Turbulence [𝗠.𝗩.]

▪ Monaco, Summer Shutdown, Day Seven ▪

SPOTTED: Jessica Bond and Max Verstappen back in Monaco after a group holiday with other F1 drivers. So far, there's been no comment from either camp about the rumours of their closeness. - @F1Gossip_Guru

⸻

MONACO
SUMMER SHUTDOWN
AUGUST

"Salut Jessica! Ravie de vous revoir!" Isabella's hands are on my shoulders as she greets me with way too much energy for someone who gets up at the crack of dawn to feed chaotic cats. I quickly give her a Salut! In return as Max opens the door to his place, which wakes up the cats. They start yowling and inspecting the suitcases we bring in.

I go to the kitchen to put the kettle on, briefly catching what I think is Isabella giving Max a rundown of how things were while we were away. She points at the half-empty bowls and the fancy water fountain as she talks.

When I come back over to Max, to take his spare bag from him, he's bright red.

"Au fait, vous êtes adorables tous les deux." Isabella says as she shuts the door behind herself, leaving me to wonder what she's said, given Max is still blushing.

"All good?" I ask him, taking the bag away from his slightly limp hands.

"Uh-huh." His voice cracks. I laugh, despite the fact I'm now fairly sure she just teased him about... ah fuck, she probably said something about us.

I move our bags out of the way whilst Max starts making himself a coffee. He still looks a little unsettled, and I'm curious.

"So... What did she say that's got you blushing?"

He rubs the back of his neck, avoiding eye contact with me. "Just, uh, casual teasing about us being adorable."

I walk over to join him as he's trying to keep the blush away. "Adorable, huh?"

He splutters over a response. I can't hide my gleeful grin. It's fun to turn the tables for once. Had I known it was this easy before, I would've perhaps had more confidence sooner.

"I suppose you can be adorable." I stretch onto my tiptoes, pressing the lightest of kisses to his jaw. "When you want to be."

His head tilts down; he misses a chance to kiss me. It's deliberate. I haven't forgotten what happened in France. He's not off the hook for that, even if we both knew we couldn't take things any further. "And when I don't?"

That dark tint returns to his eyes. The corner of his mouth twitches. His hands are on my waist as he moves me, trapping me between himself and the kitchen side. I have to place my hands on the edge of the counter so I don't lean back far enough to give him total freedom to follow through on what I know must be wicked ideas running through his mind.

My lips part to let words out. My brain doesn't provide any. Every thought explodes into wisps of smoke. My body acts without full understanding. Our lips collide in a mess of passion and need. He effortlessly lifts me up, onto the side, so that he can grab my legs and pull me flush against him. My ankles hook around each other because I'm not letting him back off. No. Not this time.

My hands slip under his shirt as he grabs a fistful of my hair, yanking my head back to my surprise and his enjoyment. The sore patch on my neck is attacked again; I have no shame at the cry that escapes my throat. It hurts, but I want the hurt. My nails rake angry lines down his back; he hisses at the pain, lips forming a seal around an aching part of my neck—

Someone's knocking at the fucking door.

The growl of frustration I let out gives him a mild surprise. It's followed by a grin as he realises just how tightly my legs have pulled. He has barely any room to move. We can both feel each other's desperation. The knocking at the door happens again.

"I don't fucking care who it is." I dig my nails into his shoulder blades. My voice is low, with need and want blending into one.

Someone calls Max's name: Charles.

Fuck sake.

A hand covers my mouth as Max resumes his interrupted attempt to plant a hickey on my throat. My nails dig deeper into the soft skin on his back as I moan against his hand. Fuck, I hate him. I hate him and I want him. My back arches softly; I'm trying my best to crush my body to his. His teeth scrape at my skin and another noise is muffled by the hand clamped over my mouth. He knows what he's doing. Bastard.

I'm panting when he backs away, adjusting his jeans to hide his erection. I fix him with a glare. One that tells him: This isn't over. I'm off the counter before he opens the door to a gleeful Charles Leclerc, who takes all of two seconds to realise he's interrupted us. He starts laughing so hard, he's bent over.

"Fuck you, Leclerc!" I hiss at him, which does nothing to stop him from taking a gleeful pleasure at how he's managed to interrupt us twice now.

"Ah—!" He cries, wiping his damp eyes. I want to hit him. "So, you do have claws!"

"Yeah, well, maybe I got the fuck over myself." I answer, feeling the warmth of embarrassment hit me like a train.

"La pauvre." He looks at me with mock sadness. I'm now seriously contemplating throwing the abandoned coffee at him. "Je savais que j'avais raison à son sujet. Ce sont toujours les plus sucrés qui ont un côté sauvage."

"Fuck you." I repeat. It's all I can do. I don't know what he's saying, and he's enjoying this far too much.

"Aw, poor Jessica." He mock pouts at me for a few seconds before straightening his expression out. "Looks like you have to wait longer... not that you don't know how to do that already!"

Motherfucker.

-

Translation(s);

Salut Jessica! Ravie de vous revoir! - Hi Jessica! Nice to see you again!
Au fait, vous êtes adorables tous les deux. - By the way, you two are adorable.

La pauvre. Je savais que j'avais raison à son sujet. Ce sont toujours les plus sucrés qui ont un côté sauvage. - You poor thing. I knew I was right about her. It's always the sweet ones that have a wild side.