#risky

It had been an amazing day. Beach in the morning, delicious food for lunch, a long golden-hour walk in the park. A fucking romantic vacation.

You loved it when you and Lando could just be together—no cameras, no press, no managers. Just the two of you. Just the real version of him.

Now, you were getting ready for a night out—just a little bar tucked away on a quiet street, the kind with dim lights and overpriced drinks.

Lando was already dressed: a fitted, elegant t-shirt, tailored shorts, clean white sneakers. Effortless. Ridiculously good. You glanced at him as he sat sprawled across the hotel sofa, scrolling through his phone, waiting for you without a care in the world.

You turned back to the mirror, fingers adjusting the delicate silver necklace lying above your collarbones—his gift.

Matching silver bracelets glimmered on your wrists, small hoops brushed your jaw, and your hair was swept into a classy bun, soft strands framing your face just right.

But none of that really mattered.

The dress was the weapon tonight.

A silk, jet-black mini dress. The neckline dipped just low enough to make his jaw clench, but not low enough to give it all away.

The back? Almost indecent. Dipped so far it stopped just above your ass.

The hem was short—so short it barely hid anything. So light it fluttered with every step. So easy to lift.

You wore heels, of course. Just to make sure he really couldn't look anywhere else.

You knew exactly what you were doing.

You wanted to make him a little mad. A little tense. A little obsessed.

You sighed softly—loud enough to grab his attention.

When you turned, his head snapped up.

And oh. That look.

That was what you were playing for.

His eyes widened, scanning you top to bottom. His jaw tensed. His tongue flicked across his bottom lip like he didn't even realize he was doing it.

Perfect.

He stood, moving behind you with that smug, knowing smile. His arms wrapped around your waist from behind as he rested his chin on your shoulder, eyes meeting yours in the mirror.

"You ready, love?" he whispered.

You cupped his face, letting your fingers drag along the sharp edge of his jaw as you locked eyes with him in the reflection.

"Yes," you whispered.

He kissed your shoulder softly, smiling to himself. "Perfect."

Then he laced his fingers with yours. "Let's go."

—

The bar was exactly what you wanted—quiet, local, low lighting. A few scattered groups chatted quietly, but everyone minded their own business.

You and Lando took seats at the bar. He ordered a whiskey, neat. You got a pink gin tonic garnished with berries. Classy. Sweet.

His hand rested lazily on your thigh while you talked, sipping drinks, laughing in low voices. His fingers occasionally stroked the inside of your leg, climbing dangerously close to where you already ached for him. His touch made you dizzy.

But you wanted more.

You didn't want soft Lando.

You wanted the possessive one. The one with a fire behind his eyes.

The one who couldn't stand to share you—even with a look.

And lucky for you, the bartender was already doing half the job.

He kept staring.

You noticed. Lando definitely noticed.

And you? You knew exactly what to do with it.

So when the guy came back over, leaning a little too close to take your empty glass asking if you need an another one, you smiled sweetly.

"No thank you, dearest," you said, voice soft and bright. "But these gin tonics were amazing."

You could feel Lando shift beside you. His hand squeezed your thigh just slightly. A warning.

The bartender, however, clearly lacked survival instincts.

"Well," he said, smiling, "it's easy to make good drinks for a beautiful girl like you."

You felt Lando go still beside you.

You knew that look was already forming on his face—the kind that could end a man's career.

And still...

You giggled. Innocently. Teasingly. Sinfully.

"Oh, you're too kind, darling," you replied.

Lando's hand squeezed your thigh so hard you knew it'd leave a mark.

The bartender laughed, winked, and finally walked off.

You shook your head with a tiny smile and turned toward Lando.

He was still staring at the guy's retreating back, fuming.

"He's nice, isn't he?" you said, brushing your hand along his.

He didn't even look at you. Just grabbed your hand and stood. "Get up. Now. We're leaving."

You let him pull you up from the barstool, biting back a smile.

"What? Aren't you having fun?" you teased. "This place is really nice."

"Shut up," he muttered darkly.

You smirked, heart racing, thighs pressed together as you walked beside him toward the exit.

You knew exactly what was coming.

And you were already wet for it.

You walked back to the hotel in silence.

The air between you was thick with tension—electric, volatile, dangerous.

Your suite was on the top floor. Huge. Luxurious. Bigger than your old apartment.

But right now, it felt like a pressure cooker.

Lando was quiet when you arrived. Too quiet.

He opened the door, gestured for you to go in first.

You did.

You walked into the center of the room, heels clicking softly against the marble.

Behind you, the door clicked shut.

Then—silence.

You looked back over your shoulder.

Lando stood with his back against the door, arms crossed over his chest, eyes locked on you. Watching. Thinking. Breathing slowly like a man trying to hold something in.

"Strip," he said.

You raised a brow, lips curling into a smirk. But you didn't argue.

You tossed your little purse onto the couch, turned your head forward again—and reached for your straps.

"And make it slow," he added, voice lower now. Rougher.

"I want to see everything."

You swallowed hard. Shivers raced down your spine.

You slid one strap off your shoulder. Then the other.

Lando had the perfect view—your back, and thanks to the mirror in front of you, your front too.

The dress dipped lower.

The fabric pooled at your waist, revealing your bare chest.

You saw his reflection in the mirror. His tongue flicked over his bottom lip.

You pulled the little zipper at the side of your dress, the soft rasp of it echoing like a countdown.

And then the silk slipped to the floor.

You stood there—naked. Exposed. Glowing in the low hotel light.

Lando moaned.

Low. Guttural. Possessive.

You didn't move.

He walked toward you slowly. Stalking. A predator in linen and lust.

