Umm. Yeah

“Great, Pierre is contending for the top 10,” you hear engineer’s voice in the headphones while watching the monitor, arms crossed over your chest. Your eyes were mostly focused on two names: CAS and OCO, the Alpine drivers. But involuntarily, your gaze kept sliding down the timing screen to the name PIA. Oscar had started from the back of the grid, but now he was running 8th, and it irritated you. It rankled that he might score his first Formula 1 points in his debut race.

On the main screen, the cameras picked up the orange car number 81, as if reading your thoughts, but suddenly something went wrong. He made a forced pit stop, and you heard the engineers discussing a problem with the electronics on his car.

You watched the commotion around his cockpit as the McLaren mechanics frantically tried to replace the steering wheel, hoping for a miracle. Oscar tried to turn the wheel on, but it just sat there, dead. Your palms grew sweaty and cold. You took a deep breath through your nose, feeling a strange tremor inside. You pointedly turned away, right to Gasly’s telemetry, trying not to think about Oscar.

On the track, Max Verstappen began lap 14, and Pierre’s engineer's voice crackled in your ears, distorted by the radio:

“Piastri has an electrical issue, and it’s not the steering wheel. Looks like it’s over.”

And then… the engine os his car finally went silent. DNF. His debut race ended in complete defeat. You watched as his car was wheeled into the garage and he finally began unbuckling his safety harness to climb out—prematurely, in his very first race. You felt a sweet, poisonous sensation of triumph spreading inside you.

Justice. You looked at his bowed head on the screen and felt a faint smile play on your lips. He left the team that was his foundation for the sake of this orange seat? Well, enjoy the result, Oscar.

You shifted your gaze back to the track. Formula 1 cars were flying past, but Oscar Piastri was no longer among them. Suddenly, alongside the spite, a sharp pain stung deep beneath your ribs. This was the same guy whose hands had gently held your face just last summer. The same one whose kiss had promised a future together. A traitor and a lover in one person.

Now, this guy was your enemy.

The duality of these feelings was tearing you apart, but you forced yourself to remain cold.

When the Grand Prix concluded with a victory for Max and a Red Bull double podium, the paddock turned into a sea of people. You felt a strange lightness, sparked by the fact that Pierre finished 9th in the standings—a small victory for your team, which was set to have a good season.

You were walking with Helena, the PR manager, Nicole, and Robert—a mechanic from Esteban’s garage whom you’d been friends with since the Formula 4 days—discussing plans for the evening. Ahead, in the crowd, you recognized his figure. Oscar was walking toward you alongside Logan and his manager, looking exhausted and disappointed.

When your group almost drew level with him, you stopped abruptly right in his path. Your companions fell silent, sensing the sudden change in atmosphere. Oscar lifted his head. His eyes met yours—they held such defenseless fatigue that for a moment, you wanted to look away and pity him. But you didn't allow yourself that weakness.

Slowly, with undisguised pleasure, you broke into a smile.

“My sincere congratulations on your McLaren debut,” your voice sounded mocking, filled with feigned joy. “A wonderful first race, Oscar. A true success!”

You smiled even wider, seeing his jaw tighten while a spark of restrained anger flashed in his eyes. Your gazes locked, and you used your eyes to tell him as clearly as possible: "You deserved this." Without waiting for a response, you turned around and walked away with confidence. You knew he wouldn't watch you leave, and he likely walked on without even looking back, but you were satisfied that you had said it to his face.

Everyone around you acted tense, not daring to comment on what you had just done, instead talking about dinner. And for the first time in a long while, you felt like you were finally starting to breathe deeply.

And of course, I'll ask you to vote on whether I should write this story. (If you want to be on the tag list, write in the comments 👇🏻)

You lifted your eyes to Oscar. He stood next to his father and cousin Oliver, animatedly telling something and laughing, gesturing with his free hand while the other clutched a can of beer. Irritation washed over you in a new wave. Oscar felt free, relaxed. This was his home, his people. For you, these evenings were pure torture.

You loved his family, honestly. They were wonderful, hospitable, and sincere Australians, but the necessity of playing the role of “the perfect girlfriend” sucked all the life out of you.

Oscar was calm; you would even say melancholic. Your complete opposite. You — chaos, he — order. You — fire, he — cool water. Perhaps that’s why you were together. You liked shaking up his world, watching how behind that mask of indifference sparks flared when you crossed the line.

