Bound by Desire

Breath, Grace

The Formula 1 races required constant travel around the world, with the entire team flying across countries as the racing season approached. During the winter break, the team resided in Ferrari's headquarters in Italy. Grace shared accommodation there with an Italian girl named Chloe, whose parents had left her the house. Naturally, Chloe didn't mind having male visitors over.

Sometimes, Grace listened to the sounds from the neighboring room while indulging in self-pleasure with her toys. Afterward, she would wrap herself naked in the bedsheets, feeling a profound emptiness that often brought tears to her eyes in silent darkness. Alone in the bustling city, she never regretted her decision.

The word "mother" always felt unfamiliar to her; at home, she seemed like a silent observer. As for her father, Grace's mind immediately associated him with "coldness" - distant, unfeeling, lacking warmth.

Though she had had boyfriends before, her attempts to discuss family matters had been repeatedly thwarted by reality. "I thought you were..." Sara began, only to be cut off. "You look like the carefree daughter of a wealthy family," Sara continued, but their expectations were misplaced. Grace found herself lost and trapped.

Sara was the first friend she made in this circle. Initially, Sara taught her how to go on dates, advising her to seek clean, decent men for some warmth and comfort. Temporarily losing herself in passionate climaxes, Grace tried to avoid falling deeper into despair.

Eventually, Grace became infatuated with the idea of a lasting connection but was reluctant to pursue another relationship. "Why not try finding a master?" Sara suggested, opening the door to a new world for Grace: one of absolute control and dependency.

Understanding the spiritual significance of this dynamic, Grace struggled to find a master who suited her desires. "Sometimes, not finding the perfect master is a stroke of luck," Sara explained. "Because you might become infatuated with your master, who will only ever be your master."

Realizing the danger, especially amid the chaos of graduation, Grace withdrew from this world. Now, she felt oppressed to the extreme, seeking someone powerful to share her burden.

Within a minute of Grace's message, A replied unexpectedly. "Hello, I'm A." Grace didn't mind giving out her own name; Grace was common and unremarkable. But A seemed guarded, revealing only his initial.

Despite the opportunity to use a pseudonym, A chose authenticity. He refused to be someone else.

After deciphering his message, Grace felt a subtle tingling sensation in her mind. The person behind those words exuded undeniable strength.

She paused for a few seconds, preparing to respond, when another message arrived. "I have work during the day. Can we talk at 8 p.m. for fifteen minutes?" C proposed. Grace's fingers hesitated before typing, "Sure." Despite the pretext of work, she felt a slight pang of disappointment.

Staring at the screen, she was about to put it down when another message appeared. "See you tonight." Her breath caught, and her ears turned crimson. It felt like a gentle stroke after a slap, reaffirming Sara's honesty.

She hadn't exchanged many words with him, but his name, his profile picture, his "see you tonight" – even in the form of a request, it felt like he was in control.

He set the time and duration. "Can we?" was merely an irresistible display of control. Grace couldn't refuse. It was like facing Alexander; she couldn't say no to anything he said.

Alexander... Grace's body instantly tensed. Quickly rising from the bed, she headed to the bathroom to freshen up. Feeling optimistic about finding a master, Grace approached her work with renewed vigor that day.

The off-season was typically less hectic than the race season, but with Alexander's sudden arrival, the entire team had been working at a frantic pace. James mentioned Alexander's busy schedule with the aerodynamics team, intending to poach Red Bull's chief aerodynamic engineer.

"Why not poach Verstappen (Red Bull driver) while you're at it? It'd be more convenient," Grace quipped, eliciting laughter from the PR office. James whispered, "I'll email this suggestion to Alexander and give you credit." Grace quickly grabbed James's keyboard. "Spare me, James," she pleaded.

With a few light-hearted remarks, everyone soon returned to work. In the afternoon, James received a call from Alexander. The office fell silent as James spoke, his gaze fixed on Grace.

After the call, James patted Grace's shoulder. "Let's go, trouble's brewing." The trouble was the team's current driver, Charlie, who had fractured his arm during a workout due to mishandling machinery.

As expected, the media swarmed in upon hearing the news. Ferrari was already going through a tumultuous period with Alexander's arrival and the managerial shuffle. Another mishap with a driver could spell disaster for the season, especially since it was Alexander's debut.

Grace felt a shiver run down her spine as they headed to the parking lot, where Alexander's silver Ferrari was parked conveniently. Sitting in the passenger seat, Grace accompanied James and Alexander in the back.

