#sainz

The hotel room smelled like salt and sweat, the AC humming uselessly as Carlos pinned your wrist to the damp sheets with one hand, the other sliding up your thigh with the kind of practiced ease that made your breath hitch.

"You’re tired?" he murmured against your neck, voice rough with amusement, his teeth grazing your pulse point just enough to make you squirm.

You could feel the hard line of him pressed against your hip, relentless, as if the last three rounds had only sharpened his hunger instead of dulling it.

His grip tightened when you tried to shift away, his chuckle vibrating against your skin. "No, no, cariño," he teased, thumb circling the inside of your knee in a way that sent sparks up your spine. "You said you wanted to keep up with me."

The challenge in his tone was unmistakable, edged with that competitive streak that made him so dangerous on the track—and worse in bed.

You could already feel the ache between your legs, the overstimulation tipping into something headier, something that had you arching into him despite your exhaustion.

He didn’t give you time to overthink it. His mouth found yours, hot and demanding, swallowing your gasp as he hooked your leg over his shoulder, the stretch making you whimper.

You could taste the adrenaline on him, the same desperate energy that fueled his races, and it was intoxicating—the way he moved, like every touch was a lap time he had to beat. His fingers dragged down your stomach, slow, deliberate, before dipping between your legs again, and you shuddered, oversensitive and trembling, but he didn’t stop.

The sheets clung to your back as he pushed into you, your body yielding even as your muscles protested, the friction almost too much after so many rounds.

Carlos groaned, low and ragged, his forehead pressing against yours as he rolled his hips in that maddening, measured rhythm that drove you wild.

"Te gusta?" he breathed, the words curling around your ear like smoke, and you could only nod, your throat too tight to speak.

His laugh was dark, victorious, as his fingers dug into your hips, guiding you into each thrust until the bedframe rocked against the wall in time with your gasps.

You felt it then—the slow, inevitable coil tightening low in your belly, your thighs shaking around him as he angled deeper, hitting that spot that made your vision blur.

His breath hitched when you clenched around him, his control slipping for the first time all night, his movements turning erratic, desperate.

"Mírame," he demanded, voice rough, and when your eyes met his, the intensity there stole your breath—like he was memorizing every twitch of your expression as you unraveled.

The climax crashed over you in waves, your back arching off the bed as pleasure burned through your veins, white-hot and consuming. Carlos followed with a sharp curse, his body locking tight against yours, his fingers lacing through yours as he came, his pulse thundering where your palms pressed together.

For a moment, neither of you moved, the air thick with the scent of sex and sweat, the only sound your ragged breathing and the distant hum of Monaco’s nightlife beyond the balcony.

Then his mouth curved against your shoulder, lazy and satisfied. "Round five," he murmured, and you groaned, swatting weakly at his chest even as he nuzzled into your neck, already half-hard again against your thigh.

"Dios, you're insatiable," you muttered, and his grin was all teeth in the dim light. "You love it."

He wasn’t wrong.

His fingers traced idle patterns down your ribs, featherlight, almost apologetic—until they weren’t. The sudden pinch of his nails against your hipbone made you gasp, and he hummed, pleased, as your body jerked against his.

"Still so responsive," he mused, tongue flicking over the shell of your ear. "Like you’re wired just for me."

The exhaustion clung to you like a second skin, but the way his knee nudged your legs apart again sent a fresh pulse of heat between them.

You bit your lip, torn, and he chuckled darkly at the hesitation. "Tell me to stop," he challenged, but his thumb was already circling your clit in slow, maddening arcs. You didn’t.

The balcony doors rattled faintly with the ocean breeze, carrying the distant laughter of Monaco’s elite below, but all you could focus on was the way Carlos’ breath hitched when you finally arched into his touch—how his pupils swallowed the hazel of his eyes as he watched you come undone again, slower this time, like he was savoring every tremor.

His teeth grazed your collarbone, not quite biting, as his fingers worked you with a precision that felt criminal, dragging out pleasure until your thighs trembled and your nails scored his shoulders.

“Look at you,” he murmured, his Spanish accent thickening with hunger, “taking me so well.” The words coiled low in your belly, hotter than his touch.

You gasped when he shifted suddenly, lifting your hips with one hand while the other guided himself back into you, the stretch just shy of painful—a delicious, familiar burn.

His groan vibrated against your throat as he bottomed out, his hips rolling in a slow, grinding rhythm that had you seeing stars. Every nerve felt alight, oversensitive and raw, yet your body arched to meet him greedily.