“…and then the wave covered me completely, can you imagine?” Uncle Robert, who sat to your left, continued his epic tale about surfing in Bali that you had already been listening to for twenty minutes. You had no idea why he decided you loved this damn surfing enough for him to tell you about it half the evening, and it was already openly irritating you.

“Incredible,” you squeezed out with a strained smile and reached with your fingers for the phone.

You scanned the room looking for Nicole, but she wasn’t there. You couldn’t count on Mrs. Piastri’s help this time, because she had disappeared somewhere and you hadn’t seen her in the living room at the table for exactly as long as Robert had been talking about surfing in Bali.

You desperately needed nicotine, fresh air, and Oscar who had to save you from the uncle — otherwise you would boil over. Your IQOS lay in your purse, and the thought of stepping out into the cold air and taking a drag became an obsessive idea. It would help relieve some of the stress that had accumulated in you over the whole day spent with Oscar’s family.

He didn’t like it when you smoked. Oscar never forbade it outright, just wrinkled his nose and said something about health, but right now you didn’t care.

You lowered the phone under the table while Uncle Robert took a swig of beer along with another piece of meat.

08:41 p.m. | You: “Save me. I want to smoke. Get me out of here or I’ll start screaming.”

You lifted your eyes. Oscar felt the vibration, pulled out his phone, glanced at the screen. His face didn’t change a bit. He looked up at you, gave a barely noticeable shake of his head. Typed something quickly and turned back to the conversation with his father.

Your phone flashed.

08:42 p.m. | Osc 🧁: “Wait a little bit. We’ll go to my room to sleep soon. Then you can step out on the balcony.”

You almost groaned out loud. “Wait a little bit”? Seriously?

08:42 p.m. | You: “Robert has been talking about surfboards for eternity. My ears are curling into tubes. I need it now.”

Oscar looked at the phone again. A shadow of a light, barely noticeable smile touched his lips, but he didn’t reply. Just put the phone back in his pocket. Oh, really? He thinks this is a joke and you’ll really agree to “wait”?

Your boyfriend should have known this wasn’t like you. You adored provoking him, and the way he always reacted to it was your separate kind of pleasure. But now he tried to ignore you — and that was his mistake.

A thought appeared in your head that brought a light thrill. In your gallery there was an “argument” that would work flawlessly. A photo taken morning a few days ago in Monaco. You had been spinning in front of the mirror, choosing lingerie, and decided you looked better without it.

Your finger hovered over the “Send” button. Oh, this was risky. They were standing so close to each other. But adrenaline spread through your blood.

08:43 p.m. | You: [Image]

You raised your eyes with malicious satisfaction and watched him. You put the phone face down and took the glass of wine, preparing for the show.

Oscar reached for his phone again. This time his movements were more relaxed; he clearly expected another grumble. He brought the phone to his eyes, took a sip of beer, and unlocked the screen.

You saw his eyes widen to the size of saucers. He choked on the beer, coughed, and nearly dropped the can. His hand with the phone jerked to his chest so fast he almost dropped it.

“Oscar? You okay?” Oliver’s voice sounded concerned. The cousin even leaned in, trying to peek at what had shocked his brother so much.

“Yeah! All good! Just… choked on beer,” he croaked, frantically shoving the phone into his pocket, away from prying eyes. You saw his neck and cheeks start to flush a deep red. He looked like he’d been electrocuted. Oscar threw you a quick, panicked glance across the room. In his eyes swirled a mix of shock, panic, and dark, hot desire.

You had to bite your lip to keep from laughing out loud. It was priceless.

You waited a minute and sent another message. You saw him flinch when he felt the vibration. He didn’t want to take out the phone. He was afraid.

Finally, making sure no one was looking, he very carefully, covering the screen with his palm, glanced at the message.

08:44 p.m. | You: “Did you like it? 😉”

His fingers flew across the keyboard. He looked angry and aroused at the same time.

08:44 p.m. | Osc 🧁: “Have you lost your mind?! Oliver almost saw you naked! Why are you doing this right now?!”

You took a sip of wine and, looking straight into his eyes across the room, typed your reply.

