Oscar never really considered the fact that so many people were unaware of his home life.

That he's married, he had a little boy at home with another baby on the way and they're settled into a routine and life together even with F1 shaking it up.

They met while they were young and he didn't see point in wasting time in prolonging their inevitable marriage and naturally Alfie came a few months after that.

"How are you feeling?" Oscar asks as he sits in the car on the way to the track.

"My back hurts a little but nothing to be concerned about." Y/n shrugs with a soft smile before sighing. "Alfie is down for his nap. So I'll call you later to chat with him."

"Thank you." Oscar smiles earning a small nod before she sighs softly looking at him. "What?"

"Nothing, I just miss my husband sometimes-and before you feel guilty, it's not about anything other than I am so turned on 24/7 right now."

Oscar almost chokes at her candour, though he recalls this part of her first pregnancy which he took great joy in being part of even if he was terrified about causing any damage or harming the baby.

"I'll make it up to you once I'm home."

"You really don't have a choice." Y/n states earning another laugh.

-

Oscar yawns as he walks in for a dinner that has been planned ahead of the weekend, they have these sorts of dinners a few times a year. The most famous being the Abu Dhabi end of season meal.

"Hey, mate. How you feeling?" George asks as the two McLaren drivers sit down but the question being directed at Lando.

"I'm good. Already looking forward to the weekend being over." Oscar sighs making George frown.

"Already having doubt in yourself?"

"No. God definitely not. But y/n is at a certain point in her pregnancy and I just want to be there for her." Oscar states casually making George's eyes bulge in shock. But he's not the only one since the table falls silent.

"You have a baby on the way?" Max asks making Oscar look around.

"Yes...I've got a toddler too. He's about to turn 2." Oscar smiles just thinking about Alfie.

"How did you never mention that? I've never even met your girlfriend." Lando states making Oscar clear his throat and shift a little.

"You never asked...My wife and I got married at the end of 2023." Oscar states making the table go into a sequence of questioning, some even accusing him of lying.

"I'm offended I wasn't invited." Lando huffs crossing his arms jokingly.

"Any other secrets? We're asking now." Fernando questions making Oscar think for a moment.

"No. I don't think so. Wife, toddler, baby on the way. That's everything I can think of." Oscar shrugs then frowning as his phone rings. "Her ears must be burning, I gotta take this."

He steps out knowing the group are going to question if any of them had any suspicion but not one of them realised just how little they knew about Oscar. An assumption that Logan may have been aware since he's known Oscar so much longer and at one point was very much considered near family.

"Hey, baby. Everything ok?" Oscar asks softly making y/n huff out trying to make a sniffle. "Y/n?"

"I have braxton hicks." Y/n hiccups making Oscar sigh, hating that he's not there to help but she's officially in the third trimester and the doctor is advising against her travelling especially so far. A short couple hours might be allowed but from Las Vegas to Qatar then Abu Dhabi for the final triple header to round off the season. "Where are you?"

"Nowhere important."

"Oh you're at that dinner. I'll-I'll call back later I don't want to-"

"You are my priority, especially if I can't be there physically. Anyway they're all processing the news that I have a wife and kids since no one knew."

"What? How did they not know?-I mean I know I try to keep out the way of people when I'm there, but we don't act like strangers." Y/n rambles. "Did they think you were single?"

Oscar smiles a little sensing her getting possessive over the idea these men might've thought that Oscar would be up for another woman. He's not sure if she'd usually be so offended at the idea of Oscar being single but maybe he should've figured that pregnancy would be a little more upset at the thought of her husband being assumed single.

"Don't worry, I'll make it very clear from here forward that no one else thinks I'm single." Oscar promises earning a hum. "You know...when I get back there is something to celebrate."

"Our anniversary I know. I might be pregnant but my mind hasn't lost me yet." Y/n smiles lightly.

"Leave it all to me. I've got some plans."

The talk for another 5 minutes before y/n insists Oscar get back to the meal and he promises that they'll be talking again later when the dinner is over.

