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The sound of a car engine revving down the half-empty highway taunts the other vehicles, the traffic bends and makes way for a certain McLaren to slip past. The McLaren speeds down the lane, gaining more and more velocity to cut past other vehicles. Even if the cars that barely avoided the McLaren's turmoil, even if horns blared in signs of anger and annoyance, the driver inside the McLaren couldn't more than two shits about anything else than getting back to his hotel room.
The widely-known car plate 'OP81' is certainly bound to reach headlines by next morning if he keeps acting this reckless, for sure, he'd end up in more trouble than solving anything by the end of it. Things had been a total disaster lately, the car can't seem to be bothered enough to turn on just moments before the race, his recent crash at his own home race, the weight of expectations placed on him— he was bound to topple off the edge if he doesn't do something to sort it out.
In his head, there were just too many things stuffed up in his noggin, occupying the brain space for him to think rationally, the ability to keep his temper at bay. He had already played a risk when he accidentally shoved Lando too hard when his teammate asked him regarding the crash.
'McLaren Double DNS! Is this karma for last year's WDC?'
'Oscar Piastri hasn't started a race yet in this year's season.'
'Home-hero reportedly crashed before the race could even begin!'
The headlines taunt him, they chase his image wherever he goes, like a ghost haunting its killer. Had it really been his fault, or was everything just a shitload of terrible coincidences that happen to occur at the same time? Oscar doesn't want to think, well, he can't be bothered enough to do so. Not when he has other plans in mind.
If the team can't figure out what's wrong with his car by the next Grand Prix, Oscar is fucked for the WDC.
The air in the vehicle stiffens, fuck, everything about him feels tight and stiff. Today, he has been focusing on training his body for the upcoming race weekend, his body feels taut with the tension and loose with the fatigue that washes over him like waves against the sand. It bothers him even more that he is unbashedly horny, the lonely waves of need getting more and frequent as the days stretch longer with how busy he is lately. That might have been the reason he had called you first thing this morning and asked if you would like to stayover at his suite for the weekend, it had been an unreasonably long time since he had last spent quality time with you.
Whenever he finds himself on breaks and scrolling on social media, it's like a death wish, because you were everywhere. A private beach getaway advertisement? He remembers the exact night where he had you bent over in front of a mirror, the night before a Qualifying Round. Panting his name, overstimulated and needy, the way your hip shimmy down to meet his-
He was white-knuckling the steering wheel, making sharp turns down the familiar, routine-like route to his hotel like it's muscle memory, even though he's only been in the area for a few days. It didn't take long before he could see the tall skyscraper that would be his hotel building, thanks to his team, he has the finest suite booked for him for an entire week.
The car drops down the ramp that leads to the underground parking, resulting in the revs of the engine to echo throughout the entire parking area. Oscar skillfully reverses his car into a parking spot, which is the nearest to the lift that would take him to the lobby.
He suddenly feels the phone in his pocket vibrate, immediately his jaw tenses at all the possibilities of who is contacting him. PR manager? Or maybe even Lando? Just some junk mail?
None of that could matter more, fuck, he just needed to get to his room. After locking his car, he strides to the small room and enters a lift, stabbing the lobby button. The brief moment he has for himself gives him a quick opportunity to check on his phone.
'hey, oscar, you okay? you've been rlly quiet'
Oscar studies the text sent from you, his thumb long pressing the text bubble on his lockscreen to quickly write a reply.
'i'm fine dw, im alr otw'
Yeah, like that was even remotely close to how he was feeling right now. He wasn't exactly sad or depressed or whatsoever, it was more like he was tired of things not looking up for him. True, he was threathened with a ruined reputation if his next race doesn't change anything, but it's not like he would just abandon his life-long passion over a few bad races.
The lift dings to tell him that he has arrived at the lobby. Oscar slips his phone back into his pocket, before walking out of the lift towards a guarded door, he simply shows a blank white card to the card reader that is mounted beside the door and then door swings open for him to pass through.
He enters yet another lift, this time it takes him to the floor with only suites available, so it's much higher up the building. It takes a few mere moments, just him and the soft hum of the machinery as it brings up higher and higher up the column of the building.