08:45 p.m. | You: “If you don’t come right now, don’t take me away from the table and don’t let me go smoke, this photo will be the only naked view of me for to you while the next week. Time’s ticking. 😘”

Oscar read it. He lifted his gaze to you. His eyes darkened, his jaw tensed. He exhaled deeply through his nose, trying to calm his heartbeat. He knew you weren’t joking.

He said something short to his father, patted his cousin on the shoulder, and walked confidently toward table.

Oscar came up and stood behind your chair.

“Hey uncle, looks like you’re not bored here,” he said, and you heard forced cheerfulness in his voice. Oscar placed his hand on your shoulder; his fingers gripped the fabric of your top firmly.

“Ooooh, Oscar,” his uncle turned, still chewing steak, “your girlfriend is a wonderful conversationalist. I was so happy when I heard she also loves surfing.”

You gave a tight smile, while in your head there were only swear words and thoughts about where he could have possibly heard that, or from whom.

“Yeah, she loves surfing, but she hasn’t actually tried it yet. I’m planning to teach her next time we come,” Oscar said. Your heart skipped. You turned your head toward your boyfriend, whom you were ready to strangle for lying. You don’t like surfing and have never been interested in it because you don’t know how to swim. And he know it.

Your look was loaded and promised Oscar that as soon as you were alone, he would hear a few “sweet” words from you. But he only smiled with the corner of his mouth — this was his revenge for you catching him off guard with the nude photo.

“Not even once?! Girl, you’ve missed half your life. Why wait till next time? Let’s go to the beach tomorrow and I’ll give you a few good beginner lessons,” Oscar’s Uncle rattled off, and you felt horror wash over you. No. The horror of the prospect of spending an entire day in the water with Uncle Robert, trying not to drown, momentarily even overshadowed the desire to smoke. You looked at Oscar again, and your eyes literally screamed: “Don’t you dare agree!”

Oscar, who was clearly enjoying your mild panic, finally took pity. His fingers on your shoulder moved slightly, soothing.

“Oh, that’s a great offer, Uncle Robert,” Oscar began, and you were ready to claw his hand. But he masterfully paused. “However, unfortunately, tomorrow is our last day in Melbourne before flying to Britain. We have a few important things to wrap up before departure, so we won’t be able to join.”

You almost exhaled in relief loud enough for the whole house to hear. Uncle Robert looked genuinely disappointed, muttered something about “young people always rushing somewhere,” but Oscar didn’t give him a chance to continue, finally releasing your shoulder to offer you his hand. “And now, excuse us, I’m taking my girlfriend. I have a few words for her.”

He offered his hand, helping you get up from the table. As soon as you were out of Uncle Robert’s line of sight, Oscar led you to the glass doors that opened onto the backyard. The cool night air hit your face, instantly bringing relief.

You walked deeper into the garden, to where the light from the living room windows barely dispersed the darkness. Oscar stopped near a tall callistemon bush and finally let go of your hand. You immediately dug into your purse, pulling out your IQOS. Your hands trembled slightly — either from the evening chill or from the adrenaline still rushing through your veins.

The click of the device, a light vibration in your hands. You waited.

Oscar stood opposite, hands in his pockets. His figure in the darkness seemed even more massive and shielded you from the windows where someone might accidentally look. He was silent, watching as you impatiently waited for the stick to heat up.

“Gonna teach me to surf?” you smiled slyly, feeling the final vibration that signaled you could smoke. The stick touched your lips and you took a drag. “You know I swim like an axe! Decided to get rid of me that way?”

Oscar huffed, crossing his arms over his chest. In the twilight his eyes looked almost black. He was no longer wearing that polite “golden boy” smile.

“That was a fair price for the heart attack you gave me,” he said in a velvety voice. “Do you even realize what would’ve happened if Oliver had seen that photo?”

You took another long drag, feeling the nicotine finally relax your tense muscles. You blew a cloud of smoke right into his face, looking at him defiantly.

“But he didn’t see. You did, though. Judging by how you choked on your beer, you liked it very much.”

Oscar took a step closer, reducing the distance almost to nothing. Now you could feel the barely perceptible wave of warmth from his body contrasting with the evening coolness.

“I liked it,” he admitted, and those familiar notes appeared in his voice that sent shivers down your spine. “But let’s have you send me photos like that only when it’s really necessary — or better yet, don’t send them at all. I want to see you in real life.”

