#ryu's comeback

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the bedroom is immersed in a heavy silence, broken only by the low hum of the television playing some random playlist on spotify and the rhythmic, metallic ticking of the watch Max is fastening onto his wrist.

the warm light from the lamps softens the edges of the furniture, bathing the silk robes draped over the armchairs and the subtle gleam of the jewellery you selected with such care.

Max finishes adjusting the cufflink of his white shirt, the fabric taut over his broad shoulders, when he looks up out of pure reflex. and, through the mirror, he sees.

you have been standing there for far too long.

it isn't the look of someone checking their makeup, or wondering if those heels match the outfit; it is the look of someone at war.

you observe yourself from the front, then slowly turn your body sideways. your fingers tug at the dark fabric of the dress around your hips, letting go of it immediately after with a sigh that dies in your throat. your brow is furrowed, your shoulders tense, your hands restless.

you look too beautiful to belong to this room. too beautiful to belong to this world.

to Max, you look like a painting. a work of art. a divine creature. the dress hugs your curves, the braided updo exposes the elegant line of your nape, and the red lipstick — that shade he adores — highlights your mouth in a way that makes him lose his train of thought.

but none of that seems to matter to you right now. because you keep staring at your own reflection as if searching for hidden flaws in your own skin.

he watches how you slide your hands down the side of your body and your abdomen, feeling the curvature of your ribs that seem to stand out beneath the skin, and how your eyes drop, disheartened, to the fit of the dress over your bust, which you believe to be too small for the structure of your shoulders.

Max takes off his watch and rests it on the chest of drawers. the sound of metal against wood echoes discreetly.

“schatje.” his voice is a deep murmur that cuts through the silence.

you blink rapidly, your shoulders rising in a slight start, almost as if you had forgotten he was there.

“hm?“

“you have been staring at that mirror for about five minutes now, love.“

you let out a dry chuckle, devoid of any humour, and look away from his eyes in the reflection, pretending to adjust one of the strands escaping your hairstyle.

“i'm just finishing getting ready. the lipstick... i think it is a bit crooked on this side” you lie, your voice coming out a pitch higher than normal, trying to fill the space before he notices the tremor in your fingers, which tap lightly against the corner of your mouth.

'it isn't', he thinks immediately.

because Max knows you. he knows the little signs. he knows the way you pull down the sleeves of your clothes when you want to hide your arms, the way you avoid photos from certain angles, and how you get strangely quiet, retreated into yourself, after spending too much time scrolling through social media or more than an hour talking to the rest of the WAGs.

he begins to walk towards you. his steps are slow, purposeful across the rug, until his silhouette fills the mirror right behind yours. your eyes meet his through the reflection for just a second before you look away again, fixing your gaze on the floor.

and that is enough for him.

his presence is warm, solid, an absolute contrast to the chill that seems to have settled in your chest. through the reflection, you see his hands rise slowly until they rest on the exact curve between your waist, too thin for your liking, and your hips. his touch is firm, anchoring you there.

“what is it?“ he asks, tilting his head slightly to the side to try and seek your gaze.

you swallow hard, feeling your throat tighten. the first layer of protection goes up automatically.

“nothing. seriously, Max. just... tiredness, maybe. we should go, i don't want us to miss the reservation time because of me.“ you make a subtle movement to take a step to the side, a clear attempt to escape the mirror, to deflect the focus from your body. but Max's hands do not leave your hips. they remain there, exerting a minimal but perfectly clear pressure: you are not leaving this spot.

“hey.“ his voice comes out even lower this time. gentle, disarmed of any rush. “look at me. forget the restaurant. what is going on in that pretty little head right now, hm?“

you bite your lower lip, cursing mentally because the red lipstick will probably smudge, but his insistence is breaking down your resistance faster than you would like. you try to take a deep breath, attempting to hold his gaze in the mirror to maintain the farce that everything is fine, but you end up letting the air out too slowly, your shoulders slumping heavily.

your hands move up to grip his wrists, not to push him away, but because you need to hold onto something real. the knot in your throat becomes unbearable. you look at the contrast of his large hands on your waist, then at the width of your own shoulders in the reflection, and the question that had been locked deep inside your chest finally escapes, small, trembling, and full of fear: "do you… have you ever looked at me and thought that i don't look… feminine?"

the silence that follows is immediate and practically palpable.

Max furrows his brow slightly. there isn't a hint of disapproval on his face, but rather a genuine, deep confusion. it is the expression of someone who has just heard a mathematical equation that makes absolutely no sense.

feeling the weight of that silence and the panic of having exposed too much of yourself, you let out a nervous laugh, the words beginning to tumble over one another before your courage fails completely: "i mean, my shoulders are too wide, Max... my arms look strong in a strange, completely unfeminine way. sometimes i look at myself and i feel like... i don't know. there are so many things wrong that i can't even think which one to name first. even my neck, i feel like it isn't as slender as it should be, i look..."

Max interrupts you, letting out a breath through his nose, a sound that is half a sigh and half an incredulous laugh. the dramatic tension in the room wavers for a brief second as he tilts his head, a blonde eyebrow arched high.

"your neck?!" he repeats, and there is an almost amused touch to his voice, though his eyes remain intense. "schatje, are you seriously complaining about having a thick neck to a Formula 1 driver?"

you blink, a bit disarmed by the direction of the conversation. Max gives a half-smile, that genuine, slightly lopsided one, before bringing one of his hands up to his own neck, visibly wider and marked by the intense training to withstand the g-forces on track. the very same neck that drives you wild, for that matter.

"i spend three days a week strapped to resistance bands and weights in the gym so my neck doesn't snap in a corner", he says, his voice soft but firm. "and here you are, thinking yours isn't delicate? look at me. where do you see a flaw in that?"*

the comment cracks your shield slightly, but the melancholy weighs down on your chest again almost immediately. you look away from him in the mirror, lowering your head. the warmth of his hands returns to your waist, contrasting with the chill of your own memories.

"it isn't just that, Max..." you whisper, your voice thick with emotion once more. "it is the whole package. i am completely... out of proportion. my waist looks normal, but then it completely disappears next to these hips and these ridiculously wide shoulders. my thighs are thick, my ribs show when i turn and... i have next to no bust to fill this dress, or any other dress, to be honest. there is just an empty space here. i don't understand how you can look at me like that when you travel the whole world and could have any other woman you wanted. any runway model, or i don't know, any of those highly successful influencers with perfect bodies."

this hits Max in an unexpected way. because there is no vanity in your words. there is no drama or a search for an empty compliment. it is just an old insecurity, one of those quiet ones that grow in the dark and truly hurt.

you take his silence as a bad sign. you think he is going to get annoyed, that he will be eager to just change the subject, anything.

but his thumb, which had been still, begins to caress the side of your waist. a circular, slow, heavy movement that sends an involuntary shiver up your spine. with a calm motion that accepts no counter-arguments, Max slowly turns your body around. he forces you away from the mirror, removing the intermediary from the conversation so that you face reality directly in his eyes.

"do you really believe that?" his voice drops another octave, husky, protective.

he cups your jaw with an absurd gentleness for the size of his hands, his thumb mapping the contour of your lower lip with precision, where the red lipstick still holds on.

"do you think i see flaws where i only see what i love most in the world? do you think i could want any other woman but you, as if you aren't the only person i look for whenever i walk into a crowded room? as if you aren't the woman i desire most every single day of my life?"

you try to look away, focusing on the knot of his tie or the buttons of his white shirt, because facing the sheer depth of Max's gaze right now is too painful. and this silence, this inability of yours to hold his gaze, is answer enough for him.

Max stays silent for a few seconds. it isn't that uncomfortable silence of someone who wants to leave, but a heavy, thoughtful silence of someone recalculating his route to dismantle every single one of your internal lies.

his blue eyes, deep as the arctic ocean on a stormy day, scan your face with a slowness that makes your chest ache. he is deciphering you, reading between the lines of this pain you have kept for so long, trying to understand how two such different versions of you could exist at the same time inside this room: the woman he sees — commanding, uniquely beautiful, strong, and with curves that drive him crazy; and the woman you believe yourself to be — full of mismatched pieces and disproportion.

his thumb caresses your skin slowly, sliding up the side of your neck, the very neck you just criticised, feeling the rapid pulse of your artery beneath his fingers.

"come here", he says, his voice now heavy with a silent promise.

you barely have time to respond before he guides your body, with a disarming care, over to the edge of the bed.