He returns to find the food has arrived and smiles sitting down, though he doesn't get more than a couple bites before George has to ask more questions and Max joins him as a new father on the grid, he's intrigued about Oscar's own journey with fatherhood. Though he doesn't word it quite in that way.

"Got any pictures?" Lando eventually asks and Oscar is happy to provide since despite him not making it a priority to discuss his private life, he is more than happy to share is someone asks.

Everyone make assure to let Oscar know he has a beautiful family, Lando also makes sure to let him know that he's batting out of his league by bagging his wife. Obviously joking but Oscar will take the compliment to y/n.

"We're coming up to the anniversary, thankfully it falls after everything for the season is done." Oscar states earning a small smile from the group since it's really nice getting to know this side of Oscar.

Some of them even realised he wears his wedding ring on his right hand but none of them had thought anything of it earlier when they'd noticed. They definitely didn't think it was a wedding band.

It's not till later when Oscar is on phone call with y/n and Alfie is finally on the call. He's grinning and yapping away with Oscar, mainly gibberish that is an attempt at real words. Y/n and Oscar understand most of what he's saying but when he's especially excited and just talking to talk, he stops using words and make noises that sound like words but aren't.

Oscar captures a couple screenshots and y/n is about to hang up but he asks if he can stay on call for the bedtime routine with Alfie. Plus he just wants to talk to y/n alone and after saying goodnight to Alfie, y/n leaves him in his room. Oscar always have to credit y/n as the most amazing mum because she has got Alfie in a routine and he sleeps through the night almost every night without fail.

"You don't usually want to stay on call for so long. What's up?" Y/n smiles as she settles down with a donut to finish her day. Something in Oscar wants to comment about that choice of snack purely out of concern for her blood sugar (his inner athlete is so nutrient focused but pregnancy hormones don't give a fuck and he learnt that in the first pregnancy) but he also doesn't want to be hung up on and ignored.

"I just want some extra time with you. My beautiful wife." Oscar smiles softly while y/n immediately pouts. "I love you, baby. Not because we have kids together, not because we're married, not because of anything but because you are such an incredible person and sometimes I don't make it obvious but that's how I feel."

Y/ bursts into tears, having to cover her mouth to make sure she doesn't sob and trigger Alfie's reappearance.

"You dick. You did that on purpose." Y/n hiccups while Oscar smiles a little. "I love you too, and you might not make it obvious to everyone else. But you make just how much you love me obvious to me. I never doubt it."

"Well I spent the rest of that dinner bragging about you and our family without apology." Oscar states earning a grin. "I'll be home soon and you will not be lifting a finger. I've got a lot of daddy duties to make up for and you...should not have to be doing this stuff on your own with Alfie when you're this far along."

"Oscar..." Y/n warns since she has never allowed him to feel guilt about working and just doing what he has to for his career. "I'm fine. I miss you like hell, but I missed you like hell before we were married and before we had kids. Alfie is doing great. I'm doing great, baby is doing great. We're all great. You own me nothing."

"I owe you so much more than you realise" Oscar whispers suddenly before smiling. "I'm going to let you sleep. I love you, we'll talk tomorrow. I'm going to play padel."

"I love you too, talk tomorrow and have fun. Try to win...unless it's Carlos, Lance or Fernando. In which case accept a gracious defeat."

He’s always been like that. Gentle. Kind. The boy who was never loud. More of a listener than a speaker.

And he never made you feel silly. Not when you cried after falling off your bike and scraped your knee. Not when your towel slipped. Not even when you accidentally spilled juice all over your shirt on a long flight. He just handed you a new one from his backpack like he knew it’d happen. 

You’d grown up like that. 

And now here you were, years later. Sunburned and salty on a private yacht in the Maldives, still with a sweet tooth and one of his old McLaren shirts he gave you when he first got signed. Pulled over your bikini.

His sister, your best friend, left on in the morning for a tour with the rest of the group. Something about history and snorkeling. You’d both waved your hands declining. Something about being too burned and too sleepy for it. 

“She’s going to get bored halfway through,” You sip on your drink. “Probably will call us in two hours.”

Oscar gives you a shrug. “I give her one.”

