zipped, rocking a baby monitor in his hand. His hair is tied in a low bun. He’s yawning. The camera catches it all: a tray of bottles near the sink, a pacifier clipped to his hoodie string, a toy giraffe under his left arm.
“Good morning, mama,” he says to someone off-screen, voice hoarse.
You step into frame, in an oversized sweatshirt and satin shorts, brushing your teeth while holding a baby bottle.
“We overslept,” you mutter with a grin.
“No such thing anymore,” he laughs. “She’s been up since five.”
The reveal is so casual it’s jarring. The camera pans across the room, catching glimpses of your baby girl crawling across a padded mat with a sleepy giggle.
It’s the first time the world sees this side of Lewis Hamilton.
The athlete. The activist. The father.
________
The car is quiet. The baby’s asleep in her car seat. Y/N hums along to a soft Frank Ocean track while Lewis drives with one hand on the wheel and the other resting between them, fingers laced with hers.
“You nervous?” you ask, turning to him.
“A little,” he admits. “Never done anything like this before.”
She squeezes his hand. “Just be yourself. That’s more than enough.”
They pull up to his mother’s house. She’s waiting at the door with open arms and a smile that crinkles at the edges. The hand-off is full of hugs, baby kisses, promises to call every hour.
“I don’t like being away from her,” Lewis murmurs.
“You’re not,” you say, slipping your hand around his waist. “She’s just with your first home, while you go do what you were born to do.”
The camera cuts to Lewis holding his daughter one last time. The kiss he presses to her curls. The way he doesn’t say goodbye—he says, “See you soon, starlight.”
________
Silverstone Circuit – 12:10 PM
The girls are pacing.
They’ve been given Ferrari team gear, all personalized, and lanyards with sleek black passes that say GUEST OF DRIVER – L. HAMILTON.
There are nerves in the air. Not just because they’re about to meet him—but because, somehow, they all already feel like this is going to be bigger than they imagined.
And then… he walks in.
Lewis. Real, magnetic, smiling in a way that softens his whole face.
Y/N walks a step behind, notebook in hand, chatting with a member of his team. She’s laughing at something. She looks so at ease in this world, like she belongs in every paddock, in every press pen, in every part of his life.
“Hi,” Lewis says, stepping forward and offering a handshake to each girl. “Thank you for being here. I’m really excited.”
It’s overwhelming. Not just because he’s Lewis Hamilton, but because of the way he sees them. Like they matter. Like this day is as much for him as it is for them.
________
They take turns racing against him on the sim. He laughs when Bella crashes into the wall. He gasps dramatically when Tati beats his sector time. He whoops when Jules nails a corner like a pro.
“You’ve all got better instincts than half the grid,” he jokes, clearly loving every second.
Y/N watches from the sidelines, beaming.
During a break, Mimi asks her, “Do you come to all his races?”
She nods. “Most of them. When the baby was really little, I stayed home more. But she loves the sound of engines now, so… here we are.”
“Did you ever think you’d end up in the Formula 1world?”
Y/N laughs softly. “I didn’t think I’d end up in love with someone who lived on planes. But when it’s right, it’s just… easy.”
________
They sit around a long table with Lewis at the center. The camera catches the way his hand rests against your knee under the table, the way you lean into him to whisper things no one else can hear.
He shares stories—funny, vulnerable ones.
About his first go-kart. About getting lost on the way to a race in 2005. About the exact moment he knew Y/N was the one.
It’s not polished. It’s not scripted. It’s just real.
________
Golden hour hits Silverstone like magic.
The four girls stand near the pit wall, headsets on, as Lewis does a few laps around the track. Y/N leans against the rail beside them.
“Does it ever scare you?” Jules asks her.
She looks out toward the turns. “Sometimes. But he’s never reckless. And… he always comes back to me.”
________
Lewis returns from the garage, hair damp with sweat, suit unzipped halfway. He collapses into a chair and smiles as you press a water bottle to his chest.
“You were incredible,” you say quietly.
He tilts his head toward the girls. “They made today feel easy.”
The four of them sit down for their final interviews. Every interview of them is emotional, raw, full of passion and gratitud for the amazing opportunity they got to experience.
“I thought today would be about racing,” Bella says. “But it was about connection.”
“I didn’t expect to feel seen by him,” Jules adds. “But I did. All day.”
“I thought Lewis Hamilton would be cool,” Tati grins. “But I didn’t expect him to feel like… someone you’d want to text goodnight.”
“He’s more than a driver,” Mimi whispers. “He’s someone’s home.”
________
The Hamilton Residence – 9:03 PM
Lewis and Y/N sit on the couch later that night, baby monitor between them, baby socks on the table, your legs draped over his lap.
He kisses your hand and looks straight into the camera.
“Winning feels good,” he says. “But this—my family, our life—this is what makes everything else worth it. Now get out! We have a new season of Love on The Spectrum to watch.”
________
The Aftermath
It starts before the sun even rises.
3:41 AM
Tati’s phone buzzes. Then again. Then again.
She groans, blindly reaching for it from under her duvet. Twenty notifications. All from Twitter. All tagged with her username.
Her eyes adjust to the screen just in time to read one tweet that sets her heart racing.
“WAIT. LEWIS HAMILTON HAS A BABY? A WHOLE BABY???”
She blinks.
“That fan episode on Drive to Survive is changing LIVES.” “So we all just collectively missed that Lewis Hamilton is married and a DAD?” “That baby had hair. That baby has been around.”
Tati bolts upright. “GUYS,” she shouts, already tripping over her blanket as she runs to the living room.
4:02 AM
Bella, Jules, and Mimi are already huddled around the TV, eyes wide, hair messy, phones buzzing every second with new mentions and tags. Their group chat has blown up. TikTok edits are already circulating. Screengrabs of Lewis holding a pacifier. GIFs of Y/N laughing while feeding the baby. Fan theories. Reaction threads. F1 accounts going feral.
And the kicker?
A video clip from the episode— Y/N saying, “She’s just with your first home, while you go do what you were born to do.”
Someone captioned it:
“Y/N Hamilton is literally so cute. Lewis really won at life with her as his life partner.”
________
Hamilton Residence – Morning
Y/N stirs awake to the sound of Lewis's voice somewhere down the hall, talking softly into the phone.
“Yeah, Mum. We’re okay… Just a little overwhelmed… No, she’s still asleep.”
You blink against the sunlight and sit up slowly, the baby monitor quiet beside you. For a second, it doesn’t register. The stillness. The weight of what they’d shared with the world. Then your phone lights up.
412 unread messages.
You don’t even open Instagram. You already know it’s chaos.
By the time you wander into the kitchen, Lewis is finishing a call and cradling a mug of tea, his phone face-down beside him.
“Morning, love,” he says gently. “How you feeling?”
You shrug. “Like we just let eight billion people into our house.”
He chuckles, coming over to press a kiss to your forehead. “They liked what they saw.”
You eye him, teasing. “I think they liked what they saw on you, Hamilton. I saw someone call you ‘Daddy squared.’”
He groans and hides his face in your neck. “Make it stop.”
“You started it,” you grin, wrapping your arms around him. “You wanted the world to see who you really are.”
“I didn’t think it would hit this hard.”
The moment softens. Lewis pulls back and searches your face, serious now.
“Are you okay?” he asks. “With the baby being public? With us being out there like that?”
You pause for a long moment, then nod.
“I’m okay. A little exposed, maybe. But… I think it was time. I want people to know the version of you I get to see every day.”
He looks at you for a long beat, like he’s memorizing the way you said that.
Then he whispers, “I love you, you know that?”
You press your palm to his chest. “I know. And I love you right back.”
________
Social Media – Throughout the Day
TikTok: “lewis hamilton being a girl dad for 3 minutes straight”
Instagram: A new fan account called @TeamHamiltonHome already has 20k followers by lunchtime
Twitter: “When Y/N Hamilton said ‘She’s just with your first home’ I actually ascended into another dimension.”
Even other drivers are chiming in.
Charles Leclerc posts a story: “Didn’t expect to cry at 7am over Lewis Hamilton rocking a baby.”
Max Verstappen tweets: “Welcome to the Dad Club, mate 👶🔥”
Sebastian Vettel, in rare Instagram form, posts an old photo of Lewis cradling a helmet and captions it:
“Always knew you’d be a softie off-track too.”
________
Girls’ Apartment – That Night
The four friends are still in pajamas, surrounded by takeout containers and ring lights they didn’t mean to set up but couldn’t resist. They’ve been answering Q&As on Instagram all day, doing interviews with local press, and trying to process the fact that they had front-row seats to a life-changing reveal.
“I think my favorite moment was when he said thank you for making the day easy,” Jules says, curled into a blanket. “Like we made a difference to him.”
“I still can’t believe Y/N hugged me twice,” Mimi laughs. “She smelled like coconut and cashmere and I think I blacked out.”
“I’m just glad we didn’t cry on camera,” Bella says.
“You did,” Tati corrects. “They just edited it out.”
They all laugh.
Then, silence.
Not the awkward kind. The full-heart kind.
“I don’t think anything’s ever going to top this,” Bella whispers.
“Nope,” Jules says, smiling at the ceiling. “This was the moment. Everything before it led us here.”
Mimi hums in agreement. “We met our hero. And he was everything we hoped he’d be.”
“And more,” Tati adds. “He let us into his world.”
“And now?” Bella asks.
They all look at each other.
Jules answers softly: “Now we protect it.”
________
Final shot:
A quiet moment back at Lewis and Y/N’s home. The baby asleep on his chest. Y/N asleep beside them, hand resting on his. The camera lingers.
“Some things are meant to be shared with the world,” Lewis says in a voiceover.
“But the best things—the most sacred things—those are the ones you hold closest.”
A.N: this is an experiment that has been sitting in my drafts for a while now, so I thought I could give it a go. It is a little different from how I usually write but hey, I'm experimenting and although I'm not fully satisfied with how this turned out I think I didn't do too bad either, so I hope you like it
(A big thank you to @chiefclown : you know I would be lost without you)
You know just how to be cruel
When you shake your hips that way
I don't care what you say
Michelle, Michelle
You are a monster from hell
The room was quite crowded, voices blending in a lazy cacophony, but she didn't seem to notice as she threaded her way between tables and people without the slightest problem.
As if she were used to it. She probably was.
Glances followed her movements as discreetly as possible, trying to predict where she was headed
It was somewhat painful, and perhaps even a little pathetic, to watch how those hopeful glances were ignored.
It was as if she lived in a bubble. A sphere that separated her from the rest of the world, but at the same time made her stand out.