Oscar placed his hands on your waist, and you immediately felt warmer and calmer. You weren’t sure what finally let you relax — Oscar or the nicotine — but being in his arms after the whole day was truly nice.

“I had to get you to take me outside somehow. By the way, your reaction was priceless. The way you almost dropped that beer was the best thing that happened all evening.”

Oscar smiled, pulling you closer so your chest pressed against his shirt. His hands stroked your lower back, slowly sliding down to your buttocks. You forgot about the stick burning in your hand because you weren’t smoking it anymore. Your attention was completely absorbed by the first close moment with Oscar all day.

“You’re a walking disaster,” he whispered, and in his voice there was as much irritation as admiration. You smiled, catching Oscar’s lips on your. His tongue insistently and thoroughly touched your. He could definitely taste blueberry and nicotine on your tongue, and you were surprised he didn’t stop the kiss because of it. Oscar almost never kissed you after you smoked, but today he did — and it made you think he had missed you. Maybe he was tired too of not being able to touch you whenever and however he wanted.

You felt the IQOS vibrate in your hand and only then realized the stick was ruined after just two drags. Still, Oscar’s insistent and sweet kiss made you less upset. After all, it was thanks to him that you had finally relaxed.

Oscar broke the kiss, breathing deeply. His lips glistened from your saliva. You smiled seductively, feeling the arousal that had involuntarily appeared from the long kiss.

“You weren’t serious when you said that photo would be the only naked view of you if I didn’t take you away from the uncle, right?” Oscar suddenly asked seriously. The smile that had adorned your lips turned from seductive to mocking.

“What do you think?” you answered with a question, raising an eyebrow. Oscar froze for a moment, considering the options.

“I think you wouldn’t do that to me,” he said confidently. You laughed out loud. He thinks he knows you, but you could do something that would surprise him every time. Because testing Oscar Piastri’s patience was the most pleasant thing in the world. If there were a prize or award for it, you’d win it every year. No, actually every month.

You slipped out of his embrace, cleaned the burnt stick from the IQOS, and put it back in your purse.

“We’ll never know for sure, darling. Luckily you made the right choice,” you said.

When you returned to the living room, you felt like a winner. For the rest of the evening you tried not to leave Oscar’s side. Your hand intertwined with his fingers — and that was a guarantee that no one would bother you with surfing conversations anymore.

Oscar and you spent the rest of the evening with Oliver. They started reminiscing about school years, the trouble they got into, and the punishments they received from their parents. Some stories were genuinely funny and wild, and you were shocked that at 14 Oscar had been almost a little hooligan.

You looked at him from the side when the conversation turned calmer. He became his usual calm self, politely nodding at his brother’s remarks, listening attentively — but in your head the scene of his wide eyes from your nude photo suddenly resurfaced. That expression of shock and hidden desire became your favorite memory of the day.

You barely held back a smile from the memory, and the desire to do something similar to see that same reaction became overwhelming.

The party wound down. Oscar’s parents saw the guests out, while you and Edie finished clearing the table. Oscar and Oliver continued sitting on the couch, and as you passed by you threw your boyfriend a quick glance. He was sipping beer. Provoking him through messages again seemed like a good idea. You planned to send a few dirty texts in the hope that when you got to the bedroom he would want to “punish” you. You adored that version of Oscar and wanted to see it tonight. For a moment you were alone near the dishwasher. Your hands reached for the phone on their own.

10:15 p.m. | You: “I really like the kitchen countertop at your parents’ place. Wonder how it would feel against my skin when you fuck me on it?”

You sent the message and stifled a laugh. Your eyes immediately went to Oscar, whom you could see in the living room from the angle you stood at in the kitchen. Oscar took out his phone, looked at the screen and froze for a moment. He slowly lifted his gaze, found you with his eyes and raised an eyebrow as if silently asking: “Not another nude photo, is it?”. His face remained stone, but you noticed the muscles in his jaw tense.

You wrote another message while he was reading the first.

10:16 p.m. | You: “Seems we haven’t had sex in a kitchen yet. Would you like to try?”

10:17 p.m. | You: “Imagining how deep you’ll feel when I'll be sitting on the table”

You couldn’t hold back a wide smile watching Oscar read your texts while his ears turned red. He froze over the phone screen, not knowing what to reply.