“She said it was a once in a lifetime experience.” You throw up your hands while repeating her words. Mocking her almost. Smiling.

“So is sitting here.”

And you laugh.

He’s sitting across from you, towel slung around the back of his neck, sun catching his shoulders. His hair is damp. Skin flushed from the sun. No shirt. Just a pair of swim shorts and bare feet.

You shift slightly where you are. Curled up in the shade. Bare legs stretched out. The oversized shirt clinging to you just a little too much where your bikini top was wet.

He glances at you when you move. Doesn’t speak. Just tracks it with his eyes. And looks away again.

His hand reaches for the table. “What’s this?”

You look over. 

A little box. Dark. Red ribbon wrapped around it.

“Some welcome thing, I think.” You shrug. “Dropped it off yesterday.”

Oscar pulls the lid open, brows lifting. He picks up a wrapped square, amused.

“Well, well.” He says, looking at you. “Your kryptonite.”

You grin. “Shut up.”

“You gonna pretend you didn’t spot this the second we sat down?”

“I did not.”

He tilts his head, giving you a look.

“Mm, you’ve got that look.” He says.

“What look?”

“The one you used to get before stealing cupcakes at birthday parties.”

You roll your eyes, but blush. Cheeks reddening. “I did not steal…”

“You did.” He cuts you off. Already unwrapping one of the chocolates. “Always had sugar on your hands. Icing on the corner of your lips.”

You open your mouth to protest, but he tosses a piece toward you.

You catch it.

You watch him bring the chocolate to his mouth, tongue darting over his lip without thinking.

Peel open your piece and press it to your tongue. It melts fast. Rich. 

You hum, licking a smear of it off your finger. “That’s actually really good.”

He doesn’t respond right away.

You glance up and catch him mid-swipe across his bottom lip. Looking dazed. Distracted.

Then he blinks, clears his throat. And nods. “Yeah, pretty good.”

He closes the lid of the box, slides it to the side. Then leans back, looking at the water.

And you sit there with him. Across from him on the cushioned benches. Chewing slowly. Feeling that heat bloom beneath your skin.

It’s soft at first.

Then deeper.

A warmth in your chest. A pulse between your thighs.

The wind sweeps your skin. And the fabric of your bikini suddenly feels too damp. Too thin. Too tight.

You swallow. Trying not to fidget.

Oscar hasn’t moved much. His gaze is still on the ocean, but it isn’t really. And you watch the way his jaw flexes. The way his foot shifts on the deck. Like he was grounding himself.

He doesn’t look at you.

And he always looks at you. 

You shift again. Cross your ankles. Press your thighs together.

You glance at Oscar again.

And his lips are parted. Just a little bit. And his brow is slightly furrowed.

You sit up slightly. “You okay?”

He shifts. Then clears his throat, blinking. “Yeah. Just…hot.”

You nod slowly. “Same.”

He leans forward, breathes out. But his fingers twitch. And you notice as his back muscles roll slightly as he drops his head down, towel slipping down.

He stays like that for a few seconds. Then rubs a hand over the back of his neck.

His voice is quiet. Flat. “What was in that chocolate?”

You don’t answer right away. Because you’re fucking throbbing now. And your bikini is definitely soaked.

“Do you feel…” He swallows, throat bobbing. “Strange?”

You nod. And then remember he isn’t even looking at you. “Yeah.”

His jaw clenches.

He shifts again. Still not looking at you. And that’s how you know something is wrong.

Because he never acts like this. 

You’ve seen him flustered, sure. After a race, dealing with the media, around too many people. But never like this. Not this tense. As if he’s afraid.

“I didn’t think chocolate could….fuck.” His voice cracks. And he laughs under his breath. 

He grips the bench. Looking like he’s in pain.

“I think I need to go inside.”

And he stands too fast. Towel falling down. Hands clenched at his sides as he turns on bare feet and walks toward the main cabin.

You stare at his back. His shoulders. And he disappears down the stairs.

You’re so hot that you could cry. Unbearable.

You press your palm flat to your stomach. Like it’ll help.

But it doesn’t.

Because it’s not just the chocolate. 

It’s him. Oscar.