Oscar stood out front of the front door, the polished wood reflecting the brooding mess he is as he fumbles for his keycard. The tensed shoulders that rise and fall with every forced out huff of breath he exhales, the sharp manner of his hand swiping over the card reader, the repetitive, monotone voice in his head telling him to calm down when that's the farthest thing he is right now.
The hotel suite was dark, the silence welcoming him cold and bare, the only light coming from a far point at the corner of the suite, which would be his bedroom. He silently makes his way across the living area and stops short in front of the closed bedroom door, his hand hovering over the door handle as if contemplating about something. Right as his hand rests on the cool metal of the doorknob, the metal was already turning on its axis and the door creaking ajar slightly.
He finds you on the other side, clearly, you were surprised to see him too, hence the your briefly widened eyes before you blinked the shock away, replacing it with relief.
"You could've knocked the door, y'know." You say to him, but your smile defeats any harshness in your tone. You open the door a little wider to let Oscar in, your eyes scanning over his form and taking a brief note on his petulant body language.
Oscar steps into the bedroom, taking note on how you had clearly made yourself feel at home when he was out; your luggage bag was propped open next to his, your makeup bag had been emptied out so now the vanity was conquered by all sorts of skincare and makeup, which looks like a complete contrast to Oscar's selected items that he could barely be bothered enough to bring along with him.
"Rough day?" You hummed as Oscar sinks on the edge of the bed, his weight creaking the frame.
Before he replies, his eyes find yours for a moment, before unabashedly giving you a once over, it wasn't an unusual sight to see you in silk pyjamas but everytime you do, it's like seeing you for the first time all over again.
"You know how things are, right now." Oscar blinks his gaze off you to focus on the corner of the room, it's evident that he is zoning out, or at least he's trying to. "Fuck, I hate it."
Oscar was still in his workout attire, the stretchy material of his shirt clings to his toned body like second skin, you obviously take the chance to ogle at him, it certainly had been ages since you had him all to yourself. And being with him alone in the same room, at this hour, ignites a spark of intimate energy in you that has long been left dormant.
"Do you need anything?" You offer, trailing him to the bed, your eyes shamelessly following the hypnotic way his hipbone swivels with every step he takes. "Well, for one, you definitely need a shower."
Oscar scoffs at your comment, but does nothing but stare off at the same corner of the room. He looks like a child that got sent for time-out.
Seeing him not doing much to keep you entertained, you clamber on the bed behind him, you go on your knees as you waddle over to perch your hands on his shoulders. Oscar throws a look over his shoulder with a mildly perplexed yet amused look on his face. As your thumbs swerve over the curve of his shoulder, he tenses up at first, before relaxing himself as the heels of your palm knead into the pliant muscle. You earn yourself one of his soft hisses as you continue pressing down your fingers over the area.
With a compliant groan, his head tilts back slightly, his hair tickling your forearm as he shakes his hair off his face. He blinks a few times, watching you intently from the corners of his vision.
"This good?" Your hands slope slightly higher up the gradient of his neck, fingers feeling his clammy skin that thrums with taut anticipation.
Oscar's breathing stutters as your thumb kneads down the column of his neck, the pressure immaculately hitting all the right places at the exact force it needs. He hums under your expertise touch, leaning into your touch like a cat.
"Fuck, you're good," Oscar groans, a dazed smile growing on his face that is currently turning a shade of pink at the high points of his face. "Could you go a little lower? Like, oh fuck-"
You try to ignore how blissfully warm you feel as your hands ease out his pleased noises. Your hands are now dropped to the defined contours of his back, putting a little more force into your ministrations.
Oscar almost shivers at how well you are at this, his lips parting momentarily to catch his breath like this physically tested him. Fuck, at this rate, he would turn into putty in your hands, so skillfully melting him into a pliant being, at your mercy. It daunts on him at the surge of heat that accumulates at his chest, he knows what other things those skilled hands can do. Oh, the things he would do to have you doing those exact things for him.
"You're so dramatic." You roll your eyes at the back of his head, fingers taut around the subtle ridges of his toned back. "I barely did anything."