10:18 p.m. | You: “Want your hands on my thighs.”

10:18 p.m. | You: “Want you inside, want your tongue on me… or maybe tonight I should make you feel good 👅”

10:19 p.m. | Osc 🧁: “Stop tormenting me”

His short, seemingly threatening reply should have made you stop the provocation, but instead it only made you laugh again, covering your mouth with your palm. You continued loading plates into the dishwasher while Edie brought the last of the food to the kitchen. When she left, you wrote one more text.

10:24 p.m. | You: “I’m serious love, want it? I’ll do it the way you like, take you as deep as I can…”

Oscar didn’t open the message and you felt adrenaline rush through your veins again. Ignoring again? How can someone ignore texts like that from you? You wrote several more very dirty messages detailing exactly how you were going to give him a blowjob tonight, while Oscar with titanic effort tried not to pay attention to the vibration in his shorts pocket.

You tossed the phone into your jeans pocket, closed the dishwasher and pressed start. The hum of the machine somewhat drowned out the kitchen silence. You turned to continue cleaning the table with Edie and glanced at Oscar again as you passed him.

He looked like he was about to either explode or just combust on the spot. You noticed he had crossed his legs and casually placed a hand over his crotch, hiding the obvious erection from Oliver’s view. When your eyes met, you winked at him, enjoying his torment.

Oliver was enthusiastically telling something, but Oscar only gave short nods, clearly not hearing a word. His ears burned bright red — your favorite indicator that you had hit the target perfectly.

Oscar’s parents finally saw off the last guests and came back to you. His father sat next to him, while Nicole approached you and Edie at the now clean and cleared table.

“Oh, my darlings, you’ve already finished? Thank you so much!” Nicole said softly, placing a hand on your forearm. “Come, I’ll walk you to Oscar’s room. You need to rest; tomorrow’s a big day and a long flight.”

You obediently followed her, feeling Oscar’s heavy, almost tangible gaze on your back. You knew he was thinking about every word you had sent.

Nicole led you to the bedroom on the second floor. Oscar’s room was closest to the bathroom. On this floor there was also his younger sister’s room and a guest room where Oliver was supposed to sleep.

She showing you Oscar’s room with its not-very-large bed that luckily could fit both of you.

“Here are the towels,” she pointed to the stack of fluffy white fabric on the bed. You thanked her; Oscar’s mom engaged you in conversation about relatives and her brother, who, as she said, had taken a liking to you. You smiled sincerely but lied about how much you had enjoyed the evening. You were tired and wanted to finally be alone.

Nicole talked a bit more about tomorrow’s plans, how she would miss you, and finally left, wishing you good night. As soon as the door closed, you collapsed onto the bed and pulled out your phone again.

10:45 p.m. | You: “I’m already in your room. When are you coming?”

10:47 p.m. | Osc 🧁: “Soon”

A short, non-specific reply. The thought crossed your mind that he was mad at you — and that made it even more fun. You re-read the messages he had all read and smiled again. What you had written had aroused you too. You closed the chat and scrolled through Instagram. That took another twenty minutes, but Oscar still didn’t come. So you decided not to wait any longer.

Taking a towel and your cosmetic bag, you went out into the hallway. The house was quiet, only muffled male voices and laughter coming from downstairs. You entered the bathroom and clicked the lock. The bathroom was spacious, with a large shower cabin and the scent of sea breeze from the air freshener.

You stripped and stepped into the shower cabin. Hot water pleasantly burned your skin, washing away the fatigue of this long day. You closed your eyes, letting the stream hit your face, and for a moment imagined you were already in Europe, alone, with no need to hide from anyone.

Suddenly there was a quiet click of the lock, then the sound of the cabin door opening. You spun around, gasping in fright, but immediately relaxed.

Oscar stood in front of you. He probably knew how to open the bathroom door from the outside. But that didn't matter much now because he was naked. Completely naked. He looked incredible. His body was tense, abs sharply defined, and his gaze… Oh, that gaze. You had earned it with all those messages you sent him. Nothing remained of the calm boy he usually was. He was hungry, and completely focused on you. His arousal was obvious, and he didn’t even try to hide it.

Oscar stepped inside, closing the glass panel behind him. Water now ran down his shoulders, but he didn’t take his eyes off you.

