lane

Lando is big on protection when it comes to sex. But it's y/n who insisted on condoms and he thought it would just be till she was comfortable, but somehow 2 months into daily sex, usually more than once a day. Lando's putting more money into condoms than anything else right now.

He can't help but want to remove that barrier.

He wants to feel her, he wants nothing between them and while it's never mattered to him before. For some reason the thought of filling her with his cum and watch it leak out of her.

That thought unlocks some sort of feral animal in him that's been dormant.

He can't help it.

And now he's rolling yet another condom down his length, lust-filled eyes gliding over to y/n where she's lying, swollen lips, hickeys across her chest. He's already got her in a heat.

Admittedly teasing her the whole dinner and whispering filth in her ear at every opportunity got her exactly as riled up as he was aiming for.

"Ready for me baby?" Lando asks already knowing the answer, he can see her dripping in a wet patch on the sheets.

He loves when she gets too needy to form words that are anything less than begging. Her whimper and positioning herself from kneeling on her knees to dropping back onto her back with her legs spread, a true offering of herself open to him.

"Oh baby." Lando chuckles moving over her, not wasting time with anymore foreplay. He slides into her with only the tightness of him not having been inside her in the past 12 hours enveloping him as a form of making it harder to fuck her.

Their moans fill the air and Lando pulls her towards himself, his thrusts getting deeper and harder. Y/n moans and whines at him, his name reverbing off the walls before he whispers more filth into her ear. Promises of wrecking her, making her scream, leaving a permanent mark in her.

He builds himself up just as much as she does.

"Baby, I want to feel you. Properly." Lando states making her look at him, eyes already teary from the stimulation. "Fuck. Baby, I need to feel you. Let me take it off. It'll feel so good. So so good."

Y/n whines bucking her hips into his, one hand moving from gripping the sheets to his bicep and for a moment he thinks that's her stopping him from daring to take it off.

"Please. I wanna feel you." Y/n whimpers, nails cutting into his skin. Her actions betraying her words.

"You'll love this, baby." Lando promises, leaning down, kissing her neck as he slips out of her.

"Lando." Y/n huffs from the loss as he reaches down almost grimacing from the speed he pulls the condom off and tosses it aside without thought. He'll pick it up later.

He takes a couple heavy breaths, excitement of this moment making the air prickle with electricity that makes her breath hitch before he slides back into her, and while he's aware that it's more about what he feels that what she feels. But y/n shudders at the feeling.

Y/n can feel more of him, the veins, every ridge of his dick no longer smoothed by latex brushing through her walls making her moan, bearing down to try and feel more of him.

"Lando, please." Y/n moans writhing underneath him.

"Fuck. You feel incredible, baby. How have I waited this long?" Lando grunts not feeling like any word describes how y/n feels wrapped around him. "You were made for me. This pussy was made for me."

Y/n twitches around him, her orgasm nearing more.

"You going to let me fill you up, baby? Going to let me make you mine once and for all? No going back after this." Lando states since he's pretty sure hitting it raw is an addiction.

It's like heroin, one hit and he's already hooked on the feeling. He'll chase this high for the rest of his life and he'll keep getting his hits every time she lets him feel her pussy around him.

Y/n's orgasm hits with no more warning than that first twitch, she yanks him down onto her legs wrapping around him like she can't get enough of him. Lando spills into her without any control.

He actually gets dizzy feeling like he's never came so hard or so much in his life.

"Lando?" Y/n whispers making Lando blink a time. "Are you with me?"

"I think I might've died in your pussy and gone to heaven." Lando croaks then frowning. "Did I pass out?"

"Yeah...a bit." Y/n laughs then gently pushing back his sweaty head, her own face glittering with her. "I'll take it as a compliment...Are you ok?"

"I'm fine. I think I might just put blood into you from how hard I came."

"That's ok." Y/n giggles before kissing him. "We can stay like this a bit longer."

"Baby, we can stay like this forever. I'll quit F1 for good if you let me live with you pussy like this around me."

"I think we might wither away and die if I do that. We have to eat...and I'll have to pee at some point-and so will you. Cumming inside is one thing, if you piss in me I'll chop your dick off." Y/n warns playfully, though he thinks that she'd fully follow through on it. Her giggling with his dick still inside her short circuits his head though and he has to hide his face in her neck, shuddering as pleasure ripples through him.

"Fuck, baby. Don't do that unless you really want to kill me." Lando groans rutting into her despite being soft at this point and feeling her leaking out around him. "I'm going to clean you up. I promise. Just give me a bit more time."

"Take as long as you need. I'm enjoying this."

"Good. Because I'm burning any condoms in the vicinity. Never fucking you any other way but raw from here forward." Lando declares earning a smile as y/n sucks in a breath and holds him close. "I think your pussy has just changed my life in a way I didn't know what possible."

"You're welcome. If I knew it'd be so easy I never would've have you wear a condom in the first place."

She would've but he's too spent to argue and now he's taken off the condom, he is just grateful they both enjoyed the experience. Though he might need to make sure he's ok. Passing out after sex might not be the best sign of something.

That had been the dream, at least. Warm evenings. Long dinners. Olive trees whispering in the breeze. Children running through the house. Wine breathing on the table. A version of life that felt slower, softer, saner than the constant insanity of Formula 1.

And yet, somehow, even here, in your beautiful house tucked away in the Italian countryside, you still found yourself managing two world-class racing drivers like an exhausted but fashionable school principal.

“This is ridiculous,” you muttered, standing in the hallway with your arms crossed while Toto adjusted his jacket by the door.

He looked up. “What is ridiculous?”

“The fact that I am spending my Sunday night hosting a private peace summit for two grown men because they forgot that crashing into each other is generally bad for team morale.”

Toto’s mouth twitched, “You chose Ferrari.”

“I chose challenge,” you corrected.

“You chose chaos.”

You opened your mouth to object, but he stepped closer before you could answer, his hands settling on your waist with irritating ease.

“You’ll survive,” he said.

“I know I’ll survive. I’m not worried about me.” You lifted an eyebrow. “I’m worried about Lewis deciding to provoke Charles for sport and Charles responding like an offended prince from Monaco.”

Toto gave you a deeply unimpressed look.

“So… exactly like every other week.”

You laughed despite yourself.

He leaned in and kissed you, slowly at first, then more deeply, more deliberately, one of those kisses that made it very difficult to remember what sentence you had just been saying.

When he finally pulled back, you blinked at him.

“Toto.”

“What?”

“You’re leaving for meetings to Brackley, not going to war.”

He smiled faintly, far too smug for your liking.

“I like to make an impression.”

“You’re impossible.”

“And you like me anyway.”

You snorted. “Debatable.”

“Liar.”

He kissed you again, shorter this time but just as warm, just as distracting, and when he stepped back there was that familiar look in his eyes — that mix of affection, amusement, and suspicion so unnecessary it almost became endearing.

“Be good and behave,” he said.

You stared at him. “Oh, for heaven’s sake.”

His expression remained perfectly serious. “I mean it.”

“Toto, Lewis and Charles are my drivers.”

“Yes,” he said dryly. “Very handsome, very charming drivers.”

You actually laughed then, reaching out to smack his backside lightly as he turned for the door.

“Maybe they are,” you said. “But I have a much more handsome and much more charming man at home.”

That did get him.

You saw it instantly, the little shift in his expression, the pleased arrogance, the infuriating male satisfaction.

“Also,” you added, “our children are here, and they already have plans to destroy Lewis and Charles on PlayStation.”

“Good,” Toto murmured. “As they should.”

He leaned down, kissed your forehead this time, softer, lingering.

“I love you, Liebling.”

Your face softened immediately. “I love you too.”

Then he was gone.

And you were left alone with the sound of the front door closing, the distant thundering footsteps of your twins upstairs, and the vague sense that the evening was about to become much more complicated than it had any right to be.

You were right. Of course you were right.

“Mama!”