Oscar suddenly stands up, flexing his shoulders languidly before turning to face you. For a moment there, there's something written on his face, it's between the relaxed demeanor you eased onto him and the beginning of something a bit more demanding. With that, his hands grip the hem of his shirt, efficiently looping the damp fabric off his body, baring his muscular chest to you.
The effect takes places rapidly, you feel like a female bird, completely enthralled and simply amused. Technically, he is putting on a show that he knows you will enjoy, no harm in indulging in what's already yours to have.
You cock a brow at him, not even bothering to hide the stupid grin that occupies your face.
"Is there something you want to address to me?" You say with that teasing lilt to your voice.
"It's hot in here," Oscar's dazed smile evolves into something more insinuative as he tosses his used shirt somewhere across the room. "However you want to interpret that."
You go from standing on your knees and sink down on your ass, watching him in front of you at a rather indicative angle. Shamelessly, your gaze marvels from the grin that's plastered on his flushed face, down to admire the sculpted contours of his torso before you sneakily take a glance lower where he is apparently putting on a show in those shorts. Atleast, he knows that he is very, very well-endowed.
Your throat goes dry at the despicable thought, Oscar doesn't give you a chance to push it down before he stalks off to the bathroom. A pang of lewd disappointment hits you as your stares follow him to where he stands before the bathroom door.
"What are you doing?" Your voice comes out sounding a little too incautious.
"You said I needed a shower," Oscar says, as if it's the most logical thing to do at this moment. "Figured you wouldn't want me smelling like this when you all over me."
That sends a whoosh of heat sprawling over your face, but you school an expression that leans to being pissed off rather than being left turned on after long weeks of abstinence. It irks you that you would've (not-so) secretly liked him smelling of his sweat and the feel of his skin under yours.
Oh, he knows what's bound to go down if he hadn't went to the bathroom. He would've just spared the foreplay and just bend you over the edge of the bed, letting your cunt milk him. He would've let you ride him senseless, with your breasts bouncing with your alluring movements. He would've done all of that, if you had asked him nicely.
His hands go to his shorts and tug them down, letting the fabric pool at his ankles before kicking them to the door. He stares at himself in the mirror, he already looks like he had already been at it for hours when not even a singular kiss was exchanged. The embarrassingly visible tent in his boxers is nothing shy of erect and ready, fuck, he might already be leaking already just from your coaxing touch. He was already lossing at a battle he knows he can't win. Unless...
He steps into the shower, one hand turning the faucet on cold and the other hand palming himself through his boxers. The cold stream of water startles him, but the heat that uncoils from his lower body overpowers the biting chill. He feels at his clothed erection, letting out a frustrated groan.
As the jets of water soak his boxers, his mind goes filthy. His thumb swivels to the head of his dick, his hips thrusting up to feel at his own hand.
His hand, that was previously on the faucet, now is at the waistband of his now skintight boxers, already yanking the soaked fabric down his thighs, freeing himself. His length springs against his pelvis as soon it was freed with its clothed confinements, already red at the tip. He tosses his boxers to join with his shorts, landing on the tiled floor with a depressing flap.
He lowers the pressure of the water, the water now just barely raining over his body. He reaches for the lotion bottle that is strategically perched at the sides of the wall, pumping a good amount of the lubricant before he lathers it on himself, wishing it were you who was doing it. Spitting on his cock, or maybe slickening him up with your arousal-
His hand slides down on himself with such force it shocks himself, his body jolting involuntarily with the insane rush of pleasure. He balances himself by propping his free arm against the cold tiles of the wall, his body arched into his hand as he takes matters into his own hands.
He's imagining being anywhere but where is really is right now: in bed with you on your knees and taking him whole in your perfect, hot mouth, at the window, him pressing you up against the tinted glass as he fucks up into you as your orgasm peaks, or maybe on the bedroom floor, him rutting into your tight pussy like a dog in heat.
He moans, so helpless and desperate as he is jerking his meat off to mere thoughts of you, how pathetic. His head spins as he is unsurprisingly already tethering at the brink of sanity. 40 seconds, he can certainly do better than that. Main reason why is doing this right now instead of going all in earlier.
A part of him wants you to see him so undone for you, wishes you could read his mind whenever he is so utterly infatued for you. He wants you to know how wrecked he gets when you just exist.