Max sits down first, parting his legs wide enough for you to fit into the space between them. your hands find his shoulders out of pure instinct, searching for a balance that seems to be lacking in your chest, and the difference in texture is immediate: the silk of his shirt beneath your palms contrasting with the raw heat radiating from his body against the chill of your trembling hands.

he tilts his face back slightly to get a better look at you, from the bottom up. and there continues to be so much softness in those blue eyes that it almost makes everything worse.

because it hurts to see such purity. it gives you an overwhelming urge to cry and cry and cry.

"i don't know at what point you started thinking you need to look smaller to be beautiful," he murmurs, his deep voice vibrating low, almost pressed against your abdomen. "but i hate that you think like that."

you try to look away, focusing on a random spot on the wall behind him, as a nervous, wet laugh escapes your lips.

"it is easy for you to say, Max. you are... you. everyone expects to see a specific type of woman by your side. someone who looks like she floats, you know? someone who is... subtle. i feel like i take up too much space. that i am too structured."

"no, love." he shakes his head slowly, his hands sliding up your bare arms, his thumbs applying a minimal, gentle pressure, caressing the soft skin there. "it isn't about being easy. it is about what is real."

the room seems to shrink around you both. the world outside, the restaurant reservation, the time, the phones forgotten on the chest of drawers... everything ceases to exist.

his long fingers continue to map the line of your arms, feeling the firmness of your muscles, the strength that you see as a flaw and that he views as pure power.

"i like your shoulders", he states, and the weight of his honesty makes your knees weaken slightly between his legs. "i like that they are wide, that there is more space for me to kiss or to rest my head when i am exhausted and just need to disappear from the world. i like that you look strong. you are strong."

you let out a short, startled breath, knitting your brows as if you had just heard a complete absurdity. your hands tighten a bit more around the fabric on his shoulders, your fingers digging slightly into the silk of his shirt. Max notices the shock in your expression immediately.

"i am serious."

your heart squeezes in a strange way. because no one had ever presented that as something beautiful before.

with a gentleness that borders on veneration, his hands slide down to the side of your body. through the thin fabric covering you, his thumbs find the ridge of your ribs, gliding over the indentations of your skin while he watches every micro-expression on your face before continuing.

"your ribs..." he sighs, closing his eyes for a second as he feels the symmetry of each bone beneath the skin, memorising your structure with the tips of his fingers. "i like how they show when you take a deep breath. it is as if i can feel how beautiful your structure is internally right from here. and your bust..." he opens his eyes and raises his gaze to your neckline, where you think something is missing. his eyes darken a shade, filled with a dense, focused gleam, making the deep blue of his irises nearly disappear. "i love how they fit perfectly in my hands, or in my mouth. i love how everything about you feels custom-made for my touch. you say your waist is too thin compared to the rest, but look at how my hands fit here. it is a perfect shape."

you feel a chaotic and overwhelming mix in your chest now. the air begins to fail you and the barriers you built over years start to crumble, one by one.

"i don't look at you and think about what i would change." his thumb moves up with an absurd lightness to your face and carefully wipes away a tear before it falls, tracing the contour of your cheek. "i look at you and think about how lucky i was to be the man you chose to love, even with all my many flaws. i see how lucky i am to be the only one to see you like this. and every single detail, every curve you try to hide... to me, they are signs that you are real. and i don't want a magazine model, schatje. i want the only woman who makes me forget how to breathe just by walking into the same room as me. i want you."

there it was. it was enough to break something inside you. you feel your eyes well up again, your chest rising and falling in an erratic rhythm.

"Max…"

"no." his voice comes out low, calm, but charged with an unshakeable firmness that admits no arguments. "let me speak. please."

Max stands up slowly, without breaking eye contact for a single second. even wearing high heels, you find yourself forced to tilt your head back a little to keep holding his gaze.

the space between you disappears completely. the scent of his cologne — something woody, citrusy, and deeply familiar — envelops your senses like a physical embrace. his hand now rests at the base of your spine, his long fingers pressing the fabric of the dress exactly where your waist transforms into the sharp, wide curve of your hips. he pulls you closer, gluing your bodies together until there is no air left between you, until you feel the rigidity of his body against yours.

he tilts his face, his breath brushing against your cheek.

"do you think i am blind?" he murmurs, his voice vibrating so close that you feel the tremor in your own body. "i see your shoulders, and i love them because they are strong, because they sustain who you are. i see your arms and i can only think about how good it feels to feel safe in them."

he pauses, one of his hands moving up with an specialisingly slow, agonizing pace along your ribs, mapping the shape of your skin until it rests on the curve of your breast before returning along the same path to your hip. his fingers tighten there, squeezing your flesh with a possessiveness that makes your chest rise and fall heavily.

"i see this waist, the perfect fit it has for my hands, and these curves you try to hide under loose clothes as if they were a mistake, when in reality they are the most beautiful thing i have ever touched", he continues. "i love the fact that you are intense, that you have this stubborn head that clashes with mine, and this huge heart that welcomes me even when i am unbearable. there is nothing about you that is 'too much' or 'too little'. everything is exactly as it should be."

the crying comes silently at first. a hitched breath, your lower lip trembling as you try, uselessly, to contain the wave of emotion. instinctively, you turn your face slightly to the side, trying to hide in the shadow of your own shoulder.

Max hates that immediately. he hates the idea of you feeling like you need to protect yourself from him, or that your pain is something he shouldn't see.

"hey, hey…" he holds your face with even more care this time, both hands now framing your cheeks. his lips touch your damp skin softly, kissing away the trail of a tear before it can slide down to your jaw. "don't do that. don't hide from me. never from me."

you try to take a deep breath, but it is difficult when he looks at you like that. Max has a gaze that seems to pierce through all your defences, reaching that place where your oldest fears live. there is no rush in the way he studies you; there is only a raw honesty, almost aggressive in its purity.

he gently brushes away a loose strand from your updo, his finger brushing against your ear and your piercings before he lets out a low sigh.

"i wish you could see yourself the way i see you. if only for a minute."

the phrase comes out almost frustrated, as if he were losing a race against his own thoughts. and that stirs something even deeper within you. because there is no exaggeration, no rehearsed attempt to be the 'perfect boyfriend'. it is just Max, being direct, being sincere, being himself.

you let out a faint laugh, broken by the crying.

"you only say that because you want to make me feel better and because, somehow, you love me."

"exactly." he replies instantly, without hesitation. "i love you. a lot. and loving you means i know every single millimetre of your body better than any track i have ever raced on."

his thumb slides across your cheek again, erasing the traces of the mascara that is beginning to smudge.

"and i think it is awful to imagine that you spend so much time being cruel to yourself while i spend all my time adoring you."

your gaze finally meets his, his eyes gleaming under the light of the lamp.

"it is just that…" you stammer. "sometimes i just feel like… i don't look delicate enough. i feel like i am 'too much' to be beautiful."

Max furrows his brow slightly, an expression of genuine confusion crossing his face.

"and who said you need to look delicate to be a woman? who said beauty has to be fragile?"

you open your mouth to reply, but the argument dies in your throat. because the truth is, you don't know. it is years of silent comparisons, comments caught in the air, standards you never asked to follow but that became a prison. everything had blended together inside your head until it felt like an absolute truth.

"i don't want something superficial or stuck in the same boring, fake routine", Max says, his voice husky now, his eyes dropping to your mouth. "i want you. all of you. i like that you are like this, exactly as you are."

your heart stumbles inside your chest.

"i like your waist", he confesses, his hand sliding up your sides, his thumbs tracing the smooth curve there with a reverence that makes your whole skin goosebump. each sentence comes out slowly. calmly. as if Max wants you to absorb them one by one, engraving them in your mind to replace the cruel thoughts. "i like the weight of your hips and the shape of your thighs, how your body is real, warm, and soft, custom-made for me to lose myself in. i like the strength of your shoulders and how you look at me without fear when you are angry. i like the whole of you, schatje. your brilliant mind, your stubbornness that rivals my own, and every single inch of this skin you insisted on wanting to hide."

he leans in a bit closer, his blue eyes shining so brightly they seem to burn away your shyness.

"to me, nothing is missing in you. and there is plenty of everything i have ever wanted."

you close your eyes for a moment when you feel his lips touch your bare shoulder. right there. on the part of your body you spent a lifetime trying to disguise and mentally diminish.

his kiss is slow. lingering. and so full of an almost painful tenderness that it makes your throat tighten all over again.

Max looks up at you right after, just a few centimetres away.