Luca came flying down the stairs first, socks sliding over the polished floor, Luna right behind him with the expression of someone far too clever for eight years old.

“Uncle Lewis is really coming?” Luca asked, eyes wide.

“And Charles too?” Luna added, suspiciously calm.

“Yes,” you said. “And before either of you start planning crimes, remember that this dinner is for team business.”

The two of them looked at each other. That alone was worrying.

“We’re not planning crimes,” Luna said.

You narrowed your eyes. “That is exactly what someone planning crimes would say.”

Luca gasped in offense. “We’re just going to beat them.”

“At what?”

“Everything,” he said, as if the answer was obvious.

A car pulled into the driveway.

Luca practically vibrated, “That’s Lewis!”

He sprinted to the front door so fast that you barely had time to follow before it was already open and Lewis was stepping inside with a grin, sunglasses still on despite the fact that the sun had already begun to dip.

“Well,” Lewis said, opening his arms dramatically, “my favorite Ferrari household.”

“You say that like you haven’t defected from Mercedes to become everyone’s favorite uncle,” you replied.

He put a hand to his chest. “I contain multitudes.”

Luca launched himself at him. Luna followed with more dignity, but only slightly.

Lewis greeted them like a returning hero, which, to be fair, in their eyes he absolutely was.

“Do I smell victory?” he asked them.

“No,” Luna said coolly. “You smell dinner.”

Lewis looked at you, impressed. “That one is dangerous.”

“That one,” you said, pointing at her, “is absolutely her father’s child when it comes to dry sarcasm.”

“And the other?”

You watched Luca try to climb Lewis like a tree.

“Pure chaos. Just like me.”

Lewis laughed.

Then another car pulled in. And the mood shifted. Not badly. Just… noticeably.

Charles walked in a minute later looking elegant without trying, too pretty to be reasonable, and already slightly guarded the second he spotted Lewis standing in your hallway holding a child under each arm like trophies.

Lewis grinned immediately, “Ah,” he said. “The other half of our disaster.”

Charles gave him a flat look. “You say this as if you did not also crash.”

“I was invited first,” Lewis replied.

“That does not improve your case.”

You stepped in before either man could escalate into passive-aggressive Formula 1 foreplay.

“Good,” you said brightly. “You’re both here. Nobody is bleeding. Excellent start.”

Lewis snorted. Charles muttered something in French that was almost certainly unhelpful.

You smiled with all the menace of a woman who had run Ferrari strategy meetings and survived.

“Shoes off,” you said. “Wine later. Civilized behavior now.”

Lewis looked delighted. Charles, to his credit, looked mildly ashamed.

Progress.

Dinner started stiffly. Not awful. Not hostile. But definitely stiff.

Lewis sat to your left, Charles to your right, and for the first ten minutes you genuinely felt like you were mediating a summit between two countries with nuclear capabilities.

The twins, unfortunately, sensed tension the way sharks sensed blood.

“So,” Luca said with great innocence, while reaching for more bread, “which one of you crashed first?”

You closed your eyes briefly. Lewis nearly choked on his wine.

Charles looked betrayed. “That is not a question for dinner.”

“Why not?” Luna asked. “It already happened.”

Lewis set down his glass, grinning despite himself. “Honestly? I like her style.”

“Of course you do,” Charles said.

You stepped in quickly. “The point of tonight is not to rewatch the accident frame by frame.”

Lewis nodded solemnly. “That will happen later, then.”

Charles looked at him. “You are unbelievable.”

“No,” Lewis said, reaching for the bottle, “I’m very believable. You just don’t like what I say.”

And somehow, absurdly, that was the thing that started to thaw it. Not because the tension vanished. But because once they began bickering properly, it stopped sounding resentful and started sounding familiar.

Sharp remarks became teasing ones. Complaints turned into mock outrage. Charles accused Lewis of treating racing like street theatre. Lewis accused Charles of taking every wheel-to-wheel battle like a personal betrayal written by Shakespeare.

You sat there, sipping wine, watching the air gradually clear. By dessert they were arguing over sim settings. By coffee they were debating overtaking etiquette.

By the time the plates had been cleared, Lewis was sprawled back in his chair like he lived there, while Charles had relaxed enough to stop looking like a beautifully dressed hostage.

You leaned back and folded your arms.

“There,” you said. “See? Nobody died. We used our words. Ferrari remains intact.”

Lewis raised a finger. “Emotionally debatable.”

Charles pointed at him. “This is why she invited us privately. Because you do not know how to behave in public.”

“I behave perfectly in public.”

“You wore a knitted bucket hat to the paddock.”

“That was fashion.”

“That was a cry for help.”

You laughed so hard you nearly spilled your drink.

And just like that, the evening stretched. It turned out that when two Formula 1 drivers were no longer actively annoyed enough to pretend they despised each other, they became deeply competitive in every other possible context.

Especially when challenged by eight-year-old twins.

“Absolutely not,” Charles said, staring at the controller in disbelief. “This is unfair.”

Lewis was laughing so hard he could barely breathe.

Luca was bouncing on the sofa. “You lost!”

“I did not lose,” Charles protested. “The car glitched.”

“No,” Luna said calmly from the armchair, “you are just old.”

Lewis wheezed. “You cannot let children call you old,” he managed, barely coherent. “You’re twenty-eight.”

Charles pointed accusingly at him. “They learned this from you.”

“They learned excellence from me.”

“They learned disrespect from you.”

You stood in the doorway holding glass of water and watched the entire spectacle with the quiet, exhausted affection of someone who had accepted long ago that this was now somehow your life.

Ferrari peace talks had devolved into Lewis arguing with children over virtual racing lines while Charles defended his honor against a girl half his height.

Honestly?

It was going better than expected.

Eventually, mercifully, the twins were herded upstairs, bathed, negotiated with, read to, threatened lightly with consequences if they tried to sneak back down, and finally put to bed.

When you came back downstairs, Lewis and Charles were already outside on the terrace, each holding a glass of wine.

The night was warm, the air soft, the lights from the garden casting golden shadows over the stone.

You stepped out with your own glass and sat down across from them.

“You can stay, by the way,” you said. “Both of you. It’s late.”

Lewis immediately grinned. “See? Hospitality. Class. Vision.”

Charles lifted his glass. “Grazie.”

Lewis looked around theatrically. “Also, Toto is not here, so no one will complain about two Ferrari drivers contaminating the property.”

You laughed. “Oh, he’d definitely complain.”

“Exactly,” Lewis said. “That is why tonight is special.”

Charles leaned back, far more relaxed than when he had arrived. “I have to admit… this helped.”

You softened at once. “Good.”

He glanced at Lewis, then at you. “It was stupid. The whole thing. We both know that.”

Lewis nodded, more serious now. “Yeah. It was.”

The quiet that followed wasn’t uncomfortable. Just honest. And that was the point of tonight, after all. To clear the air. To remind them they were a team. To make room for irritation without letting it poison everything else.

You smiled faintly and lifted your glass, “To fewer crashes.”

Lewis lifted his own. “To better radio messages.”

Charles sighed. “To Lewis learning basic restraint.”

Lewis opened his mouth to answer...

And then the terrace doors opened behind you.

You turned. And there he was.

Toto.

Still in his jacket, looking like a man who had fought an airport and lost patience with civilization entirely.

For one brief second, nobody said anything.

Then you blinked, “Toto?”

He stood in the doorway with the kind of expression that could only be described as deeply, profoundly unamused.

“There were problems with the flight,” he said flatly. “I waited at the airport for two hours only to be told I leave tomorrow morning instead.”

You stared at him. “Why didn’t you call?”

His jaw tightened just slightly. “I assumed you were busy.”

There was something in the way he said it that made Lewis’s face light up instantly with wicked delight.

Because yes. There you all were. Late at night. On the terrace. Wine in hand. You in the middle. Lewis and Charles looking completely at home.

Toto’s gaze moved from you to Lewis to Charles and back again.

