Owned by the Champion by Nina Soelian
Owned by the Champion
Description
Twenty-two-year-old Neil Davis has worshipped Formula 1 champion Ray Vane since he was seventeen. Landing his dream job as a mechanic on Ray's team should be everything he's ever wanted-until he accidentally witnesses his idol in a dominant, intimate scene with his manager. Ray Vane, a thirty-three-year-old closeted racer, doesn't tolerate loose ends. When Neil makes a catastrophic technical error that nearly ends his career, Ray takes the blame-and Neil's freedom along with it. The price of silence? Complete submission. Trapped as Ray's personal mechanic, Neil is pulled into a world of psychological dominance and hidden desire. But Ray isn't just any Dom-he's the same man who destroyed Neil's brother Leo years ago, breaking him so thoroughly that Leo still can't speak his name without hatred. Caught between his brother's warnings and his own forbidden attraction, Neil discovers that the debt he owes can only be repaid one way: on his knees, under Ray's control, surrendering everything he is to the man who holds his career-and his heart-in an iron grip.
Chapter 1
May 21, 2026
Neil’s POV
Five years ago, I was seventeen and convinced I knew what I wanted.
The roar hit me first—engines screaming, a sound that vibrated through my chest and rattled my bones. Then the blur of motorcycles tearing past, so fast I could barely track them.
The crowd surged around me, thousands of people on their feet, shouting, their energy electric. I'd never felt anything like it.
The smell of burning rubber and gasoline, the heat radiating off the track, the pure chaos of it all—I was drowning in it, and I didn't want to come up for air.
And then I saw him.
Ray Vane crossed the finish line first, his bike a streak of black and silver. Twenty-eight years old and already a legend.
He slowed, pulled to a stop, and swung off the bike with the kind of fluid grace that made it look effortless. When he reached up and pulled off his helmet, my breath caught.
Thick black hair, slightly sweat-dampened, fell across his forehead before he pushed it back with one gloved hand.
Even from where I stood in the stands, I could see the sharp lines of his face—strong jaw, high cheekbones, the kind of masculine beauty that didn't need softness to be devastating.
His racing suit clung to broad shoulders and a powerful build, the kind of body that came from years of physical discipline. He moved with absolute confidence, every gesture deliberate and controlled. Like he owned the track. Like he owned the world.
Then he turned slightly, and I caught a glimpse of his eyes: grey, cold, piercing.
My heart slammed against my ribs. Heat flooded through me—desire mixed with awe mixed with something sharper, more desperate. I wanted to be closer.
I wanted him to look at me. I wanted to exist in his world, to matter to him, to be something more than just another face in the crowd.
I was seventeen, and I was completely, hopelessly obsessed.
"Neil? Neil, honey, we're here."
My mother's voice pulled me back to the present. I blinked, the memory dissolving as I focused on the dashboard in front of me. We were parked outside the team facility. My first day.
"Sorry," I said. "Just thinking."
"About hot guys?" my mother asked, grinning at me from the passenger seat. "Maybe you'll meet some hot guys there."
My father laughed from behind the wheel. "Jesus, Claire. Give the kid a break."
"What? I'm just saying, he's twenty-two and single. A little workplace romance never hurt anyone." She turned in her seat to look at me, her eyes bright with amusement. "Right, sweetheart? Wouldn't that be nice?"
I smiled despite myself. They'd always been like this—supportive, playful, completely unbothered by the fact that I was gay.
My father had literally high-fived me when I came out at sixteen. My mother had asked if I had a boyfriend yet. They were the kind of parents other queer kids envied, and I knew how lucky I was.
"I'm here to work, Mom," I said. "Not to find a boyfriend."
"You can do both," she said. "Multitasking is a valuable skill."
"Claire," my father said, but he was still smiling.
"Fine, fine." She reached back and squeezed my hand. "I'm proud of you, you know that? This is a big deal."
It was a big deal. Formula 1—the dream I'd been chasing since I was seventeen years old. And now I was here, about to walk through those doors and start working on the same team as Ray Vane.