"never speak about your body as if it were a problem ever again", his voice is low, but it carries that typical firmness of someone who does not accept any arguments. "because it isn't."

you feel his hands slide carefully down your waist to your hips, without any rush at all. the touch of his palms is heavy, warm, spreading a trail of electricity across your skin over the fabric. he moves as if he is trying to prove to you, millimetre by millimetre, that there is absolutely no shame in touching you. that there is nothing there that needs to be hidden from the world — and least of all from him.

and perhaps the worst part is realising how desperately you want to believe his truth.

Max notices the hesitation flickering in your eyes and softens his expression even more, the corners of his lips tracing a faint smile.

"love…" he murmurs, as if reading your thoughts, pressing his forehead against yours for a brief second. "i am not trying to convince you of anything. i am just telling you the truth. what i see."

his fingers move slowly along the sides of your dress before he tilts his face and leaves another soft kiss on your skin. then another. and another along the line of your neck. there is no urgency in the way his mouth moves against you. there is none of the blind rush of raw desire. just… care. as if he is trying to love every single one of your insecurities, one by one, until they stop hurting so much.

you don't even realise at what point your hands stopped trembling so much against his chest.

perhaps it was when he kept looking at you with that same calm, focused expression. perhaps when none of his touches felt hesitant or artificial. perhaps when it became obvious that Max wasn't overlooking your supposed imperfections just to be a good boyfriend. he truly, genuinely, does not see you in the distorted way you see yourself. and that is still strange to you.

he lets out a short sigh, his hands moving up to your arms, his thumbs tracing the texture of your skin with a quiet adoration.

"do you want to know what i like most?" he asks, his voice drawn out, in a tone of confidence.

you blink, a bit caught by surprise by the proximity and the sudden change in his tone. a nervous, curious little laugh escapes your lips.

"what?" you ask, arching an eyebrow, trying to read the mysterious glint in those blue irises.

"i like it when you give up trying to feel comfortable in structured dresses just to go to stupid gala dinners", he confesses, bringing his face closer to yours, his warm breath brushing your cheek. "i love it when you steal my Red Bull or Mustang hoodies and wear those clothes three times your size. but what i truly love most is your mind. i adore seeing you focused, the way your eyes shine when you are defending an idea tooth and nail, or how your loud, genuine laugh clears all the tension from my chest after a bad race. you don't pretend to be nice to people you don't like and you don't change your ways for anyone. it is that authenticity that drives me crazy."

you swallow hard, feeling your cheeks warm under his blue gaze. the ghost of self-criticism nudges your mind.

"i look like one of your childhood friends when i dress like that, Max. it is baggy, sloppy... i don't look like your girlfriend. it is ridiculous."

"it is absurdly incredible”, he corrects instantly, his voice firm, his eyes shining with a purely possessive intensity. "i love seeing you comfortable. i like seeing you wear whatever you want, without caring about this paranoia of looking 'delicate'. and if you think loose clothes erase how much of a woman you are... have you accidentally forgotten about that grey suit you wore last year?"

a sudden shiver runs down your spine. you remember the well-tailored suit perfectly, with its structured shoulders and long trousers.

"the media tore me to pieces because of that suit, Max", you murmur, turning your gaze to the side, the memory of the internet comments still hurting a little. "they said i looked boxy. that the outfit emphasised my shoulders and my hips, that it lacked femininity and elegance."

Max lets out a short laugh, that genuine, sharp mockery of his that the whole world knows from Sunday interviews and that rude journalists learned to fear. he holds your chin with two fingers, bringing your face back to him.

"well, whenever the media says something ridiculous about you, do exactly what i do: tell them all to fuck off and carry on with your life."

you can't help but let a proper laugh escape your lips, breaking the last of the crying. Max gives a lopsided smile, satisfied to have extracted that kind of sound from you, before bringing his mouth close to your ear.

"because the truth is…" he whispers, his voice now husky and thick with second intentions, "that suit drove me completely out of my mind. i spent the entire event unable to pay attention to anything that wasn't the shape of your waist in that fabric and how commanding your shoulders looked. you walked around the hospitality with your head held high, without needing to beg for anyone's attention, and i could only look at the contrast of those tailored trousers clinging to your hips. i swear i tried to focus on the conversations with the engineers, but my mind could only think about how badly i wanted to drag you out of there to the hotel just to rip that suit off and see every single inch of what was underneath it."

his fingers finally slide slowly up your back until they find the clasp of the dark dress. Max doesn't open it. not yet. he just leaves his hand there, the cold metal of the zip against his fingers, while he observes your face with surgical attention.

"do you know what the worst part of all this is?" he asks softly.

you shake your head slightly, completely hypnotised by the tone of his voice.

"you think i would like you more if you were different. if you changed your shape to fit into what others say is beautiful."

that makes your chest tighten immediately. because, deep down, that was exactly what you thought every single time you compared yourself to the women surrounding the paddock.

Max lets out a short breath through his nose before tilting his head slightly to the side, his blue eyes locked onto yours. calm. sincere. unshakeable.

"i don't want you to be different. i don't want another woman. i don't want someone smaller, more delicate, thinner, or anything like what you see on instagram. i look at those edited photos, at those millimetrically calculated poses that everyone copies, and i feel absolutely nothing. it is all plastic, it is all the same. what i feel for you... the way my blood boils when you hug me, how much i love the real texture of your skin, the weight of your body on mine... none of those glass girls could make me feel that in a million years."

his free hand finds your waist over the fabric of the dress, squeezing the flesh there with a tender strength, gluing your body to his once more.

"i want you, do you understand me? you. just the way you are. and i don't want you to ever change. never, unless it is for yourself. because you are the only person worth changing for. i want your mind, i want your stubborn streaks, i want your wide hips exactly the way they are right now, without adding or taking anything away. you are my reality, and i wouldn't trade that for any illusion."

simple. direct. so absurdly honest that it almost hurts to receive so much love all at once.

you feel your eyes burn again, but this time, there is something completely different mixed into the knot in your throat. it isn't just the old sadness trying to dictate the rules; it is the strange, almost frightening relief of finally being seen in your entirety, without needing to shrink yourself or apologise for your own size before being loved.

Max notices the minute change in your expression immediately. the defensive rigidity of your face gives way to a quiet surrender, and he smiles faintly, a nearly imperceptible movement at the corners of his lips.

"there you are…" the comment comes out so softly, so stripped of his public armour, that it makes your heart melt completely.

he slowly brings his hand to the back of your neck. with long and surprisingly nimble fingers, he begins to pluck out the hairpins hidden in your braided updo. one by one, he removes them without any rush, letting them drop onto the rug. the dark strands of your hair begin to tumble over your shoulders slowly, spreading across your bare skin and the fabric of the dress. his eyes follow each falling lock, fascinated, as if he were witnessing the unveiling of a sacred work of art.

"fucking beautiful…" he murmurs, his voice husky, almost distracted by the sight of your hair against the width of your shoulders.

you let out a small laugh, your chest still rising and falling with the remnant of the crying that is dissipating.

"you speak as if i were perfect, Max."

he looks up immediately, fixing his eyes on yours with absolute seriousness.

"you are perfect", he brings his face close to yours again, eliminating any protective distance. "and i speak as someone unconditionally in love."

the silence that follows is warm. comfortable. thick with an electricity that doesn't burn, but welcomes. Max rests his forehead against yours for a few seconds, closing his eyes while his hands continue to caress you distractedly, a movement of pure muscle memory.

feeling his warmth and the time slipping away outside, you say very softly, almost in a breath: "what about our dinner, Max? the reservation? it took you weeks to get and…"

"fuck the reservation", he cuts in, without hesitating for a millisecond. "to be perfectly honest, i already doubted we were going to make it out of this room from the second i saw you take off that robe."

you laugh properly this time. a clean laugh that echoes through the room and clears away the last ghost of insecurity.

Max could swear, before anyone, that he had never heard a sound so beautiful in his entire life as that of your genuine laugh. two years have passed since the first day, and he still feels the exact same impact in his chest, the same urgency to protect that sound from the rest of the world.

he smiles as he brings his hand to your face again. his thumb slides carefully across your cheek, wiping away the last salty remnants of the tears as the air between you shifts in weight. it grows lighter. warmer. it is as if the suffocating weight in your chest has lessened — not vanished completely, because old, deep-seated insecurities do not evaporate by magic — but enough for you to finally be able to breathe without feeling ashamed of inhabiting your own body.

his eyes scan your face once more, slowly dropping until they rest on the red lipstick, which is now slightly smudged at the corners from his touch.