“I see,” he said, in the driest tone imaginable, “the dinner went well.”

Lewis actually barked a laugh.

“Oh, oh,” he said, setting his glass down. “Toto, don’t be jealous. Boss had to discipline us.”

Charles, to your absolute horror, looked like he was trying not to laugh too.

Toto remained motionless, “I am not jealous.”

Lewis grinned wider. “That is exactly what a jealous man says.”

“Toto,” you said, already laughing, “please.”

He stepped out onto the terrace, slowly removing his jacket with the stiff dignity of a man determined not to cause a scene while absolutely causing one anyway.

“The children?” he asked.

“Asleep,” you said.

“And these two are still here.”

Charles finally lost the battle and looked down, smiling into his glass.

Lewis, on the other hand, was having the time of his life.

“Yes,” he said cheerfully. “We thought we’d move in. Great wine, beautiful terrace, excellent company, emotionally intelligent management—”

“You already left Mercedes,” Toto cut in. “You cannot also steal my house.”

You covered your mouth, trying not to laugh.

Lewis placed a hand over his heart. “Your house? Wow. Listen to him. So possessive.”

Toto gave him a look of such cool Austrian irritation that it only made Lewis enjoy himself more.

Charles finally spoke, very mild, very dangerous, “To be fair, we were invited.”

Toto turned to him. “I am aware.”

“By your wife,” Lewis added helpfully.

“I am also aware of that.”

You stood up before this could spiral into a full midnight disaster.

“All right,” you said, pointing a warning finger at all three of them. “Enough. Nobody is fighting on my terrace. Not after I spent an entire evening fixing Ferrari.”

Lewis leaned back in his chair like a man watching premium entertainment.

“You should hear yourself,” he said. “You sound exactly like a tired headmistress.”

“She does,” Charles agreed.

Toto looked at you then, and despite the jealousy and the annoyance and the absurdity of the situation, something in his expression softened. Just a little. You saw it immediately.

You walked over to him, took his hand, and squeezed.

“They stayed because the dinner worked,” you said softly. “Not because I’m secretly collecting drivers.”

Lewis coughed into his drink.

Charles made a suspicious choking sound that was almost definitely laughter.

Toto looked over your head at both of them.

“That was not helpful,” he said.

“Neither was showing up like a barbarian husband returning from war,” Lewis replied.

At that, you fully laughed, the kind that made your shoulders shake. Even Charles gave up and laughed too.

Toto looked at all three of you with the expression of a man questioning every life choice that had led him here.

Then he exhaled through his nose and muttered, “Unbelievable.”

You stepped closer and kissed his cheek. “Come sit down,” you said. “You can glower properly with a glass of wine.”

He looked at you. Then at Lewis. Then at Charles.

Then back at you. “…One glass.”

Lewis lifted the bottle immediately. “That’s the spirit.”

“No,” Toto said, sitting down beside you at last, one arm settling firmly around the back of your chair. “This is surveillance.”

Lewis nearly fell over laughing. Charles hid his grin behind his glass.

Toto’s arm remained stretched along the back of your chair in that deceptively casual way of his, which in reality meant exactly one thing: territorial Austrian behavior in progress.

You took a sip of wine to hide your smile.

Lewis, unfortunately, noticed everything. He leaned back in his chair, looking entirely too pleased with himself, glass dangling lazily from his fingers.

“You know,” he said, glancing at you with that bright, innocent expression that never meant anything good, “I have to say— this evening was very impressive.”

You already knew this tone. You did not like this tone.

Charles, apparently, knew it too, because he lowered his glass slightly and looked at Lewis with the resigned expression of a man watching someone toss a lit match into a dry forest.

Toto turned his head just enough to look at Lewis.

“Dangerous start.”

Lewis ignored him beautifully.

“No, but really,” he went on, nodding toward you, “she handled everything perfectly. Calm, smart, diplomatic, firm when needed. Honestly? Exceptional leadership.”

You felt the warmth rise to your face just slightly and waved a hand.

“Oh, please—”

“No, no,” Lewis said, cutting you off. “I mean it. Charles and I came here still mildly annoyed with each other, and now look at us.”

Charles lifted one shoulder. “We are at least no longer considering murder.”

“That,” Lewis said solemnly, “is growth.”

You laughed.

Toto gave a slow nod, swirling his wine with far too much composure.

“Well,” he said, voice dry, “that is good. Ferrari finally has a competent team principal.”

You turned to look at him. There it was. That soft look. That little curve of his mouth as his eyes found yours again, warm and proud and quietly affectionate beneath all the sarcasm.

Your expression softened instantly. But then, because Lewis had apparently woken up today and chosen chaos with intent, he added, far too casually, “And on top of that, she’s beautiful.”

He winked at you.

You closed your eyes for one single second.

Oh no.

Beside you, Toto went very still. Not dramatically. That would have been easier.

No, Toto went still in the way powerful men did when they were pretending not to react while reacting very much.

Charles made a faint choking sound into his glass, which might have been laughter desperately fighting for survival.

You slowly lowered your wine.

Lewis, having sensed blood in the water, smiled wider.

“I’m just saying,” he continued, as if this were an ordinary and reasonable observation to make to your husband, “intelligent, competent, beautiful… Ferrari is really thriving.”

Toto turned his head and looked at him with terrifying politeness. “Lewis.”

“Yes?”

“Do you enjoy making poor decisions late at night, or is this a special occasion?”

Charles laughed into his hand. You pressed your lips together.

Lewis, monstrous man that he was, only leaned back farther and grinned. “I’m complimenting your wife.”

“I noticed.”

“And agreeing that she’s brilliant.”

“I also noticed.”

“And—”

Toto raised an eyebrow.

Lewis paused just enough to make it worse, “—very easy to talk to.”

You muttered into your glass, “For the love of God.”

Charles finally gave up and openly laughed.

Toto looked at him next. “You too?”

Charles held up one hand innocently. “No, no. I am merely an observer. I am learning.”

“Terrible habits,” Toto said flatly.

Lewis put a hand to his chest. “You wound me.”

“You survive.”

“Oh, I survive very well.” Lewis took another sip, then looked at you with theatrical sincerity. “You know, after all those years working with Toto, I can really appreciate the difference. Your management style is so much more— how do I put this—”

You stared at him.

He smiled sweetly, “Emotionally mature.”

That did it. Charles nearly dropped his glass laughing. You turned your face away entirely because if Toto saw your expression, you were finished.

Toto, meanwhile, remained silent for three dangerous seconds.

Then, “Interesting,” he said calmly. “And yet you won most of your championships under my emotionally immature management.”

Lewis pointed at him at once, “Ah, but see, that is because I had resilience.”

You made a strangled noise that was definitely not a laugh.

Toto looked at you. “You find this funny?”

You met his gaze over the rim of your glass, visibly failing to look innocent.

“A little.”

“A little,” he repeated, offended in the most elegant possible way.

Lewis lifted his glass toward you. “See? She’s honest too. Another quality.”

Toto gave a slow nod. “Yes. And she has exceptionally poor taste in dinner guests.”

That finally made you laugh outright.

“Oh, now he’s sulking,” Lewis said.

“I am not sulking.”

Charles, still visibly amused, murmured, “This is absolutely sulking.”

Toto turned to him. “You are in my house.”

Charles looked around the terrace. “This feels less like a threat and more like a geographic fact.”

Lewis slapped the table once, delighted.

You were almost crying with laughter now, shoulders shaking, wine forgotten in your hand.

Toto looked at you and, despite himself, that stubborn line of irritation around his mouth softened immediately. Because he could never hold the pose when you looked this happy.

You saw it happen. So did Lewis. Which meant, naturally, that he pounced.

“There,” Lewis said, pointing at Toto. “That. That face.”

Toto frowned. “What face?”

“That one,” Lewis said. “The one where you try to be terrifying but your wife smiles at you and suddenly you look like a man who would build her a small country if she asked.”