You felt him stop behind you. His breath hit your neck.

"You thought you were so clever, didn't you, darling?" he whispered, mimicking the word in the same sweet tone you'd used at the bar.

You smirked. "Were you jealous?"

He didn't answer at first—just slid one hand up your inner thigh, slow and deliberate.

"Was that your plan, baby?" he murmured against your skin. "To make me lose my fucking mind?"

His fingers brushed over your core, already soaked. You hissed at the contact.

Lando chuckled breathlessly. "Oh you filthy fucking slut..."

His voice was dark silk, wrapped in teeth.

"You wanted this," he growled. "You wanted to make me mad."

His fingers slid up and down your folds, just teasing.

"You wanted me to lose it," he said, biting your earlobe.

"To drag you out of that bar and ruin you."

You whimpered. He was right. Every word.

"Alright then," he whispered. "You wanna play games?"

His breath was hot against your skin. "I'm all about games."

Before you could react, he pushed you forward—hard—until your palms hit the cold floor-to-ceiling window.

You gasped, your chest pressing against the glass.

"Lan—" you stuttered, looking down. "Someone could see—"

"I know," he growled behind you, already stripping down.

You heard his t-shirt hit the floor. Then the click of his belt.

Then—nothing but his breath. And the heat of him.

"But if you wanted to show off that bad..." he hissed, stepping up behind you, pressing his cock hard against your ass.

"Then let's show the whole fucking city..."

You whimpered. He reached between your legs again, just enough to make your knees shake.

"Let's show them," he murmured, lips brushing your shoulder, "who fucks you stupid every single night."

He didn't even give you time to register what was happening before he thrusted into you.

You screamed, collapsing forward against the window.

"F–fuck, Lando—" you gasped, your breath fogging the glass.

He didn't stop. His hips slammed into yours relentlessly, fucking you into the window like a man possessed.

You felt your bun unravel—he had yanked the hair tie out, fingers twisting into your hair as he dragged your head back onto his shoulder.

"You like that, huh?" he spat, lips brushing yours, voice thick with lust. "Like me like this? All possessive?"

"Yes—Lando," you moaned, eyes fluttering shut.

"Yes what, sweetheart? I didn't quite catch that."

"I like you— I love you like this," you whimpered.

He grinned against your cheek, still pounding into you, pulling your hair a little tighter as he buried his face in your neck, sucking bruises into your skin. It was too much. You were already soaked before even reaching the hotel, and now your body was clenching around him like it was begging to fall apart.

Suddenly, he pulled out. You whimpered, body collapsing against the window for support.

"No—Lando, please, I was so close—"

"You're not coming," he said coldly. "Not yet."

He turned you around, grabbing your face in both hands.

"You think you can play games like that, tease me like that, without consequences?" he growled against your lips.

"Oh no, pretty girl. You're gonna pay."

He kissed you—rough and hungry, lips and teeth crashing together. You moaned, arching into him, desperate for friction, for anything. But he pulled away with a cruel laugh.

"You're pathetic."

You whined.

He grabbed your wrist and spun you around, pressing your back to his chest in front of the full-length mirror.

"Now," he said, locking eyes with you in the reflection. One arm held you tightly around the waist. The other slid down to your ass.

Smack.

You yelped.

"You're gonna stand right here and watch me ruin you. And maybe, if you see what I do to you, you'll remember not to tease me again."

"You love when I tease you," you whispered, bold and breathless.

A flicker of a smirk tugged at his lips—you saw it in the mirror. You were right. But it vanished just as fast.

Smack. You moaned.

Smack.

"Did I give you permission to speak?"

You bit your lip hard.

"Shut up and take it like a good girl," he growled, thrusting back into you without warning.

He didn't give you a second to adjust. He slammed into you over and over, brutal and relentless, hips snapping against yours with unforgiving precision. His hand came up to your throat—not choking, just holding, owning. His other hand found your clit and started circling it, fast and perfect.

You reached behind you, grabbing at the back of his head, tugging at his curls. He groaned low and pulled your head up, kissing you again—messy, desperate.

It was too much.

All of it.

The pace. The grip. The mirror. Him.

Tears spilled from your eyes as the overwhelming pleasure crashed through you.

You clenched around him—tight, desperate.

He felt it.

"Come," he whispered, breaking the kiss for just a second.

And you did.

You came hard, screaming into his mouth as he fucked you through it, not slowing, not stopping. He didn't let go until he spilled inside you, moaning into your neck, holding you tight as he rode out the waves.

He stayed there for a while—inside you, against you, his breath ragged against your skin.

Your legs were limp. Your body collapsed against his chest, shaking and spent.

He pulled out gently, kissing your shoulder before wrapping an arm under your legs and another around your back, lifting you effortlessly.

He carried you to the bed, laying you down like you were made of porcelain.

Then he disappeared briefly, returning with a warm cloth.

As he cleaned you up, he pressed soft kisses to your hips, your thighs, your stomach—everywhere.

When he was done, he climbed into bed beside you, pulled you onto his chest, and wrapped the blanket around both of you.

"You okay?" he asked softly, lifting your chin so he could see your eyes.

"Perfect," you whispered, smiling lazily. "I love this side of you."

He chuckled, eyes sparkling. "My God... you can be such a slut."

You giggled. "Yeah, and you love it."

He shook his head, laughing quietly. "Yeah... maybe. But I'm sure I love you."

He kissed the top of your head.

"I love you too, pretty boy," you whispered, brushing your lips against his jaw.

He sighed, fingers trailing lazily down your spine.

"Hmm. Maybe I won't kill that bartender after all."