He too had been drawn in by it
She had taken off her coat before even greeting him, folding it with care before placing it on the back of her chair.
Only after sitting down did she introduce herself, gently meeting his gaze as she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.
When he asked if she wanted to order something, it was as if he had offered her the moon, her eyes widening with delight.
The warmth in his chest had nothing to do with any of that.
As she read the menu, a small pout appeared on her face, her lower lip pushing forward slightly, making her look almost childlike, while a small crease formed between her brows
When the waiter arrived to take their orders, that uncertainty gave way once again to excited doe eyes.
How a mediocre hot chocolate could elicit such a reaction was beyond his comprehension, but if it was enough to make her happy, he would not comment.
There was something about her that pulled, something unhealthy, something strong enough to make him ignore his better judjment just to please her
It was disarming how she could alternate between such childish acts and behaviour that, although innocent in itself, had an extremely sensual undertone to his eyes.
It was the way her gaze lingered on his lips as she spoke, the curve of her fingers as she smoothed her hair, the way she rested her hand on her neck and her tongue sticking out slightly between her teeth as she thought about what she might ask him for her interview.
There was nothing staged or contrived about those movements, nothing that would suggest it was some kind of strategy to get his attention.
All he could see were simple habits, unconscious actions, yet there was something extremely attractive about it all.
That same something was what had prompted him to prolong that simple business meeting into something more; something more uncertain, more on the edge.
On the edge, that's how he felt every time he saw you, every time you spoke to him, every time you touched him.
You would cross your little fingers when you wanted to reassure him during interviews, because he was a person first and foremost, before being interview fodder. You would fix his hair even when it wasn't necessary, because you knew he hated looking messy. You would compliment him for no reason, because you felt like it.
So many small, simple and fleeting things that in any other context would have been forgotten, but for him – for the two of you - they had a weight, an intention.
An intention that was never openly revealed, but which was nevertheless part of your game, a game in which no words were spoken but in which your glances spoke louder than any sound could have done.
You could have done much more than just hold his hand, but it would have been fine with him to do whatever you wanted, as long as you did it just for him.
The delicate nature of your gestures, the care you took in showing him attention, the way you blushed gracefully when he complimented you, the way your gaze slipped away when your eyes met
He didn't know why, but he was somehow convinced that he had made it, that you were his, because it wasn't possible that anyone else could have what he had.
What the two of you had
Perhaps that was why he felt himself drowning when he realised that there was absolutely nothing special about him, that what he had, was something you gave to everyone. That same enticing – dangerous- innocence was something you cruelly offered to whoever stood close enough
He saw it in the gentle but firm movement of your hands as you smoothed Charles' hair, because that way he had a whole new appeal
In your decision to hold Lando's little pinky finger after a less than brilliant race, because he didn't need to face everything alone
In the genuine interest that lit up your eyes when you were focused on listening to Oscar speak, because it was simply impossible not to be fascinated by what he was saying.
In the clarity of your laughter when Max made a joke that wasn't really funny, because his smile in response was worth it.
It was a cruel game. And he would have kept playing, if it meant that even for a moment you felt like his, in the same way he knew he was yours.
Laws Of Attraction (Part 10) - DR x lawyer!fem!reader
Summary: McLaren is in breach of contract, dr3 hires a lawyer to deal with the aftermath. Tropes ensue. Slow burn. Enemies(kind of) -> Friends/colleagues -> Lovers
Pairing: lawyer!fem!reader x Daniel Ricciardo
Warnings (18+): sickening amount of fluff, language, angst, *SMUT*: oral (m + f receiving), fingering, hand job, p in v, overstimulation if you blink
Word Count: 6,892
A/N: If you’re here, congratulations! You made it to the end. A big thank you to everyone that has commented, shared, liked, etc. I can’t believe it’s been over a year since my first post. I had a vision when I started writing this in the middle of the 2022 season, not quite sure where it would lead, but I’m happy with where it landed and I hope you are too. I hope you like wine with your cheese, because this is ~cheesy~. Also, this is my first time writing smut so (1) if you are a minor please do not proceed; (2) if you do like/read smut, I would appreciate any kind of feedback. A big thank you to @cutelittlefakejourneys and @burningcupcakefire for beta-ing. Thank you @paddockbunny, @monzabee, and @silverstonesainz for the insights and words of encouragement. As always, thank you for reading.
Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Epilogue 1
Daniel paced the hallway. He wasn’t accustomed to not getting what he wanted. Sure, in the last few months he had had his fair share of disappointments, but this was different. He was tempted to knock on your door until you answered, but thought the better of it.
He played through the moment in his head again, no different than analyzing a post-race debrief. What went wrong and how could he improve? He was professional during the signing. He knew you loved Geri, you only casually brought up Ginger Spice in conversation no less than a dozen times over the last few months. He knew you’d love to actually meet her – who knows, if everything went well it certainly wouldn’t be the last time for you. He didn’t force himself on you – at this point he knew you were like a cat and he needed to wait for you to come to him or else he’d scare you off. It seemed like the only thing keeping you from ripping each other’s clothes off was your job. Or so he thought.
Now he was confused. It was clear you hadn’t meant to say what you said – but you said it. I could kiss you. Can’t put the toothpaste back in the tube. Four words that looped in his brain. He had spent so much time dissecting the meaning of the word “could,” he felt like he could be a lawyer too. But he had taken his time closing the space between you in the hallway. When he leaned in, you leaned in too. You had ample time to tell him off if he had misconstrued the whole thing, and he would never think less of you if you did, but you didn’t.
No, what just happened was not a rejection. You were just skittish. Like a cat hiding under a bed, you just needed to be coaxed out – slowly. You were food motivated, he’d learned that about you during your first outing in Belgium when you put down more bon bons than he thought was humanly possible. Yes, all you needed was to be approached with patience and understanding - and maybe the promise of a full belly.
-
You leaned against the door and squeezed your eyes shut, embarrassment already crashing over you like a tidal wave. You knew you were being ridiculous and immature. What was it that you were still afraid of?
You stripped off your suit immediately, it felt stuffy and heavy as you overheated, the reminder of your attorney-client relationship falling to the floor. You threw on the first thing you grabbed out of your bag - why did it have to be that pesky yellow dress again?
You paced your room for what felt like hours. Your professional activities with Daniel had officially come to its natural conclusion and yet you were still hesitant to move forward. It didn’t help that you were in a country that banned the cohabitation of unmarried couples, so really, what were you even going to do?
Despite the confessions exchanged back in Mexico and the kiss in Brazil, it was never guaranteed that anything would actually happen once Daniel’s legal affairs were settled. Frankly, you still weren’t fully convinced the conversations ever actually happened. You refused to believe the lingering stares and little touches that lasted a little too long were anything more than pure coincidence.
In spite of all of it, you remained unconvinced about how Daniel actually felt about you. Over the years of failed relationships and first dates that ranged from awkward to bad, you had grown wary and skeptical of romantic pursuits. For all you knew, all his lip-service was simply an elaborate ruse to get in your pants. You thought on this worst case scenario, which really wasn’t so bad. God forbid you have one night stand with a Formula 1 driver and live to tell the tale. It would be a lie to say you wouldn’t be hurt at first if you were correct, but you would eventually be fine. You had been happily single and independent for years, it would simply be a return to your de facto state.
And even if you could take him at his word, you couldn’t help but wonder what that relationship would look like when you had to resume work for other clients and the luxury of constant travel and proximity ceased. How would you continue to keep in touch? How often would you actually be able to see each other in person? Your first relationship was with The Firm, and you knew you weren’t ready to give up your livelihood for him. Then there was the other issue of paparazzi and tabloids - the forced spotlight that would fall on you, resulting in the lack of privacy and anonymity. You had no desire for fame, yet he seemed to be designed for it. You could go toe-to-toe with opposing counsel any day, but you weren’t sure you had his mental fortitude to withstand the cruel and unsolicited opinions of strangers on the internet.
You weighed the pros and cons over and over again in your head. For someone with such a demanding job, it made no sense that it all felt so overwhelming and complicated. But it was telling that the Australian was the first person you wanted to confide in. He was the only one who could ever quiet the constant hurricane in your mind that caused you to spiral if left unchecked. In this moment, you needed him to ground you.
You had been raised to leave hotel room minibars alone unless you wanted to bankrupt you and your entire family for two generations. Going against everything you believed, you took a nip from the stock. Hoping the small amount of liquid courage would do the trick, you checked your reflection in the mirror one last time before venturing to the room next door. You would simply have to assume the risk of the unknown aftermath.
With shaking hands, you opened the door only to be met with Daniel’s presence before you. He jumped slightly at the sudden movement. You did a poor job hiding your astonishment that left you frozen in place.
“Oh… hi?” Your eyes remained wide. He looked around and scratched the back of his head, appearing to be as surprised and confused as you were.
“Hi – I uh,” he took a moment to give you a once over. “I’m sorry are you about to go somewhere? You look nice.” You felt your face turn red immediately, the bravery you built up moments ago dissipating in an instance. He shifted his weight, quickly correcting himself. “Not that you don’t always look nice! I just – you look nicer than usual. I mean-” He seemed uncharacteristically nervous and was digging himself a hole. You looked around the hall to ensure it was empty and took a deep breath to save him from digging any deeper.
“Yes actually. I was going to see you.” He seemed surprised and relieved at the answer.
“No way, I was about to see you!” He shook his head when he saw you bite back a smile. “Obviously, I’ve been standing outside your door,” he laughed nervously, his confidence shrinking by the second. “Not for very long though! You didn’t need to know that. But I wanted to come to say I’m sorry about before, I was too forward back there. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. I just figured, you know, since we went pencils down and everything, maybe we could-”
“Yes.”
“What?”
“Did I stutter?” You walked backwards as you took his hand, leading him through the doorway. He didn’t fight your lead.
“-you don’t know what I was going to ask.” You leaned back, allowing the door to click behind you under your weight.
“It doesn’t matter. The answer is yes.” You gave him a reassuring smile and gently squeezed his hand bringing him closer. “With you it will always be yes.” It seemed both of you were at a loss for words, but they were unnecessary as he took a step towards you closing the small gap that remained. His eyes were enchantingly curious as they gazed into yours. You only looked away for a millisecond, distracted by the tongue that broke free from his mouth to moisten his plump lips. You took a deep inhale in anticipation, your heartbeat bordering on palpitations as his lips closed in.