You covered your face with one hand.

Charles made a soft, scandalized sound of agreement. “Actually… yes.”

Toto blinked once, as if deeply offended by the idea. “I would not build her a country.”

Lewis tilted his head.

“No?”

Toto’s arm slid down from the back of your chair to settle around your waist, firm and instinctive. “I would buy her one.”

The silence lasted for half a second. Then Lewis burst out laughing so loudly that somewhere upstairs you were almost certain one of the twins turned in bed.

Charles bent forward, shaking with laughter into his glass.

You just stared at your husband.

“Toto.”

He looked at you, perfectly composed again. “What?”

“You are impossible.”

“And yet,” he said, the corner of his mouth lifting as he glanced at Lewis, “apparently still preferable.”

Lewis sighed dramatically. “Ah yes. The curse of being handsome, talented, and still somehow not the husband.”

“Tragic,” Toto said.

“Cruel, really.”

Charles, now fully enjoying himself, added, “Life is full of injustice.”

You pointed at all three of them.

“No. Absolutely not. I refuse to be trapped here while three grown men turn into theatre students after midnight.”

Lewis sat back, smiling. “You invited us.”

“I invited two Ferrari drivers,” you said. “I did not consent to this level of nonsense.”

“Same thing,” Charles murmured.

You set your glass down with a tiny click and stood up. That got everyone’s attention immediately.

“All right,” you said, in the tone that had ended more meetings, arguments, and strategy disputes than anyone in Formula 1 cared to count, “that is enough. I have had one successful reconciliation dinner, one airport-returning jealous husband, three glasses of wine, and approximately six years taken off my life by this conversation.”

Lewis was still smiling. “So… one more bottle?”

“No.”

Charles, to his credit, looked instantly obedient. “Understood.”

Lewis looked wounded. “You like him more right now.”

“I do.”

“Unfair.”

“You started this.”

“Worth it,” he said at once.

Toto muttered, “That is the problem.”

You folded your arms, “Time to sleep. Both of you.”

Lewis looked at Charles. “We’ve been dismissed.”

Charles stood, smoothing down his shirt with princely calm. “Honestly, fair.”

You pointed toward the hallway. “Guest rooms. No late-night scheming. No opening old race replays. No trying to steal food from my kitchen at two in the morning.”

Lewis raised a hand. “That last one feels targeted.”

“It is.”

Charles nodded politely to you, then looked at Toto. “Good night.”

Toto gave him a brief nod. “Good night.”

Lewis stood too, stretching like a cat and looking entirely too cheerful for a man who had spent the last twenty minutes provoking an Austrian billionaire for sport.

“Sleep well, Toto,” he said brightly. “Try not to dream of emotionally mature leadership.”

Toto stared at him.

You grabbed Lewis lightly by the sleeve and steered him toward the hallway before your husband decided that murder, in fact, remained an option.

“Move,” you said.

Lewis laughed all the way to the stairs, Charles beside him still shaking his head with quiet amusement.

At the foot of the staircase, Lewis turned once more and called softly, “Good night, boss!”

You narrowed your eyes. “Go to bed.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Charles disappeared first.

Lewis followed a second later, still grinning like the human embodiment of bad ideas.

And then, finally, silence. Real silence.

You exhaled.

Behind you, Toto rose from his chair. Slowly.

You turned.

He was watching the hallway with the expression of a man who had survived battle and was now reevaluating his friendships.

“Well,” you said lightly, stepping toward him, “that went well.”

He looked down at you, “Did it?”

You smiled, slipping your hands up his chest.

“No one fought. Charles and Lewis stopped sulking. The children adore them. The house is still standing. I’d call that a success.”

Toto’s hands found your waist at once.

“Yes,” he said. “And my reward for this success was listening to Lewis call my wife emotionally mature and beautiful while sitting on my terrace drinking my wine.”

You bit back a laugh.

“When you say it like that, it does sound a little dramatic.”

“A little?”

You rose onto your toes and kissed the corner of his mouth, “You were jealous.”

“I was observant.”

“You were jealous.”

He looked at you for a long second.

Then his hands tightened slightly on your waist, “…A little.”

You smiled in triumph, “Thought so.”

He sighed, but there was no real annoyance left in him now, only that familiar warmth, that helpless softness he reserved for you when no one else was looking.

“Come,” he murmured, brushing his thumb over your side. “Before one of them comes back for more wine and I decide friendship has limits.”

You laughed softly and let him guide you inside.

The terrace doors closed behind you with a soft click, and for a brief moment the house was quiet again, wrapped in warm darkness and the last fading hush of the evening.

You barely made it halfway down the corridor before Toto’s hand caught your wrist.

You turned, and he pulled you straight into him.

The kiss landed hard, immediate, full of everything he had been holding back since he had stepped onto that terrace and found you sitting there between Lewis and Charles with a glass of wine in your hand and that calm, composed smile of yours that always undid him a little faster than he would ever admit.

“Toto—” you murmured against his mouth, half breathless already, half laughing.

He didn’t answer right away. He just kissed you again. Deeper this time. Slower. Like he was making a point.

By the time you reached your bedroom, your pulse was already unsteady, your fingers curled into the front of his shirt, his hand firm at your waist as he pushed the door shut behind the two of you.

The sound of the lock sliding into place felt louder than it should have.

You looked up at him. There was something almost unfair in the way he watched you then—tie slightly loosened, hair not quite in place anymore, eyes dark with that familiar mixture of jealousy, love, and a kind of raw devotion he never managed to hide from you when the rest of the world finally fell away.

And then suddenly you were moving again.

He pulled you in, one arm around your waist, the other sliding up your back, and before you could even form a proper protest, he lifted you in one smooth motion like it was nothing at all.

You let out a startled little gasp, your hands flying to his shoulders.

“Toto— what are you doing?”

He pressed you gently but firmly against the wall beside the bedroom door, his body close, one thigh between yours, his face only inches from yours now.

“Proving a point,” he murmured.

His mouth brushed your jaw. Then your cheek. Then back to your lips.

Your breath caught, “What point?”

He leaned back just enough to look at you, one hand steady at your hip, the other cradling the back of your neck like something precious and entirely his.

“That you belong with me.”

The words should have sounded arrogant. And maybe from anyone else, they would have.

But from him, here, now, with his forehead resting briefly against yours and his breathing just as uneven as your own, they sounded less like a claim and more like a truth he felt all the way down to his bones.

You softened instantly. “Toto…”

His thumb brushed over your cheek.

“I know Lewis was teasing,” he said quietly. “I know Charles was just enjoying the show. I know all of it.”

You searched his face. “But?”

His mouth curved faintly, though there was still something vulnerable under it now.

“But I came home and found my wife looking beautiful in our house, laughing with two very charming Ferrari drivers, and I disliked it on principle.”

A laugh escaped you before you could stop it.

“On principle?”

“Yes.”

“That was the most ridiculous thing I’d ever heard.”

“I am aware.”

You smiled, your hands sliding up into his hair.

“And dramatic.”

“I am Austrian,” he said, as if that explained everything.

It did, unfortunately, explain quite a lot.

You kissed him then — slowly this time, with no laughter left in it, just warmth and affection and something deeper, something softer that always lived beneath the banter with the two of you.

When you pulled back, you rested your forehead against his.

“For the record,” you whispered, “I do belong with you.”

He closed his eyes for a second at that. Not because he was surprised. Because he felt it. The full weight of it.

When he looked at you again, all the sharpness in him had melted into something achingly tender.

“You are very bad for my peace of mind,” he murmured.

You grinned. “And yet you keep me.”

“Always.”

There was no teasing in that one. Just certainty.

And then, everything shifted again.

His hands slid down, firm, confident, grabbing your hips and then lower, your breath caught as his grip tightened on your ass and in one smooth motion he lifted you again, carrying you toward the bed like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“Toto—” you gasped softly as he laid you down, your body sinking into the mattress. But he didn’t give you time to think.