Grace wasn't solely responsible for crisis management; as an intern, she lacked the capability. Essentially, she handled all the mundane record-keeping tasks - documenting events, Alexander and James's responses, and quickly drafting press releases for external media. Of course, James made the final edits.

As they drove to the airport, where they would fly to Monaco to assess Charlie's injury, Alexander and James had already discussed possible strategies. Grace, seated in the waiting room, immediately began making calls to Charlie's assistant and doctor for updates.

Her fingers moved tirelessly across the notebook, jotting down every detail from the phone calls. Once she had all the information, she repeated it back to ensure accuracy before proceeding.

After nearly an hour of calls, she swiftly compiled a concise report. The waiting room was eerily quiet; Alexander rested his eyes, while James monitored online public opinion.

Grace typed furiously, forgetting to breathe as she worked. Being around Alexander felt like entering a vacuum - she feared making mistakes, even with her breathing.

Forcing herself not to dwell on it, she quickly scanned the document for errors before heading to James. "Grace," Alexander's voice suddenly appeared behind her.

The room was warm from the heating, so she had taken off her coat earlier. Now, upon hearing Alexander's voice, she felt as though she had plunged into an icy abyss.

"Please, show it to me directly," Alexander said. He sat on a leather sofa nearby, legs crossed, clad in black trousers that accentuated his long, powerful legs. With his black suit jacket discarded, he wore only a white shirt and vest.

Grace's steps involuntarily retreated, and she changed direction. Handing over her notebook, she found herself crouching beside his legs. Alexander quickly skimmed through the two-page report on Charlie's condition.

His slender fingers slid effortlessly across the touchscreen, but Grace forced herself not to look. However, Alexander's presence soon commanded her attention.

She had always caught a faint whiff of his cologne, but never this close. It was crisp, like trees buried beneath winter snow, evoking the chilling sensation of walking through deep, powdery snow, limbs tingling with cold.

Taking a deep breath, she felt the chilly air penetrate every

corner of her being. Grace couldn't help but grasp the armrest of the sofa.

At that moment, Alexander spoke, "Your writing is logical, but the report is too lengthy, filled with unnecessary details. This isn't the report I need." Grace could only mutter, "I'm sorry, I—"

"I don't need your apology; I need your report," Alexander interjected, closing her notebook. He then turned his gaze to her.

She wore a tight-fitting off-white turtleneck sweater, typical of the fashionable women in Italy. Even in winter, women liked to wear skirts that revealed their legs. Grace was no exception.

Beneath the sweater was a black pencil skirt that hugged her curves. Her long, slender legs were exposed to the air, ending in a pair of black high heels.

Alexander had heard Grace's name mentioned in the break room; attractive women were popular in Italy. But beautiful women were a dime a dozen to him. Yet, Grace...

Grace didn't immediately retrieve her computer and return to her seat to revise the report. Instead, she remained crouched in place, carefully making edits. He sat on the sofa, able to look down at her from above. Her soft hair obscured most of her face, leaving only her slightly pursed lips visible.

She was obedient.

But Alexander quickly averted his gaze, returning to his emails on his phone.

Grace handed the report to Alexander a second time, now condensed to just half a page.

Glancing up from his phone, Alexander took the report. Grace found herself holding her breath again, her heart pounding so loudly she feared she might faint.

"Grace," he suddenly called her name.

The notebook closed, Grace looked at Alexander in a slight panic.

Leaning back in his chair, his deep blue eyes fixed on her, Alexander said, "Breathe, Grace."

As if struck by lightning, Grace found herself unable to breathe. He sat up straighter, even leaning slightly closer to her position.

His imposing figure nearly engulfed Grace, and he looked down at her, saying, "If you find it difficult to breathe while working with me, perhaps this isn't the right job for you."

His voice was like a heavy, irresistible coral blanket, both enveloping and suffocating. Grace's face turned a soft crimson from lack of oxygen, her black eyes shimmering with moisture.

Alexander fell silent for a moment before speaking again, his voice still deep, "Breathe, Grace."

An irresistible command.

Grace's body obeyed his voice, forcing her lungs to operate once more. She took a long breath and slowly exhaled.

"Good job, Grace," Alexander said.

Grace felt deeply ashamed; regaining normal breathing wasn't something to be praised for. But then, Alexander added, "I mean your report."