The sheets tangled between your legs as he pinned your wrist above your head again, his grip just tight enough to make your pulse jump. His lips brushed yours, teasing, before he pulled back to watch you—the way your breath stuttered when he angled deeper, the helpless little noise you made when his thumb found that sweet, swollen spot again.

“Again,” he ordered, and your body obeyed before your mind could protest.

The drag of him inside you was almost too much now, every nerve ending singing with oversensitivity, but the pain bled into pleasure so fast it left you dizzy. His teeth scraped your shoulder as he fucked you in slow, deliberate thrusts, his breath ragged against your damp skin.

You could feel the tension coiling in his thighs where they pressed against yours, the way his control frayed at the edges—his rhythm stuttering when you clenched around him on purpose.

The balcony doors swung wider with a gust of salt air, carrying the scent of the sea and the distant chime of yacht rigging, but all you could smell was him—sweat and sex and that faint, expensive cologne clinging to his collarbone.

His hips snapped forward suddenly, burying himself to the hilt with a groan that sounded punched out of him, and your nails raked down his back in answer.

His laugh was breathless, rough, as he caught your wrist again, pressing your hand into the mattress beside your head. “Still fighting me,” he murmured, but his voice was wrecked now, the words slurring into Spanish as his thrusts lost their rhythm.

You could feel it building again, that slow, molten pressure low in your belly, and when his mouth crashed onto yours, tasting of salt and desperation, you let it pull you under.

The mattress groaned beneath you as his hips jerked erratically, his control unraveling in the way his fingers trembled against your thigh, in the way he bit off your name like a prayer.

Every nerve felt scraped raw, oversensitive to the point of pain, but the way he shuddered when you dragged your teeth down his shoulder—like he was feeling it just as acutely—made the ache delicious.

The breeze from the balcony tangled the sheets around your ankles, cool against the sweat-slick heat of your bodies, but Carlos didn’t seem to notice. His focus was singular, unrelenting, his gaze locked on where you were joined as if he couldn’t bear to look away.

The sight of him like this—hair damp with sweat, jaw clenched tight, the muscles of his abdomen flexing with each ragged thrust—was almost enough to send you over again.

Then his hand slid between you, his thumb pressing just shy of too hard against your clit, and the world blurred at the edges. You arched off the bed with a soundless cry, your body clamping around him in waves as pleasure crested sharp and unforgiving.

Carlos swore, his hips stuttering as he followed, his forehead dropping to your collarbone with a groan that vibrated through your bones. For a heartbeat, neither of you moved, the only sound the rush of blood in your ears and the distant clink of champagne glasses from the terrace below.

His exhale was warm against your damp skin as he lifted his head, his lashes dark against his flushed cheeks.

"Still alive?" he murmured, lips quirking when you could only manage a weak nod. His fingers traced idle patterns down your ribs—featherlight, almost apologetic—before pausing at the curve of your hip.

"Good," he said, and the slow drag of his fingertips lower made your thighs twitch in warning.

The breeze carried the scent of salt and jasmine through the open balcony doors, cooling the sweat at your temples as Carlos shifted, his knee nudging your legs wider.

You expected fatigue, but the way his palm smoothed up your inner thigh lit a fresh spark under your skin, low and insistent. He chuckled when your breath hitched, his teeth grazing your earlobe.

"Thought you were done, cariño," he teased, but the rough edge in his voice betrayed him.

The sheets rustled as he rolled you onto your side, his chest pressed flush against your back, his fingers already working you open again with a patience that bordered on cruel.

You gasped when his thumb circled that oversensitive spot just so, his laughter hot against your neck. "Shh," he murmured, his accent thick, "just feel it."

And you did—every slow, deliberate stroke, every hitch of his breath against your shoulder, the way his hips rocked against you in time like he couldn't help it.

The night stretched ahead, endless and sweet. . . .

You were always a little different, and that difference was reflected in your style. It wasn’t just fashion—it was an expression of your personality, a riot of color. Neon pink, light pink, rose, magenta—if it was even a shade of pink, you made it yours. It wasn’t something you’d planned. It just happened, and when your friend-with-benefits, Carlos Sainz, saw you, he couldn’t help but shower you in the same colors. Not because you asked for them—he just did. In exchange, you’d be his constant companion at races, perched on his arm like a trophy wife, in a way.