Gone for less than a minute and his voice is the only thing in your head. The way his mouth looked when he licked the chocolate off his thumb. His hands. The muscles of his back straining as he leaned forward

The silence stretches heavy.

You make a quiet sound in your throat. Barely audible. And you can’t sit still. Can barely think. Can’t stop seeing him.

Your hand slips beneath the hem of your shirt. You’re hesitant at first. But then trail your fingers to the center of your ache.

And your hips lift off the cushion. A heavy breath escaping.

Your other hand grips the bench as you rock slowly against your own fingers. Over the bikini. Slow circles. Each one, pressing harder.

You let your head fall back. And the sky above is almost blinding.

“Oscar…”

You don’t even realize you said it out loud. It just slips. 

And a few moments later, you don’t even hear him come back. Your fingers still at your bikini. Rubbing.

You lift your head. He’s there.

Flushed. Hair ruffled like he ran his fingers through it a million times. Eyes fixed between your legs like he’s in some sort of trance.

He just stares. Doesn’t even speak.

“I can’t stop,” You whisper. Honest.

“You’re…” He blinks. Voice low. Stunned. Like he just walked into his favorite fantasy and doesn’t know what to do. “You’re fucking touching yourself?”

You nod. And he groans.

“To me?”

“Couldn’t stop thinking about you,” You whisper.

“Jesus.” His hands twitch at his sides.

You shift, spreading your legs a little wider without meaning to. Unable to stop rubbing the tight circles.

“You look so pretty like that,” He mutters.

You tremble. “I need help.”

And his eyes widen.

“Please,” you whisper. “I can’t…Osc, please.”

He groans. Hands dropping to the front of his swim shorts, palming the hard line of his cock through the fabric.

“Come closer.” You plead.

And he stares at you with wide eyes. Flushed. He doesn’t move. At least, he doesn’t at first.

But then his gaze drops back down to your legs. Spread open. Your fingers rubbing slow, desperate circles. And his hands twitch.

“I…” He says, but he’s already squeezing himself. “I shouldn’t.”

“Oscar…”

“I shouldn’t be seeing this,” his mutters. “And I shouldn’t be this fucking hard.”

Your eyes fall to where his hand squeezes against his cock. Like he’s trying to fight the ache between his legs.

And you whimper. Hips jerking. “I can’t. I need….I need help.”

His hand squeezes himself tighter.

“Fuck.” A pause. A few silent moments of heated stares. “Do you know how many times I used to think about this?”

His voice has gone rough. And you blink at him. Heart stuttering.

“I used to jerk off in my room and feel sick after,” He whispers. “Because it was you. My sister’s best friend. Always walking around in those tiny shorts. That blue bikini. Always so fucking sweet.”

Your fingers slow. Jaw falls slack.

“I’ve thought about it,” His voice shakes. “Fuck. I’ve thought about this. When we were younger.”

Your breath hitches.

“Thought about your pussy more than I should’ve.” He mutters. “Wondered how soft you’d feel. How tight. If you’d let me take my time or if you’d beg me to fuck you rough.”

Your back arches.

“Wondered what you’d sound like when you come.” He continues. “If it’s all breathy. Or if you’d cry. If you’d say my name.”

“I’d press the pillow over my face after so no one would hear me,” He admits. “Every time.”

You gasp.

“I would.” You gasp.

His hand pushes harder into his cock. Groaning. “I’ve thought about fucking you with my tongue. Holding your legs and licking you for hours.”

You press your fingers even harder.

You whimper, other hand reading for a pillow or something to grab onto. “Osc, please.”

“You want my fingers?” He whispers. “Right here? Want me to fuck you with my hand?”

You nod. Repeatedly. Fast. Almost pathetic.

Oscar lets out a whimper. And then he’s kneeling in front of you before you can blink. Hand still pressing into his cock. The other trembling as his fingers brush your thigh.

“You’re so warm.”

Your hand falls away and he replaces it instantly. Pressing two fingers against the soaked fabric. Groans loudly when he feels it.

“Fuck, pretty…” He groans. “You’re soaked. Fuckin’ dripping.”

