Tumgik
#carlos sainz drabble
sunny44 · 2 days
Text
Lost in the Paddock
Pairing: Carlos Sainz x Girlfriend!reader
Warnings: none, just a lil blurb
Summary: A few drivers got an eye on Carlos girlfriend.
Tumblr media
The paddock was bustling as always, and I walked through it trying to find the Ferrari garage. It was easy to get lost in the confusion of teams, mechanics, and journalists, and that's exactly what happened to me.
Carlos and I have been together for 4 years, but I had never been to a race before and was trying to find my way around. I was already familiar with his world, so that's why we decided to keep our relationship hidden.
As I walked, I could feel the curious looks of some reporters, fans, and even some drivers since I was wearing the Ferrari badge.
Among them were drivers like Lando Norris, Max Verstappen, and Charles Leclerc, and from what Carlos told me about them, I knew they were cool.
Lando was the first to approach, with his bright and confident smile.
"Hey, you seem lost. Need any help?" I smiled politely, trying not to reveal my nervousness.
"Yeah, I'm actually very lost," I smiled nervously, and he chuckled.
"I'm Lando, by the way."
"Oh, I know your name, I'm Y/n.”
"It's a beautiful name. Just like the owner." He smiled, and I saw Max and Charles approaching.
"Thank you. Actually, I'm looking for the Ferrari garage."
"Or you could come with me to Red Bull. Our garage is much cooler, and I'm Max, by the way." I felt flattered by their attention, and I had to hold back from laughing because they really had no idea who I was.
"He's lying, the Ferrari garage is much better, and I would love to take you there."
He smiled, and if I didn't love Carlos, surely that smile and those dimples would have won me over.
I was startled when I felt arms around my waist and recognized the hands immediately.
"Hiii baby.” I turned and held his face, kissing him.
"Hey hermosa, I thought you'd arrive later," he smiled and looked at the three behind me.
"Why the shocked faces? And what are you doing around my girlfriend?"
"She's your girlfriend?" Lando asked shocked.
"Wait, you have a girlfriend?" Charles said.
"Since when?" This time it was Max.
"Like 4 years ago," he said.
"4 YEARS?" Lando shouted and got a slap from Max.
"Why do you look so shocked? As if it were impossible for me to have a girlfriend."
“It's just that she's WOW, and you're you," Lando said, and I laughed.
“Oh, thanks for calling me ugly."
“It's not that, it's just that she's way out of your league.”
“And way more out of yours so back so stop drooling, all three of you.” he said, taking my hand.
"Bye, boys, it was nice meeting you, and thanks for the help.” I said, waving to them.
“You don't think I'm ugly, do you?" He asked, and I started laughing.
“Of course not, in fact, I think you're very very hot." I gave him a peck on the cheek, and he smiled as we headed to the Ferrari garage.
Tumblr media
Bonus scene!
Carlossainz Instagram stories
“Yes, I have a hot girlfriend!!!!!”
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
552 notes · View notes
cherry-leclerc · 4 months
Text
lolita ☆ cs55
genre: age gap (10 years), porn with plot, affairs, forbidden romance, angst, mentions of suicide, mentions of drugs, tragedy, erotic literature
word count: 14.9k
You were young, alluring, floating through a disastrous life with the touch of a thousand angels. Carlos was successful, irresistible and someone who often kept a distance from catastrophe. Never in a million years did he think he would have a complete moment of weakness…Especially the week of his wedding. 
nsfw warning under the cut!
18+... sexual tension, penetrative sex, dry humping, riding, size kink, oral sex (f and m receiving), semi - public sex, deepthroating, praise, fingering, handjobs, lots of dirty foreplay, slapping (like once AH), a bit of edging, overstimulation, a bit of crying, sucking on fingers, squirting - i should stop now, oh god.  
inspired by this and this !
STOP AND READ:
This by no means - in any shape or form - is something that should be admired or looked up to. It does deal with serious topics such as: grooming, suicide, and drugs. While the reader is of age (19), this is not my way of impulsing my own readers - especially younger ones, if by any chance they come across this - to follow this mindset. Dark themes will take place and if that is not something you are comfortable with, then that is okay, I definitely have more light hearted fics in my masterlist. “Love stories” aren’t always filled with flowers and rainbows, they can also be hurtful and confusing, often misunderstood. This is fictional. Given, this is inspired by Lolita and Blue Velvet by Lana Del Rey (*everyone cheers*) – what that means is that this story will not have a happy ending. Verses of Lolita by Vladimir Nabokov are also mentioned (extremely controversial book - as it should be).
cherry here!…hi, guys! i hope you all enjoy and i’m gonna do it now: I’M SORRY. 