The two of you had been playing this game for a while. Both of you harbored feelings, but neither one of you wanted to admit it. Carlos had assumed, from the very beginning, that this was more than just a friends-with-benefits thing, that you were already his girlfriend. That was how he’d approached it.

“Well, since you’re my girlfriend, I thought you’d come to a race in March…” he said one day, his eyes searching yours.

“Girlfriend?” You blinked, a bit taken aback.

“Yes?” He stammered, suddenly unsure of everything. “Aren’t you… my girlfriend?”

You laughed lightly, casual, but there was an underlying confusion. “Well, you never actually asked, so… no.”

He froze for a moment, caught in the awkwardness of the situation. Was he supposed to formally ask you out? That felt so old-fashioned. He didn’t know how to handle it, and it showed—he just stared at you blankly, uncertain. Meanwhile, you were blissfully unaware of the discomfort you’d caused, and your mind quickly shifted focus.

“Anyways, I can’t come to your race,” you continued, waving a dismissive hand, “I’ve got coursework to do.”

•

But Carlos wasn’t deterred. No, he had a plan, a big one. February 14th—Valentine’s Day—was the day he had chosen. He had spent hours perfecting every detail: candles, rose petals, the works. It was supposed to be perfect, his moment to make everything official. He invited you over at 6 PM, but of course, you arrived fashionably early, at 5:56.

You knocked on the door, a soft sound that echoed in the stillness. Carlos opened it, and for a moment, he couldn’t even breathe. There you were—dazzling in a tiny slip dress that clung to your figure in all the right ways, red-bottom heels that made your legs look endless, and nails perfectly manicured with a Valentine’s theme. He wasn’t sure if his heart stopped or sped up, but either way, he was stunned.

He ushered you inside, his hands a little unsteady as he pulled you into his arms, expecting the usual kiss. But instead, he gently led you to his bedroom, where the real surprise waited. As you stepped inside, your eyes widened. The room was lit by the soft glow of candles flickering on the windowsill and bedside tables, casting shadows that danced on the walls. Rose petals were scattered across the floor, leading up to the bed, where they rested in a delicate arrangement.

You turned to him, already beginning to speak. “This is really pretty—” But before you could finish, his voice cut in, softer and more vulnerable than you had ever heard it.

“Please… be my girlfriend,” he asked, his voice almost a whisper, like he was afraid of your answer.

You blinked at him, momentarily stunned. Then, a smirk played at the corner of your lips. “Well, duh,” you said, the words slipping out easily. “I thought we already established that when you called me your girlfriend the last time. I just assumed that was your way of asking.” You stepped forward and kissed him, the tension breaking. “Y’know, you’re kinda stupid sometimes,” you teased, running your fingers through his hair.

The engineers went haywire, voices overlapping, trying to troubleshoot. Carlos's onboard camera feed showed his hands twitching against the steering wheel, flicking dials, trying buttons, rebooting systems. The car finally jolted forward, and he started his formation lap, trailing behind the rest of the grid.

Sasha let out a breath she didn't realize she'd been holding. Relief, short lived.

Carlos didn't even make it to the start line. The call was made to come into the pits, since the race start had been delayed. Something wasn't right. Smoke began coming from the brakes, and within seconds, flames burst to life.

"No, no, no," she whispered under her breath, stepping forward instinctively but stopping herself at the edge of the garage.

The crew rushed toward the car with extinguishers, and Carlos flung off the steering wheel, climbed out quickly, and jumped down. His helmet stayed on, but Sasha could still feel the heat of his anger. 

He stormed past the mechanics and straight toward the back of the garage where the engineers stood...voices were raised, fingers pointing at brake balance settings, hydraulic issues, anything and everything that could've gone wrong.

And then, suddenly, he turned and looked straight at her.

Sasha hadn't moved. She didn't know what to do, what she could do. She wasn't a strategist or an engineer. She couldn't fix the car. But still, she offered a small smile. 

But Carlos didn't return it. He just rolled his eyes, shaking his head slightly, and turned back to the chaos behind him without a word.

The smile dropped from her face instantly. She swallowed hard, feeling small. Useless.

He was angry. Of course he was. His race had ended before it began. Both of his brakes had literally caught fire. But still...the coldness in his look stung in a way she hadn't expected.

Sasha knew better than to take it personally. She'd been warned. Carlos was nice, charming even, when things went right. But when things went wrong...