And then he pushes the fabric aside, stares. Pupils blown. “God, look at you…"

You shake your head. “Please.”

“I’ve thought about sliding my fingers into you since I was seventeen,” He pushes them in. Half-laughing. “Thought about curling them deep and slow….hearing you moan just like that.”

Oscar swears under his breath, leaning closer. Jaw locked tight. “I’d keep you like this for hours if I could. Legs spread and needy….mine to play with.”

You cry out. Rocking your hips.

And he curls his fingers. Watching your face.

“Yeah?” His thumb circles your clit now. Slow. “Right there? Knew I’d find it.”

And you careen forward. Hands flying to grab his shoulders.

“Come for me,” He mutters. “Right here. In my fucking shirt. On my yacht. On my fingers.”

And you do.

Hard.

And he watches every second. His lips parted. Cock throbbing.

And then he drags his fingers out of you slow.

Brings them to his mouth. 

Licks them clean. Eyes locked on yours.

“Taste better than I ever dreamed,” He says softly.

And then he’s grabbing the back of your neck. Pulling your lips to his. Kissing you like he’s starving.

His tongue licks your mouth like its his. Like he already knows how to pull those sounds out of you and wants to hear every single one. 

And his hands slip down your body. Down your shoulders, over your ribs. Brushing the dip of your waist. Until he’s gripping your thighs.

“Wanna see bruises here,” He says. “Want people to see bruises and know.”

He stays kneeling between you, chest heaving.

“You’re soaking, baby.” His voice cracks.

He leans forward. Kissing your inner thigh. And then opens his mouth, sucking hard. Pulling a moan from you.

You feel the bruise forming as he licks over it. Sucks it again. Fingers pressing into your skin, gripping it.

“That’s one,” He mutters. 

He leaves another one. Higher. 

Then a third on the other leg. Right by your cunt. So close that it makes your hips jerk into his mouth.

And then he’s standing. Grabbing you under your thighs. And lifts you. 

Laying you down on the table. The welcome basket crashes onto the deck with a thud, but neither of you acknowledge it. The box of chocolates dangling on the edge.

He grabs it.

“What are you doing?” You ask. Breathless.

He doesn’t answer. Opens the box, takes out a single piece and holds it up. Gaze dropping down to your cunt spread open for him.

“Need to taste you with this,” He mutters.

He leans over you. Pressing the chocolate between your lips. “Bite.”

You do.

The sun’s hot against your skin.

And then he kisses you hard. Tongue lapping against yours, sharing the chocolate. You both moan and groan into each other before he’s dropping back to his knees.

“Look at you,” He breathes. “All messy. Want my mouth, baby?”

You nod.

And he leans in. Licks you.

One long drag up your slit.

You cry out. And he groans into your cunt. Licking you. Tasting you.

“Fuckin heaven.” He drags a hand to your leg. “Can’t believe I waited this long.”

“Oscar…”

He doesn’t stop. Just hooks his arm under your thigh, and pulls you closer to the edge. Legs over his shoulder.

And buries his face in your pussy.

You grind into him instantly. Chasing every flick of his tongue.

Your hands fist into his hair, dragging his face closer against you. And he moans. Wrecked.

“Fuck,” you yell. “Oscar…oh my…fuck.”

He drags his tongue through you. Flicking your clit over and over.

“Keep fucking my face,” his voice is hot.

“You sound…my God..Oscar, you sound obsessed..”

“I am.” He grunts. Fingers curling in you as he nudges your clit with his nose.

And then he pulls one arm away. You barely notice it. Until you hear it and look down.

He’s got his hand wrapped around his cock, fisting it fast. Leaking.

He jerks his cock faster. Hips twitching into his own fist as his mouth works harder against you. 

“Gonna come,” he confesses. “Gonna come from tasting you.”

You cry out.

“C’mon…” He urges. “Let me taste it, yeah?” 

And it breaks you.

You moan into the open sky. Grinding against his face. Jaw slack. Eyes squeezed shut.

And then he groans, standing up and comes hard onto your cunt. 

Hot, messy ropes of it. Spilling over you. 