You smiled seductively despite your heart pounding somewhere in your throat. You slowly reached for the shelf, took the bottle of shower gel, and handed it to Oscar, looking straight into his eyes.

“You’re right on time,” you said and your voice blending with the sound of water. “Will you wash me?”

Oscar gripped the bottle tightly; his fingers brushed yours. You saw how heavily he was breathing, trying to hold himself back in this small enclosed space. His family could be just behind the wall, and you hoped he had locked the door so no one would walk in this time.

“With enormous pleasure,” he answered when you turned your back to him and he leaned to your ear. His lips barely touched your ear, and a wave of warmth and arousal ran through your whole body.

You turned off the tap and waited. You heard the sound of Oscar opening the shower gel. He squeezed some onto his palms. A step — and you felt his body press against yours. His hard cock pressed into your buttocks, making the wetness between your legs increase.

His palms first reached your neck; with light, slow movements he soaped your skin with the gentle creamy-scented gel. You closed your eyes, enjoying your closeness, and deliberately pressed yourself closer to his body, leaving no distance between you.

Oscar continued spreading foam over your skin, moving toward your breasts. Your nipples were already hard from arousal. Oscar saw it, but he didn’t touch your breasts — as if on purpose — and lowered his hands to your stomach.

You lightly pushed back with your hips. A teasing movement meant to spur Oscar into more decisive action, but he ignored your hints. His hands slid to your thighs, bypassing your center, and you almost choked from the fact that he wasn’t touching you where he should have first.

You turned your head as far as possible and met his light smile.

Teasing.

You understood it immediately. Well. If mind-blowing sex followed, you were ready to endure. You looked at his lips just a few centimeters away and asked:

“So you’re really just going to wash me?”

“Seems that this is exactly what you asked for,” he replied, and you couldn’t force yourself to look away from his plump lips. You could smell beer on him and wondered how many cans he had drunk.

“Yes,” you breathed out and kissed him, pushing your tongue into his mouth. There was beer on his tongue too, and it didn’t bother you at all. Your kiss echoed off the fogged cabin walls with wet sounds and your quiet moans.

Oscar’s hips gave a barely noticeable thrust forward, pressing his cock a little lower than your buttocks, right where everything burned with want. His hands slid from your thighs up your figure and finally reached your breasts. His large palms covered them completely, and then began to squeeze with massaging, possessive movements. You moaned a little louder without breaking the passionate, greedy kiss.

Oscar tore his lips from yours only for a moment so you could breathe, but immediately returned, now kissing your neck, collarbones, leaving marks on the skin he had just soaped. His palms still kneaded your breasts; his thumbs slowly, teasingly circled your nipples but didn’t touch them — deliberately, to make you arch harder.

“You were a very bad girl today,” he whispered low, voice hoarse from arousal and restraint. “How many messages did you send me? Ten? Fifteen? I could’ve been caught…”

“You mean your hard-on you were hiding from Oliver with your hand?” you smiled through a moan. Oscar finally pinched your nipples — not gently, but exactly the way you liked, with a light pain that instantly turned into a wave of heat below your stomach. Clearly he didn’t like that you had noticed and were now mocking him for it, even though you were the cause of that problem.

“Baby… you’d better be more careful with that mouth of yours, or I’ll have to shut it,” Oscar warned, but it worked exactly as it always did when he became dominant during sex. It aroused you to the edge, to the loss of time and reality. With one hand he slid down your stomach, slowly, as if giving you time for the right answer, but you decided to remain silent. His fingers slipped between your legs, parted your folds, and found you already wet, swollen, and ready.

“Fuck… you’re so wet. You want me that bad?” he muttered, almost surprised, though his voice was filled with dark satisfaction.

“So bad…” you breathed, not even trying to hide it. Your body spoke for you better than any words.

You wanted to say how much you needed him inside you, and just then, as if reading your mind, Oscar pushed two fingers into your entrance — slowly, deeply, curling them to hit that exact spot. You braced your palms against the cabin wall to keep from falling and moaned his name.

“Quieter,” he hissed, but he was already losing control of his own breathing. “No one should hear us…”

You bit your lip, trying to suppress the moans that were unbearable and tore at your throat. It felt fucking incredible. Oscar knew exactly how to give you pleasure with just his fingers.