He shut people out. He turned harsh. Defensive. Distant. And now she was feeling the full weight of that distance. He didn't need her. Not today. Not in this moment. And definitely not with her trying to cheer him up.

✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿

The hotel room was quiet, aside from the sound of Carlos pacing.

Back and forth. Each step heavy. Each sigh louder than the last.

Sasha sat on the edge of the couch, watching him move restlessly across the floor, one hand constantly running through his hair. He'd been like this since they left the track...tense, quiet, vibrating with barely contained anger. He hadn't even changed out of his Williams shirt and jeans.

The fire. The DNS. The embarrassment. The pressure.

"I want to post something," he muttered again, jaw tight, grabbing his phone from the table for the tenth time.

"Carlos," Sasha said gently, standing up and walking toward him, "you should wait. Just a few hours. Cool down first."

"I am cool," he snapped, even though his tone and body said the opposite. His fingers gripped the phone like he wanted to crush it. "I'm tired of being quiet. I'm tired of pretending like today didn't piss me off. I want people to know I'm not okay with it."

She moved closer, cautiously, placing a hand on his forearm. "I know you're not. And you should say something, but not now. Not like this."

He turned suddenly, his body facing hers.

"And what, exactly, do you want me to do, Sasha?" 

She tensed, taking a small step back in surprise. The anger in his tone wasn't new, but it had never been aimed so close to her. The heat of it stunned her.

Carlos saw it instantly...the way her eyes flinched, the way her hand dropped to her side.

"Shit," he said under his breath, backing off, dragging a hand down his face. "Sasha. I didn't mean that. I didn't mean to yell at you."

She gave a small nod, heart racing but understanding. "I know."

He turned away, pacing again before stopping by the window. Then he sighed, low and deep. "We should probably call it a night."

Sasha stood there awkwardly, not sure if she should gather her things or wait for something more. She was just about to move when he added under his breath, without looking at her...

"You being here isn't helping. If anything, it's riling me up more."

"What?"

Carlos turned slowly, almost regretting the words already. "Forget it."

"No. What did you mean?"

He met her eyes, hesitating, his tongue running across his bottom lip. "It's not your fault," he said. "You just...make it really hard to focus."

"Why?"

He took a step forward, then another.

"Because you look at me with those big doe eyes like you're trying to make me feel better, trying to help," he said. "And I'm so fucking wound up, Sasha. I'm trying to be professional. I'm trying to cool off. But then you're just...here. Standing there in that tight little Williams shirt and skirt, acting all innocent..."

Her eyes widened slightly, her body going still.

Carlos stepped in even closer, until there were only inches between them. He was breathing harder now.

"...and all I can think about is bending you over that table and fucking you hard...until you scream my name for the whole floor to hear." 

Her lips parted slightly, stunned. Her breath caught in her throat.

The air between them snapped tight.

Neither of them moved.

Carlos's jaw clenched as he dragged his eyes away from her lips and back to her eyes, his fists tightening at his sides like he was holding himself back.

"I shouldn't have said that. I'm sorry," he muttered.

But he didn't back away.

And neither did she.

They stood there in silence, too close, the air between them heavy.

Sasha's eyes were locked on him. The same guy who'd been yelling just minutes ago, frustrated and angry. The same man who now looked at her like he was about to ruin her in the most beautiful way.

She knew it was wrong. So wrong. She was supposed to be the professional. The composed, collected one. But how could she walk away now?

Her heart was racing in her chest, beating so loud she was sure he could hear it. Her cheeks were red, lips slightly parted as she tried to figure out what the hell was happening between them. What this was.

And then he moved, slowly.

His hand came up, hovering near her face. Strong. Veiny. The kind of hands she'd noticed way too many times but never let herself think about for more than a second. But now he was reaching for her, and she didn't stop him.

Didn't move. Didn't flinch. Didn't dare break the spell.

His fingers brushed her cheek so gently, like he was still giving her a chance to say no. To pull away. To remind them both who she was and what she was there for.

But she didn't.

His thumb came to rest just under her bottom lip.

"Say something, carino," he whispered.

But she couldn't. She didn't trust her voice...not with how shaky she felt, how hot her skin had become, how wild her thoughts were with him. Her lips parted slightly, just a bit.

Carlos let out a sigh, eyes locked on her mouth. He dragged his thumb down gently, tugging at her bottom lip, pulling it open further.

Sasha's breath hitched.

He slipped the top of his thumb inside her mouth, just a little. Testing. Teasing.