He was already over you, already pulling at your clothes, his touch urgent now, less patient, like something in him had finally snapped.

“Toto…” you whispered again, breath uneven, your fingers catching his wrist for just a second. “Not now… they are right behind the wall…”

He leaned down and kissed you — hard, deep, stealing the rest of your protest before it could fully form.

When he pulled back, his lips brushed yours as he murmured low, “Let them hear.”

Your heart skipped.

“I am in my house,” he added quietly, voice rougher now, darker, “with my wife.”

His hand slid over your stomach as if to emphasize every word.

“They are guests.”

Before you could answer, before you could even decide whether to argue or laugh or give in, he was already moving again.

His lips trailed down your body, slow at first, then more deliberate, more focused.

You inhaled sharply when he kissed your stomach, your body reacting instantly, instinctively, as one of his hands pushed your underwear down your thighs while the other found your breast, warm, steady, his thumb brushing over your nipple just enough to make you shiver.

“Oh God… Toto…” you breathed out, your voice already softer, weaker, giving in despite yourself.

Because that was the truth. It was always the truth. His touch did this to you. Always.

You felt the last piece of fabric slip away and suddenly you were exposed, vulnerable in a way that only ever felt safe with him.

Your hands moved on their own, fingers tangling in his hair as he lowered himself further, his breath warm against your skin, then he started slowly teasing your pussy and clit.

At first you tried to stay quiet. You really did.

Your lips pressed together, your breathing uneven, every sound caught somewhere in your throat as you clung to that last bit of control.

But it was pointless. Because Toto knew you.

He knew exactly how you reacted. Where to touch. How to move. When to be slower. When to press harder. Every motion deliberate. Every shift calculated to pull you deeper into it.

Your grip tightened in his hair, your body already responding before your mind could catch up, your back arching slightly as a soft sound escaped you despite your efforts.

You tried to stop it.

You failed. Because he didn’t rush. He didn’t need to.

He took his time — building, breaking, drawing it out just enough that you started to forget where you were, who might hear, what you had even been trying to hold back in the first place.

And slowly, inevitably, you lost yourself in it.

Just when you felt yourself getting close, right there, right on the edge... Toto suddenly stopped.

A frustrated, breathless sound escaped your lips, your body still tense, still aching for him, every nerve ending lit up and waiting.

And instead of giving you what you needed, he leaned in and pressed slow, deliberate kisses along the inside of your thighs.

Your breath stuttered instantly.

You looked down at him, and there it was. That look. Dark. Hungry. Knowing exactly what he was doing to you.

He smiled, slow, predatory, completely in control.

“Turn over,” he murmured.

Your mind protested immediately.

Oh no… no, no—

But your body? Your body reacted before you could think.

A soft, needy sound slipped from your lips as you moved, turning onto your stomach, your breath uneven, your heart racing.

And without even realizing it, you arched. Your hips lifted, pressing back toward him, inviting him, offering yourself without hesitation.

You heard him shift behind you. Felt the mattress dip. Felt him closer.

And then, he was inside you. One deep, powerful thrust that stole the air from your lungs, a broken sound tearing from your throat as your entire body reacted at once.

You didn’t think anymore. You couldn’t. Everything faded except him, the way his cock filled you, the way he moved, the way every inch of him felt impossibly deep, overwhelming, consuming.

This position — he knew. He knew exactly what it did to you. How it made everything sharper. Stronger. How every movement hit deeper, more intense, impossible to ignore.

Your sounds grew louder, slipping past any control you had tried to keep, each thrust pulling another reaction from you, your body giving in completely.

His hand gripped your hip, firm, possessive, fingers pressing into your skin, holding you steady while the other slid between your legs, finding your clit instantly. Exactly where you needed him.

Your whole body jolted.

A gasp, then a softer moan, your grip on the sheets tightening as the sensation built again — faster this time, stronger, overwhelming.

Your breathing broke apart, your body tightening, reacting before your mind could catch up.

Behind you, Toto felt it. Of course he did. He always knew.

His movements became faster, deeper, more urgent, chasing that same edge with you, his breath rough, uneven, close to your ear now.

“That’s it, Liebling…”

Your name for him slipped from your lips, broken, breathless.

“Don’t—” you tried, but it fell apart immediately.

“Come for me,” he murmured, voice low, commanding, sending a shiver straight through you.

A pause, just enough to make it worse.

“I want to feel it.”

That was it. The last thread snapped.

The tension inside you broke all at once, your body tightening, arching, a louder, uncontrollable sound escaping you as everything hit at once, strong. Overwhelming.

“oh God, Toto— yes… yes—”

Your voice broke, rising without control as the orgasm crashed through you, your whole body trembling with the force of it.

Your pussy pulsed around his cock, your body reacting without restraint, completely lost in the sensation.

And he followed you immediately. You felt it, in the way his grip tightened, in the way he pressed deeper, closer, like he needed to be fully there, fully inside you as he let go too.

His forehead dropped against your shoulder, his breath rough, uneven, his control slipping completely for those few seconds.

He leaned down, his teeth grazing your shoulder in a sharp, instinctive bite, his voice low, almost growled, “Mine.”

And then, everything slowed.

The intensity faded into something softer, heavier, your bodies still pressed together as your breathing gradually steadied.

You both collapsed onto the bed, warm, flushed, completely spent.

You could feel his heartbeat against your back — fast, strong, still racing. Yours matched it.

For a moment, neither of you moved. Just breathing. Just existing in the aftermath of it.

A soft, breathless laugh escaped you. “Oh my God, Toto… what was that?”

He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he pressed a slow, gentle kiss to the place he had just marked, softer now, almost tender. Then another kiss.

And finally, quieter, “That…” he murmured, his voice still low but no longer rough,

“…was me reminding you how much I love you.”

You smiled softly at his words, still catching your breath, your body warm and heavy beneath him.

“You did that on purpose,” you murmured, voice quiet but amused. “I’m sure Lewis and Charles heard everything.”

You huffed out a small laugh. “My voice could wake the dead… and there is a reason the kids’ rooms are on the other side of the house.”

Toto didn’t stop. His lips were still at your neck, slow, unhurried, brushing soft kisses along your skin that sent small shivers down your spine, completely different now—gentle, grounding, almost lazy.

His hand drifted over your stomach, warm and steady, fingers tracing absent patterns as if he needed to keep touching you just to remind himself you were still there.

For a moment, he didn’t answer.

Then, quietly, “Well,” he murmured against your skin, “they knew what they were signing up for when they decided to stay the night.”

You let out a soft laugh, turning your head slightly to look at him.

“Tomorrow morning is going to be awkward.”

He hummed, unconcerned, pressing another kiss just below your ear.

“Good,” he said simply.

You blinked. “Good?”

“Maybe they will disappear before breakfast.”

That made you laugh properly then, the sound light, unrestrained, your hand coming up to brush through his hair.

“You are impossible.”

He lifted his head just enough to look at you, that familiar, quiet confidence back in his eye, but softer now, warmer.

“Yes,” he said calmly.

A small pause. Then, lower, “But I'm yours.”

fans nearby called out your name as you walked by and you happily smiled and waved at them. some of them held flags, caps, anything they think they would get signed – waving them in your direction. phones out everywhere and recording it all.

you've signed stuff before, that also wasn't new and you loved interacting with fans. so you happily made your way over to the barrier and took a marker from a fan and began signing things. you also managed to take some quick pictures as well. you trying your best to talk to fans as they shouted over top of each other to speak to you.

"no need to shout! i'm right here," you say with a smile as you sign a mclaren cap with the number 4 on it.

you hand the marker back to whoever it belonged too before you reached forward to grab a phone. your hand mixing in with the crowds, you standing on your tiptoes slightly as your other hand gripped the barrier.

right as you grabbed the phone that's when it happened. a hand tightly gripping your wrist and tugging on you. your heart immediately jumped to your throat, eye wide in surprise as you let out a gasp as the sudden contact. the grip is hard and tight as you try to pull away, but they only tug you forward.

it all happens so fast that you can't even fully comprehend that its happening. the person who is gripping you is shouting something you can't understand as the other fans also shout. chaos. that's the only way to describe it.

security nearby immediately reacts.