"you know this lipstick completely finishes me, don't you?"

you let out a low laugh through your nose, your fingers discreetly playing with the collar of his shirt.

"seriously?"

"mhm. very seriously." Max tilts his face and leaves a slow, heavy, warm kiss right at the corner of your mouth. it is a touch careful enough not to spread the pigment, though from the intensity of his gaze, it is clear he doesn't care in the slightest about ending the night stained in red. "i spent the last twenty minutes trying to think how i would control myself from running my hand through your hair and kissing you in the middle of that restaurant in front of everyone. thank goodness we aren't going anymore."

the heat rushes up your cheeks immediately, tinting your skin with a flush that the light makeup cannot hide. Max smiles the exact second he notices the reaction.

"there", he points discreetly with his chin, his eyes gleaming. "i like that too."

"what?"

"that little face you make when you get shy because of me."

you roll your eyes, but the gesture loses all its strength because, finally, your body relaxes completely between his hands. and Max notices everything. his surgical gaze maps your physical changes: the way your shoulders finally drop, disarmed; how your hands have stopped trying to pull or adjust the fabric of the dress to hide your hips; how your eyes finally hold his, diving into the blue without looking away.

he looks visibly proud of it. as if every single millimetre of comfort he gives back to you is the most important victory of his life, because, in a way, it is.

his fingers slide slowly up your bare arm, rising in a continuous caress until he tilts his head to leave a soft kiss on your clavicle. then, his mouth moves down to the exposed skin at the neckline of your dress, just above your bust. it is a touch without any rush, without the blind urgency of turning it into something purely carnal. it is a poetic adoration. just… tenderness.

"you are so, so beautiful…" he murmurs against your skin, his voice muffled by the fabric, sounding almost distracted by his own level of trance. "and you don't even have a clue."

your heart squeezes again, but it is a good squeeze, the kind that expands your chest. you let your hand move up to his face. your fingers gently pass along the sharp line of his jaw, feeling the slightly rough texture of the stubble you love so much — and that you always ask him to keep — as you watch the way he stares at you. it is the look of someone who wants to memorise every detail, every line, every imperfection that, to him, makes up perfection.

"thank you." you whisper, your voice nearly vanishing.

Max pulls his face back just enough for your eyes to align again.

"for what, schatje?"

you hesitate for a brief second, swallowing the rest of your vulnerability before delivering the final truth: "for making me feel… safe. inside my own skin."

Max's expression softens immediately, losing any trace of rawness. and then, he kisses you.

it is a soft kiss. with so much gentleness and depth that it seems impossible for any world or any rush to exist beyond this room. one of his hands remains firm at the base of your spine, anchoring your hips against his, while his other hand holds your face with a precious precision, as if you were something infinitely rare and valuable.

and he isn't trying to prove a theory. there is no desperate urgency, nor exaggerated intensity. there is just… love. love translated into the slow movement of his lips, into the small pauses where breaths mingle, into the shared sighs that echo softly between you.

and for the first time tonight, when Max pulls your body even closer, gluing you against his chest, you don't think about your structure. you don't think about whether your shoulders are large or if your bust is small. you don't think about how your body looks to the rest of the world.

you only think about how absurdly loved it is.

Max pulls his lips back millimetres from yours, his breath short, his eyes fixed on your red-smudged mouth.

"it is an honour to love you, darling," he whispers, his voice husky, his warm breath pressed against yours. "and if you still can't believe everything i say… if you don't believe me when i say i love you completely and that i adore every single piece of you… then, just be quiet. and let me show you."

Max's whisper still hangs in the air, thick and warm, when his fingers finally find the invisible zip on your back and begin to pull it down.

you don't deny him.

and so, the dark fabric gives way completely, slipping past the line of your shoulders, sliding down your hips until it puddles in a perfect circle around your feet.

you step back instinctively, the protective reflex almost winning out. under the warm, welcoming glow of the lamp, you are exposed in nothing but your black lingerie set. the strapless bra supports your breasts with care, shaping your chest where your ribs trace soft lines beneath your skin, while the seamless, thin knickers disappear into the sharp curve of your hips, accentuating the firm roundness of your bum — the very same imposing structure you spent a lifetime criticising, but that Max secretly idolatrizes.

your arms move up to cover your abdomen, your fingers tense as you seem to try and shrink inside yourself.

"Max… turn off the lamp. please." the request comes out almost like a desperate prayer.

during all the time you have been together, he almost always gave in. out of pure respect for your time, understanding that the dark is your refuge against your own judgements, the lights would go off. but not today. today is about tearing away the shadows once and for all.

Max takes a step forward, eliminating the distance you tried to create. he doesn't turn off the light. instead, his hands wrap around your wrists with a gentle firmness, applying a subtle pressure to pull your arms away from your own body, forcing you to open up to him.

"no. not today, schatje", he murmurs, his blue eyes gleaming with absolute conviction. "i spent the whole day watching you pull down the sleeves of your t-shirt in the paddock, and i spent nearly the entire night watching you try to hide in that mirror. now i want to see you completely. no tricks. no shadows. just… you."

before you can voice a protest, the man known worldwide for his unshakeable posture, the driver who dominates the tracks with a surgical aggressiveness and who never bows down before any opponent, simply bends before you.

Max kneels on the bedroom rug.

and the visual impact of this scene makes your breath hitch. then, without any rush at all, his hands slide smoothly down your waist, your hips, and your legs, tracing your calves until they reach your ankles. his fingers find the delicate straps of your high heels, which he knows you hate more than anything in life, and with infinite patience, he undoes the buckles and slides the leather off your feet, one at a time.

when you take that definitive step out of the heels, your feet touch the soft, warm texture of the rug. you lose those centimetres of artificial height, coming down to the floor, left completely disarmed before him.

Max sets the shoes aside and, still on his knees, rests both his palms flat against the firm flesh of your thick thighs, sliding his touch slowly up until it rests on the sides of your hips. the tips of his fingers trace the light, silver lines of the stretch marks that mark your skin — the very same ones you curse every single day, spending so much time in front of the mirror after a shower wishing they would vanish under your hateful gaze.

you contract your abdomen, bracing for the weight of discomfort, but what follows is the direct warmth of his lips. Max leaves a slow, damp, deep kiss right on top of one of your marks.

you let out a trembling sigh, your hands finding the top of his head, your fingers burying into the blonde strands almost out of a need to keep yourself steady.

"Max…" your tone is nearly a moan of pure vulnerability.

"do you think these marks ruin you?" his voice comes out muffled against your skin, his warm breath making every pore of your body goosebump in response. he raises his face slightly, looking up to meet your tear-filled eyes. "to me, they look like lines on a volcano, love. marks of fire and strength that trace exactly where your body expanded to make you this marvellous woman. it is sexy as fuck. i love every single one of them, did you know that?"

he presses his mouth to your skin again, rising in a trail of slow, heavy kisses along your hip, outlining the thin line of the black knickers with a devotion that makes your legs weaken. Max slides his hands around to the back, cupping the firm flesh of your bum, squeezing it with a tender possessiveness that makes it clear just how fascinated he is by your abundance.

there is no rush. he is mapping you as if he were standing before the most valuable trophy he has ever won. and to him, neither the four trophies that mean he was champion of the world nor all the titles possible are worth as much as you.

slowly, he stands up again, his body glued to yours as he gains height once more. his hands move up your prominent ribs, caressing the ridge of each bone with his warm palms until they reach your face.

with a patience that no one who knows him would ever say he possesses, Max uses his fingers to finish undoing the rest of the braid in your hair. he spreads the dark strands with his hands, letting them fall completely free, floating around your face and covering your wide, perfect shoulders like a mantle. he hooks his fingers into your locks, tilting your head back subtly so that you feel the calm urgency of his desire.

"look at me", he whispers against your lips, his eyes fixed on yours. "look into my eyes and tell me if there is anything wrong with this divine body."

you swallow hard, your mouth half-open, completely surrendered to his magnetism. but before the move to the bed happens, Max doesn't step back. instead, his hands slide down your face, passing over your neck and outlining the line of your shoulders until they move behind your body.

his palms press flat against your back.

you contract your muscles immediately, a tense start running down your spine. your back, too wide, has always been a critical spot; you always thought its span excessive, too masculine, lacking that narrow delicacy you saw in other women. you try to lean forward, attempting to glue your chest to his to hide that part, but Max does the opposite. he slides his fingers across the soft skin of your back, mapping the distance between your shoulder blades with a deliberate slowness.

he loves the amplitude of your back. to him, this expanse is an invitation, a firm and perfect territory where he knows he can rest his hands with force without any fear of breaking you.