She didn't stop him. Her lips wrapped around him instinctively, tongue just barely grazing the tip of his finger as she looked up at him, wide eyed...shy, burning.

That's when he lost the last bit of control.

Carlos's eyes darkened like storm clouds, like all the anger from earlier had twisted into something else. His jaw clenched hard as he watched her lips around his thumb, her soft little tongue barely touching him.

"Fuck..." he muttered under his breath.

His thumb slipped out, wet from her mouth, and he ran it along her bottom lip again, slower this time.

"You have no idea what you do to me," he said.

It terrified her how much she liked it. How much she wanted him to close the space between them. To kiss her. To touch her. To do everything he was thinking about doing.

But neither of them moved just yet.

It was like they were stuck in this slow, heated trance...too afraid to break it. Too consumed by the tension to speak.

"Then show me."

Carlos's eyes flicked up to meet hers...dark, blown wide, wild with lust.

He didn't wait. The moment the words left her mouth, something inside him snapped.

He grabbed her roughly by the waist and yanked her into him, their bodies crashing together like they were both starving. His lips found hers in a kiss that was anything but sweet. It was messy, heated, desperate. Like he'd been waiting to taste her for too long and couldn't hold back any longer.

His mouth moved against hers with force, no rhythm, just need...lust. His hands gripped her hips tight, fingers digging in, pulling her impossibly close.

She gasped into his mouth, and he used it, sliding his tongue past her lips, claiming her mouth like it belonged to him. Their tongues tangled in a messy rhythm. He tasted like frustration and fire, like everything he'd been holding in since the second he saw her tonight.

Sasha melted into him, her hands fisting into the front of his shirt, clinging to him...drowning in him completely.

Then his hand came up, fingers wrapping tightly around her throat. Not enough to hurt, just enough to make her feel it. His thumb pressed under her jaw as he tilted her head up, taking full control of the kiss, deepening it. It made her whimper into his mouth.

He groaned low at the sound, pressing his hips forward. That's when she felt it...his hardness straining against his pants, pressing into her lower stomach.

Thick. Hard. So very there.

She gasped again, and he pulled back just enough to look at her.

His lips were red, slick from their kiss, and a small growl came from his throat when he saw how wrecked she looked already.

"You feel that?" he whispered, rolling his hips just enough for her to feel every inch of his bulge through the fabric.

She nodded.

"That's what you do to me," he said. "Every time I see you...all I can think about is what you'd look like under me. Falling apart from my fingers pumping in and out of you."

Sasha let out a shaky breath, her thighs clenching together instinctively, heart beating in her chest.

Carlos leaned in closer, his mouth brushing against the side of her ear now, words hot and filthy.

"How your lips would look wrapped around my cock, eyes tearing up, mouth so full and messy. How you'd sound when I finally get my hands between those pretty legs and make you cum just from my touch."

Sasha sighed, she couldn't handle the way he way talking to her, already spreading heat through her core. 

"What your eyes would look like...rolling back, completely gone, when I give you everything. When I fuck you so deep and rough you forget your own name."

He pulled back just enough to look at her, his thumb running along her bottom lip again, watching her struggle to breathe.

"That's what you do to me, carino," he said, eyes burning into hers. "And you have no fucking idea."

He leaned in again, capturing her mouth in another kiss...slower this time, but just as intense. His tongue swept hers again, pulling moans from the back of her throat. She felt her knees go weak, and he caught her, pressing her against the wall of the hotel room, grinding his hips into her, letting her feel just how hard he was for her.

With one quick motion, he lifted Sasha off the ground, gripping her thighs as he pressed her back against the hotel room wall. Her skirt rode up in the process, bunching at her waist as her legs instinctively wrapped around him.

She gasped, clinging to his shoulders, and he caught her mouth again in a deep, messy kiss. One of his hands held her up easily, while the other slid up the back of her thigh, fingers skimming over her soft skin, until he reached the thin lace of her panties.

He pressed his fingers against her through the fabric, finding the already damp spot between her legs.

Carlos paused, pulled back slightly, and let out a dark laugh against her mouth.

"Fuck...already soaked for me? Such a sweet little thing."

Sasha whimpered, hips shifting toward his hand, but he only brushed his fingers along her clit again...barely applying pressure, just enough to tease. Just enough to make her squirm.

He grinned at the way she tilted her head back, eyes fluttering shut, lips parting as she tried to breathe through it. She looked gone already, and he'd barely even touched her.