The moment they met yours, immediately you knew you never wanted boundaries with this man ever again. One hand cupped the side of your face while the other grabbed your waist to pull you closer. You wrapped your arms around his neck in an effort to eliminate any remaining iota of space between the two of you. Your lips danced and moved together in unison, neither of you wanting to come up for air. His firm calloused hands roamed your body, unsure of where to rest. There were so many parts of you he had never touched before and he wanted desperately to become acquainted with them as quickly as possible. He squeezed your shoulders, ran them down the lengths of your arms, moved to the small of your back up towards your neck, in your hair.
The feverishness of it all began to slow, as he tried to memorize every peak and valley. He reverently moved his hands from your waist, dragging them up the length of your spine, one hand finding its way to your hair as though he wanted to remember every hair follicle, the other keeping your body firmly pressed against his. The leisurely pace only teased you, and each spot he touched left your body buzzing. He slowly brought his other hand to find yours again, repositioning so your fingers interlocked. The sweet gesture felt suddenly sinful when he pinned them to the wall, dragging them up the door until they were next to your head. The motion made your head spin, warmth spreading between your thighs, and you inadvertently let out a soft moan.
Ravenous for more, he firmly pressed your bodies together against the door, almost knocking the wind out of you. He pulled away only for a moment, his eyes pleading.
Can I?
You nodded your head frantically, capturing his mouth once more while guiding his hands to the parts you desperately needed touched. One gently cupped your breast while the other roughly grabbed your ass, kneading the muscles underneath. You both groaned in unison at the new sensation.
“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to touch you,” he mouthed breathlessly before finding your neck, hoping the feeling was mutual. You didn’t say anything back, but he could tell from the pant of your breath and the pulse under his lips that it was. You threw your head back as he sucked, licked, and nipped at the sweet spot as he gently grazed his thumb over your bra, immediately feeling your nipple form into a stiff peak underneath. Being mindful of your noise level, you bit back a moan that ended up coming out as a pathetic whimper. You shamelessly pushed your hips against his and squeezed his hand on your breast, encouraging him to explore and desperate for more contact.
You instinctively widened your stance for him to perch himself between your legs. His hand played with the waistband of your underwear through your dress, trailing down to your inner upper thigh.
“Stop teasing,” you hissed. He only smiled into the kiss in response, his tongue pushing into your mouth to shut you up.
Your hands followed their own curious whims. Those pecs that you had gotten an eyeful of several times felt warm and firm under your touch. Your palm dragged down the ripples of his abs, gently landing over the front of his pants. You gasped feeling him harden under your touch for the first time, eliciting a low growl from him in return. His hips pushed forward in frustration, eager for more. You allowed him some relief, undoing his belt and pants, cautiously reaching inside. Your eyes widened.
“Holy shit,” you muttered as you grabbed around his length, your hand suddenly feeling quite small. He looked you dead in the eye, that familiar cocky smirk and twinkle returning to his face.
“Come on,” he flashed you a wicked grin. “You knew it had to be big.” You laughed at his boldness, which only inspired him to double down. “I know how to use it too.”
“That’s some awfully big talk.” You already had goosebumps from your head to your toes, but you weren’t going to let him know that just yet. You would make sure he worked for it. “I’ll believe it when I see it.”
“It’s not the only thing I know how to use.”
He captured your mouth in a gentle, chaste kiss as he used one hand to pull up the hem of your dress. His other hand snuck under the skirt, slowly dragging it across your skin. Rough and calloused from racing, they felt tantalizingly delicate.
“I was going to prove it, but it looks like I already convinced you.” He drew little spirals around your clit over your panties, barely applying any pressure. You bit your lip and looked up to the ceiling, praying for relief from the building tension. To your chagrin, his hand began to pull away.
“No. Please,” was all you could muster, your brain searching for more eloquent words that escaped you.
“Please what?” You reached for his crotch, hoping the action would suffice as an answer, but he grabbed your wrist to pin it to the door. “You have to use your words.” You felt the words on his breath that seeped through your skin.
“Please touch me.” Frustrated, you used your free hand to try to get him to fully take your dress off which was only getting in the way. He obliged, releasing your other hand to get a hold of the fabric. You put your arms up as he gathered the material over your head. Throwing the garment aside, he pulled away slightly to observe you for a moment. His eyes widening as they moved down your frame, trying and failing to hide his growing smirk.
“Do you always wear pretty underwear when you close a deal? Or are these for me?” He played with the pink lacy textile between his fingers, admiring how they accentuated the contour of your waist and hips.
“Both,” you gasped as he dragged a finger down your front. It passed over your clit, down to the fabric covering your entrance, smiling feeling how embarrassingly soaked you already were through the thin material.
With a chaste kiss on the cheek, he proceeded to leave a trail of kisses down your neck, chest, stomach, until he reached the hem of fabric. He continued over the garment, bypassing the spot he knew you needed him to your inner thigh. The gentle touches and the scruff of his beard almost tickled, panting as he moved down your body.
He looped his thumbs around the sides of your thong, pausing to look up hopefully for permission. You nodded with lidded, lustful eyes. He couldn’t hide his dimples and he continued to tease, dragging your panties slowly down your legs, taking care to pick up each foot to get you out of them. Your heart swelled as you observed him treating you so delicately, like a fragile porcelain doll. His trail of kisses started again from the bottom, beginning at your ankle, to the inside of your knee and again to your upper thigh until he reached an apex.
“Hold on.” You weren’t sure what he meant at first. Then without warning, he grabbed your hip and threw your opposite leg over his shoulder, finally diving into your center. Your hands instinctively found their way to his head to stabilize yourself, accidentally letting out a yelp in the process which soon after turned into a low moan as his tongue swirled slow circles around your clit. “You taste so fucking good,” he mumbled into your skin.
The vision of him on his knees fully clothed, contrasted with your nakedness enhanced his touch and sent you spiraling. Your hands raked through his gorgeous curls as he lapped you up. The pressure he applied gradually increased, culminating to him inserting a finger in you, then two. You slapped a hand over your mouth as the pressure pooled and he found his rhythm with his tongue and fingers. He knew you were close when your legs started to shake and squeezed around him. The waves came crashing over you as you bucked your hips erratically. He removed his fingers so that he could stabilize you, but his mouth never stopped.
He finally put your other leg back on the ground when your hips slowed and stood up. Your legs almost buckled from underneath you but he caught you before you could fall, lifting you to walk to the bed.
You watched him carry you wordlessly, your brain still short circuiting from your orgasm only knowing enough to wrap your legs around his waist and your arms around his neck. Not because you thought he’d drop you, but because you wanted to be as close to him as possible. It still wasn’t close enough.
He sat himself down on the bed with you landing in his lap, legs still wrapped tightly. There had never been a time where the two of you have been in the same room and exchanged so few words. You continued to stare at each other, simply amazed to be in the same space and sharing skin after three long anguished months of resisting forbidden fruit.
Your gaze fell to his swollen lips that you desperately wanted to taste again, still shiny with your essence. His hand pressed up your back until he grabbed a fistful of hair, bringing you in fervently for another kiss. It was the kind of kiss that enveloped you, that turned your legs to water and caused currents in you to flow creating bountiful energy that begged for release. Your hands roamed from his shoulders, down his chest and abs to the hem of his shirt. The two of you pried it off together and he threw it somewhere on the floor. Your mouths met again gluing your torsos together, your currents crashing in a tidal wave of electricity and emotion.
You unwrapped your legs to straddle him, lightly pushing him backwards. He pulled you with him as you both fell into the bed, smiling into each other and little giggles filling the air. You rolled your hips over him, annoyed with the layers that still separated you from the waist down. You reached down, sloppily pushing at his pants to demonstrate your displeasure. He understood your message, weaving his arms past you to finish the job and shimmying his legs until they were off. You reached down the waistband of his boxer briefs, teasing your fingertips just underneath but not going further. It thrilled you to feel his muscles tense underneath your touch. He nipped your bottom lip when your hand moved further south, and you could feel his jaw clench.
He pulled away suddenly, and you couldn’t place the look on his face which made you nervous.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing! It’s just…” his hand cupped the side of your face, caressing your cheek. “We don’t have to do anything if you don’t want to.”
Your heart swelled at how delicate he was with you, at how much he cared. But you didn’t want to be treated delicately. And now you almost felt bad about how much you’d teased him up to this point. Almost.
“Do you know,” you said sitting up, your hand ghosting over the outline of him through his boxer briefs, “I had a sex dream about you. Right before the Japanese Grand Prix.”
“No,” he ground out.
“You had my legs spread on a desk in some McLaren office.” You felt his whole body clench again as you slid the last piece of clothing down his legs. As though the thought hadn’t crossed his mind every time you admonished him for not paying attention or not taking things seriously in those early days. The frequency of course increased, to every time you bent over, smiled, or played with your hair, to simply existing. For once, he was the one blushing and you found it entirely endearing. “I’ve literally dreamt of fucking you for three months. I want you and I need you. Now.”
His pupils dilated at your words, and his hands moved possessively from your face down to your ass where his fingers sank into your skin hoping to mark and keep you. He tried to find the words to communicate how badly he wanted and needed you too, but blood was no longer flowing to his brain and no words seemed perfect enough for you. His shaft twitched against his toned stomach, eager for your touch. You relieved him, wrapping your full hand around his impressive length pumping up and down a few times, your gentle grip slowly firming with each stroke.
“Fuck,” he muttered under his breath. His hand found your waist and you felt his grip tighten as you continued. You slithered down his body until your mouth aligned with him, spitting over his tip. He felt voyeuristic watching the saliva drip from your tongue. You looked up to see him gripping the sheets for dear life.
“Is that alright?” He nodded fervently.
“Only if you want to,” he croaked out. Bless this man, who just wanted to make sure you were comfortable even though it looked like his eyes were going to roll back into his head.
“I do. Very much,” you insisted. You dragged your tongue slowly from the base of his shaft to his tip. “You made me feel good.” Lick. “Now I want to make you feel good.” His shallow breath hitched when you finally took him in your mouth. Your eyes watered as he hit the back of your throat, you looked up to make sure he was still breathing. You found him slack jawed, but eyes full of lust. He brought a hand to your head. You prepared your gag reflex expecting him to force your rhythm, but instead simply pushed your hair out of your face.
“Fuck, you look so good.” You felt the slickness spread between your thighs at his praise, adding a hand to his base where your mouth couldn’t quite reach. You increased your speed, moaning into him. He happily absorbed the vibrations, reflexively bucking his hips into you. You tasted salty precum at his tip and could tell he was close.