"love…" you murmur, trying to contain the discomfort as you feel his fingers find the clasp of the black strapless bra.

"shh… relax for me, darling", he whispers against your cheek, his warm breath heating your skin. "i love your back, did you know that? i love the space i have here."

with a precise and focused movement, his calloused fingers work on the hooks. the subtle sound of the fabric stretching and giving way echoes in the silence of the room as the clasp opens. three short clicks and the bra loses its pressure immediately, loosening against your bust, but Max doesn't let the piece fall.

instead, he keeps his hands there, pressed flat against your bare skin now, right in the centre of your back. his thumbs begin to trace the line of your spine, descending vertebra by vertebra, applying a firm and delicious pressure that makes a long, trembling sigh escape your lips. he pulls your body even closer by the width of your back, completely gluing your chest to his. you feel the contrast of the rough texture of his hands against the extreme sensitivity of that region.

"i like how structured you are", he dictates, his husky voice trailing down your nape while he distributes slow kisses along the curve of your shoulder, right at the transition to your back. "i love the line of your bones, the firmness of your skin... you have a presence that intimidates me, and i am completely fascinated by it. i like that there is space for me to dig my nails in when you hold me tight, i like feeling that i have somewhere to hold onto when you drive me crazy. this is the shape i want to feel against my chest every single night. don't change a thing here. never."

his mouth drops a bit further, leaving a damp, lingering kiss on your shoulders, right where your insecurity usually hurts. the touch is so loaded with genuine affection that you finally give in, letting your shoulders drop and relaxing the weight of your own body against his chest.

Max secures your hip with one hand, ensuring you feel every millimetre of the heat radiating from him, while his other hand moves back up to your nape, his fingers tangling in your hair to keep your body glued to his.

"let me take off the rest", he requests in a low murmur, the firmness in his voice mixed with an urgency he can barely contain. "i want to see everything you were trying to hide from me. can i?"

Max pulls back just enough to seek your eyes, holding your gaze with a patient intensity, waiting for your answer. seeing the most focused driver in the world decelerate like that, treating your barriers with so much respect and care, melts you inside. any remnant of hesitation dissipates under the blue of those irises.

"mhm…" you murmur back, the sound nearly vanishing in your throat as you nod your head, surrendering yourself entirely to his command.

the moment your bust is left completely uncovered under the golden light of the lamp, Max lets out a heavy sigh, his chest rising and falling hard. his large hands move up immediately to your ribs, his thumbs spreading across your warm skin, rising until they contour the base of your breasts with an almost sacred reverence.

"gott… you are so damn beautiful…" he dictates, his voice failing slightly, his eyes fixed on your nudity as if he were standing before the most precious work of art in the world. "look at that. beautiful. divine. mine."

only then, with your defences completely undone and the black bra forgotten on the floor along with the dress, Max wraps one of his arms around your waist, keeping you glued to him as he takes slow steps towards the bed.

you yield to his touch, letting yourself be guided until the edge of the mattress touches the back of your thighs. you lie down on the light sheets, and the contrast of your black knickers, your dark hair, and your bare skin against the white immensity of the bed is an image that makes Max's pupils dilate instantly.

his jaw locks for a moment, his breath suddenly shorter. standing there, shaped by the soft light of the lamp coming from behind him, Max looks like a statue before a masterpiece. the contrast is so perfect, so absurdly intimate, that he needs a moment to process it. his eyes shine with a hungry intensity, but his next movement is deliberately slow, as if he were testing the limits of his own sanity by delaying the touch for a few more heartbeats.

he moves over you, but sustains his own weight on his strong arms, the very same arms that serve as pillars to keep you at the absolute centre of his world. without the bra to cover your chest, the warm light of the lamp outlines your small breasts with a nearly poetic softness. your eyes threaten to look away to the side, the reflex to cover your bust almost waking up, but Max doesn't let you.

one of his hands moves smoothly up your prominent ribs, his thumb caressing the warm skin just below your breasts, trapping your attention there. and then he presses his palm flat there, cupping your breast with a deliberate slowness, exploring it with a sweetness that makes your chest rise and fall in an erratic rhythm. there is no space left over; there is nothing missing. his thumbs circle the goosebumped skin, proving in a physical and palpable way what he had said minutes before in the mirror: they fit with surgical perfection in the exact space of his hands.

"see?" he whispers, his voice drawn out by the rising desire, his eyes fixed on the way your soft flesh yields beneath his fingers. "custom-made for me. perfect."

before you can respond, he lowers his face. Max's mouth wraps around one of your breasts, and the warm contact of his tongue sends an electric arc shooting through your venter.

there is no rush, none of that aggressive rawness; there is only a soft, rhythmic suction that pulls a breath from your red lips. he consumes you with an adoration so deep that every single millimetre of your insecurity seems to melt under the heat of that mouth. he leans onto his elbows and brings his other hand to your free breast, massaging it, filling every gap between his fingers with you, demonstrating that the mathematics of his desire never fail.

the physical pleasure blends into emotional relief, and you feel a wave of energy rush through your arms — those very same arms you spent a lifetime criticising for being too strong and masculine. now, they find a perfect purpose. you wrap them around Max, feeling the muscles along his back contract beneath your touch.

your fingers lightly scratch the fabric of his shirt as you slide your hands upwards, rising over his broad shoulders until you reach the line of his neck. Max lets out a heavy sigh against your skin, surrendering control without resistance when your right hand moves up to the knot of the dark tie he is still wearing. your fingers grip the fabric and, with a decisive firmness, you pull him upwards, using the strength of your arms to bring him close, eliminating the rest of the distance between you and gluing his mouth to yours in a hungry, deep kiss.

Max lets out a muffled sound from the back of his throat, a near-growl of approval, completely caught by surprise by your initiative. he adores the strength of your embrace. he loves that you can hold him with so much energy, using the arms you criticise so much to keep him captive against you.

it is in the middle of this overwhelming kiss, while your tongues meet in a lazy, warm rhythm, that your body registers the unfiltered truth. pressed against the side of your thigh, you feel the rigidity of his body — the clear, tense, pulsing volume that betrays just how completely surrendered he is to his desire for you. and to think that the mere sight of your naked body was capable of leaving him in that state ignites a brand-new spark in your mind: the delicious perception of the power you hold over him.

the electric shock of this realisation makes your body tremble. it was you who caused that. the same woman who minutes ago looked at herself in the mirror searching for flaws and feeling out of proportion under the light of the bedroom, has now reduced the most implacable, focused man in the world to a state of pure urgency and necessity.

Max pulls his mouth away from yours just enough to breathe, his lips shining with your red lipstick, his blue eyes two shades darker, focused on you as if nothing else existed in the universe.

"now… let me take this off", he murmurs, his voice husky, his fingers moving up to his own neck.

with a single fluid, effortless motion, he undoes the knot of his tie and throws it away, not caring where it lands. the sophisticated accessory from the gala dinner is now just a nuisance on the floor.

next, his fingers find the first button of his white shirt. he doesn't tear the clothes; he makes a point of keeping his eyes locked onto yours as he undoes each button slowly, from top to bottom. one by one. the fabric opens up, revealing his broad chest, his fair skin, his muscles tense from his accelerated breathing. but Max's focus is not on himself. there is no vanity in his movements. each button he opens is a rite of surrender to you; he is stripping himself of his driver's armour, his status, and the world outside to stay at exactly the same level of vulnerability as you.

when he tosses the shirt to the side and leans over you again, the heat of his bare chest finally collides against yours. the shock of his hot skin against the extreme sensitivity of your uncovered breasts makes you gasp. Max anchors himself on his elbows again, applying that warm, secure weight that pins you to reality, while the fabric of his trousers brushes the inside of your thighs.

"i am all yours, schatje", he whispers against your forehead, his heavy, muscular body fitting perfectly between your legs. "entirely yours. and, if you let me, i am going to show you how lucky i feel that you are mine."

his words float in the short space between you, loaded with a vulnerability that deactivates the rest of the world. in response, your hands move slowly up his bare, firm chest, feeling the accelerated beating of his heart beneath your palms, until they reach his jaw. you caress the side of his face with your thumb, feeling the light texture of the stubble, and let a soft smile appear on your lips.