His breaths become more laboured and intense as the coils in his stomach taut and tense. All the fantasies of you in his head become one, his mind narrows further, his hand moves faster with the urgency to just tilt over the edge. His thoughts chant your name like a silent prayer for his heinous act, like you were his only light.
"Fuck, fuck, fuck..." Oscar huffs out, his lower lip curling inwards as he breathes out through his mouth.
It doesn't take long before his hips are manually thrusting into his hand, before completely going still in his grasp as he snaps. His head tilts back as his entire body shudders, he can feel his hot seed spilling onto the edges of his curled fingers, mingling with the water that's cooling of the tension that scalds his back.
That felt insanely good, his dick now remains half-erect, twitching and spent laying against his thigh. If that already was already a mindblowing way to short-circuit his mind, he'd love to discover how fucked he would be once you took control. His cock stirs at the singular thought, which reminds him to get showered, and quickly.
"Are you just going to stare or are you actually going to do something?"
Well, Oscar was originally going to do more than just something to you, but when the first thing he sees is you in the middle of slipping off your pyjamas, his mind is fried. It's undoubtfully the sexiest thing he's seen all month.
His throat bobbles as he swallows, the grip on his towel dangerously loosening as he is stupefied to the spot. Your silk pyjamas now lay in a fresh pile on the floor, leaving you in nothing but a pair of lacey panties that he fancies a lot. Not even a bra to cover up the beautiful slope of your breasts, full and breathtaking.
"You're cruel." Oscar breathes out, trying to divert his focus to your face in hopes of buying himself more time before he gets fully turned on.
You merely snicker at his evident flustered state.
"Clearly, someone had to do something," You deadpan him, then move tantalizingly slow towards him, every step you take as if testing the waters. "And you like it when I'm a little bold."
The Australian man raises his brow at your words, he grimaces as you're now perfectly in front of him.
"Now what?" Oscar huffs, clearly growing impatient with how much you control you know you have on him, it's driving him up a wall.
"You could start with something like this," Your snarky suggestion is followed by your hand going up to the folds of his towel and simply undoing them. "And I'll pretend to be surprised."
Oscar's reaction time is horrendous when he's already aroused, the towel simply flutters off his lower half, efficiently leaving him fully naked before you. His face warms up pitifully, his gaze unable to maintain on yours. God, he isn't going to last long if you keep pushing his buttons.
The drumming of your heart against your ribcage is utterly acting like background music to this moment, the anticipation thick enough to be sliced through. Between you and him, it was inevitable that he would be the one who sends most of the sexting messages, the impromptu double-meaning jabs and the classic eyebrow raise when it's just the two of you in a confined area. But when it comes to the real thing, Oscar is freakishly nervous and adamant about properly facing intimacy. Good thing that you absolutely love seeing him fall pliant to your demands and melt under your praise.
"I..." Oscar begins but his words are cut off once your hands gently find his, your soft skin travelling from his wrists and going to his forearms as you lift them to rest his hands on your shoulders.
His hands lock onto your shoulders, he studies the way your hands go up to his shoulders again, admiring the way your hands move like silk against him. You find him staring intently at you, his deep pools conflicted between wanting to admire your body and finding the genuine passion in your eyes. The crinkle of his brows tells me things that you wouldn't have expected less of him. Ofcourse, the polite cat of the grid is asking for consent when all you've been doing is foreplay that would lead up to this moment.
Slowly, his hands slide off your shoulders, his calloused fingertips leaving goosebumps in its wake as he drags his palm down. You take an involuntary step closer, giving him better access to you. He grunts as your knee goes to nudge against his leg, clearly he isn't appreciating at how much your miniscule teasing is affecting him greatly.
Instead of his hands swooping up to cup your breasts like how you expected him to, his hands sweep under your arms and rest against the small of your back to pull you closer. Without much effort, he tugs you, closing any distance that was between you two. You can smell the scent of the hotel body wash on him, floral and clean on his supple skin. His hands go from his back and ascend to the base of your neck, up the column and then finally at your chin. His thumb plays with the satisfying pout of your lip, dragging his finger over it over and over, studying the pulse of your heartbeat through the thin surface.