Tumblr media
She was as dangerous as poison could ever be - with no good intentions. She was malicious, sweet laughter that would make anyone fall in love. An Angel walking on Earth, curiously making it her playground. 
He was intelligent. A man of few words, but also simply so, the seven deadly sins all wrapped up in one. Keeping a distance from things he knew would bring him no good.
But in order to understand, we would have to take you back to where it all began. 
Where Paradise met Hell.
-
Growing up in Italy for some odd reason made you out to be the girl you were. Men there would throw themselves at any opportunity if they saw a single daisy looking girl in eyesight. At first it felt as if you were walking a tightrope; you knew it wouldn’t be the wisest idea to fall straight into their traps. Except, slowly, it made sense.
They knew how to sweet talk someone so young and naive - you’ll give them that. It only took one taste and that was the moment you knew. 
You liked them older.
Men fucked in a way boys never would. Every single one would always put your needs first - but there was this one man that had you realizing how fucked up you could be in order to get what you want. That’s one prize you’d cheat to win.
And that’s a story for later.
-
Moving away for college was the best decision you felt you would ever make in your entire life. Given, Italy was home, but the people in it weren’t. Often, you find yourself missing your rendezvous but studying abroad in Spain wasn’t much different.
Note; you didn’t grow up with a tight knit family. Your mother was a drug addict with half of her days knocked out on the couch, your father was someone who was occasionally in the picture. He tried his best.
And your older sister, Ollie? 
Well, you’d honestly forgotten you even had one. 
Some may say that you’re a whore, a slut, a homewrecker, or any other Spanish slur that spits Madrid, but you never cared. You were having fun and why were you the one always being blamed? Perhaps, men, too, should think with their heads rather than their dicks.
Which is how you find yourself still repeating the familiar pattern you had started a long time ago. Riding your professor shouldn’t feel this good. Mierda, he would groan as you bounce up and down like a bunny. Mewling, you shake the feeling of remorse. Not when he felt this good. 
Your phone ringing is what makes you stop, him still inside of you, twitching. Ciao? His calloused fingers would slide up to pinch your nipples as you lightly gasped. 
“Tesoro! Haven’t heard your voice in so long.”
Your father’s tone makes you wince at the reminder. Occasionally, he would check up on you in a way you would assume other fathers did for their daughters. You could never hate him, though. In his own way, deep down, he still cared.
“Papi, how are you?”
Sliding off of his lap, you zip your dress back on as you pace the lecture room. Bored, he takes out his secret whiskey from under his desk. Your sister is getting married in a few weeks! I was thinking you could fly back home so you could join us. The thought alone made your stomach churn as you bit down onto your thumb. Signaling at the older man, you click your fingers, hinting for a glass of your own. He obliges, handing it to you.
“I’m busy with summer courses. Maybe I can send a gift?”
You try everything in the book in order to get out of what seems like a crappy, dull, Italian wedding. It had been ages since you last stepped foot there. In no right mind would Ollie’s wedding be the one to change that. But he says things that get to you. I haven’t seen you in years. Neither has your sister. She misses you, you know?
You bite down on a snarky remark as you down the rest of the gold liquid. Last time you spoke, she promised that you were dead to her. That she never wanted to hear from you again. In the moment, it hurt, but you grew used to the idea. And what younger sister doesn’t pick up on what older sister says? Now, you despised her as much as she did you.
“Ovviamente. I’ll be there.”
-
It’s hot as soon as you land. That you didn’t miss. Ale, your fathers chauffeur, picks you up with a bright smile. Saddened, it dawns on you that you hadn’t seen one of those in ages. He’s nice. Let's you sit in the passenger's seat as he introduces himself. He mentions he has 5 granddaughters and has been married for almost 50 years. It’s sweet. Makes you feel human.
Pulling into the driveway, you almost want to correct him. This isn’t my fathers house. You must be mistaken. Only, he says he isn’t. That he had recently moved into his Italian mansion a year ago. You’re skeptical for a minute, but realize you can’t be one to tell. Years have passed; things change.
Still, that didn’t stop you from gawking at the ginormous house that sits on a hill; overlooking all of Tuscany. It even had a beautiful view of the ocean. Why couldn’t you grow up with this?
“I’ll inform your father that you have arrived safely.”
Taking it all in, you slowly pace the entrance, analyzing everything in sight. The crystals hanging from the chandelier, large - expensive - portraits, shiny mirrors. Quirking your head to the side, you glide over to the golden trophy sitting in the middle of the spacious entry.
Carlos Sainz Sr. : Rally Driver of-
“That belonged to my father. He passed away a year ago.”
Startled, you grip onto the trophy tighter as you slightly jump in panic. You curse yourself for being caught as you delicately place it back down before turning your attention to the booming voice.