The deeper he drove his fingers and kissed your neck, the harder it was to hold back. You wanted to moan at the top of your lungs. The orgasm began building below and you couldn’t control yourself. The moans grew louder and Oscar swore quietly — short, rough Australian-style — and sharply pulled his fingers out. You moaned in disappointment at the loss, but he was already turning you to face him. His gaze was almost black. He turned the water back on so the sounds of your pleasure would be masked by the noise of falling drops. Water hit him, running down his temples, jaw, chest. And this wet Oscar was insanely hot.

He scooped you up under the thighs — easily, as if you weighed nothing — and pressed your back to the cold glass. You wrapped your legs around him, feeling the head of his cock touch your entrance.

“You wanted me to fuck you on the kitchen table?” his voice was strained but composed despite the arousal. “This isn’t bad either, is it?”

You smiled in silent agreement with his words, and in that same moment he pushed into you. His cock slid inside surprisingly easily from how wet you were, but it was still as tight as always. So you couldn’t take him without pain and a cry.

Oscar froze, feeling relief and pleasure from how your walls enveloped his aching, long-restrained cock.

When you both adjusted to the feeling of unity, he finally began to move. Slowly, and with each new thrust he increased the pace. Water poured over you from above, muffling the sounds of your bodies slapping together, but your moans were a problem for Oscar today. He couldn’t make you be quiet.

Holding you under the shower stream, he fumbled for the switch and turned off the water. Now he could more or less see you, though drops still ran into his eyes. He kissed you to muffle your indecent sounds, thinking Oliver in the next room might hear. He was already mentally prepared to endure his stupid jokes in the morning.

Oscar broke the kiss, squeezing your buttocks to hold you. You rolled your eyes and moaned again at his next thrust of hips. He buried himself fully inside you. You clung to him tighter, pushing back to meet him, feeling the orgasm approaching, the tight knot in your lower belly unraveling faster and faster.

He suddenly stopped — deep inside, motionless — and you almost screamed in frustration.

“Can you be quiet?” he asked, not without irritation.

You exhaled straight into his lips, still trembling from how tightly he filled you, and smiled defiantly.

“Afraid Oliver will hear how good you are?” you asked. Oscar’s eyes roamed your face, searching for something unknown.

“Not him or my sister doesn’t need to know the sound of your moans. So hold yourself back,” he requested. It sounded commanding, and this time you didn’t like it. He was fucking you mercilessly, you had been aroused for hours, and now you had to restrain yourself? You couldn’t. You didn’t want to be heard either, but how do you keep quiet when he’s doing this to you?

“If you want me quiet, make me…” you replied boldly, then deliberately squeezed around him and added almost syllable by syllable: “With something… hard… and long…”

Oscar held his breath. You saw him close his eyes, restraining himself from your provocative movement. Then he exhaled through his teeth — short, sharp, as if struck. His hand instantly moved from your buttock to the back of your head; fingers dug into your wet hair, forcing you to tilt your head back.

“You just want to push me over the edge today, don’t you?” Oscar guessed. Yes. That was the plan. Because when he crosses the line, he becomes your favorite sight.

He slowly pulled out almost completely, then slammed back in with one hard thrust. You only managed a short cry before he pressed his palm over your mouth — not gently, but exactly the way you like when the game shifts to another weight class.

“Open that pretty mouth, baby, I’ll make you shut up like you asked,” he ordered quietly, but the tone left no room for argument.

You obediently parted your lips without looking away from him. His thumb first slid along your lower lip, then entered your mouth. You wrapped your tongue around it, slowly ran it over the pad, and demonstratively sucked. Oscar swore again:

“Fuck… you’re impossible.”

He pulled his thumb out, replacing it with two fingers, spreading your lips wider. You moaned right into his palm, but the sound came out muffled, wet, obscene. Oscar began moving inside you again — this time slowly and measuredly, as if punishing you with every thrust.

You kept his fingers in your mouth, moaning around them. Between your thighs everything burned, and from his slow thrusts your head spun. The orgasm was approaching and you wanted it to happen. You dug your fingers harder into his shoulders, squeezing to the point of pain. Your eyes watered from tension, from the desire to scream, from how much you loved when he took complete control like this.

Oscar smiled a dark smile that almost no one except you ever saw.

“I love it when you become good girl,” he murmured.