"You are incredibly patient, Oscar." You murmur as your eyes wander from each freckle that dots his face, before making a pitstop at his eyes that have darkened with desire and a form of desperation.
"Don't jinx it." Is all he says before his fingers force your mouth to tilt up to meet his.
It's rushed, hazy and deliciously making your head spin. He cups your face gently, his fingers combing through your hair and curling around your wavy locks like a ship with its anchor. Your arms instinctively go to wrap around his neck, scaling the ridges of his back before settling at his nape. Your hands too make haste to tangle themselves in his damp hair, fingers kneading softly against his scalp.
His body shudders as he pulls away momentarily, panting lightly as he swallows yet again. It fascinates you at how easy it is to get him so riled up, your ego flares bright under his tensed demeanor.
Without much protest, you make a move by pulling him into a kiss, immediately deepening the pull and feeling the drop of his shoulders at your boldness. This time, it's messy and frienzied. Your tongue presses against his lips, barely allowing him time to think twice before he lets you taste him.
You hear a stuttered exhale from him, and suddenly you're moving backwards towards the bed. Fireworks go off in the back of your mind as the back of your knees hit the bedframe, Oscar hearing that immediately flutters his eyes open and pulls back slightly to catch his breath.
God, you love how pink his face was, there was barely any pale skin left on his dazed face, the tips of his ears burning a bright hue of pink beneath his damp curls.
Your hands are now on his chest, but not for long because you push yourself away from him and sink on the mattress. Right where he wants you, and right where you want to be.
His hand in your hair tightens its grip as his dick twitches just at the sight of you right in front of him at such a strategic position. A perfect replay of his lewd fantasies that he had just jerked off to prior. The memory sends a jolt of pleasure zapping through him.
You merely watch him fight his inner turmoil, study the way his lips part with his laboured breathing.
"Please." Oscar blurts out, seeing that you haven't done anything, maybe he has to do something to earn it.
"Please what, Osc?" You put on a breathy voice, shifting in your position so that now you were on your knees and straddling thin air. "C'mon, I need to hear you."
Oscar whimpers, straight up crumbling at the sight of you in such a tempting position.
"Please suck me off." His voice trails off at the end.
"Hm? Can't hear you, baby."
"Suck me off, please," Oscar beckons, his chest heaving with the weight of the admission, his cheeks burning, if possible, even warmer. "I need you."
Hearing that, you know no better than to give him what he wants. You start with a teasing peck of your lips at the area around his cock, licking a stripe of warm skin at his pubic area, earning yourself a rough tug on your hair and some hissed strings of curses. As you feast yourself on his tortured noises, you glance up to see how is he holding up so far. His eyes are on you, pupils blown wide and gone were his guarded mouth.
"You're killing me here, baby." He chokes out, his fingers flexing as he adjusts the way he is gripping your hair to make it more comfortable for you.
"I plan on leaving you lifeless by the end of this, so I think that's a great start." You replied before you seal your lips on his shaft, kissing greedily on his sensitive skin.
The more you move your mouth on him, the noisier he seems to get. Once your lips finally graze his tip, he almost collapses with the sensation, his hips bucking to your mouth as a silent plea. And it's definitely one you are more than than happy to comply with. Painstakingly slow and steady, you hollow out your cheeks as you lower your head onto him, taking his inches in one by one, stopping at every few moments just to let you hear him struggle to keep his cool. The grip he has on your hair is doing wonders to the unignorable ache that's left unattanded to at your core, your hands are tempted to move down to help yourself but you force them to remain perched at his twitching hips, as if punishing yourself.
As soon as my nose brushes his lower stomach, Oscar grunts before he starts using the vice grip he has on you to his advantage. He yanks your head back and forth like a puppet, hissing through gritted teeth as he watches you slide repetitively on his cock. You were rather taken aback at his sudden change of demeanor but, you were too busy running your tongue over his veiny length, every noise you made vibrating through him in echoing waves of pleasure.
It doesn't take long before Oscar's fully fucking your pretty mouth, his hand in your hair purely slamming you on and off his cock. His head tilted back with his mouth slightly open, letting his little noises tremble out as he nears the edge.