“W-wait,” you slowed your pace but didn’t remove him as you looked up again. “I don’t want to finish yet. Not like this.” You slowly pried yourself off him, finishing with a satisfying *pop* as you released him. You saw his chest rise and fall at an alarming rate. He helped pull you up, interlocking your fingers in the process.
“What do you want?” you asked, knowing you would do whatever came out of his mouth without hesitation.
“Grab my jeans?” You couldn't hide your skepticism, but nonetheless begrudgingly left the nicest seat you’ve ever known to find his pants somewhere on the floor. You resumed your spot on his lap as he frantically searched his pockets, finally locating his wallet and fished out a condom. Everything else found its way back to the ground. Eyes wide, he maintained a death grip on the condom. “You’re sure?”
You smiled. You thumbed his jawline as you brought your foreheads together. “I’ve never been more sure about anything in my life.” It took him about four seconds to process what you said, but when he did closed the gap between your lips in a messy and desperate kiss that sucked the air out of you. It dizzied him too and only pulled away when he remembered he had to open the condom. You leaned back to give him some space as he struggled with the wrapper. His brow furrowed in frustration as he tried to steady his shaky hands.
“I swear I’m usually a lot smoother than this,” he muttered. You bit back a laugh.
“I believe you.”
“You just make me nervous,” he admitted, uncharacteristically bashful. “In case you couldn’t tell.”
“Hardly noticed,” you said sarcastically, but reassured him with a giggle. “It’s very endearing, if it makes you feel any better.” You calmly grabbed it from him.
“It does,” he confessed as he let you take it from his hands. Without breaking eye contact, you ripped the wrapper easily with your teeth. You felt him twitch under you as you wriggled yourself against him in content, allowing him to feel your arousal. He swallowed thickly. “Where did you learn that?”
“That’s for me to know and for you to find out,” you smirked. You moved off him for a moment, and he took the chance to stroke himself a few times, watching you absentmindedly. How your hair, now perfectly tousled, fell around your shoulders. How gravity worked miracles on the swell of your breasts. How your waist sloped into your hips and thighs. You patiently presented the condom back to him and he used all his concentration to take it from you to roll it down his length. He looked at you hopefully when he was done and you rewarded him with another kiss, your hair cascading around the two of you creating a protective curtain around your new little intimate universe.
You both watched as you eased yourself onto his cock, voyeurs of your own lust. Your moans harmonized as he bottomed out. You felt deliciously stretched and full. Complete. You began slow to adjust to his size, teasing him in the process with your agonizing pace, rising up to the point of almost dismount before sinking back down again engulfing his full length.
“Does this feel good?” you cooed, already knowing the answer as you swirled your hips with him bottomed out inside you, tormentingly slow.
“Yes. Fuck yes,” he groaned as he palmed your ass. “You’re so fucking tight.” You dragged a hand from his chest, down the ripples of his abs, towards where the two of you intercepted. With his jaw clenched, he sank his fingers in your hips, trying unsuccessfully to steady them as you continued to rock. “You look so good with me inside you.”
He lifted his hips to meet yours as proof of his enjoyment, the new angle jolting you forward slightly. A moan escaped as you found a rhythm as you rolled your hips back and forth, itching for the friction of his skin against your already swollen clit. Your pace quickened as his length hit that sacred spot deep in your core over and over. The bounce of your tits mesmerized him. Unable to resist, his mouth found a nipple, flicking his tongue back and forth over the sensitive peak that had you seeing stars.
“Fuck, I’m so close,” you whimpered. You felt the pressure pool and coil in your lower abdomen. Your eyes closed when he grabbed the back of your head, gently pulling your hair.
“Look at me. I want you to look at me when you come.” All you could do was nod in response, worried that any sound you might let out at that point would alert the whole building. It was impossible to look away from his gaze even if you wanted to. You bit your lip as the pressure continued to build, hypnotized by the repetition and sensory overload. You rocked back onto him a final time before reaching your release, collapsing on forward onto his chest and his name falling off your tongue like a prayer as your hips slowed and stuttered.
Yes
Daniel
He’d never heard a more beautiful sound before. His mouth caught yours again, absorbing the moans that continued as you rode out your orgasm. He wrapped an arm around your lower back to pull you flush to his chest and began to upthrust, building to an excruciating pace. You held onto his shoulders for dear life.
“W-what are you doing?” You knew you sounded pathetic, barely able to form the sentence. He smirked.
“Getting you to Number Three.”
“I can’t,” you whined. He pulled you close and rolled the two of you over, taking care to remain buried inside of you. You gasped at the sudden movement, eyes wide when you landed on your back.
“Three’s my lucky number.” He gave a few slow pumps before pushing himself up to spread your legs. He admired the change in your face at each new angle, each expression more perfect than the next. He brought his thumb down to your clit and watched you whither under his touch. With the new view he knew he wouldn’t last much longer. “Don’t worry, I’ll do the work this time.”
You couldn’t argue with his logic. The only response you could give were incantations of profanities as he fucked you into the mattress and his gentle finger rubbing the sensitive nub just above where your bodies joined. He glistened as beads of sweat formed over his body, enhancing the contours of his muscles with each thrust. It was all too much. You felt your walls begin to clench again, your body eagerly anticipating its reward.
Daniel saw your mouth mold into an “o”, the slight twitch of your muscles, and felt the pressure that was building inside you. He prayed you were close knowing that his stamina would soon run out.
“That’s it. Come for me.” Daniel counted his blessings that he should be so lucky to have a front row seat, not once, not twice, but three times to your orgasms. You were so beautiful. Too beautiful. He couldn’t stop himself from chasing his own high as he watched you twist and contort under him. His thrusts became more frantic and erratic as your moans filled the room until he spilled into you, lurching forward but catching himself before fully collapsing on top of you.
Finally the motions stopped, except for the quickened rise and fall of your chests as you both tried to catch your breath. You blinked at each other a few times, still unable to move or think. Daniel broke the silence.
“Holy shit.” You couldn’t help the stupid grin that formed. You pressed a hand to his cheek just to make sure he was still real.
“That good, huh?” He begrudgingly began to move and pulled out of you, rolling over to your side. He propped himself on his elbow and looked down on you, absentmindedly drawing patterns on your soft belly.
“I was just going to ask if you wanted to grab dinner. But that was way better.” You both laughed as you nuzzled into each other, still peppering the other with butterfly kisses and holding onto the belief that the world was the size of a queen-size bed.
Eventually he got up to go to the bathroom. As soon as he left your side, the intrusive thoughts returned and you began mentally preparing yourself for the inevitable goodbye. You watched silently as he searched the floor for his underwear, blissfully unaware of your inner turmoil. This was fun you repeated in your head. It will be a good story to tell you tried convincing yourself.
He came back to bed and snuggled up against you.
“Now what?” he asked innocently. You squinted back at him, laughing slightly.
“That’s an awfully loaded question, don’t you think?” He seemed confounded for a moment.
“I mean, I was just thinking we could get food now? What were you thinking?” You forgot that men could be such simple creatures. Maybe it was the audacity that allowed them to go about life blissfully unaware or unconcerned about hypothetical what if’s and unintended consequences of their actions. But for now, maybe you needed to think like a man too. You didn’t need to solve all the world’s problems in one night. Maybe all you needed was to just enjoy whatever this was for whatever time was left before you got on a flight tomorrow to return to reality.
“Yeah, I guess I worked up an appetite.” He broke into a wide grin. He grabbed your face to bless you with a kiss on the forehead before fetching the menu.
“Great. I’ll order us room service.”
-
Your eyes fluttered open the next morning. Scenes from the night before played on a loop in your head. Sweaty bodies entangled in a sea of limbs. In your experience, men who were that charismatic and that good looking rarely knew what to do with the bodies they had been blessed with. And yet…
You were afraid to open your eyes, not ready to let go of the memory that brought a smile to your face so you kept them closed a bit longer. Instead, you extended a hesitant hand to the other side of the bed expecting to feel the warm body of your evening companion, but you felt nothing. You reluctantly opened your eyes.
“Dan?” Your voice was soft and hoarse from sleep. Nothing. Maybe he hadn’t heard you.
“Daniel?” You tried again, a bit louder this time. Still no response.
You slowly got out of bed half asleep, the line between your dreams and the real world still not quite defined. You zombie-walked to the window, delicately drawing back the blackout curtains of the hotel room. You winced as your eyes adjusted to the natural light. Your clothes were still on the floor where they had been unceremoniously discarded, but the other outfit that had kept them company had disappeared. Your heart fell.
“Daniel?” you tried one last time, voice cracking slightly. Maybe he was in the bathroom. Maybe he had eaten something bad yesterday. You knocked on the door before cautiously opening it. You stood in the doorway a beat too long, unable to move from the empty space. He had been so convincing, so charming, and you fell for it. You had been so guarded and careful, you thought you had sniffed out any unsavory motives and you still were left feeling used and abandoned.
You blinked back tears before they could fall, hiding your defeat from no one in particular in the privacy of your hotel room. You wiped your eyes, chugged a glass of water, for some masochist reason put on your Enchante sweatshirt and got back into bed. It was still early, maybe you could sleep another few hours before you had to get ready to go to the airport. Maybe that sleep would help you forget and ease the overwhelming humiliation and melancholy that fell over you.
As you began to drift off, a noise at the door startled you awake. You realized it was the sound of the door key and grabbed sheets to cover yourself quickly, unsure what else to do.
“I’m not ready for housecleaning!” you yelled uncertainly, praying it was in fact hotel staff and not a burglar.
“Hey hey hey, it’s just me. Good morning to you too.” You slowly peaked your head from under the covers, shocked at the sound of the reassuring, achingly familiar Australian accent. The driver stood in the foyer, his hands overflowing with bags and precariously balancing two coffee cups. You sat up a bit more as you processed the sight in front of you.
“What-?” you trailed off. He seemed nervous, but a smile never left his face.
“I, uh, wanted to surprise you with breakfast. There’s a little place down the street. But you looked so peaceful sleeping and I didn’t want to wake you, so I grabbed your room key. But I realized when I got there I didn’t know what you liked, and my phone died, so I kind of got one of everything…I hope that’s ok. I didn’t mean to scare you –“
As he rambled, you had silently gotten out of bed to grab the cups from his hands, placing them on the table along with the insane amount of bags, one by one. With all obstacles removed, you enveloped your arms around his neck and stamped his lips with a kiss. He was surprised by the sudden gesture but returned it eagerly, his hands still familiarizing themselves with you. He blinked a few times when you pulled away.
“I promise I will get breakfast for you every day if you like it that much.” You laughed with a smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes, and you looked away.