Oscar pressed you harder against the glass. He stopped and with his free hand found your swollen clit, rubbing it in almost weightless circles — and you came. The orgasm hit you painfully-sweet, forcing your whole body to clench around him. Oscar groaned, feeling how you squeezed, how you pulsed around him. You bit down on his fingers, making Oscar want to come in your mouth.

He removed his hand from your mouth to replace his fingers with his cock. He put you on the wet floor, then made you to your knees with his hand. With the two fingers that had just been in your mouth he opened it, and with one movement — not letting you catch your breath or recover from the orgasm — he pushed deep into your throat. Your head pressed against the glass, his hips tight against your face, his hand gripping your hair again.

He held you like that for several long seconds, letting you adjust, then began to move, as if wanting to feel every millimeter of your tongue that had truly driven him crazy today.

“Just like that… exactly like you asked… shuts your pretty mouth” his voice was hoarse, almost broken with pleasure. “This is what you wanted, right? For me to stop holding back and just take you the way I want…”

You couldn’t answer — only squeezed his thighs with your fingers, showing yes, this was exactly what you wanted. Tears rolled down your cheeks from the strain, from the depth of his thrusts, from how much you loved feeling his control.

Oscar leaned in, kissed your temple — tenderly, lovingly — then sharply sped up.

“Hold on… I’m gonna come down your throat now,”

He pushed in as deep as possible again and froze, feeling you swallow around him.

“Ready to take it all?”

You only nodded slightly in response. Oscar guided you, hand on the back of your head in your hair, so you felt who controlled the rhythm. His hips jerked one last time, and you felt warm, thick cum deep in your throat. He exhaled low, almost soundlessly.

You swallowed everything he gave, never looking away from him. Tears still rolled down your cheeks, mixing with the water dripping from his hair, but there wasn’t a drop of shame or weakness in your gaze — only dark, satisfied triumph. You knew you had pushed him to the edge. And he knew it too.

He slowly pulled out of your mouth, still holding you by the back of the head. His thumb ran across your lower lip, wiping away the thin silvery thread connecting you. His breathing was heavy and uneven. Oscar looked like he had just run a marathon — wet, disheveled, pupils blown, red patches on his neck and chest.

“I don’t like when you tease me, but this sex was insane,” he admitted. You only smiled tiredly, still pressed back to the cold glass. Your voice trembled; your throat pleasantly sore.

“Worth it, right darling?” you asked. He laughed quietly, shortly, shaking his head, then helped you stand. He kissed you — no longer aggressive, but gently and carefully, as if tasting what he had just done to you. The taste of both of you mixed on your tongues. He didn’t pull away from the taste of himself in your mouth — on the contrary, he seemed liked it a lot.

When he finally pulled back, his forehead rested against yours.

“Let’s take a shower and go to sleep,” Oscar suggested, and you agreed, feeling exhaustion in every cell of your body.

His hands slid down — now soothingly — stroking your sides, thighs, lower back. He turned the water back on — warmer this time, almost hot — and began soaping you without any teasing games. Just washing. Carefully. This was the Oscar you saw most of the time, the one everyone knew.

You stood, offering him your neck, shoulders, chest, letting the water wash away sweat, gel, everything that had happened in the last fifteen minutes. His fingers occasionally lingered on your skin longer than needed for washing, but there were no hints in them. Most likely he was just tired.

When the last of the foam was rinsed away, he turned off the shower and pulled you out of the cabin. Oscar wrapped you in the large white towel Nicole had so thoughtfully left, then took another and dried his hair.

After finishing in the bathroom, you both quietly, on tiptoe, went to his room. The door closed behind you with a barely audible click.

The bed was narrow, but neither of you cared. Oscar pulled you to him, your back to his chest, wrapped one arm around your waist, and with the other tucked a strand of wet hair behind your ear. He exhaled noisily, nuzzling the skin behind your ear.

You lay in silence for several minutes, trying to fall asleep. His fingers lightly stroked your skin and it really lulled you.

“Osk…” you called him tiredly. He stirred, tightening his arms around you.

“Mmm?” he mumbled.

“The kitchen table in our apartment definitely needs to be tested.”

He laughed quietly into your neck.

“You’re incorrigible.”

“But you love me anyway.”

Oscar squeezed you tighter in his arms.