"i let you, Max", you murmur back, feeling yourself melt inside because he still takes this care, this attention, this tenderness to ask. "of course i let you."

upon hearing your answer, Max closes his eyes for a brief second, pressing his forehead against yours again in a sigh of pure relief and surrender, before stretching his arms out on the mattress, one on each side of your head. as he sustains his weight above you, he forces you to face the intensity of his actions.

under the soft illumination of the lamp, his irises look almost magnetic, dark. the trace of your red lipstick remains marked on his lips, a silent testimony to the urgency of the kiss from seconds ago. he focuses all his attention on your mouth before slowly raising his eyes to yours, the corners of his lips sketching a faint, almost incredulous smile.

"do you have any idea what you have just done?" he murmurs, his voice coming out huskier than usual, a sound that vibrates directly in your chest.

you swallow hard, feeling the heat of his skin radiate against yours. your hands still tremble a bit, pressed flat against his chest, where Max's heart beats in a rhythm just as frantic as your own.

"since i can remember, i have spent the years of my life training my mind to have absolute control over every single millimetre of my body, schatje", he continues, tilting his face a little more, until the tip of his nose brushes your cheek. "i control my reflexes, my breathing, my heartbeat... everything. until you appeared. you destroy every single gram of discipline i have just by looking at me like that."

he lets out a short, low laugh, which blows warm against your skin, before fixing his eyes directly on yours.

"and you still have the audacity to look at my face and tell me i would desire any other woman in the world." there is an incredibly tender indignation in his tone as he raises a hand and caresses your face. "do you really think any of those catwalk women, who look like they are made of glass and fake symmetry, would have a second of my attention while you exist? while i have all this strength all to myself?"

Max moves his hands down to your jaw, his long fingers caressing your skin with a firmness that accepts no doubts. his thumb outlines your mouth again, wiping away the excess of the red that has spread, but his gaze remains trapped by your soul.

"looking at someone else would be a waste of time”, he whispers, his voice dropping to a tone of sacred confidence, his blue eyes flashing with an ardent possessiveness. "none of them have the curve of your hip that fits into my hand as if it had been drawn for me. none of them have this perfume that chases me even when i am inside the car at three hundred kilometres an hour, making my mind fly straight to this bed in the middle of a race. i don't want the untouchable, cold, dull perfection of a magazine. i want your rawness." he pauses, his breath hitting heavy against your lips, the contained urgency making his jaw lock before he continues, even more honest and implacable. "i want the weight of these soft thighs squeezed around my waist, trapping me in you. i want the width of your shoulders sustaining me when i collapse from exhaustion. i want every line of your skin, every curve traced in lava of this body that sets me on fire every time i come close. i want your intensity, your stubbornness, your real touch. everything you think is too much in you, to me is exactly what i lack. it is what completes me and drives me crazy."

his thumb presses your lower lip down slightly, his eyes descending to your mouth with a hunger that makes your venter contract.

"so stop trying to hide from me under this light", he dictates, his voice dropping an octave, husky and thick with promises. "because i am going to spend the rest of the night proving to you, centimetre by centimetre, that you are the only perfect thing in this entire world."

you feel the air leave your lungs, not out of fear, but from the impact of finally understanding the magnitude of what you cause in him. a silly, relieved tear threatens to form in the corner of your eyes, but it is the overwhelming warmth taking over your chest that stands out. the insecurities you carried all day seem to melt under the intensity of that devoted gaze.

the rigidity at the side of your thigh is still there, firm, a physical and undeniable reminder that his words are not a consolation — they are a fact. Max isn't trying to be gentle; he is being consumed by you.

"do you believe me now?" he asks, his blue eyes gleaming with an intensity that seems to burn away the rest of your defences. "can you feel what you do to me? can you see that you have me exactly where you want me, completely surrendered?"

you cannot speak. instead of answering with words, your legs yield to instinct, opening a bit wider to accommodate his weight, while your hands tighten on his broad shoulders, pulling him subtly closer in a silent request for more.

he slides his hand from your face to your nape, his long fingers tangling in the dark strands now fully loose across the light sheet. with a subtle, possessive firmness, Max pulls your body a few millimetres upwards, wrinkling the sheets and ensuring you feel the full extent of his warmth against your bare skin. the direct contact of his trousers against your intimacy is an electric shock of reality, ripping a helpless gasp from you that echoes straight into his mouth.

"i spent the whole night wanting to prove this to you", he says, his lips brushing yours with every word, sharing the same air. "so do us both a favour: forget the rest of the world. forget what they say is beautiful. look at me and see how crazy i am for every single piece of you that you try to hide."

you swallow hard, your mind spinning with the raw intensity of his words. it is impossible not to get lost in the blue of those eyes when Max speaks with so much certainty — with the same implacable precision he uses to win on sunday, but directed entirely at dismantling your fears, one by one, until no barrier is left between you.

your fingers return to his chest, feeling the accelerated rhythm of his heart beneath your palms. your voice comes out in a trembling breath, almost a whisper of surrender: "you leave me completely breathless, Max…" you murmur. "it isn't that i don't believe you, it is just… i don't know how to process that you see me this way."

Max lets out a warm gust of air against your lips. the vulnerability of your confession hits his ego in the best possible way, and a half-smile, mixing a pride typically his with an overwhelming tenderness, sketches across his face.

"you don't need to process anything, love", he whispers, his mouth brushing yours, prolonging the torture of proximity for one more second before finally beginning a slow, torturous descent down your neck. "you just need to feel. let me take care of the rest."

the weight of his body continues to hover over yours, but there is a detail that makes everything even more overwhelming: Max has not undressed completely. his white shirt remains tossed far away, his broad chest and strong arms bare against your skin, but he is still wearing his dark tailored trousers. there is a silent and deeply sexy altruism in this. he is in no rush for himself; in fact, he is the least important part here. his urgency is not to sate his own desire, but rather to consecrate your body. he wants to give himself completely so that you understand, once and for all, how adored you are. he will sort himself out later.

his mouth finally finds the curve of your neck, and you throw your head back into the sheets with a deep sigh. Max's kisses are wet, heavy, and slow, rising back up to the line of your jaw before concentrating on the soft skin of your throat. he sucks the spot with a firm, possessive pressure, leaving a warm mark there that will serve as the first visual warning that you belong to him.

you let out a helpless gasp, your hands moving up to his blonde hair, your fingers tangling in the strands as he repeats the gesture on the other side, descending towards your clavicle with slow hickeys that make your entire body goosebump and clamour for more. each touch of his mouth seems to stamp a definitive promise onto your skin.

"every single centimetre…" he murmurs against your skin, his voice vibrating in your bones while his warm lips continue to trace a torturous path downwards. "every single one is perfect."

he is in no rush at all. Max's right hand slides across the mattress and finds your left breast, moulding its shape with a reverent delicacy that contrasts with the urgency he had been hiding. the warmth of his calloused palm against the sensitivity of your bare bust makes you catch your breath. his mouth accompanies the movement of his hands, distributing slow, damp kisses that circle the base of your skin and make your chest rise and fall in a frantic rhythm.

when his lips find the top of your breast, capturing the sensitive peak with a calculated slowness, an electric current shoots through your spine. you let out a low moan, your fingers abandoning the strands of his hair to bury themselves tightly into the light sheets. Max sucks your skin softly there, savouring your surrender entirely and ripping from you the exact sound of rendition he spent the whole night wanting to hear.

when he finally pulls away from this first side, the sudden absence of his mouth leaves your skin instantly exposed to the air of the room. the subtle draft running between your bodies hits the damp, hypersensitive line his saliva left behind, turning the heat of seconds ago into a chilly, sharp shiver. you let out a sôfregous sigh, your entire body tensing with the thermal shock, your skin contracting even more under the effect of this sudden cold.

but the torture lasts only a moment. Max slides his face through the valley between your breasts, leaving a trail that is damp and pure embers in the centre of your chest, cancelling out the cold with the overwhelming heat of his skin as he transfers his attention to the other side.

his hand presses flat against your rib to steady himself, while his mouth takes your right breast. it is a delicious torture, watching the image of him from above, so imposing and focused, entirely surrendered to the view of your bust under the warm light. he repeats the rite of adoration: his lips contour the soft curve, the tip of his tongue teases the apex of your breast with a calculated slowness, and the firm suction that follows makes your hip give a slight, involuntary start on the bed, seeking more of his weight.

and only after ensuring that each side has received the same devoted attention, after covering your skin with his warmth, does Max continue his descent.

he finds the delicate ridge of your ribs and lingers there. his lips outline the line of each bone with a poetic adoration, alternating between soft kisses and warm puffs of air that make your abdomen contract in a delicious shiver.

you bury your hands back into the short, blonde strands at the nape of his neck, arching your body as Max distributes slow kisses across your abdomen, moving down in a straight line, leaving a shiny, warm trail on your skin.

his mouth slows down when he gets a little lower, veering from the centre to find the crest of your hip bones, right at the transition to your groin. that prominent, protruding structure you always hated looking at in the mirror — for thinking it took away the softness of your body and left you looking too sharp — draws Max's gaze like a magnet. his thumbs find both ends of that bony frame, pressing the skin there with a possessive firmness, while he deposits a lingering, heavy kiss right on top of the ridge of your right bone.