“I thought you left,” your small voice shrank in embarrassment that you had jumped to conclusions so quickly. You couldn’t bring yourself to explain further.
But you didn’t have to. He wrapped you in a bear hug crushing you into his chest, his lips nuzzled into the crown of your head, his body heat invigorating you.
“I’m sorry, I should have texted or let you know where I was.”
“No, it’s silly. I was being overdramatic.”
“It’s not silly. And I’m not going anywhere.”
“But what does that mean?” you asked in exasperation. He pulled away and looked at you in disbelief that you would even ask such a question.
“What do you want it to mean?” You bit your lip in frustration.
“Daniel, don’t be obtuse. In a couple of hours we’re getting on different planes to go to opposite sides of the world.”
“And?”
“We’re not going to see each other.”
“Well then it’s a good thing I know people with private jets.”
“I still have to work.”
“I’ll come to you.”
“My apartment is small.”
“I can pack light.”
“What if you meet someone else when we’re not together?” He let out an irritated sigh.
“I don’t want to meet anyone else.”
You were stumped. He could read the confused look on your face and gently grabbed the sides of your shoulders. “You know, for someone so smart you can be really dumb sometimes.” You crossed your arms.
“Hey!”
“I know it’s hard for you to believe for some reason, but I want to give this a real shot. I want to take you on a proper date. See what things look like when I’m not paying you to spend time with me.”
You looked down, feeling a little guilty about how much you doubted him. You couldn’t help that you were risk averse by nature.
“Did you just… Socratic method me to get me to understand that you like me?”
“Did it work?”
“Let’s just say you have a bright future as a law school professor if this whole driving thing doesn’t work out.” You paused for a moment, still trying to wrap your head around everything. “So… you really want to give this a go?” He rolled his eyes.
“Is it really that hard to believe?”
“I mean – yeah, a little. The world that you operate in is just so much different than mine. Your world consists of beautiful people.”
“You’re beautiful,” he retorted. You blushed but didn’t let the comment throw you off your stride.
“You know what I mean. Your world is glamorous and luxurious. My world is average. It’s a lot of take-out, it’s late nights on the phone with Joe, it’s boring suits, it’s work - without the recognition and without the spotlight. You could have any actress or model or singer in the world and you pick me. Can you blame me for being skeptical?” His face fell slightly as he realized that you didn’t think your shine was bright enough for him. But it was quickly replaced with something mischievous.
“What are you talking about? You’re a singer,” he said matter-of-factly. You rolled your eyes.
“You’ve unfortunately seen me do karaoke, we both know that’s a lie.”
“Your morning shower performances beg to differ.” He laughed at the terror that flashed before your eyes as you threw your hands over your mouth, but quickly reassured you. “I’ve listened to you every morning since we got here. It’s the best part of my day, until I see you.” He pried your hands from your face, holding them in his. “And the last thing you are, is average. Can we please just try?”
You bit your lip, unable to contain the blush spurred by his words of affirmation. The squeeze of his hands on yours caused the dormant butterflies in your stomach to flutter their delicate wings and rise to your chest. A comforting warmth enveloped you, it rose to your cheeks and the answer was there plain as day on your face for him and the world to see. No, it couldn’t hurt to try.
“Only if… you’ll do a duet with me.” After holding his breath for what seemed like eternity, his joy and happiness hanging in the balance waiting for your response, he broke into a toothy grin that used every dimple and laugh line on his face. Without skipping a beat, he threw you over his shoulder and made his way to the bathroom leaving a trail of your giggles in his wake.
Laws of Attraction (Part 3) - DR x lawyer!fem!reader
Summary: McLaren is in breach of contract, dr3 hires a lawyer to deal with the aftermath. Tropes ensue. Slow burn. Enemies(kind of) -> Friends/colleagues -> Lovers
Pairing: lawyer!fem!reader x Daniel Ricciardo
Warnings: language, alcohol consumption, sexual themes, NSFW for a hot sec
Word Count: 2,604
A/N: It’s been a while! I’m sorry I’ve been MIA, work/life took over. Thank you everyone who read Parts 1 and 2, and thank you for your patience. I realize there is likely going to be a part 4, and given the ~significant~ break I apologize for the cliff hanger. Friendly reminder that this is still new to me, so I appreciate any and all feedback both positive and constructive. Enjoy!
Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Epilogue 1
You were thankful for the two-week break, again hoping the distance would subdue your growing crush. Much to your dismay, you had inceptioned yourself. The seed of physical attraction developed into more despite every attempt to nip it in the bud. To make matters worse, he texted you twice a day every day while you were away: one work related and one miscellaneous – a cute dog he saw cross the street, a yummy meal he had, a song he thought you might like, other general statements of opinion. Eventually the latter turned into plans for the U.S. grand prix. You didn’t quite understand his fascination with the whole cowboy americana aesthetic, perhaps because you grew up in the states so you were disillusioned to it. But it made him happy which you found endearing. He had asked for your input when he was undecided on which boots to get, and excitedly texted you pictures of an American flag bomber jacket and ostentatious belt buckles. You shot him with a few pleasant but short responses, whatever sparks joy or love that journey for you. Two days before press day though, you received a message that made you question your entire career path.
DR: Can I bring a horse to press day? You blinked a few times at your phone.
Y/N: To clarify, you want me to research FiA rules to see if you can bring a horse to the paddock and I will get paid for that time?
DR: Yes [insert horse emoji]
You swore this would be your last celebrity client. You couldn’t believe you went to law school for this.
Y/N: Yes, you can bring a horse. It just needs a badge pass like any other guest which you would need to submit 24 hrs in advance.
DR: What if you don’t know the horse’s name?
Y/N: Press day is in two days and you don’t actually have a horse?
This was by far the strangest client interaction you had ever had. First you were in disbelief from the initial question, and now here you were less than an hour later incredulous that your client didn’t actually have a horse lined up for his arrival to the circuit in forty-eight hours. Oh how the turn tables.
DR: Well I just thought of the idea, so no.
Y/N: It’s a horse, Daniel. I’m pretty sure you can just make up a name, it’s not like it’s going to perjure itself.
So when you got there for press day in your pink suit, prepared for meetings with other teams to discuss reserve seats, it took everything in your power to keep a straight face as Daniel strode in on Horsey McHorseface, with handler and country singer in tow. As a human being with a soul, it was objectively hilarious and you loved that he gave zero fucks, understanding that this very well may be his farewell tour. As his attorney though, you wished he had gone something for a little more subtle. He tipped his cowboy hat and winked as he passed you. You crossed your arms and rolled your eyes, but your body was on fire. The whole stunt was absurdly corny, it shouldn’t have done anything for you and yet you were undeniably turned on.
You went about your respective days, yours’ filled with back-to-back team meetings. You should have been laser focused, but you struggled to maintain your composure as you fought off visions of Daniel’s mustache adorned face between your legs. You reconnected at the end of the day so the two of you could debrief to discuss your findings. You kept your eyes on your notes in the hopes that avoiding his gaze would keep fantasies of you riding him like a show pony at bay. Flashbacks of the gentle roll of his hips on the horse threatened your demeanor, but you pushed through. Thankful to have made it through the exchange with your dignity mostly intact, you made your way towards the door when you thought the meeting had ended. However, you realized Daniel wasn’t moving.
You waited in the doorway, turning to face him. “Are you coming?”
He paused. “I actually wanted to ask you something.”
You closed the door again, thinking he had more questions about Red Bull or Mercedes. “You can ask me anything. What’s up?”
He took a deep breath. “…Do you want to come to the race on Sunday?”
You chuckled, assuming he was simply nervous about the race. “You know I come to all your races, it’s good facetime with the other teams.” You gave him a reassuring smile. Could you sense nerves?
“I know! Which is great. But I meant… as a guest. I thought maybe you could leave the work at home for a day. Consider it a thank you for all your hard work.”
“Oh.” Your breath caught in your throat. Your mind went through every worst case scenario, trying to think of an out. You drew a blank.
“Oh what the heck. Twist my arm, I suppose I could swing it.” You did your best to suppress your eagerness, despite feeling the heat rise to your cheeks. He grinned, but not before your phone rang. “Ah shoot it’s Joe. I gotta go, but I’ll see you Sunday!”
You passed Lando on your way out who suggestively wriggled his eyebrows at you, seeing both you and Daniel with dumb smiles plastered on your faces. You jokingly flipped him off as you continued your conversation with your boss.
-
You decided to leave the suits at home since you technically weren’t in client meetings. The Texas heat was oppressive – you wanted to be comfortable but not scandalous. You didn’t think the denim short/cowboy boot combo would be appropriate, and it really wasn’t your thing anyways. Instead you settled on a flowy yellow midi sundress. You stared at your work tote longer than you should have. Rarely did you go anywhere without it, you were paid handsomely in part because you were available 24/7. Throwing caution to the wind, you grabbed a small crossbody bag instead.
You made your way over to Daniel when you arrived at the paddock. He looked concerned as his eyes traveled over the crowds.
“Everything ok?”
“Oh, I was just looking for my lawyer, not sure if you’ve seen her. She’s about yay-tall, wearing a stuffy suit.”
You wrinkled your nose at his jab at your casual outfit, you lightly shoved him. “Very funny. I know it’s shocking but I do own and wear other clothes when I’m not working.”
“I wasn’t aware you didn’t work,” he jested.
“If we’re being technical about it…I can still get emails on my phone.”
In the midst of a comfortable chuckle, his hand found its way to the small of your back as he walked you to where you would be watching the race. You felt electricity course through you at the soft touch. You debated on whether to remove it, but decided it was an innocent enough gesture.
You both stopped when you got to Lando and his girlfriend. Realizing who you would be enjoying the day with, the optics of all of this began to dawn on you. It was too late to back out now.
“Well, this is where I leave you. You two behave yourselves.”
“No promises!” Luisinha called after the boys. You gave Daniel a small smile and wave as they walked away, your confidence shrinking. Luisinha, a literal model, was even more stunning in person. Internalized insecurities you thought you moved past long ago made themselves comfortable in your mind. You were proud of the person you had grown into, inside and out. You were all about women supporting women and you knew you shouldn’t compare yourself to her, nor did you have any reason to. All the same, you felt small and insignificant next to her. It also made you realize even if you were not his lawyer, there was no way in a million years you had a shot with The Daniel Riccardo, charming world renown Formula 1 driver who had his choice of any woman on the planet.
It was a humbling realization, which ultimately boded well for you. In setting your delusions aside, you resolved to have a lovely day of racing with hopefully a new friend and nothing more. You felt a calm rush over you and relished in the freedom that came without the weight of expectations.