And then he’s dragging you off the table without a word. Not giving you time to even breathe. Panting. 

His hands tight around you, and then he’s spinning you. Forcing you to face the ocean. Chest hitting the metal railing. 

And he’s behind you. Silent.

You start to turn your head, “Oscar…?”

“No.” He says. Voice rough. “Stay just like that.”

His hands drag your shirt up. Slow.

His name in bold letters stretched across your back.

He groans. Violently.

“I should’ve fucked you in this years ago.”

Your breath falters.

“Fucking knew it,” He grabs a fistful of the shirt, twisting his hand in it. “Knew one day you’d bend over in this and I’d lose my fucking mind.”

You feel the heat of his body behind you, shoving your bottoms down with one swift flick of his hand. Cock thick and heavy. Dragging through your folds, collecting his come and your wetness.

He groans. You shake.

He presses forward, hips rocking against you. Grinding into your thighs.

“You’ve no idea what you look like.” His breath is heavy behind you. “Bent over. My name on your back. Come still dropping down your cunt.”

And you bite your lip. Arching into him harder.

One hand grips your hip, the other fisted around the shirt.

“You wore this shirt for years like it meant nothing,” His voice quieter. Mean. “Didn’t think about what it did to me every time you wore it.”

“Osc…” You attempt to say his name, but he shifts his hips into you harder and your voice cracks.

He laughs.

“Now look at you. Dripping all over me. Wearing my name like you belong to me.”

He sinks in slow. So slow that you feel every pulse. Every ridge. 

And you whimper. He groans behind you. Like he’s in pain. Like he’s trying so hard to not ravish you.

But when his hips meet you, and he’s bottomed out. He just….stops.

Breathes in heavily.

“Fuck.” He says soft. “You’re so fucking tight around me.”

His fingers dig into your hip even harder. Bruising. Marking.

“You’ve ruined me,” He laughs. “Y’know that?”

And you don’t even get a chance to answer.

Because he pulls back and slams into you. Hard.

You cry out, hands gripping the railing that your knuckles turn white.

His pace isn’t gentle at all. It’s feral.

“Fucking ruined me,” He says again. “You in this shirt….you in my fucking name..do you even know what that does to me?”

You moan. So loud. And his hips smack into you. Over and over.

“You’ve been walkin’ around in it for years.” He spits. “Like it’s nothing.”

He thrusts deep, angling his hips at a better angle. “Like I haven’t been dreaming of fucking you in it since I gave it to you all those years ago.”

You’re babbling now. Unable to breathe properly. Your entire body trembling.

His hand slips from your hip and slides up your spine. He grabs the back of your neck and pushes you down. Just a little bit harder. Forces you to arch even more.

And fuck, he nearly collapses when he feels you clench tighter around him.

“You should see yourself,” He grunts. “Squeezing around me like you’re desperate to never let me go.”

And he’s lost all rhythm. He’s just slamming into you. Cock so deep. 

“Can’t believe this is real.” He’s panting. “Can’t believe I get to fuck you in my shirt. Pussy covered in me.”

Your orgasm is close. And you’re shouting. Moaning. 

"Bet she'd lose her mind if she knew what a slut you were f'me..."

You cry out. He feels you teetering on the edge. 

“Don’t.” He snaps.

And you cry, “Oscar…please.”

“You’re gonna wait.” He demands, fucking into you more rapidly. 

And he’s losing his mind. It’s sooo good. 

“Say who’s inside you.” His hands squeeze the back of your neck. “Say it.”

You gasp. Jaw falling slack. Chest pressed harsh into the metal railing. “You…Osc..fuck, it’s  so good..”

You sob out his name and Oscar fucking snaps.

“That’s it, baby.” 

His hips hit you faster. Deeper. The filthy sound of it heard over the waves lapping the hull. 

You sob into the railing. 

He leans into you, head falling forward.

“Gonna come,” He chokes out. “Gonna come right inside you. Stuff you full. Let it leak out.”

And you break.

Orgasm ripping through you. Violent and hot. Back arching so hard into him. You sob out his name. Your walls clenching around him in a tight grip.