"hey! let go!" they shout, rushing forward and the grip quickly loosens. the two guards manage to get you away from the barrier before you could accidentally fall over it.

the moment probably lasts all but three seconds. three very confusing seconds as you are still trying to wrap your head around what just happened. heart pounding in your ears as you make eye contact with a fan directly across from you. their stare mirroring yours.

"are you alright?" one of the guards ask and you turn to nod, a bright smile forcing its way onto your lips.

"i'm fine!" you say, trying your best to let out a lighthearted laugh as you take a step back. you give the crowd one more look, smiling and waving cheerfully – like always, before continuing to walk down the path.

the fans who had just witnessed the whole thing are left talking amongst themselves. still in disbelief over the whole thing, some even shouting towards you, apologies more than anything.

it’s not until a few hours later, when lando is sitting at one of the many outside tables during a break between his schedule that he sees it.

people tagging him across different platforms, he's confused on what people are tagging him in. then he sees that you are also being tagged, mentioned continuously and something inside him twists ugly. like whatever he's about to watch is not going to be good.

his eyes fall on the caption first as the clip plays out on his phone.

caption: someone grabbed yn’s arm while she was interacting with fans… completely scared the shit out of me

the camera angle is messy, filmed through shoulders and heads and things being shoved in your direction.

it then focuses on you, smiling brightly and laughing as a fan says something to you.

you then reach forward to grab the phone when it happens– your wrist suddenly being grabbed and your whole body jerked forward.

the person filming it gasps along with some others who notice you being grabbed.

security immediately rushed forward and the clip cuts abruptly.

lando feels like he's about to be sick. heart hammering in his chest like he's never felt before. a million things going through his mind, but the main thing being:

someone grabbed you. someone fucking touched you.

he sees another clip that shows you afterwards, smiling and trying to remain calm despite the very not calm situation you were just put through.

it makes him even sicker to realize that you were still willing to try and remain happy. lando can't even begin to describe the amount of emotions rushing over him.

he looks through the comments because of course he does.

👤 : why are people grabbing her like that?? that's insane.

👤 : security stepped in so fast, thank god

👤 : the way she tried to play it off afterwards... you can tell she was clearly startled poor thing

👤 : fans need to learn boundaries

👤 : imagine how pissed lando is going to be when he sees this

yeah, lando is beyond pissed. the clip autoplays again and again. his jaw clenching each time he sees you being yanked forward. if any more force had been used then you would have completely fell over the barrier and– 

fuck, lando can't even begin to imagine what would have happened. he doesn't want to even think about that possible scenario.

"hey, you okay?" oscar's voice snaps lando out of his thoughts. eyes shooting up to met the younger male's slightly concerned eyes.

the britain puts his phone down with a sigh as he rubs his hands over his face. trying to find the words, if he can, to answer his teammate. when he meets oscar's eyes again, the frustration that was original there had been replaced with something else.

something far more closer to fear.

lando finds you not too long after in the mclaren hospitality. sitting at one of the tables with your laptop in front of you.

he doesn't say anything at first. just stands there watching you, taking your form in. you finally notice him after a few seconds, eyes looking up from your laptop to his eyes.

at first you smile at him, warmly like how you always look at him. with love. but then you take in his expression and your smile falls.

"what's wrong, lan?" he doesn't say anything as he walks over to you, standing over you as you crane your neck to look up at him.

"why didn't you tell me?" his voice is almost dangerously calm.

you lick your lips, "tell you what?" you ask softly as you feel your stomach drop a little.

he pulls out his phone and easily pulls up one of the many, many videos he's had sent to him. screen facing you as the video autoplays and you watch the clip.

of you getting grabbed. security stepping in. of your startled expression after being let go.

you feel a heat rush over your body as you look down at your hands, embarrassment rushing over you. "it was nothing..." you say quietly.

lando stares at you, "it was nothing?" he repeats.

"i'm fine," you try to reassure him quickly, "it lasted like... two seconds!"

"that's not the point, y/n," his voice is tight. you can tell he's trying his best to control his tone. he's trying hard not to get angry. "you shouldn't have been that close to the barrier in the first place."

you can't help but furrow your eyebrows as you look at him, arms crossing, "i've done it a hundred times before."

"and one of those times you almost got dragged over the barrier – someone fucking grabbed you."

"security handled it," you try again to assure him you're fine. trying to keep the mood light.

"that's not the point," he repeats, and that's when you finally see it. the way his shoulders are tense. the way his hands keep flexing like he doesn't know what to do with them.

"you're overreacting, lando," you say softly. he looks at you like that sentence physically hurt him.

"i watched someone pull you towards a crowd," he says quietly. "while i wasn't even there."

you don't know what to say to that really. the air around you both has grown extremely quiet. it makes you feel uneasy and guilty. lando exhales slowly as he runs a hand through his curls.

"i should have been there."

"you were working."

"doesn't matter."

you finally stand up from your seat, taking a step closer to him as you both looked at each other. "i'm okay."

you can see he's really looking at you this time, eyes moving over you like he's double checking that there's no bruises, no injuries on you. double checking that you're safe.

"you're playing it off," he says.

"because it wasn't a big deal."

"it scared me," the words come out before he can stop them. you feel your chest tighten and for a moment neither of you speak. then, he's reaching forward and pulling you into a hug. not gentle, not casual.

tight.

like he's trying to assure himself that you're still standing in front of him. your arms automatically wrap around him. "i'm sorry," you murmur.

"you didn't do anything wrong," he says, voice muffled as he buries his face into your hair. slowly taking in your scent in hopes that it calms down. "but we're not doing that again."

you pull away just enough to look at him, "what?"

"getting that close to crowds without me there."

"lando–

"i mean it," he cuts you off and there's something different about his expression now. he's not angry. no, its resolve – he's made up his mind and there's nothing that can change it. "i don't care if people think i'm being overprotective."

"you don't have to–

"i do," he cuts you off once more as his hands comes up to cup your face gently. "you might not think it's a big deal," he adds, "but i'm not watching that happen again."

you study him for a second, the worry still evident in his eyes. you realize it probably won't leave for a while. so instead of arguing, you lean your forehead against his.

He lowered his voice.

“But the scene… it’s bad. Contaminated. Party was massive, Monaco Grand Prix after-party.”

“Yeah, I heard about it.”

He swallowed.

“It was violent. Not superficial. And… that’s not even the weird part.”

You lifted an eyebrow.

“Then what is?”

“It’s public. Packed. We’ve been questioning witnesses all morning…” He exhaled sharply. “No one heard a thing.”

Your stomach tightened.

“She didn’t show signs of defense?”

“No.”

Which meant one thing.

“She knew him,” you said quietly. “Trusted him… maybe too much.”

“Most likely.”

“Time of death?”

“About ten hours ago. Party was over by then.”

“Then why call the police five hours later?”

“That’s what we’re figuring out.”

“How does someone lie there for hours… and no one sees her?”

Across the scene, Anderson struggled against the press. Cameras flashing, voices overlapping, chaos barely contained.

He returned to you, face pale.

“You won’t believe this,” he said.

“Try me.”

“One of the drivers… Franco Colapinto.”

A pause.

“He’s missing.”

Your pen froze over your notebook.

“When was he last seen?”

“Eleven, maybe twelve hours ago.”

You scoffed.

“People aren’t declared missing that fast. Media frenzy.”

“Maybe. But the timing…”

You closed your notebook with a snap.

“I need a list of everyone who attended the party. Now.”

The officer straightened.

“And until we figure out what happened...”

You looked over the flashing lights, the crowd, the chaos barely controlled.