"Look at you," he whispered against her throat. "So good for me...so fucking eager."

He kissed her neck, open mouthed and slow, dragging his lips along her skin, then biting...hard enough to leave a mark. She cried out softly, and he smiled again, dark and proud.

"That's it," he said against her skin. "Let me hear you."

Another kiss. Another bite. Another mark.

"Bet you taste even sweeter than you look."

Another bite.

"I'm gonna take my time with you, carino."

Then another. 

"Make you shake just from my fingers before I even let you cum around my cock."

His fingers dragged along her pussy again, lazy and unhurried, teasing her folds through the soaked panties. She was panting now, head pressed back against the wall, one hand tangled in his hair, the other gripping the collar of his shirt.

But still, he didn't give her what she wanted. He just kept teasing...up and down, slow and light, never quite touching her clit the way she needed.

Sasha whimpered again, rolling her hips toward his hand.

"Please," she whispered.

Carlos groaned at the sound, rocking his hips into her just enough for her to feel the thick pressure of his cock still trapped in his pants.

"You have no idea how long I've wanted this," he said, lips against her cheek now. "How long I've imagined ruining you like this."

Carlos didn't stop kissing her, even as he walked them toward the bed, his hands gripping her ass, her legs still wrapped around his waist. He was breathless, flushed, every inch of his body radiating heat and tension.

And when they reached the edge, he dropped her.

Tossed her right onto the mattress.

Sasha bounced slightly, landing on her back with a soft gasp, hair spilling across the pillows. She looked up at him, dazed, lips swollen, breathing shallow. And she barely had time to process before he reached for the hem of his shirt and tugged it off.

Her eyes widened.

Carlos stood at the foot of the bed, chest broad and tanned, muscles flexing with every breath. His shoulders were wide, powerful, built from years of training, but what really made her gulp was the trail of dark hair that started at his chest and disappeared down his stomach. His arms were strong, veiny, hairy in a way that made her thighs squeeze together.

And then he reached down and unzipped his pants. Her mouth went dry.

The fabric fell to the floor, and he stood before her in just his boxers. The outline of his cock was huge, pressing hard against the black fabric, thick and straining like it had no patience left.

Carlos caught her staring and smirked, running his hand over the bulge, palming himself as he watched her squirm on the bed.

"Shy now, carino?" he teased.

Sasha's cheeks flushed red, but she didn't look away. Instead, biting her lip, she slowly pushed herself up onto her elbows. Then, with a little bit of courage, she reached for her own shirt and pulled it off over her head, revealing the soft light blue lace of her bra.

Carlos let out a low groan.

Then she hooked her fingers into the waistband of her skirt, wiggling it down her hips, until it slid off completely...leaving her in the matching set, the delicate lace hugging her curves.

Carlos's eyes darkened instantly. His gaze dropped to the wet stain on her panties, and his jaw tensed.

"Fuck," he breathed. "Look at you..."

She lay back, legs slightly spread, hair messy, chest rising and falling with every breath. So soft. So inviting. 

Carlos gripped himself through his boxers again, groaning as his cock throbbed under his palm.

"You lying there like that..." he groaned, eyes glued to her thighs, to the soaked blue lace barely hiding what he wanted. 

She looked like temptation itself...laid out for him, open, aching, desperate. Just for him to devour.

Carlos climbed onto the bed, hovering over her with that hungry look still in his eyes. He leaned down, kissing her again, while his hands explored.

One hand slid behind her back, unhooking her bra. He pulled it away slowly, letting it drop somewhere to the side. His eyes dropped to her bare chest, and for a moment, he just stared.

Then he reached out, cupping her breasts in his hands. His thumbs brushed over her nipples, watching them harden under his touch. He leaned in, pressing hot, open mouthed kisses along the swell of her chest, his tongue flicking over one nipple while his hand kneaded the other.

Sasha whimpered, her back arching into him. The way he touched her...it wasn't rushed. It was full of care. Like he adored every inch of her.

And then he moved down, kissing along her stomach, her hips, until his fingers hooked into the sides of her panties.

"Off."

He dragged them down her thighs slowly, eyes never leaving hers. And when he saw the full, glistening mess between her legs, his mouth dropped open slightly.

"Goddamn," he breathed. "Look at that. All for me."

He spread her thighs gently and lowered himself between them...and then he devoured her.