You turned to Luisinha with a warm grin. “Hi, I’m y/n.”
-
Unfortunately, the good company did not translate to a good race. You were happy for Lando who placed a strong 6th, but with all the hype leading up to it, Daniel had only finished 16th. You heart broke for him as you waited by while he gave his post race interviews, his signature smile notably absent. He excused himself after the last interview, and you silently followed him. When you caught up, you found him sitting on the floor in quiet corridor, his back against the wall and his head in his hands. Saying nothing, you sat down next to him. The two of you remained like that for a while, a quiet understanding silently exchanged.
Eventually you check the time. The beginning of the weekend had held the promise of potential, with big plans to hit the town to match. But in a death by a thousand cuts, today’s race delt a final blow to the driver’s confidence. You were sure at this point a party of any kind was the last thing Daniel wanted. You cautiously broke the silence.
“I’m sorry about the race. We don’t have to do anything you’re not up for.”
He briefly hesitated, but weakly smiled for the first time since that morning. “Are you joking? I’m not passing up a chance to go out in my favorite city. I can rally, promise.”
You gave him a knowing glance, understanding he was putting on a brave face. What for, you couldn’t tell.
“Well, you have six hours left of work-free y/n. I’m at your disposal.”
“What happens in six hours?”
“I turn into a pumpkin,” you quipped. You bumped shoulders and smiled. With that, he stood up first and offered his hand to pull you to your feet. Without letting go, he started walking.
“Excuse me, where are we going?”
He chimed back with a line you had heard before: “I know a place.”
-
You ended up in a dive bar with some of the other drivers and their significant others. It was the first time you had met a lot of the others aside from Lando. Perhaps it was because they weren’t your clients, but you found yourself somewhat starstruck. It’s not that you hadn’t seen them around the paddock, but it felt like the first time you were truly brushing elbows with them. You were sure Lewis couldn’t have such flawless skin up close, nor could Carlos’ hair be so voluptuous, yet there they were in the flesh right next to you. You needed a drink to loosen up, and the McLaren crew had had a rough day. Coming in hot, you ordered a round of pickle back shots.
Luisinha was equally fascinated and disgusted. “What is this again? And why are there two? And why is one… green?”
“First you do the shot of whiskey, and then you chase it with a shot of pickle juice. The pickle juice neutralizes the burn from the whiskey and it has electrolytes so it’s kind of healthy!” She hesitantly sniffed the pickle juice and grimaced. You laughed, “Don’t ask questions, just drink. You’ll love it!”
A few more shots and beers later, your inhibitions had dissipated and you were dancing sloppily with Luisinha, feeling the base from the live band through the soles of your shoes. Work, for the first time in months, was the furthest thing from your mind. As you twirled and jumped and sang off key to your heart’s content, you failed to notice the familiar presence of your client approaching.
“Is it ok if I join? I come bearing gifts,” Daniel asked as he shimmied his way into your circle, handing out another round of beers. You can’t help the ear-to-ear smile that makes its way to your face.
“Come dance with us!” you shout over the sound of the bar. Luisinha raises an eyebrow. You both got along swimmingly during the race, and in that time you had clearly conveyed to her that you were Daniel’s lawyer and nothing more. “I’d get on that if I were you,” she teased at the time. You had laughed it off and dismissed it immediately. But seeing the two of you now with your rosy cheeks and lazy smiles, she was fully invested in stirring the pot.
The night’s debauchery continued, Luisinha secretly observing your exchanges. So when Lando tried talking to Daniel about race things, she not-so-discreetly intercepted.
“Honey, why don’t we go grab some more drinks?” Lando, clearly confused, was not picking up what she was putting down.
“What? But I just got us another rou-“
“Pleeeaaase, I’m so thirsty I need some water!” At this point she simply grabbed his wrist and dragged him away, but not before throwing a wink in your direction.
In your drunken stupor, you weren’t exactly picking up what she was putting down either. All you knew was that you were having a blast. So you decided to keep dancing with Daniel, ignorant to the fact that the crowd had begun to thin. It started with the two of you attempting and failing miserably at line dancing. Which led to you trying to teach him square dancing that you learned in the fifth grade. You lost track of how many times you stepped on each other’s feet and between fits of laughter, you didn’t realize how your hands were comfortably intertwined or the distance between your bodies decreasing.
He spun you away and back in. As you twirled into him a final time, your chests crashed into each other and your hand landed on his shoulder while his found its way to your waist. It was only in that moment with your faces inches apart that you became suddenly aware of your proximity. Feeling his breath tickle your face, you felt like your heart was going to beat its way out of your chest. Your gaze lowers to his plump lips then back to his eyes, counting the freckles. Your laughter slowed, unsure of what was so funny a minute ago.
You broke eye contact to look at the hand resting on his shoulder. What happened next felt like an eternity, but likely only lasted a few seconds. In one moment, you were relishing the feeling of his strong muscles under your touch and the warmth emanating from him, taking note of the rise and fall of your chests in unison, your pulse extending to the furthest reaches of your fingertips. Then, in a quick turn for the worst, your eyes fell to your wrist. According to your watch, you should’ve turned into a pumpkin two hours ago. The haze of the day and the bar and the alcohol lifted, reality quickly setting back in. In a sobering moment, you met his eyes again desperately trying to telecommunicate what you couldn’t put into words. Was he aware of the delicate bubble you two had created for yourselves? Did he realize how fragile it was? Did he know it just burst?
You stepped away from him. “I’m sorry,” was all you could muster before you turned and left.
Laws of Attraction (Part 4) - DR x lawyer!fem!reader
Summary: McLaren is in breach of contract, dr3 hires a lawyer to deal with the aftermath. Tropes ensue. Slow burn. Enemies(kind of) -> Friends/colleagues -> Lovers
Pairing: lawyer!fem!reader x Daniel Ricciardo
Warnings (18+): language, alcohol consumption, COPIOUS sexual themes, references to self pleasure, NSFW for a hot sec
Word Count: 5,548
A/N: Happy Enchante drop day! Remember that time I thought this was going to be a one shot? Well, here’s part 4 and apparently there will now be a part 5 which I’m pretty sure will be the last one unless there is an epilogue. Thank you for your patience, while I had a strong sense of the story I wanted to tell in the beginning, I’ve had some trouble trying to figure out how to wrap it up. As always, any feedback is welcome. If you enjoyed, please like, comment, and/or reblog xoxo
Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Epilogue 1
Daniel stood there dazed in the middle of the bar, unsure of what just happened. One minute, he and y/n were dancing and laughing, then you were suddenly gone. He felt sad, but he couldn’t pinpoint why.
He barely had a second to reflect when people started swarming him, men and women alike, trying to find their way into the driver’s orbit. Some of them just wanted pictures, some tried to make small talk or flirt. Despite being surrounded be people clamoring for just a fraction of his attention, he was incredibly alone.
It was late, he was tired, and it was time to leave.
-
By the following weekend for the Mexico Grand Prix, you had not spoken to your client since that night in the bar. You wished you had blacked out so you could simply pretend it didn’t happen, or blame your behavior on the excess alcohol, but unfortunately for you your memory of the night was crystal clear. The scene replayed over and over in your head. First comes the shame, at how much you enjoyed the feeling of his touch on your waist and the warmth of your bodies pressed against one another. You wonder what might have happened if you had closed the tiny gap between your lips. Would it have stayed a drunken bar make out session or would it have overflowed to the hotel? Would you have gone to his room or yours? Would it have been sloppy and desperate or slow and sensual? Would he be a gentleman in the morning or would he kick you out? When you finish going through every single permutation of what could have been, that’s when the embarrassment sets in. Embarrassment that you let the whole thing happen and that you basically ran away without an explanation, saying goodbye, or much else. Finally, the wave of guilt over abandoning him after an emotional weekend when he probably needed you most. You couldn’t see how you could come back from this.
Fortunately you hadn’t had a reason to be in the same room together, but that would soon be coming to an end. Despite the temptation of margaritas and empanadas and tropical sun outside, you mostly stayed in your hotel room, throwing yourself deeper into your work and trying anything to distract yourself from the anxiety of the unknown fallout from what may or may not have occurred in Austin. There was a lot of positive movement happening with both Mercedes and Red Bull, which you should have been ecstatic to share with your client. And yet you were terrified to make contact with him.
As things seemed to be coming to a head in reserve driver negotiations, the partner set up an in-person client meeting on the morning of press day. You hadn’t been this nervous the first time you met Daniel or going into hostile negotiations against Zak Brown and McLaren. You changed outfits no less than seven times before heading out and no amount of power posing made you feel any better. Normally you would have gotten to the meeting at least fifteen minutes early, but you were worried Daniel would show up before Joe which would leave the two of you by yourselves. You uncharacteristically arrived on time, and ended up being the last person to join the meeting. You could tell Joe was slightly annoyed.
“Y/N, so nice of you to join us.”
You cringed. “Sorry. There was…uh, traffic.” You knew it was a lame excuse, but you couldn’t be bothered. You glanced over at Daniel, but he kept his eyes focused on the desk. For a meeting that should have been filled with excitement over the prospect of possibility, it felt somewhat somber.
You went over where he stood with Mercedes and Red Bull. The discussions between Daniel and the teams had been successfully kept under wraps until the last week or so, when a photo of Toto in an Enchante sweatshirt began circulating the internet. Though nothing was finalized, sleuthing fans thought this was an obvious hint that Daniel had signed with Mercedes. While it wasn’t the end of the world, you had hoped Daniel would be able to make his decision without the pressure of public comment or opinion. You were sure he had the mental fortitude to do so regardless, but you felt the need to protect him beyond your professional fiduciary obligations. He had already been through enough.
You pressed through the meeting, keeping your comments technical and brief. As usual you exchanged handshakes at the end before going your separate ways, though he hardly looked your way before he turned to leave. Once out of the room, Joe began to discuss next steps with you but his words went in one ear and out the other. You felt nauseous as the growing pit in your stomach failed to subdue. You thought back again to the night at the bar and your abrupt departure, and the last few days where you easily could have sent a text to reassure him or ease the tension, but you didn’t. You were the attorney and you were responsible for maintaining the attorney-client relationship, which you failed. You had to go find him.
You cut your boss off as politely as you could. “I’m so sorry, sir, I just realized… I forgot my, uh, charger! And I need to… respond to another client’s email. So I have to go.”
He quirked an eyebrow. “Are you ok? You seem flustered today.”