And he crashes with you. Body shuddering. Cock throbbing. Spilling into you.

He’s still panting against you when he pulls out. And it’s a fucking mess in between your thighs.

But before you can say anything, he’s dragging you upright. And you’re stumbling as he drags you across the hot deck. Hand across your stomach. Keeping you close.

And then he’s shoving you into the rinse off shower.

He reaches up. Turns the handle. And the water is so cold that you gasp from it.

Oscar laughs behind you. “Too cold?”

Your head falls onto his shoulder. “Asshole.”

And then he turns the temperature warmer, and then it’s all steam and heat again. 

You expect him to rinse you off gently.

Instead, he grabs the shower head. Detaches it from the hook. And pulls your back against his chest.

“Gonna clean you up.”

You’re about to ask what exactly he means. But then he;;s nudging your legs apart. Brings the shower head straight to your cunt. 

And you jolt forward with a sharp cry.

The heat. The pressure.

“Oh my god…Osc,” You’re mumbling.

And he watches you. Holding one leg to keep them apart.

“Stay open,” his voice is soft. “Wanna see you come again.”

And you whimper. Begging. “Too much…fuck.”

But he doesn’t stop. Just tilts the shower head just right. Hitting your clit.

“Thought I’d have to work harder for this,” He mutters. “But you’re soaking already.”

“Fuck…fuck.”

"Y'like this, hm?" He whispers into your ear. "Being used like some filthy secret?"

Your hands reach behind you and slip their way into his hair. Pulling it. He groans. Rutting his hips into your backside for some friction.

“C’mon, pretty.” He grunts. 

And the water just keeps hitting you. 

You sob. And then crash again.

Your legs shake. Cunt clenching around nothing.  But he holds you up, turning you to face him. Pressing your back against the wall.

He finally sets the shower head down. Lets it spray onto the deck. 

And then his hands are back on you. One at your lower back, one gripping your thigh, pulling it up to wrap at his waist. You balance on one leg.

He presses a kiss to your temple. “Y’okay?” His voice gentle. Caring.

And you nod, pressing your head into his neck. And his heart stutters when you lean into him. Like he can finally breathe.

“I’ve got you,” He whispers.

And then, he sinks back into you.

Slow. Gentle.

Your mouth falls open. The stretch still almost unbearable after everything. But the way he slides in, feels too fucking good.

You gasp. Digging your nails into his skin. And he cradles you against the wall.

He moves slow. Rocking. No rhythm. And he feels massive. Thick. 

“Oscar,” You hush into his skin. “You feel…Y’feel so good.”

He nods. “I know, baby. I know.” And his voice is a whisper. 

He grinds deeper. Barely moving but pressing into you. “Can’t believe you’re still this wet…” He grunts. “Still want more? Want me to stuff you full again, hm? Fuck you til it leaks down?”

You nod. Mouth open. Moaning.

“C’mon,” He pants. Hips jerking. Cock throbbing. 

It’s quick. The feel of you wrapped around his cock. The overstimulation of the stretch.

You both come quick. Crying out into each other’s skin. Soft kisses in between the moans.

And then you’re both laughing. Smiling at one another.

-

“Holy shit…I’m dying.” Your best friend announces. “Never let me go on another tour ever ever again.” 

Oscar snorts from beside you on the bench, looking at his phone. “Told you you’d hate it.”

“You didn’t say I’d almost drown.”

You keep your face still. Sipping your drink.

And she plops down on the lounger across the deck, sighing.

And for a moment…it’s quiet.

Until Oscar leans in slightly, elbow brushing your arm.

His voice low. “Y’think she noticed?”

You glance at him. Shake your head.

“She’s never been less observant,” You whisper back.

And he grins. One of those fuck-you grins that makes you stutter.

And you hold back a smile.

Your best friend groans across the deck. “God, I feel disgusting. Should we order dinner in an hour?”

Oscar clears his throat. “Sure.”

“Yeah,” You say.

And then you lean, just slightly, into his side. Just enough that his thigh is touching yours again. 

He doesn’t move. And he doesn’t stop smiling.

"Hey, what happened to the welcome basket?"