His mouth met her soaked folds with no hesitation...tongue dragging from her entrance to her clit, slow and firm. She gasped, hands flying into his hair, thighs twitching as his mouth began to work. He licked her in long strokes, then circled her clit with the tip of his tongue, teasing it, flicking just the way he knew would drive her crazy.

Sasha moaned, her hips rolling, legs shaking already.

Then came his fingers.

Two at first, thick and slow, pushing deep into her tight heat. Her walls clung to him instantly, and he groaned into her, the sound vibrating right against her clit. He curled them inside her, searching...pressing up into that perfect spot again and again until she was gasping his name.

"Carlos!! Fuck, Carlos!"

"That's it," he said against her. "Let me hear you."

He added a third finger.

Her body arched up off the bed, overwhelmed by the stretch and fullness. He pumped them in and out of her, curling, stroking, coaxing everything from her. All the while, his mouth stayed on her clit...sucking, flicking, devouring her.

She was unraveling fast...whimpers and moans pouring from her lips, her hands clawing at the sheets, his hair, anything she could reach.

Carlos looked up, watching her fall apart. Watching her lose herself for him.

"Cum for me. I want to see you, to hear you."

And she did.

Her orgasm slammed into her. But it wasn't the kind that came quick and faded. No. It built, slow and deep, curling through her like heat in her veins. Her vision blurred, her back arched off the bed, thighs clenching around his head as her mouth fell open in a silent scream.

Her body pulsed, tight and rhythmic, pleasure blooming through her like wildfire. It was all consuming...her toes curling, hands shaking, breath stuttering as she cried out for him again and again.

It was too much and not enough all at once.

Carlos didn't stop. He kept his mouth on her, working her through it, drawing every last shiver from her body, not letting up until her moans turned into whimpers and her hips finally stilled.

She lay there, wrecked and shaking, chest rising and falling in shallow, uneven breaths. Completely undone.

Carlos sat up slowly, his lips and chin slick with her, his cock painfully hard as he reached down to palm it through his boxers again. All he could think about was how good she tasted, and how badly he needed to be inside her.

Carlos disappeared from the bed for just a second, rummaging through his bag with an urgency that told Sasha he was just as wrecked as she was.

She lay there, trying to catch her breath. Her chest was still rising and falling rapidly, skin flushed, legs trembling slightly from the orgasm that had just torn through her. Nothing had ever felt like that before...nothing had ever made her body sing like that, made her mind go completely blank. She blinked up at the ceiling, lips parted, hair a mess around her face.

But then she heard him tear the foil.

Her heart skipped.

Carlos returned to the bed, now completely bare. Her eyes fell to his cock...long, thick, flushed and glistening at the tip. She swallowed hard as he rolled the condom on with one hand, the other wrapped around the base as he gave himself a slow pump, groaning at the relief of finally being touched.

Sasha's thighs shifted open again, instinctive, eager.

She lay back fully now, legs spread for him, her wetness dripping onto the sheets under her. Her body ached to be filled by him. Her hands gripped the sheets, and her eyes met his. Carlos knelt between her legs, his eyes dragging over every inch of her body.

"You're so fucking beautiful," he murmured. "So ready for me."

He gripped himself and dragged the thick head of his cock through her soaked folds, groaning at how wet and hot she was. He nudged her entrance with the tip, circling her clit once, twice...just to tease, just to watch her squirm.

Sasha gasped, arching slightly, her body already reacting before he was even inside.

And then he pushed in...slowly at first, the thick head breaching her, parting her slick folds inch by inch.

Her eyes fluttered shut, mouth falling open in a moan. Her back arched as she felt the stretch, the fullness starting to build. It was overwhelming...hot and tight, her walls gripping him tightly already.

And then, all at once, he slammed into her.

"Carlos-" she cried out, hands flying up to grab his arms, her nails digging into his muscular biceps.

He groaned, deep and rough in his throat, feeling her tighten around him. "So tight," he muttered, rocking his hips back before slamming into her again. "Fuck, you feel so good."

He started to move...hard and deep, each thrust knocking the breath out of her lungs. His hips slapped against her thighs, the sound loud in the quiet of the room, matched only by the wetness between them, the moans she couldn't hold back.

Carlos leaned over her, one hand on her waist, the other gripping her thigh and pulling it up around his hip so he could fuck her deeper.

And god, did he.

Every thrust hit the spot inside her that made her legs shake. His pace was rough, relentless...like he'd waited forever to be inside her and now couldn't get deep enough, fast enough. He was panting against her mouth, kissing her through it, tongues tangling and lips crashing between every moan and curse.