Except Leo should have been here too.
The thought hit me like it always did—sudden, sharp, guilt-edged. My older brother, my best friend. The person who'd taught me everything I knew about motorcycles.
We were supposed to do this together. Work on the same team, fix his bike, maybe get close to Ray. That was the plan.
But Leo was kicked out of the team right after I accepted the job.
The timing still bothered me. It felt like more than coincidence, but I didn't know what to make of it. All I knew was that Leo hadn't forgiven me for staying. He thought I'd chosen the team over him. Chosen Ray over family.
Maybe I had.
"Alright," my father said, breaking the silence. "Go knock 'em dead, kiddo."
I grabbed my bag, said goodbye, and stepped out of the car. The facility loomed in front of me, all glass and steel and promise. I took a breath and walked inside.
It was my first day, and I hadn't managed to have a real conversation with Ray yet.
I'd been close. Close enough to hear his voice, to watch him work, to catch glimpses of him between meetings and practices and sponsor obligations. But close wasn't the same as actually talking to him.
Every time I thought I had a chance, someone else would pull him away—an engineer with a question, a team member with a problem, a sponsor who needed his attention.
Today was no different. I spent the morning in the garage, running diagnostics on one of the bikes. Ray walked past twice.
The first time, he was on the phone, his voice low and clipped as he talked to someone about aerodynamics.
The second time, he was surrounded by three people, all of them talking at once. He looked tired but focused, his grey eyes sharp as he listened.
He didn't notice me. Or if he did, he didn't acknowledge it.
"Don't take it personally," Caleb, one of the other mechanics, said when he caught me staring. "Ray’s always like that—busy as hell. But he's not a dick about it, you know? He's just got a lot on his plate."
"Yeah," I said. "I know."
And I did know. Ray didn't seem like a jerk. He wasn't rude or dismissive or cruel, he was just occupied. Pulled in a hundred different directions, always moving, always working.
It made sense—he was a world champion, of course he didn't have time to chat with every mechanic on the team. But I still watched him from a distance, hopeful.
By the end of the day most of the team had already cleared out. I was finishing up some last-minute adjustments when Caleb came jogging back from the hallway.
"Hey, Ray left his gear bag," he called out to no one in particular. "He already took off. Someone needs to run it over to him."
My heart kicked up. This was my chance.
"I'll take it," I said, maybe too quickly.
Caleb shrugged and tossed me the bag. "Equipment bay. He's probably grabbing something before he heads out."
I caught the bag and headed down the side hallway, my pulse picking up with each step. Maybe we'd actually talk, maybe I'd finally get more than a passing glance.
I turned the corner toward the equipment bay and stopped.
The equipment bay was tucked away in a secluded corner of the facility, surrounded by stacks of spare parts and machinery. Quiet. Private. And there, in the middle of it all, was Ray.
He wasn't alone. His manager was on his knees in front of him, his hands were tied behind his back with what looked like a leather strap.
I recognized him instantly—of course I did. I'd memorized everything about Ray, down to the people he worked with, the people he talked to, the people in his orbit.
The manager's name was David. He was in his early thirties, professional, always polished. But right now, he looked anything but professional.
Ray was standing over him, close enough that their bodies were almost touching. His hand reached out, slow and deliberate, and his thumb brushed over David's lower lip. The touch was gentle, almost tender. Then Ray pressed his thumb against David's mouth, and David opened for him.
Ray slipped his thumb inside, onto his tongue. David started sucking.
My breath caught. My brain short-circuited. I couldn't move, couldn't look away, couldn't process what I was seeing. This wasn't what I'd expected. This wasn't…
Ray’s voice cut through the silence, low and commanding. "Eyes on the floor."
David's gaze dropped immediately.
Owned by the Champion
30 Chapters
30
Contents
Save
Passion Exclusive
My Passion
Copyright © 2026 Passion
XOLY LIMITED, 400 S. 4th Street, Suite 500, Las Vegas, NV 89101