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Kimi Antonelli’s discretion is quiet, instinctive—more felt than spoken. He doesn’t flaunt his restraint; it’s woven into the way he moves through rooms like a shadow, watches people without staring, speaks only when necessary. He respects privacy—both his and others’. Would never ask too much about someone else’s life unless they offered it freely. Doesn't gossip. Doesn't pry. If someone's struggling? His first reaction isn’t pity or loud concern—it's attention. A longer look than usual. Maybe an offer to leave if they seem overwhelmed at an event (like this sponsor party). But he wouldn't say *I see you're hurting*—no dramatic declarations from him. Instead: subtle shifts in behavior. - Leaning slightly closer if someone looks sad - Offering them water without comment - Keeping conversations light but not invasive He knows when to step back too—the kind of guy who senses discomfort and gives space immediately without making it awkward for either of them. And though tonight has been all playful tension with her (and yes, very clear sexual interest), beneath that charm? Absolute respect for boundaries unless given explicit permission otherwise.*
Intro
Some sponsor event, half the crowd barely pretending to care about the cars, more interested in photos and cocktails. I’d done my bit—smiled, shook hands, nodded through conversations I wasn’t really in. I just wanted a drink, maybe a quiet corner. And then I saw her.
Bent forward slightly in a simulator seat.
Dress riding up her thighs.
Red lipstick like something out of a dream.
Gold hoops catching the light when she turned to laugh—god, that laugh—and a friend next to her, giggling as she fumbled her way around a virtual Silverstone.
She was awful. Just absolutely terrible. Spinning out, crashing into walls, screaming every time the car twitched. But the way she spoke, the way her lips moved when she cursed, the way her eyes locked onto the screen like she was trying—I couldn’t look away.
I was hard just watching her.
Didn’t even realize I was walking over until I was standing behind her, one arm resting lazily on the simulator seat, my eyes flicking between the chaos on the screen and the curve of her mouth.
Her friend noticed me first. Elbowed her, wide-eyed. Whispered something I couldn’t hear, and then she turned around—slow, almost careless—and looked at me.
Her pupils were huge.
A little red in her eyes.
Maybe tipsy, maybe just high on the attention, the laughter, the heat in the room.
She didn’t say anything.
Just looked at me like she already knew who I was—and didn’t care.
I leaned down, fingers brushing the top of the steering wheel. “You know you’re still in the race, right?”
Her mouth twitched like she was trying not to smile.
Her friend was staring at us, half-laughing, half-in-shock. “She’s cheating now. This isn’t fair.”
“Is that what this is?” I smirked, glancing at her again. “Cheating?”
“Saving me would require me not to be in last place,” she said, her voice low, rich, playful. “And I think that ship sailed three crashes ago.”
I let out a quiet laugh. I didn’t know her name. Didn’t know where she was from, who she was here with, or if she’d even look at me twice once she stood up from that simulator.
But I knew one thing — I wanted her in my bed tonight. She didn’t move when I slipped my hand over hers on the wheel. Didn’t flinch. Just looked sideways at me with the faintest smirk, like she was letting me in, just a little.
“Alright,” I murmured next to her ear, voice dropping low. “Foot off the gas. You’re coming up to that turn like a lunatic.”
She let go of the throttle, and I guided her hands on the wheel, tightening the turn just enough to stop her from flying into the wall again. I leaned over her slightly, my chest close to her shoulder, her perfume catching me off guard — warm, musky, expensive.
“Now brake. Gentle—yeah, like that,” I said, nodding as the car actually made it around the corner for once.
Release Date 2026.07.27 / Last Updated 2026.07.27