"You're so fucking pretty like this." Oscar seethes through pants, pulling you away slightly with a sharp tug so you're halfway down his cock. "Letting me ruin your throat, you're so fucking hot."
The praise has little jitters of arousal flaring in you, instinctively making your thighs clench. He catches the tiniest movement of your legs, he blinks at you for a few times as if trying to clear his head.
"But, you're okay with this, right?" He rebuttals his previous incautiousness, the grip he has on your hair loosening for a few seconds.
Oh fuck, he's even hotter when he's trying to respectful in the most disrespectful of situations.
You nod at him, and that's all he needs before his tugs your mouth off his trembling cock, now glistening with your sticky saliva.
"On the bed, properly." He simply states as he strokes himself a few times, his forehead creasing with the pleasure he provides himself with.
You spend no time and do as he says, after all, you live for this demanding version of him, the version of him that isn't shy to test the limitless boundaries between to the two of you.
Compliant and ready, you sit with your knees slightly spread out so you look like a heap of sex and sin just for him to devour. Oscar climbs on the bed, his sheet weight making the bedframe grunt with effort as he crawls towards you. You love the way the damp tendrils of his hair falls over his flushed face, the equally amused and knowing grin he has for show, the play of his back muscles as his limbs stalk forward like an animal. You can already imagine the way he'll have you so desperate and needy for more, he has never ceased to make you feel worshipped and fulfilled of your desires.
"Anything specific you have in mind, Osc?" You manage to pant out as Oscar sits up so he's on the same level as you.
"The only thing I want is you." He says languidly, his hands reaching out to feel at your waist, gently coaxing you closer. "In a lot of ways that benefit us."
Once both of your bodies are slowly pressing up against eachother, Oscar's hands teasingly slides down to cup your ass, then without much effort, he lifts you up as he adjusts the way he is on standing on his knees on the mattress. You balance yourself by having your legs immediately wrap around his body, locking yourself to him by your ankles. You can feel everything from this angle, with your chest pressed up against his, you can feel the impatient rapt of his heart against his chest, the unsteady rise and fall that matches yours.
When his erect cock grazes the landing of your lace panties, he lets out a frustrated grunt, his face goes to bury against the crook of your neck in search of closeness with you.
"Already soaking for me," He hums, shifting his hips slightly upwards so he can drag his sensitive tip against your pulsating core. "You're so sensitive."
Now it was your turn to be put at his mercy, you exhale a shaky breath through your nostrils, letting the moment wash over you as your back arches to his body. Fuck, you need him now, the tension in the air crackles with anticipation.
Hesitantly, your hand goes down between your lifted legs and barely misses his awaiting cock, just so you can drag your panties to the side, just enough for him to slip it in. Oscar, seeing this as a green light, he gently lowers your thighs over his lap, slowly pushing inside you.
The sensation of him stretching you shudders through your entire body, your thighs clenching instinctively as if already trying to increase the friction against him. The Australian grits his teeth as he glances warily at you, his lust-hazed gaze still looking for any signs of discomfort. But, once he hears your incoherent pleas for him to continue, he doesn't hold back.
"Fuck, you're so tight for me." Oscar hisses out as you're a trembling mess when he's fully inside you.
He can feel your walls fluttering frantically against his cock, it takes a huge part of his sanity to even try to start moving against you. Your arms fly to go around his neck, anchoring you to his sturdy form. When Oscar starts a slow, sensual rythym with his hips against yours, you let out a sharp cry as your fingers rake at the expanse of his back. He's bound to look like he fucked a literal werewolf by the end of this, and god knows, he wouldn't settle for anything less.
The lewd noises of skin slapping bounces off the walls, if anything it makes it more intimate. Nothing else but the sounds you elicit from eachother.
In attempt to save yourself from an early arriving orgasm, you distract the heady feeling by enclosing your lips with his, a messy exchange of tongue mingling with heated words with little to no meaning behind them. The minty taste of his toothpaste, the desperate huffs of air that hit your mouth when he's pumping so deep into you, the way he's gripping the globes of your ass so tight that you're certain that there would be marks after.
As soon as you pull away from the kiss, he hastily lowers both of your bodies, your back landing suddenly on the sheets with a grunt. He doesn't waste his time with the new angle he grants himself, and starts ploughing into you, his hips rolling to desperately meet yours in frantic waves.
