Montero - Toto Wolff

4| Reprimanded

Your back slammed into the side of the Mercedes motor home, with Toto leaning over you, his hand still wrapped around your elbow like a vice. No opportunity arose for you to loosen his grip, and you remained pressed against his rigid body.

"You're hurting me." You said. Your voice was weak and quiet as you stood vulnerable.

He looked down at you, his dark eyes peering over his face mask and down at you. There was something about him right now, with how he was stood, that reminded you of a movie villain.

The Austrian let go, your arm flopping limply against your side, "I want you to respect me," he moved a strand of hair that had fallen in front of your face. Again, he wasn't wearing his ring, only donning a blue bracelet and his typical watch.

"You have to earn respect, Toto," You groaned and tried to slip past him. "It's not my fault that there was something wrong with the tyre."

He said, "Watch your mouth!" he pulled his mask down around his chin, "Not only have you embarrassed me, you have made yourself look like a petulant child."

Despite his tone, he did have some credibility to what he was saying. And that just pissed you off more.

Before you could think, you shoved him back, "You didn't compare me to a child last night." you teased and stepped past him.

Now free of him, you carried on walking towards the hotel, desperate to go elsewhere. It was awful with Toto being this argumentative. But part of you liked it.

He called your name - well, yelled it - across the paddock. Why on earth he did that, you had no clue.

And now you were stood still, hands balled by your fists as you turned to face him.

"Here. Now." He demanded and pointed right before where he stood.

You were intimidated and insulted as he stood there acting as though he owned you. Part of you liked it, it made you feel as though you'd have a helping hand with things, but you were independent and didn't want him to dictate your life.

"You cannot be serious," A laugh escaped your throat as you stood still, arms crossed in front of your chest. "I'm not coming to you, last I checked, I'm walking away."

He started walking towards you, the anger on his face evident, the burning between your legs making this all the more exciting as you darted between the McLaren and Ferrari motor homes.

If you wanted to evade him, then you'd have to play the long game - lead him on and hope he tires. There were some golf karts near the Aston Martin motor home.

As you turned the corner, your chin went straight into a chest, the white shirt crinkling under your sore skin as it's owner heaved breath... angry breath.

His hands wrapped around your upper arms and squeezed the skin in his anger.

Toto looked furious.

"You look angry." You stated and took a slight step backwards.

"Correct." He replied.

You relaxed eyes, giving him the look that often got you out of trouble throughout your life, "How about you put that anger to good use, Sir," you knew what you were doing with the way you acted.

This was probably going to end well for you, but for Toto, he'd be giving in, breaking whatever ruse he was putting up right now.

His grip softened, "Is that so, Peach?"

Your face contorted into a look of confusion. What sort of pet name was 'peach'? In all your years of living you'd never heard anyone refer to someone as peach... unless they were discreetly talking about someone's ass. But no, this was Toto, a man technically old enough to be your father, calling you 'peach'.