“No one leaves. We’re going to interrogate every single one of them.”

DETECTIVE NOTES:

- Victim: Female, unidentified. No ID. No belongings visible.

- Time of Death: ~10 hours ago. Police called ~5 hours ago.

- Signs of Defense: None. Likely trusted attacker.

- Key Suspects (so far): Party attendees.

- Allegedly Missing F1 Driver: Franco Colapinto?

"I'm sorry, Osc," you murmured, hands travelling up his bare arms, relishing the heat of his skin as you pressed a light kiss on his cheek. "I know you were probably expecting something from me, but it’s been a long week," you whispered.  

With the extended break after Suzuka, it was a rare moment where you and Oscar could spend some extensive time together. But this week... it had not been kind to you. Your patience had been tested and your kindness toyed with. Every day seemed to drag on and on while you were just waiting to get back home to Oscar.  

A small frown made its way onto Oscar's face. He watched you quietly curl up in his arms, back flushed to his chest, tired head resting against his shoulder. "Hey," he mumbled, tilting your face so he could see you better. He blinked at the pout on your face as he moved the stranded pieces of your hair behind your ears. "Don't apologise. I don’t expect you to do anything,” he muttered like the word itself was dirty. “This, just us here, is more than enough." 

You stared at him softly, corners of your mouth tugging upwards quietly. You turned your head, nose just brushing the side of his jaw before you pressed a lingering kiss to his neck. "You're so sweet," you hummed.  

You could feel him laugh lightly underneath you before he sucked in a sharp breath, thumb grazing the side of your cheek. "Besides, give me some credit," he teased, brown eyes flickering over your face. "I can do all the work too." 

You raised a brow at his words; body intrigued at his proposition despite the looming fatigue. "Would you now?" You grinned. 

Oscar shrugged, returning the same grin. "Only if you want to, baby," he mumbled, kissing the top of your forehead. "You just sit there and let me take care of you, hmm?" 

You nodded. "Yes, please." 

"Well... since you asked so nicely," he mused, hand darting to tilt your chin up to him. His warm breath only lingered for a few seconds before he dipped his head down and placed his lips on yours.  

He was soft. Not holding you with the frantic urgency you usually had during times like these. For a second, you wondered whether he was holding out on you. But the purposeful slow pull away and the push deeper to taste you told you about that the thoughts running through his head.  

It didn't take long for the quiet moans to escape your lips, muffled and stuttered with the feel of his tongue mapping out every crevice of your mouth like he hadn't memorised it already. Like he was tasting something else other than the traces of minty toothpaste.  

You could feel his hand gliding down your skin, not in any hurry. Down your neck and over your shirt, stopping at the swell of your chest. Your breath caught at the press of his fingers into your clothed breast, pad of his thumb rubbing the pebbled mound in firm, teasing circles.  

"So pretty, aren't you?" He sighed against your lips, heart whirring at every uneven breath lodged in your throat. He smiled at your already clouded eyes, tired yet so needy. The small shift between your thighs was all but telling. And he loved it.  

"Come here." Oscar moved you against his lap, throat bobbing at the sweep of your ass against the growing tent in his boxers. He tucked his chin into your shoulder, seating you between his legs. He took a second, hands roaming your bare thighs and the edges of your shirt, fingers running over the waistband of your panties. His shirt, actually. It was his. But you looked much better in it.  

"Lift these hips for me, baby," he murmured against your ears while his fingers hooked into the elastic, slightly helping you up to pull your panties down your legs. He could hear you suck in a sharp breath as the cold air hit your skin. "That's it. I promise that's all you have to do. Let me take care of you." 

Oscar's hand dipped between your thighs, other hand keeping your legs open against the mattress. The ghost of his smile could be felt on your shoulder as he felt warm slick almost instantly on the tips of his fingers. Your throat tightened upon the feel of him smearing your arousal through your soft folds, playing and teasing as he marvelled over you for the umpteenth time.  

"So wet for me," he mumbled, lips grazing your ear, feeling your body jerk as his fingers skimmed past your clit. His chest swelled with a proud warmth. He swallowed the saliva forming in his mouth, moving his fingers around the bundle of nerves, slow and firm. Everything about his tease deliberate.  

You shuddered against Oscar's body, eyes fluttering at the heat swirling in the pit of your stomach. "Oh, Osc," you mewled, hips grinding forward for more.  

"Feels good, doesn't it, baby?" Oscar hummed, feeling your clit harden with every passing second. He smiled, fingers prodding every crevice meticulously. "I know it does. I'm gonna make it feel even better. Put my fingers in you, hmm?" 

A choked gasp fell from your mouth as he pushed one finger into your cunt. His free hand moved from your thigh, digging into your waist while your back arched into him. He cursed under his breath, barely enough for you to hear. God, you felt so warm around him, walls clinging to him. Taking him so fucking well.  

His rhythm was slow and deep. Teasing against your walls. Heat swarmed your body, telling it to writhe against him at every swipe of his thumb on your clit. You take him deep, middle finger sucked in, flushed past the knuckle, leaving him soaking. Just when you thought it couldn't get any better, your hand darted out to his thigh, nails scrapping his skin as he sneakily pushed another finger inside.  

"F-Fuck," you stuttered, eyes rolling.  

Oscar grinned against your skin, curling his fingers with every drag, rubbing that spot good for you. "You feel that? Every time I do that, your pretty pussy squeezes around me," he moaned lowly, feeling your walls contract at his words. "Your body knows me so well," he praised, kissing the side of your neck. "You deserve everything good, baby." 

The whimpers falling from your lips became deeper. He didn't fasten his fingers nor did he pry any deeper. He was right. Your body knew him well. And so did he. Coaxing that perfect ridge in your cunt, making you feel so goddamn good.  

"Oscar," you breathed tightly, brows tirelessly mending.  

He swallowed, flushed face tucking into your shoulder deeper with every shift against him. You probably weren't too aware of the mess behind you. It didn't matter. This was about you. Not him.  

"You close, baby? Yeah?" He murmured, hearing your deeper, sparser gasps while your hips threatened to chase that electrifying sliver of heat. He cleared his throat as you nodded slowly. "Go on. Cum me for me, pretty girl." 

You blinked with the long flashes of white taking over your vision. Your body convulsed quietly against him, hoarding the striking waves of pleasure rolling over you one after another, leaving you breathless and speechless.  

"That's it," he coaxed, fingers slowly moving out before rubbing those sensitive nerves gently. He kissed the side of your head. "Did so well, baby." 

Oscar watched you tilt your head, hazed eyes flickering to his, making his stomach churn. You were beautiful. He searched your gaze, heartbeat matching your softened breaths. He raised a brow, not judging nor teasing. Just genuine. "Want another one? Yeah?" He murmured, taking in the small tip of your head.  

"I'll give you another one, baby." 

You weren't sure when Oscar had moved you. It was fast and effortless, resting you against the pillows, making sure to keep one tucked underneath your body. You swallowed quietly as you felt those pillow lips press on the inside of your thigh, kisses soft and lingering.  

"My beautiful, beautiful girl," Oscar hummed, hands running over your thighs as he propped his head on the mattress, between your legs.  

Your heart quickened at the sight of those honey brown eyes staring back at you, sweet, boyish smile stretched onto his face. They stayed on you for a beat. And the another. Watching. Admiring.  

After the week you had had, it was hard to feel like anything. But the way Oscar looked at you right now... you felt like the most beautiful woman in the universe.  

You pursed your lips, heat quickly crawling up your face. You nudged him with your knee, embarrassed. "Osc," you mumbled, giving him a pointed look.  

You could feel his chuckle against your bare skin. "I mean it," he stated with no trace of humour. Just warmth. He kissed your inner thigh one more time, inching closer and closer to where you wanted him. "Beautiful," he whispered, flickering his eyes to you. 