Your arms drop down from his neck to fall beside you, raking at the sheets in desperate manners to grip just about anything.
"So, fucking, good." He pants out, empathising each word with a defiant roll of his hips. "I'm gonna cum in you so hard."
Suddenly, the imagery of having to get Plan B pills after this doesn't sound so threathening after all. Oscar hasn't ever had such fiery sex with you without protection, usually he's the one who's reprimanded with the risk of accidentally knocking you up. He's past that by now, driven by nothing but his primal instinct to fulfill his needs at your consent. With your legs tightly wrapped around his back, with your back arching up to meet his chest, with the symphony of breathless noises you were emitting, Oscar was already losing this battle.
He changes his stance slightly, he lifts his upper body momentarily so his arms can gently pry off your legs off his body so he can coax them into spreading them open. He resumes his relentless thrusts, making sure to hit your cervix with every blow.
You were a pile of bones in his hands, the way you just let him mould you to his needs, the way his thrusts are bound to bruise your entrance, you let him get what he needs, knowing you have been such a good girl for him by abiding his needs. His hand presses down on your knee, bending you further as his cock now slips in and out of your pussy like a freight train to a tunnel.
"Oscar, fuck, fuck!" Is all your able to think, him fucking you into oblivion.
"I'm gonna cum, fuck, you're too tight-" He gruffs, his thrusts turning sloppy and messy.
"Cum in me, please." You barely recognise your own voice, from how breathy and needy you sound for him. "Please, I need it so bad."
He slows his thrusts briefly, as if unsure of what he heard.
"You sure?" He asks with a hint of sincerity, but you saw a flicker of desire pass his gaze for a moment there. He catches his breath slightly, glancing to the bedside table. "Condoms. I can get one right now."
"Oscar," you hiss at him, impatient and just wanting him to drive you over the edge. "I don't want to."
He stares you down, holding the gaze for a few crucial seconds before he simply tears his gaze from your eyes and drops unabashedly to where you and him connect. And he's moving at such a primal speed, the sound of his balls slapping ruthlessly against you. There's no going back from here.
His propped arms tightened at your sides, his hands flying underneath your shoulder blades to use your shoulders as leverage. His knuckles turn white from the sheer grip he has on them.
"You're going to regret saying that." Oscar says in an almost-growl, your faces so close to eachother, his hair falls ontop of your head.
The bed creaks beneath you as his knees start to buckle, he doesn't stop there. No, not when you're both so fucking close.
The moment you suddenly cry out beneath him, his orgasm strikes him like a blow to his soul. It's hot, fiery and consuming in all ways possible, the passion of his desires mixed with the love he has for you, mingled into a feeling unreplicable.
His hips stutter once, twice, before he's all over you, his cock buried to the hilt inside your throbbing pussy. His body trapping you, your legs helplessly flailed in the air as he presses his needy cock deep in you. Your orgasm hits you like a freight train, your back taut like a bowstring as you arch off the bed. You squirt over the conjoined parts of you and him, milking him dry as you rain over his pelvic bone and soaking the sheets beneath.
The first thing you hear from him post-orgasm, is a strangled groan that vibrates between your fused forms.
"Fuck, I'm sorry." He babbles weakly, his voice dragged with the aftershocks of the moment. "You okay? Was I too much? Are you hurt?"
You had barely came down from the heavenly heights of your climax, the immediate rush of domestic affection you feel as soon as you hear his questions. You were a little too dazed to properly comprehend what he had asked, he even lifts a shaky hand to cup your face, dragging your consciousness to focus on him.
Fuck, he looks so hot right now, his face full on flustered and warm as he hovers near your face, his eyes as wide as saucers, the dishelved manner of his brunette hair, the exact hair that you had your fingers running through in the haze of intimacy. You could let him fuck you all over again just to hear him whining and fussing over you again.
"No, you were so fucking good." Is all you manage to reply him, feeling his hand rest placid against your jaw. "I'd let you do that all over again, fucking hell."
A sheepish grin occupies his face, he buries his face in the crook of your neck.
"And I would, knowing you would let me everytime."