“I’m fine!” You were absolutely off your game, but you didn’t want to show him any signs of weakness. “Just, jetlagged?” You mentally slapped yourself as soon as the words came out of your mouth. While it might have worked for almost any other F1 race on the calendar, Austin and Mexico City were in the same time zone. The partner knew something was up, but he had too many other things to worry about than the mental breakdown of a low level associate.
“Ok. But I expect a draft of redlines by the end of the day.”
You were practically already out the door as you called out “Thank you, sir! I’ll be sure to get those to you as soon as possible!”
You were running around the paddock like a crazy person, unceremoniously shoving media personnel out of the way. You made your way through the maze of hallways and offices, the click-clack of your high heels announcing your presence before you got to wherever you were going.
In your haste, you didn’t notice running past Lando.
“Y/N!”
“Can’t! Don’t have time!” you called back, not even bothering to figure out who was addressing you.
“Y/N! It’s me, would slow down for two seconds?”
Finally, you stopped and turned. “Oh thank goodness.” You doubled over, huffing and puffing from the unexpected cardio. “You can help me. Where’s Daniel?” you asked between breaths.
“He went to his dressing room after your meeting. Whe-?”
You were already around the corner before he finished his sentence. “Great, thanks!”
You barreled your way towards Daniel, your run turning into a lame waddle from the constrictions of your shoes and pencil skirt. You did not pause when you arrived at your destination and pushed the door open without knocking. You doubled over again and leaned against the wall once inside.
“Can I help you?”
You were so exhausted you almost missed the fact that the driver was shirtless. It was a sight to behold, especially after months of imagining what might be underneath. Your eyes lingered longer than they should have on his toned pecs, moving their way down to his chiseled abs and the “v” that pointed its way to his pants. You knew he was still upset with you, but it didn’t stop the small smirk threatening its way to his face. But you were a woman on a mission and you refused to be distracted.
“I’m sorry,” you got out, still panting. “I fucked up.” You looked away while he put a McLaren shirt on, taking the moment to catch your breath.
He sat down and motioned for you to do the same, which you graciously accepted. He took you in. In the span of less than an hour, it felt as though he was looking at before and after photos of an ad but in reverse. You seemed so composed during the meeting and now here you were, blazer lopsided and unbuttoned, hair tousled, sweat beading at your forehead, cheeks flushed, and breathless. It was simultaneously hilarious and insanely hot, but he wasn’t going to let on anything at this point.
“What the hell happened?”
You started talking a mile a minute. “I wanted to talk to you right after the meeting, but Joe wanted to talk about next steps and I tried to get away as soon as I could, but then I couldn’t find you –“
“Not now you dodo, last week after the race.” You blinked a few times. Now that he was in front of you, the thoughts running in your mind from before went blank. He came to your rescue, filling in the silence.
“All I know, is that we were having a good time and then you left me in the middle of a bar by myself without saying goodbye after one of the shittiest races of my life. I haven’t heard from you since, and I know you haven’t been hungover for four days straight. I appreciate you coming in here and apologizing, but respectfully, what the fuck.”
You looked away in shame. You weren’t sure how you were going to handle this without disclosing your feelings. You took a deep breath and swallowed your pride, proceeding cautiously.
“What happened at the bar, and how I acted afterwards, is entirely a me problem and I could have been more… strategicabout how I handled it.
“Strategic!?” You winced and closed your eyes, immediately regretting your choice of words. Clearly insulted, he continued. “Strategic is how you describe a Bond villain, or a business deal, not how you treat a friend-“
You jumped out of your chair, interrupting him out of frustration. “Don’t you get it? That’s the whole problem!” You couldn’t tell if you wanted to hold his hand or punch a wall. “I love that you are basically the human equivalent of a golden retriever. I love how comfortable we are together, and I’m a firm believer that you do better work when you know and like the people you work with. But you are my work at the end of the day. You are my client. There’s literally a whole ethics exam that is separate from the bar exam and it’s really easy. (1) Don’t comingle funds; and (2) don’t sleep with your client.” He raised an eyebrow. You sat back down.
“Obviously, nothing happened on Sunday. But… it felt like it toed the line of what is acceptable in my professional capacity. I know this is probably very one sided and it’s all in my head, but it felt like something could have. If Joe or anyone else ever found out, I could lose my job or my license over something like this. That being said, I do not blame you one bit. I’m the one that let things get out of hand, and I realized it in a single moment, and I freaked out, and left. And I’m sorry. For all of it.”
Daniel looked at the floor, his cheeks dusted slightly pink as he processed your admission. “It wasn’t in your head,” he whispered. His gaze rose to meet yours, but you covered your face with your hands.
“Fuck, don’t tell me that.” You tried to keep your tone light as if you were trying to joke it off, but you were very serious. You had convinced yourself this was a delusional fantasy of your mind’s creation, which would have been very easy to let go. But now it had been spoken into existence with the revelation that those feelings were reciprocated. It had legs and took up space. It was terrifying. You sighed as you slouched back in your chair, feeling defeated and mind reeling. “Look. Let’s just chalk this up to the fact that we’ve been spending a stupid amount of time together for the last however many months. Can we please just pretend last weekend never happened so we can move past this?”
Daniel sat for a moment. Of course he had forgiven you as soon as you stampeded your way into his room. There was a lot about Texas he wanted to forget, but his day with you was not one of them. Maybe you were right that the feelings the two of you evidently had for each other were just the product of forced proximity, but right now he didn’t want to believe that. Time and time again this season when he felt like he couldn’t go on, you had been there with support and compassion. You grounded him while he mellowed your intensity. You provided logic and reason while he extracted adventure and vulnerability. He was Yin and you were Yang. You couldn’t make up a connection like that. Yet, he would never want be the reason you lose your license, let alone the job you love so much.
Looking at you now, all he wanted to do was scoop you up and kiss you. Instead, he stuck out his hand. “Deal.”
You smiled softly, giving a firm handshake. “Thanks.” You paused. “So, we’re good… right?”
Of course you were. How could you not be? He had a million things he wanted to say. Instead, all he could get out was: “Yeah. We’re good.”
-
You weren’t sure what was in the water. Maybe it was you, or next year’s team prospects, or simply the energy of Mexico, but Daniel gave his best performance of the season finishing a strong P7. For the first time since you met him, a genuine smile graced the driver post-race. Professionally, you knew this would be great to leverage in finalizing negotiations. But as his friend, your heart was exploding with pride. The crowd was roaring in celebration, everyone was a Daniel Ricciardo fan. After a tough season, you had forgotten this side of him. What you wouldn’t do for those dimples. You kept your distance though, allowing him to revel in the spotlight. It was killing you not to run up to him, but you wouldn’t have been able to get to him if you tried.
The post-race interviews would probably take a while so you decided to head out. As you fought your way through the media, you felt someone tap your shoulder. You assumed it was just standard foot traffic, so you kept moving until you heard someone call your name. You were shocked to find Christian Horner trying to flag you down.
“Y/N!”
“Christian! What a pleasant surprise, I assumed you would be busy.”
“I saw my favorite lawyer walk by, I had to say hello.”
Christian was an interesting character. Admittedly you had not looked forward to working across the table from him initially. He came across as arrogant, hypocritical, and conniving. You thought his only redeeming quality was that he was married to Ginger Spice, but soon found that was only second to how much he cared about Daniel. Given how Daniel departed Red Bull all those years ago, you wrongly assumed that bridge had been burned so you were nervous when you first approached the team for negotiations. It was quickly apparent how unfounded those feelings were after the first email. Christian was there when Daniel made his F1 debut in 2009 as an awkward teenager and watched him grow and molded him into a seasoned driver. It was clear he would give him both kidneys in a pinch.
“Honored and humbled,” you teased. You were almost shouting due to the swarm that quickly surrounded you due to Christian’s presence. You continued walking, “Running away from interviews now, are we?”
“Funny you should say that. I am, because I keep getting some interesting questions about a certain third driver seat.” He was being coy, and knew exactly what he was doing with all the journalists around you. “Are there any updates I can report back on?” He was more persistent than a used car salesman.
“None at the moment, I’m afraid. I promise you’ll be the second person I tell when I do.”
“Second? Who has me beat?”
“Your wife, of course.”
“Maybe if this thing closes, Geri might be open to grab some celebratory drinks.”
“I don’t know Christian, that sounds like a bribe to me.”
“Good seeing you as always, counselor.”
You laughed as you parted ways. You had been able to fly under the radar, until recently when snooty media noticed you going in and out of various meetings. You thought everyone would leave you alone when Christian left, but a few eagle-eyed personnel stayed with you.
“Does this mean that Daniel Ricciardo has a home for next year?”
“Can you confirm Daniel is going to Red Bull?”
“I’m unable to disclose any information, those discussions are protected by attorney-client privilege.”
Legal obligations be damned, the handful of media continued to follow you. You repeated the same statement in eight different ways, you tried ignoring them to no avail. You continued walking, hoping at a certain point they’d give up. Certainly there were at least a hundred other people around the paddock significantly more important and interesting than you.
“I think you guys confused the pretty lady for me?” You recognized the voice immediately. You were thankful for your savior shifting the attention away from you, except that the swarm around you returned ten-fold in an instant. The Australian entertained their questions while helping you navigate the crowd. You knew he and his PR advisor had prepped for this, and you were impressed how he skillfully dodged their questions while making them feel as though they had gotten a profound, headline-worthy snippet.
He fought the instinct to put his hand on your back to help guide you through the mob. You stayed close though, unnerved by the increasing number of people around you. As you continued to walk side-by-side, unsuccessfully willing yourself to become invisible, your fingers grazed. Instinctively, you flinched and pulled your hand away at the contact. He continued engaging with the media but took a moment to meet your eyes. His gaze was not judgmental nor offended, instead offering you reassurance. You realized how silly you were being and dropped your hand. The tips of your pinkies momentarily met again and the warm feeling you felt in the bar before everything went sideways came bubbling back. Only this time it made you feel safe and secure, not scared or embarrassed.
“As fun as this has been guys, I have big plans with some tequila shots and a mariachi band that I must attend to.” Even his excuses could charm the pants off the most scrutinizing reporter. He politely excused the two of you, pulling you away into McLaren hospitality. The doors shut behind you, immediately muffling the outside noise.
“Is it always like that?”
He took one look at you and burst out laughing. You might be able to keep certain thoughts to yourself, but often times your facial expressions gave you away as they did now. Your eyes, wide and unblinking. Your mouth, contorted into downward frown. In the distance, *sirens*.
“Don’t laugh, that was traumatizing!” you whined.