Instantly, you’re hit with lust. Standing in front of you is a tall man - around his 20’s, perhaps - dark brown eyes narrowed down on you like knives. Messy, untamed, brown hair. Large nose, plump lips, dark brows. His figure is something you can’t wrap your head around that even exists. Richard Mille's watch clung onto his wrist. Giorgio Armani pressed up against his chest, it almost looked as if it didn’t fit due to his rippling muscles. Woody, rich, scent filling up the room. 
He was the most beautiful man you had ever laid eyes on. 
“I am so, so, sorry.”
Your voice is so soft, it has him intrigued. You wore a short pastel yellow dress that didn’t leave much to his imagination; paired with converse and tube socks. Rosy tint on your cheekbones from the humidity. Berry lips. Wide, innocent eyes. He’d be lying if he said you didn’t take his own breath away. Even though you stood far enough away, he could still smell your vanilla perfume. 
Inching closer, he waves you off. “I was kidding. My father is well and alive.” You tippy toe nervously before planting your feet back down. 
“That’s not a nice thing to say.”
And he’s surprised with your response. Yet, he finds himself extending his tan hand out to you. “I’m Carlos.”
Carlos. His name sounds as attractive as his appearance. Strong and sure. But also…dark. You shake his hand, legs quivering at his warm touch. Deep down, he knew how much he affected you - it’s something he’s grown quite accustomed to, having people admire his looks, but it took a lot to not show that you had the same effect on him.
“Nice to meet you, Carlos. Do you work for my father?”
Amused, he lets out a deep chuckle. Even a simple sound like that had you pressing your legs together, arousal dripping in between. 
“You don’t know who I am?” You shake your head, confused. Should you? He smiles. “That’s okay. We haven’t met before…Though you should get to know me since you’re already here…”
Wait.
“You know,” he leans his head a bit, floppy hair following, “Ollie.”
No, no, no.
“It’s so nice to finally meet my fiancée’s sister.”
Foolishly, you try your best to hide your surprise. How does a man like him end up with a bratty, narcissist, like your sister?
What was so fucking special about her?
Envy fills your veins as you try to show that this hasn’t phased you. Excited cheers echo down the hallway as your father runs over, embracing you into a warm hug. You’re here! Wincing, you lean into his touch, eyes still trained on the magnetic man. 
Only then, did Ollie fly down the stairs, immediately running into Carlos’ arms. Making a big deal out of it, she kisses him as she runs her hands against his chest. 
“Come here, tesoro. I’ll show you where you’ll be staying.”
The entire time; Carlos kept his eyes trained on you. 
-
It didn’t make sense. Part of you knows it never will. You’ve only just met him, but you can tell he must’ve been fucked in the head to willingly choose someone like Ollie. Sure, she seemed sweet and kind, but she was anything but that. 
Dinner that night is carbonara. Carlos is extremely talented. He cooked this just for you. Tight lipped, you thank him, looking down at your plate to avoid his burning gaze. 
“How’s school?”
Turning to your father, you remind yourself that you were here for him; because he wanted you there. That’s all that should matter. “Very good. Thank you for asking, papi.”
The sound of glass hitting the table erupts as Carlos hurriedly goes to pick it up, quickly murmuring a strong apology. His dark gaze shortly flickers past you. It leaves you squirming. 
Clearing his throat, he takes a sip of his wine. “Where do you study?” Spain, you tell him as he beams. “No way. I was born and raised in Madrid. Moved to Italy a few years ago for work.” Letting out a laugh, you find the coincidence funny. He moved from Spain to Italy and you moved from Italy to Spain. 
“What do you do for work?”
“He’s a Formula 1 driver. Drives for Scuderia Ferrari,” Ollie weasels in as she smirks down on you. Anger bubbles inside of her when your attention remains on the Spaniard. Drumming your fingers against the table, you lick your lips. Formula 1? He’s about to explain it all up until Ollie butts in once again. She rubs his hand, a glistening ring shining right in front of you. You physically have to force yourself to look away. “Oh, amor, she doesn’t know what that is. She’s too…young.” 
You know she’s trying to make a weak point: you’re only a baby, therefore, you don’t compare to her. And yes, you are young, 19, but it was stupid of her to think that it bothered you. You tsk before leaning back against your chair. 
“Of course, my mistake. I forgot I was still a pure flower instead of a wilting one.”
Ollie’s face switches to bright red as she grips onto his hand. An entertained smile slips onto his lips before flattening back out. He rubs her hand, trying to calm her down. You can’t stop the jealousy burning from within.
“I didn’t mean you, Mr. Sainz.”