Your lips parted to reprimand him but before you knew it, his mouth had latched onto your cunt. You gasped, fingers curling at your sides. You were still a bit sensitive. But fuck, the feel of his tongue lapping up the mix of your arousal and cum always made you insane. Your brows furrowed tightly as your back arched, feeling the hum from his chest reverberate through you. Christ... 

Oscar had closed his eyes briefly, devoting himself to savour the fine taste of you. To him, it was sweet. Addictive. A meal designed by him.  

It was lewd how he could hear himself. Every lick and slurp echoing through the quiet night. But he much preferred your soft moans. You were tired and yet, you were making all this noise for him. And fuck, if it didn't make him hard.  

Maybe it was pathetic. The way he was rubbing up against the mattress as he ate you out like he hadn't just eaten dinner. But you always seemed to bring out to the worst in him. Had him here, rutting against the bed out of sheer desperation. And the sudden feel of your hand through his brown locks didn't make it any easier. He grunted at the tug, hands tightening around your thighs, bringing you closer if it was possible, stopping your squirming hips. 

"Shit, Osc," you mewled, choked gasps when his lips attached to your clit, firmly sucking before his tongue travelled in circles.

Oh. My. God. 

"So good," he grunted against your cunt, nose bucking against the bundle of nerves. "Do so well for me, baby. I'm so proud of you." 

Your thighs tightened around his head, clamping his hands to your skin. His words made your stomach churn. It was useless to lie. You were close already. The heat already climbing and looming when his tongue hooked itself under your clit, rubbing the spot in between that made you whine.  

"Come on, baby. Give me another," Oscar moaned, brown eyes watching your flushed face carefully with every lick. The thin sheet of sweat on your face... mended brows... bitten lips... an absolute piece of art.  

He watched.  

He watched your jaw slack, lips parted and wrapped around an incomplete gasp as it hit you. Your thighs and hips shake around him and yet he doesn't stop. He was a bit greedy like that. He liked watching your body squirm, angle higher for even more. The heave of your chest like he made you forget how to breathe.  

He loved all of it.  

Oscar swallowed hard as your hips came crashing down, body limp against the bed as your uneven breaths filled the air. He kissed the side of your thigh, a trail going up before he found your lips and kissed them deeply, hand sinking into your hair.  

You hummed quietly, taking the time to consume the taste of you on him. It always tasted better like that.  

He breathed loudly, pulling away for some air. He smiled, tucking the tresses that had escaped again behind your ears. "Did so well, baby." 

You stared at him for a moment. "Osc," you called softly, capturing his attention. "I want to feel you." 

You could see the obvious struggle in his boxers. Even the small damp circle where his precum stained the front.  

Oscar sucked in a sharp breath. He could’ve sworn he felt his cock twitch at your words. He shook his head. "It's okay. I don't want to tire you—" 

"Please, baby," you whispered, hand reaching out to caress his cheek. "I'm okay. I'm sure." 

His tongue travelled over his bottom lip as he drew in another quick breath. He swallowed thickly. It was your eyes. He swore. That glint that always got him in the end. Always driving him crazy. You might as well have been holding him by the balls.  

"Okay, baby," he mumbled, hand moving to push down the waistband of his boxers, too lazy... too desperate to fully undress himself. He didn't care. He just wanted to feel you. The air felt cold against the heat of him, eliciting a hiss from his throat.  

He leaned down closer to you, pressing a long kiss to your lips. "Tell me if it's too much, hmm? You know how it is. Just two taps. A word. That’s all it'll take and I'll stop," he reminded, ensuring he captured the nod of understanding from you.  

He smiled to himself. His pretty girl. So good for him. He sunk his fingers between your lips, coating them in your saliva. His cock stood straight and hard, taut muscles quivering as he fisted himself, covering the aching thing with your wetness. 

Your cunt throbbed at his small eye roll. God, he looked so good like this. Brown hair all dishevelled. Mole-dotted skin flushed. Such a pretty sight.  

Oscar lined himself up. He wanted to stay true to his promise. All you had to do was just stay there. Let him do all the work like you deserved.  

He pushed himself inside, just an inch. Enough to make you both groan loudly. He swallowed the sound, feeling your nails sink into his forearms as his forehead dropped to yours. "I know, I know—fuck," he gasped. "You feel so fucking good, baby. Oh my God," his voice cracked as he dragged himself out and back in, deeper.  

Your whimpers curled in your throat as he bottomed out and stopped, letting the both of you still. Letting you adjust for a moment while his breath, hot and uneven, wavered over you. "Doing so good for me, pretty girl. Taking me so well," he praised, lips briefly pressing against your forehead.  

Your voices strained as you spoke, "Fuck, Osc. Please... move." 

"I will," he confirmed, smiling at the desperation swirling in your eyes. "Just keep your eyes on me. Don't look away, hmm?" 

You nodded, breath catching as he began to move slowly. The first few drags teasing and purposeful before he pushed deeper, each push flushed against you in a way you could feel it for days on end. Your nails sunk harder into his forearms, eyes still locked on him, lips parted around a moan with every swivel of his hips.  

"Tell me you feel that," Oscar grunted, skin prickled with heat. "Me inside you. How you take every single inch so fucking perfectly. Letting me take care of you," he rasped, watching your face contort with pleasure. 

"I feel that, baby. So good," you whimpered.  

He moved again. Faster. A control on the brink of something so messy. The sound, skin on skin, echoed throughout the quiet night air. Dim lights of your room painted across your faces so he could see your pretty face without any obstacles.  

The exhaustion of the week had faded in your eyes. The only fatigue present was the one he had created. The one you both knew would put you right asleep the moment you both finished.  

The look alone made his chest swarm with warmth. That was what he wanted. What he had promised. And he had succeeded.  

You swallowed hard, almost sobbing when Oscar pulled one of his tricks, thumb dipping between the mess you were both making and found your clit. "Fuck—ngh! Oscar, I can't. Not when you do that," you breathed, sounds of the bed creaking underneath you filling your ears.  

"Then don't," Oscar panted, feeling the coil in his stomach tighten, threatening to unravel in a moment's time. He leaned down, lips just inches away from yours. "Let go for me, baby. Let me make you feel good and come on my cock," he murmured sweetly before taking you into his mouth.  

It happened again. The ripple of sharp heat rolling over you as your body locked up against his. Your moans swallowed and tasted by Oscar. Toes curling while he gently continued, own hips beginning to fasten with urgency.  

You could feel his muffled moans in your mouth, his fingers digging into to your waist. It was like he was trying to bring you closer. You weren't sure it was possible when you could feel everything. Even the tug of your lips caught in his teeth as he stilled, spilling himself into you, leaving you warm and full. 

You breathed hard through your nose as Oscar collapsed lightly against you, chin tucked back into your shoulder like it belonged there. You wondered if he could feel your hammering heart while you raked your fingers through his hair.  

You pressed a kiss to his ear before he gently peeled away from you, pulling out cautiously. It took only seconds for him to bundle the both of you up under the blanket, either of you too tired to clean yourselves up. That was tomorrow's problem.  

You quietly stared at him, curled up in his arms, legs intertwined, looking over those brown constellations you had memorised. You blinked as his eyes fell to yours. You wanted to say thank you. But for some reason, it was far more difficult than you anticipated. Oscar had kept his promise. And you were grateful.  

You took a deep breath in. "I—" 

"I swear to God, if you apologise again, I'll make you cum over and over again till you beg me to stop," Oscar mumbled, stroking your hair as you rested against his chest. He grinned at the shake of your body, your quiet giggle music to his ears. “Shut up and go to sleep, you muppet," he teased.  

"You didn't even know what I was going to say," you muttered to yourself with a pout. You peeked an eye at him. "Pancakes in the morning? Oscar? Osc!" You whined at his silence, poking his cheek. 

An amused sigh fell from his lips, honey brown eyes opening to see you. He smiled at the peer of your eyes, heart whirring again. "Yes, I promise. Now come on. Let’s sleep."