“In all fairness, it didn’t always used to be this bad. But you get used to it.”
“Please, you were born to be in the spotlight. The camera loves you.”
“Just the camera?”
You gave him your most aggressive side eye. It was hardly an appropriate comment given your conversation on press day, but you knew he was just joking. You raised your hands. “You know what, that’s on me. I walked into that one.”
“Had to go for the low hanging fruit.”
You looked around. McLaren hospitality was quiet, but not empty. You hoped no one noticed the light flirtation that was taking place. You changed the topic.
“I forgot to say congratulations on today! You must be so proud of yourself.”
“Yeah, it feels nice.” You know what else feels nice? “It’s been such a long, hard season. Y’know?” You know what else is long and hard? “I’ve just been really pounding away with trainings and everything -” You know what else you can pound?
You smiled and nodded while you continued to tally the that’s-what-she-said jokes and innuendos in your head.
“- and I feel like there’s been this gaping hole -” Surely he has got to hear himself.
You bit your lower lip to keep from giggling and cursed yourself for your filthy mind and having the sense of humor of a twelve year old boy.
“-but all in all it’s been a good day, yeah?” Finally.
“Yes, for sure. I’m really happy for you.” There was a pregnant pause before either of you spoke again. He could tell that you were distracted though he wasn’t sure why. You were concerned about keeping yourself in check.
“Anyways, this has been lovely as always. Enjoy the rest of your night, I don’t want to keep you from your Mariachi band.”
“You’re not going to celebrate?”
You looked around, again being mindful of potential witnesses. “What are you talking about, we’ve been celebrating your points finish since the end of the race. You go have fun, I was just going to stay here and get some work done until things clear out a bit more.”
“Not for me. It’s Halloween, you know.”
Actually, you had completely forgotten. But you quickly realized where this conversation was heading. “That’s nice.”
“Lando wants to show off his DJ side hustle at some club. It will be fun.”
“Now there’s something spooky,” you said sarcastically.
“You should come.”
“I don’t know if that’s a good idea.”
The stare down between you continued as you went about your delicate dance around the elephant in the room. He took a step towards you and grabbed you gently by the shoulders.
“Nothing will happen. Promise,” he whispered. You looked up at him.
“I don’t have a costume,” you lightly countered.
“We’ll get you one.”
You pursed your lips. You had a million other excuses in your head, but you trusted him. How could you say no?
-
It had been a while since you had been in a club, and truthfully you weren’t sure you were cut out for it any more as you approached thirty. The flashing lights and heavy bass were giving you a migraine. That being said, it was a very different experience than you remember and being the guest of a VIP had its significant perks. When you got to the venue you almost didn’t even get out of the car when you saw the line down several blocks. As it so happens, when you’re a Formula 1 driver you can skip the line. And get attentive bottle service as opposed to fighting your way to the bar and pray the bartender notices you. Not to mention easy access to the DJ booth. As he had assured you, there were plenty of other people around to act as buffers.
Sure enough, Lando was at the helm of the DJ booth along with his girlfriend and a few of the other drivers and their respective significant others. As soon as the others saw you, they burst out into laughter. If you were ever concerned whether you could ever fit into Daniel’s world, this experience quelled any uncertainty. What Daniel’s skeleton costume lacked in creativity, yours’ made up for in leaps and bounds. Why be a sexy nurse or police officer when you could be American Daniel Ricciardo? American flag bomber jacket, cowboy hat, belt buckle, poorly drawn facial hair and all - which looked even sillier given your short stature. It was clear the resourceful last-minute look was well-received and earned you a warm welcome.
As the night went on and the drinks flowed, you leaned more into your Danny Ric persona including donning a poor Australian accent. Daniel continued to converse with the other drivers but watched you from a distance, trying to remain respectful of your prior agreement. Even with your face covered in smudged eye makeup to mimic his beard, he loved seeing you in his clothes. You were practically swimming in his jacket and he was sure it was the cutest thing he had ever witnessed. When you thought no one else was looking, you subtly grabbed the collar and gave it a sniff, deeply inhaling the owner’s fragrance.
Seeing you try to pick up his scent caused something primal in him to awaken. In another world he would have put on his usual moves to woo a lady back to his hotel room, which admittedly didn’t take much. First, he would buy you a drink. Then after some short flirty back and forth, he would move the two of you to the dancefloor. He would be behind you while you grinded - in a club packed like this, your bodies would be pressed closely together. He would place his hands on your waist and slowly move them down to your hips, rubbing small circles with his thumbs. Eventually he would leave kisses on the side of your neck, while finding your hands to hold. He would spin you around and ask if you wanted to go back to his place. Inevitably you would say yes, and the two of you would leave and begin your makeout session in the back of his private car to avoid suspicion by nosy paparazzi. Finally when you arrive at your final destination, he would fuck you senseless.
His mind was reeling at the possibilities. But you were no ordinary lady and you didn’t deserve his usual moves. You deserved so much more. And he couldn’t give you any of it.
Meanwhile, the constancy you had to stay away from your muse diminished as the night went on. The champagne was easily accessible and went down even easier. The club was hot and stuffy, though it was unclear if it was from everyone’s collective body heat, the Mexican climate, or both. You decided to take off the jacket, wrapping it around your waist, leaving in you a plain white tank top. It was far from being the most scandalous outfit in the room, but Daniel was doing everything in his power not to stare. It was a stark contrast from the conservative suits and dresses he’d gotten used to seeing you in, showing off every curve of your body. Again, he should have been turned off by the beard makeup alone but it endearingly complimented the cleavage that threatened to spill its way out of your shirt. Eventually you found yourself next to him again.
“G’day mate,” you said tipping his hat. You weren’t sloppy, but it was obvious that your usual social filter was long gone.
“Is that absolutely necessary?”
“What are you talking about, I’m Daniel Ricciardo. This is my voice. Pew pew pew” you gave him some finger guns and blew them out before returning them to their imaginary holsters. He couldn’t help but laugh.
“That is by far the worst Australian accent I’ve ever heard in my life.”
“I can switch to Steve Erwin if you want.”
“Please don’t.” You ignored him.
“Crikey! Here we see the Formula 1 Driver in his natural habitat.” You gestured over to Pierre shamelessly trying to flirt with a model with a bottle of Ace in hand. “Ah yes, the young male has spotted a potential mate. We will now get to witness his intricate mating ritual.”
He watched your face as you continued your animated nature documentary play-by-play of Pierre. He always felt lucky when he got to see this side of you. Silly, unfiltered, and unincumbered by responsibility.
He leaned into you. “I’m glad you’re having fun.”
“I am. Are you having fun – oh!” Someone had pushed their way past you forcing you to fall into the driver, inadvertently smushing your bodies together. He placed a protective hand on the small of your back further pulling you into him while trying not to spill the drink in his other hand. The buzzing returned with a vengeance. It was hard to ignore the soft of your breasts pressed against his muscly torso. You blushed profusely at the new sensation of your hips meeting, feeling the bulge of his pants against your pelvis.
“Are you ok?” You finally pulled your bodies away from each other, your cheeks on fire from the heavy and unfamiliar contact.
“Oh I’m fine. But on that note, I should probably head back.” You hoped he would he would attribute your flush to all the champagne you consumed, and prayed your “beard” was covering for you. The fluttering sensation between your legs refused to cease.
“Ok, I’ll call the car.”
“No, no, I can just call an uber it’s fine.”
“You shouldn’t leave by yourself.” It took a minute for you to realize he was looking out for your safety, not inviting himself to your hotel room. You again felt embarrassed at your own misinterpretation.
“I don’t want to make you leave though, you should keep celebrating.”
“I’ve celebrated enough, I’m happy and tired and ready to go.”
“Are you sure?” He smiled and turned his hand into a fake phone.
“I’m calling it,” he said into his hand. You laughed at the reference to the joke he had with Lando about ‘calling it a day,’ thankful that he found a way to break the tension.
-
The car ride back to the hotel was relatively quiet. You squeezed your legs together to quell the growing heat below your waist and kept your hands in your lap to prevent them from accidentally wandering. Your heart rate had not slowed since you bumped into one another. You closed your eyes to try to center yourself and redirect the energy of your raging hormones.
Two feet away, Daniel was in a very similar situation dealing with his own demons. The smell of your perfume mixed with this own cologne intoxicated him. He forced himself to think of his home in Perth to keep his mind from wondering to all the ways you could be bent right then and there in the back seat.
You thanked the driver getting out of the car. The walk to your respective rooms felt like an eternity. You pressed for your floor when you got in the elevator and waited for him to do the same, but he did not move.
“What floor are you?”
“Don’t worry about it, I’ll walk you to your room.”
“Oh, I don’t think that’s necessary.”
“I just want to make sure you’re safe.” You looked at him from the corner of your eye.
“Fine. I’ll allow it.”
You again stood there in silence side by side as you waited to reach your floor. You cursed the mirrored walls of the elevator. With a few drinks in you, you allowed your lidded eyes to wander all over Daniel’s reflection from the neck down. Fortunately for you he didn’t notice your ogling, but only because he was doing the same thing. In the middle of your respective daydreams, your pinkies accidentally grazed again, pulling you back to reality. Your eyes finally met in the mirror.
“Sorry,” you said under your breath, taking a step away from your client.
“All good.” You both diverted your gazes for the rest of the short ride. You got off the elevator and walked to your room.
“Well, this is me.” You paused, finally making eye contact again. “Thanks for inviting me out, I had fun tonight.”
“Me too.”
“Oh, before I forget here’s your hat and jacket.” You went to remove the hat but he stopped you.
“Don’t worry about it, they look better on you anyways.” It was a questionably appropriate line, but he didn’t care. At this point, neither did you.
“I’m not sure when I’ll wear them again, but thanks.” You smiled to yourself, your hands fidgeting with the fabric of his jacket. He was still looking at you when you looked back up. The chatty driver was uncharacteristically quiet. You were both stalling, though it was unclear what for. You decided to rip off the band-aid.
“Good night Mr. Ricciardo, congratulations again.”
“Good night y/n. I’ll see you in Brazil.”
“I’ll see you in Brazil,” you repeated.
When the door shut, he placed his hand on it for a moment. His mind, again, going to all of the places that were off-limits. With a sigh he left for his room.
On the other side, you leaned your head against the door and squeezed your eyes shut. Sloppily undoing your jeans, you stuck a hand down your underwear to offer relief from the building tension. You were soaked. With reckless abandon, you grabbed your vibrator and shamelessly indulged yourself in the filthiest fantasies regarding your client the rest of the night.