"i love the shape of this right here", he dictates against your skin, his voice so deep it reverberates straight into your hip. "it is my perfect fit. perfect for me to hold onto while i pull you against me."

a violent shiver rips through your body at the raw honesty of that confession. he doesn't just accept what you consider a flaw; he idolises it. his lips continue their downward path until they find the edge of your black knickers, so thin you barely remembered you were still wearing them.

"Max…" you sigh, your voice thick with desire, trying to find a point of support on the mattress while he just continues his implacable trail.

"yeah, schatje... i'm right here," he answers against the hot skin of your belly, his voice so deep and husky that it nearly scratches and vibrates straight into your hip. Max deposits a lingering, firm kiss just above the elastic of your lingerie, an almost desperate caress before pulling back. "just my name. that is all i want to hear you say all night long."

the room seems to whisper along with your breathing. without breaking the rhythm, he slides his body downwards. Max pulls away from your heat for an instant, descending from the bed in a fluid motion to kneel directly on the soft rug, right at the edge where you are lying.

being kneeling before you, stripped of all formality and wearing only his dark trousers, elevates the tension in the room to an almost sacred level. Max holds your thick thighs with both hands, his warm palms contrasting with your skin. his fingers dig lightly into your soft flesh, and he pulls your body with an impressive ease, making your hip slide across the light sheet to the exact limit of the mattress, bringing you into the direct line of his gaze.

with a deliberate slowness and overflowing with affection, he presses his large, warm hands flat against the inside of your thighs. he uses no force, just the firm, secure weight of his fingers, caressing the soft skin there with his thumbs in a soothing back-and-forth that makes your body relax against its will. Max tilts his head slightly, his blue eyes gleaming with an intensity that borders on the unbelievable as he focuses on your every curve.

you catch your breath, your heart beating in your throat as the warm light of the lamp bathes your entire body before him, highlighting every curve you usually spend hours trying to disguise. but there is no room for shame. not when Max looks at you as if he were standing before the most precious sanctuary in the world.

"look at you…" he requests, his voice falling to a drawn-out whisper, almost a plea. "you are the most beautiful thing i have ever seen in my life. every single piece of you is perfect. let me show you how much."

you swallow hard, your chest rising and falling heavily, completely disarmed by the raw sincerity emanating from him.

"look at me, love," he asks softly, his voice husky and drawn-out, his subtle accent making the command even more magnetic.

you prop yourself up on your elbows, using the firm strength of your arms to sustain the weight of your torso, and tilt your face downwards. the dark strands of your hair fall in a cascade, framing your face as you hold his gaze. from this angle, you can see the red lipstick still staining his lips and the firmness in his broad shoulders.

Max slides his hands down your legs until his thumbs find the sides of those knickers. without any rush, keeping his eyes locked onto yours, he begins to pull the silky fabric down, sliding it over the contour of your hips, your thighs, and your legs.

however, as the thin lace slides across your intimacy, it drags along the warm, slick moisture you had already gathered. the fabric gives way slowly, leaving a subtle, shiny, sticky line connecting the edge of the cloth to your most sensitive skin before it breaks. Max tracks the trail of that physical reaction with his gaze, his pupils dilating even further into an impossible darkness. his jaw locks, and he passes the tip of his tongue over his own lipstick-stained lips, wetting them in a hungry anticipation that makes your venter contract hard.

"verdomme…" he curses in a husky whisper, nearly breathless at the sight of how you are for him. "you are perfect like this. so ready for me…"

with a more urgent movement, he finishes removing the piece, tossing it away without caring where it lands. he doesn't break his eyes from yours for a single second as he brings his face close to your intimacy, and you could swear the peak nearly arrives just from this sight. his hands return, firm on the inside of your thighs, opening up space and keeping you anchored to the ground he chose to inhabit. and when the heat of his breath hits your most sensitive skin, followed by the incredibly poetic, damp, and dedicated touch of his mouth, the rest of the world vanishes.

the moan that escapes your lips is sharp, echoing through the quiet bedroom. your hands grip the white sheets tightly, your fingers closing into the fabric as Max proves his point in the most visceral way possible. he hovers there, delivering a focused, slow, and deep pleasure, a veneration that needs no explicit words to make itself understood. it is the poetry of the touch of a man who bent entirely to remind the woman of his life just how a divine masterpiece she is.

and then, the pleasure hits a point of no return. the strength in your elbows fails all at once under the impact of an overwhelming wave that rushes through your entire spine. your back hits back against the mattress in a soft thud, the light sheets welcoming your fall while your head goes back, the dark strands of your hair spreading out like a chaotic frame around your face.

you completely lose your footing. your fingers abandon the fabric of the bed and move straight to your own hair, tugging the strands as your mouth opens in a silent gasp, the missing air in your lungs replaced by the sôfregous sound of your own desire.

but your body doesn't want to hide; quite the contrary. in a purely instinctive reflex, your hip arches up from the mattress, curving your spine upwards in a desperate search for more of that contact, silently begging him not to stop.

feeling your line of defence collapse completely, Max responds immediately. his hands, which before were only soothing, move up your thighs and grip tightly onto the sides of your hips, his fingers digging into your skin to hold you exactly there, elevated and exposed under his command. he presses his body further against the edge of the bed, deepening the touch of his mouth and tongue with surgical precision, sucking and teasing the centre of your pleasure in a rhythm that fluctuates between hungry urgency and the deepest adoration.

every movement of Max's mouth against you feels like a direct response to your gasping, a silent conversation where he dictates the rules and you just surrender, coming apart entirely under the firm, devoted gaze of the man kneeling at your feet.

the accumulated pleasure begins to overflow, turning into an electricity that makes your legs tremble involuntarily. the intensity is so much that it borders on the insupportable, an overwhelming tingling that spreads through your thighs and makes your knees threaten to close once more, a desperate reflex of your body trying to contain the flood of sensations threatening to engulf you.

but Max is not going to let you back down now. not when you are so close.

perceiving the trembling and the tension in your muscles, he advances his body one more millimetre against the edge of the mattress. in a quick and incredibly possessive movement, Max slides his strong arms underneath your thighs, circling them and pinning your legs against his broad chest. he locks you open, his arms serving as handcuffs of flesh and bone that cancel out any attempt at escape, keeping your hip perfectly elevated and delivered to his mercy.

"stay here with me, schatje…" his command comes out muffled against your skin, his voice a husky vibration reverberating straight into your centre. "don't close. let it come."

with absolutely no chance of escaping your own pleasure, all you can do is whimper his name over and over again. your spine curves and your hands abandon the sheets for good, moving down in a desperate reflex to the nape of his neck. you bury your fingers tightly into Max's short strands, pulling him against your body as if he were your only anchor in the middle of that storm of sensations.

the room disappears. the light of the lamp becomes a golden blur. your back arches so much that it nearly loses contact with the bed when the first wave of your limit hits you. it is a violent strike of pure pleasure that makes your body spasm against the arms holding you, a long, sharp moan escaping your throat as you collapse into the deepest, most overwhelming apex of your life, delivering every single drop of yourself to him.