Sasha felt like she was burning.

Each thrust made her eyes roll back, her body rocking with every push. His cock dragged against her walls perfectly, thick and pulsing, making her feel full in a way nothing ever had before. He pulled almost all the way out, just to slam back in, again and again, making her lose all sense of control.

Her body was spiraling again.

The tension started in her thighs, spreading to her stomach, her chest. Her breath caught. Her moans turned high pitched, desperate.

Carlos noticed.

"That's it," he rasped, lips at her neck. "You're close again, aren't you? Gonna cum for me like this, stretched around my cock?"

She nodded, eyes wide, too wrecked to speak.

He shifted slightly, changing the angle, and suddenly...there.

She cried out, head thrown back, body arching hard into him.

It wasn't one of those quick orgasms, it was similar to the first one he gave her. Slow and rolling, starting deep inside her and spreading out in waves that made her legs shake, her fingers dig into his back, her cries turn to sobs of pleasure.

Her walls pulsed around him, clenching with every thrust, drawing him in deeper, tighter.

"Fuck, that's it," Carlos groaned, barely holding himself back. "You feel that? That's how perfect you are for me."

She didn't answer, couldn't. Her entire body was shaking beneath him, legs wrapped around his waist, mouth open, breathless as her orgasm rolled through her over and over again.

And Carlos kept moving.

Slower now, but just as deep, dragging it out, letting her feel every inch of him as she came undone.

He was losing control too...her tightness, the sounds she made, the way she clenched around him, he was barely hanging on. But he wanted her to ride it out first. Wanted to feel her fall apart completely before he gave in.

Carlos's thrusts started to lose rhythm, his breath coming faster, deeper. Sasha could feel him pulsing inside her, his grip on her hip tightening as he buried himself one last time, deep and hard.

His body shook over hers as he spilled into the condom, hips pressing flush against her, breath hot against her neck. He stayed there, still and breathless for a long moment, just breathing her in, his hand gently stroking along her thigh as the tension slowly melted from his body.

When he finally pulled back, he kissed her softly...her lips, her cheeks, her forehead.

"Fuck," he whispered, looking down at her. "You're...unreal."

Sasha was still catching her breath, dazed and glowing, her body humming with aftershocks. She looked up at him through heavy lashes, her lips curved in the smallest, shyest smile.

Carlos slid the condom off and tossed it away, then came back to her without a second thought. He grabbed a towel from the bathroom and returned, carefully wiping between her thighs, being sweet...tender.

She winced just a little from the sensitivity, and he kissed the inside of her knee.

"All good, carino?" 

She nodded, still speechless. Her heart was full, her body wrecked, her head spinning.

He helped her sit up, then reached for a clean pair of boxers and slipped them onto himself quickly before coming back and sitting beside her on the edge of the bed.

Carlos ran a hand down her back, then kissed her shoulder.

"You were perfect," he said softly. "Every sound, every little twitch...I wanted to see all of it. And you gave it to me."

Sasha felt her cheeks heat up again...not from lust this time, but from how warm and seen his words made her feel. She tucked her hair behind her ear, unsure of what to say.

But then, the awkwardness crept in.

She looked toward where her clothes had been tossed, sitting up a little straighter, reaching toward the floor. Maybe this was the part where she was supposed to leave. This wasn't exactly part of her job, and she didn't want to overstep.

But before her fingers could reach her skirt, Carlos caught her wrist.

"Where do you think you're going?" 

"I just thought...I didn't know if you wanted me to-"

He cut her off by standing and crossing the room to his suitcase. He came back with one of his hoodies and her underwear in hand, holding them out to her.

"You're not going anywhere," he said. "Put these on. And then tell me how you feel about room service."

"Room service?"

Carlos smiled, brushing a hand over her cheek. "Yeah. I'm starving, and you wore me the hell out. We're not going anywhere. We're eating here. Together."

Sasha laughed, cheeks blushed as she took the hoodie and slipped it on. It hung off her like a dress, swallowing her body, and Carlos looked entirely too pleased about that.

"That sounds...great," she said quietly.

He leaned in and kissed both her cheeks, then her lips, sweet and slow. "Good," he said. "You stay right there. I'll make the call."

And with that, he walked over to the hotel phone, still shirtless and glowing from everything they'd just done, looking back at her every so often with that boyish smirk.