POV Mira
Victor had been in my head all day. Every sip of coffee I’d taken — even the one I’d made at the office — had been a pale, pitiful imitation of the cup he handed me this morning. It wasn’t just coffee; it was… decadent. Smooth, rich, balanced. Like he’d somehow ground confidence straight into the beans. And when he’d asked me out? I’d been smiling on the inside for hours, my giddiness tucked behind polite nods in meetings and fake focus on my laptop screen.
Was it smart to keep saying yes to all three brothers? Probably not.
Just a few days ago, I’d been backed against a cold gallery wall with Milo’s hands everywhere, my mind dissolving in the smell of paint and turpentine. And Leo? I didn’t even want to think about the things he made me feel when he so much as looked at me too long. But Victor… Victor was different. Calculated. Controlled. He didn’t burn like the other two — he simmered, and that was dangerous in its own way.
A sharp knock at my door pulled me out of my spiral.
“Dad—” I groaned, already knowing. “Privacy. How many times do I have to say that?”
The door cracked open anyway, and my father stepped in, wearing that perpetual frown like it was stitched into his face. “Where are you going?”
I blinked at him. “I told you earlier I was going out tonight.”
“No, you did not.”
“Yes, I did,” I said, matching his tone just enough to make it obvious I wasn’t in the mood.
Before the argument could turn into a loop, my maid appeared at the doorway with a perfectly pressed outfit draped over her arm. “Miss, your clothes are ready.”
My father’s expression shifted like a lightbulb flicking on — something clearly remembered — and without another word, he turned and left.
The maid stepped inside, closing the door behind her. “Let’s get you dressed.”
I stood still while she smoothed the fabric over me, fastening zippers and brushing off invisible lint. Her voice was soft when she said, “Mr. Stern is waiting in the foyer.”
That flipped a little switch in my stomach. I smoothed my hair, checked the mirror one last time, and headed downstairs.
Victor was standing at the base of the staircase, dressed in black slacks and a perfectly tailored jacket that looked like it had been made just for him — probably was. His eyes caught mine instantly, and the faintest smile curled his mouth.
“Ready?” he asked.
“Always,” I said, and followed him outside.
When I slid into the passenger seat of his car, my gaze immediately caught the small bouquet resting there. White roses, tied neatly with black ribbon.
“Flowers?” I asked, startled.
“For a beautiful girl,” he said simply, sliding into his own seat.
Heat rushed up my neck. “Thank you.”
The ride was quiet, but not awkward. Victor wasn’t one to fill silence with pointless words — he let it stretch, comfortable and deliberate. I kept sneaking glances at him, the way his hands fit so easily around the steering wheel, the way he seemed utterly focused on the road and yet still aware of me.
We pulled up to a building with glaring floodlights and an empty parking lot. Go-karting.
I blinked. “You’re taking me go-karting?”
“Mm-hmm.” He killed the engine and turned to me. “I rented the whole place out.”
I stared at him. “You… rented the entire thing? For just us?”
“Of course. I don’t like waiting in line.” His smirk deepened. “Besides, this way I don’t have to share your attention.”
I laughed, shaking my head. “You’re ridiculous.”
“And you’re stalling,” he said, getting out of the car.
Inside, the hum of fluorescent lights echoed off the concrete walls. A single employee waved us through without a word — clearly briefed ahead of time — and soon I was strapping into a kart, helmet secure, engine rumbling under me.
Victor settled into the kart beside mine, lowering his visor with a look that promised he’d show no mercy.
“Don’t expect me to go easy on you,” I warned.
“I wouldn’t dream of it.”
The first lap was pure adrenaline. The track blurred past, tires screeching on the curves, the wind pulling strands of hair loose from my helmet. Victor was fast — unfairly fast — but every time I caught a glimpse of him in my peripheral, I could see the tension in his shoulders loosen, his usual hyper-awareness replaced by pure focus on the race.
After my third failed attempt to overtake him, we pulled up to the side, laughter still bubbling in my chest. I yanked off my helmet. “Okay, I admit it. You’re good.”
“This is my favorite thing to do,” he said, his voice low and honest in a way I didn’t expect. “Keeps my mind quiet. This—” he gestured to the track, “—is the only time I’m not analyzing everything.”
“That’s… actually kind of sweet,” I said, still catching my breath.
He stepped closer, his helmet dangling from his fingers now. “Don’t get used to it. I’m not sweet.”
“You just rented out a go-kart track so you could beat me without witnesses.”
His lips curved slightly. “Exactly.”
The track was empty, but the air buzzed with leftover heat from the engines, the sharp scent of burnt rubber clinging to everything.
Then Victor’s fingers brushed mine—slow, deliberate—like he knew exactly what he was doing. I barely had time to breathe before he closed the space between us, his body crowding mine until my back hit the metal guardrail.
His mouth crashed onto mine—not rough like Milo, not calculated like Leo—but steady, claiming, like every second was his to take. I could taste the bitter trace of coffee on his lips, but underneath it was pure fucking want.
His hand slid to the small of my back, pressing me in until I felt the solid, unmistakable weight of his cock thick and hard against my stomach. The hum of the track lights mixed with the throb between my legs, my cunt already clenching at the thought of him inside me.
“Fuck,” he breathed into my mouth, his voice rough from hours of shouting over engines. “You standing here, all flushed and tight in this skirt—you have no idea what it’s doing to me.”
I shivered when his other hand trailed down my side, fingers finding the edge of my skirt and shoving it up without hesitation. Cool air hit my thighs, but it was nothing compared to the heat of his palm cupping me, fingers pressing into my soaked panties.
“Jesus,” he groaned, rubbing slow circles over my clit through the damp fabric. “Already dripping. You want me to bend you over this rail and fuck you until you can’t walk back to the pits?”
The thought alone had me rocking against his hand, chasing the friction. The metal rail dug into my back, the faint vibration of some distant engine rumbling under my ass, but all I could focus on was him—his mouth at my neck, teeth dragging over my skin, the low growl he made when I whimpered.
He pressed harder, two fingers slipping under the waistband, finding my bare, slick heat. “Fuck, this greedy little cunt,” he muttered, sliding them inside without warning, curling just right until my knees buckled. “Clench for me. Let me feel it.”
I bit my lip, trying not to give him the satisfaction of hearing how wrecked I already was—but my moan broke free when his thumb found my clit, stroking in time with each thrust of his fingers.
The lights above buzzed, the smell of fuel and sweat thick in the air, and I knew right then—I’d never look at this track again without remembering how it felt to be finger-fucked against the guardrail and Victor’s cock hard and ready against me.