Max holds you tight during every second of the spasms, drinking in your every reaction, until your hip finally relaxes and yields back to the mattress, your breathing descending into sôfregous, tired sighs.

the silence of the room returns little by little, filled only by the sound of your heart hammering in your chest.

slowly, Max undoes the grip of his arms around your thighs. he rests his hands on the bed and rises from the rug with a deliberate slowness, every movement exuding a raw, magnetic sensuality.

from this angle, lying on your back with your eyes half-closed, the view of him is nearly cheating. the blonde strands of his hair are completely messy, sticking up in the directions where your fingers buried themselves seconds ago. but it is his face that steals all your remaining breath: under the soft illumination, Max's lips and jaw shine intensely, wet from everything he just took from you.

he passes the tip of his tongue over his lower lip, tasting the last traces of your pleasure, and stares down at you with his blue eyes still dark, a slow, proud half-smile forming on the face of the man who knows he just made you entirely his.

he looks down at you, and the image reflected in those irises is that of a woman completely disarmed. Max maps your current state: your dark hair spread across the light sheets, your cheeks flushed from the effort, your chest still rising and falling hard, and your thighs — the thighs you criticised so much — lightly marked by the recent grip of his fingers, like a temporary signature of the dominance he exercised there.

there isn't a single drop of judgment in his gaze. what passes through Max's irises is a primitive pride mixed with a deep affection, the glimpse of a man who feels like the luckiest in the world to have been responsible for ripping out every single one of those moans. it is as if, through that crystal blue, he were telling you that you have never been so beautiful, so poetic, and so perfect as in that exact second of rawness and exhaustion.

he swallows hard, the rigidity of his shoulders finally yielding. Max breaks the vertical distance and returns to lean over the bed, crawling slowly up the mattress until he hovers right near your face. he raises his hand and uses the back of his fingers to brush away a sweaty strand of hair that stuck to your forehead, his touch now so light that it seems like a lie that those same arms pinned you with so much force seconds ago.

you see his eyes drop to your mouth, and your heart, which had barely calmed down, misses its beats again when you notice his intention. your face heats up instantly with the flash of shyness trying to return. you know exactly where that mouth was just a few seconds ago.

"Max… wait", you murmur in a breath, trying to turn your face slightly to the side, the reflex of shame acting once more.

but he doesn't let you. with an infinitely sweet patience, Max rests his thumb on your chin, holding your face firmly and guiding you back to him.

"don't turn your face from me, darling," he whispers, his voice so low and husky it scratches your skin. his gaze is pure certainty. "let me show you."

he doesn't give you time to protest. Max tilts his face and glues his lips to yours in a slow, deep, open-mouthed kiss. the initial shock makes your body touse, but the sensation that follows is overwhelming. his tongue invades your mouth without any rush, sliding smooth and warm, sharing with you the damp, sweet, and intensely intimate trail of everything he just took from you down there.

it is a crazy sensation. tasting yourself through his kiss, mixed with the familiar taste of Max and the remnant of your own red lipstick, destroys any barrier of modesty left in your mind.

you let out a muffled sigh against his mouth, surrendering completely, and your arms move up to wrap around his neck, pulling him even closer. Max accepts the invitation with a low moan from the back of his throat, deepening the kiss, his lips moulding yours with an adoration that fills the entire room.

and when he finally pulls his mouth away from yours just enough to breathe, your lips remain shiny with pure intimacy. Max brushes his nose against yours, his blue eyes fixed on yours, overflowing with a genuine pride.

"see?" he whispers against your mouth, a tender half-smile sketching onto his face. "i told you. every single piece of you… even your taste is the most perfect thing in the world. and you have no idea how much i love being the only one who gets the opportunity to have all of this to myself."

you blink your eyes slowly, your brain still trying to process oxygen and the absurd amount of endorphins rushing through your veins. his romanticism is overwhelming, yes, but as your consciousness returns, a very specific — and very rigid — physical detail pressed against your thigh reminds you of a small detail.

you let out a low laugh through your nose, the sound echoing softly against his chest.

"what is it?" Max asks, arching a blonde eyebrow, genuinely confused by the sudden change in mood.

"nothing... it's just that you made this entire speech worthy of a Shakespearean poet..." you rest your hands on his broad shoulders, pushing him lightly to have room to breathe. "but you're sitting here staring at me all messy, with my lipstick smudged all over your face, and if i remember correctly, you still haven't taken off a single piece of clothing from the waist down."

Max blinks, looking down at his own body as if he had completely forgotten he was still wearing his trousers, and then looks back at you. the contrast between the focused driver of seconds ago and the man caught red-handed is priceless.

"i was a bit busy ensuring you didn't hide from me, if you recall correctly", he retorts, his voice still husky, but with that defensive, teasing tone you know so well.

taking advantage of the moment, you shift on the bed, changing your position to make him more comfortable too. you slide your body back and sit up against the headboard, pulling the light sheet slightly over your lap out of pure reflex, though you know modesty had gone out the window a long time ago. Max follows your movement, moving up the bed for good and settling on his knees between your legs, his blue eyes tracking your every inch.

from this angle, with him closer, his urgency becomes even more evident. the fabric of his dark trousers looks ready to tear, outlining the distinct, tense volume he ignored the entire time while focusing solely on your pleasure.

you swallow hard, your humor giving way to a sting of provocation. you stretch out your foot and, with the tips of your toes, lightly poke the side of his hip.

"you are terribly needy, Verstappen. how did you hold out this entire time without complaining?"

the second his surname escapes your lips, Max lets out a gust of air through his nose and shakes his head, that smirk — half-disbelieving, half-dangerous — sketching onto his lipstick-smudged lips. hearing you tease him right now, after the way you just came apart in his arms, is almost a personal offense to him.

he grips your ankle with one hand, his long fingers squeezing your skin with a firmness that makes your stomach do flips.

"you have a lot of audacity for someone who was whimpering my name two minutes ago", he retorts, his deep, husky voice dragging through the room.

you let out a genuine laugh, the nice, relaxed sound echoing against his chest. the contrast between the intense Max from before and this teasing man makes your stomach turn in a wonderful way. you try to pull the light sheet more over your lap, your cheeks still burning under the lamp's light, but he is faster.

Max laughs, tightens his grip on your ankle and, with an agile and incredibly sexy movement, he advances his body, eliminating any space between you as he lays you back down. he rests his large hands on the mattress, one on each side of your hips, trapping you beneath the warm weight of his chest.

"Max, seriously…" you murmur, your voice and your smile failing a bit as you feel the clear, tense volume marked in his dark trousers once more, right before your eyes. "look at you. let me do something. it's unfair for you to stay like this."

he looks down, staring at his own trousers for a second, and then focuses his blue eyes straight into yours. the playfulness vanishes from his expression, replaced by a seriousness so raw it makes your heart skip a beat.

"i don't give a fuck about myself", he says, his voice dropping an octave, direct and without patience for any more words. "i would hold out twice as long just to see you like that again. and besides… i'm not finished", he whispers, tilting his face until his lips brush against your ear, descending in a trail of goosebumps down your neck. "and i am not stopping until you understand."

"understand what?" you manage to ask, your hands moving up to his shoulders, your fingers squeezing his muscles, which contract at your touch.

"that the fault for me being like this is yours", Max murmurs against your skin, his hot mouth tracing the line of your clavicle with a torturous slowness. "every little piece of you, every curve you try to hide from me… drives me completely crazy. and, again, i would hold out all night just to see you undoing yourself again and again and again…"

you swallow hard, the air leaving your lungs as he slides his hands from the sides of your body to the inside of your thighs, opening them again with a possessive ease that makes your abdomen contract.

Max rises a bit, his eyes gleaming with an absolute certainty. even before touching the button, his large hands move down to his waist and find the metallic buckle of his belt. with a rough, precise, and audible movement, he undoes the clasp and pulls the leather from his tailored trousers in a single, firm yank, tossing the accessory away without caring about the sound of it colliding against the bedroom floor.

only then do his fingers return to the top of his trousers, opening the button with a sharp snap that breaks the heavy silence of the room. he doesn't break his gaze from yours for a single second as he slides the zipper down a bit — not to take the clothes off, but just to relieve the absurd tension of that urgency he had been ignoring.

the implicit promise in his eyes makes it clear that the playing is over, but he still isn't going anywhere. he is going to stay right there, serving you.

he advances his body again, the heavy fabric of his now-open trousers brushing against the soft skin of your thigh as he realigns himself between your legs. Max anchors himself on his elbows on each side of your torso, trapping you beneath his warm weight, but keeping his hands free. his long fingers move slowly down your abdomen, mapping every single new shiver that his touch provokes.

"i made you forget the rest of the world down there, schatje", he says, his voice dropping to the darkest, most drawn-out and needy tone of the entire night, while his fingers begin to slide towards your centre, exploring your moisture with a torturous slowness. "now i am going to make you forget your own name. and i am only stopping when you don't have any strength left to try and hide from me."

a slow smile appears on his face as you catch your breath, your head falling back and your fingers burying themselves once more into the light sheets.

you are completely breathless, realizing he is going to use every single minute of this night, and every single centimetre of his hands and his mouth, to adore you until you completely lose your mind — and that, after so much adoration and surrender, Max Verstappen is not even close to being done.

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