The 29 year old brushed you as if nothing, a smile displayed. Eyeing you both, Ollie suddenly stands up, chair screeching. Why don’t you help me bring out the cookies I baked? Ever so gracefully, you nod. Following after her, you stop suddenly as she spins, hair slapping her face. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing here? Are you here to ruin my life with your existence?”
“I might.”
Her left eye twitches as she growls angrily. If she didn’t make it this easy to tick her off, then you’d be bored, but luckily for you, it was unchallenging to get under her skin. “This is my wedding; my future husband - so don’t fuck that up like everything else you’ve ever done.”
You try to pretend as if her words didn’t affect you as you stare back blankly. Marching over to the counter, she opens up a box of cookies before sliding them onto a polished dish, leaving you standing there alone.
-
You thank the higher Gods for not letting you cross roads with Ollie for the next few days. Though, you’re a bit bummed out that you haven’t seen Carlos much either. Peeking out the window, you could see the way a group of workers hurried to set up for the joint bachelorette taking place later that night, right on the beach. The waves look magnificent, so without a second thought, you slip on a bikini before rushing out the door with your necessities. 
Lathering a goop of coconut sunscreen, you hum softly to yourself. Weren’t you going out with your sister? Looking up, you see Carlos standing in front of you with his face slightly scrunched up from the bright sun. His cheeks looked as if they’d just been pinched. “Where to?”
He takes a seat next to you. “She said she was going out to go buy a few flowers for later. Said she would invite you.” You shake your head, already bored with the idea.
“You know her,” you tap your head, “Forgetful.”
He cocks his head to the side as he shuts his right eye for a moment. “You two don’t get along, do you?” You try making up a silly excuse. Of course we do. We’re sisters. But he’s looking right into your orbs as if he sees right past your weak attempts. “You’re right. I could be wrong.”
It stays quiet for a while - only the soft breeze being heard. You can see him from your peripheral vision; eyes shut as he takes in the moment of peace he hasn’t had since dawn. Long lashes fan his face, freckles scattered all over. 
“Aren’t you too busy to be talking to me?”
“No. Plus, I should take time to get to know my future sister-in-law. Especially since I don't know anything about her even after dating her sister for 7 years.”
7 years.
Squinting at the waves, you slide your sunglasses on. “There’s not much to know, but I can try. I’m 19 years old, studying abroad in Spain, and grew up in Italy. I love the ocean, love a nice cup of hot chocolate - even though I’m allergic - so I only allow myself small sips during the winter. I like to pretend I know how to dance and I kill it in karaoke.” He laughs. You can’t dance? “Unfortunately, I can’t. Once, during my friend's wedding reception, I twirled right into her cake. I spent the entire day on supervision.”
“Dios mío…Remind me to watch out for you on our wedding day.”
Our wedding day. His words slightly sting as you pinch your nose swiftly. Standing up, you brush beads of sand off your legs. Your eyes roam the area before you find your father waving you over. “I should go,” you say as you look down at him. His brown eyes scan you before nodding and standing up. He, too, looks over to where your father waits to introduce you to a group of businessmen. He frowns and that's when you realize just how revealing your bikini might have been, only it's too late now.
“Papi always taught us to greet our elders.”
He clenches his jaw, eyes closing for a second. When his gaze meets yours, you almost choke with how dark and twisted it’s become. “Aren’t you too old to be calling him that?” Confused, you tilt your head.
“Calling him wh- Papi?”
He grinds his teeth together - and then just like that - he’s smiling again. 
“Forget it. How would I know?”
-
Standing next to an empty table, you watch as Carlos and your sister dance along with everyone else. This party has allowed you to pick up on the fact that they seemed to be a much more important couple than you had anticipated. Everyone looked at the Spaniard as if he were a God himself - and being quite truthful - you would agree. There was nothing about him that wasn’t flawless. 
Then, Ollie, just looked like any other person. Her eyes were bright, but any time anyone would walk up to him, her stare would become threatening. As if she was his owner and no one else could get close enough to breathe the same air.
Everyone here was older; that much you could tell. Attendees were accompanied by girlfriends or fiancée’s of their own. It made you feel a bit childish, since you clearly were the youngest one there. Reaching out for your margarita, you twirl the straw.
“Not having fun?”
Your attention directs itself to a dirty, blondish, brunette. He looks a bit tipsy, face flushed as he smiles sweetly. He’s tall, handsome. But not as much as Carlos.
“Max,” he introduces himself. Politely, you shake his hand. He points to the large group that dances on the sand. He lets out a croaky laugh. “They could get a bit much sometimes.” You laugh, nodding along with him. He continues talking to you. Brings up how he knows Carlos from driving with him; except he’s signed to Red Bull.
“Everyone here is invited only if they're a driver, huh?” It’s a lame joke, but he laughs and throws his head back as if it were the most fascinating thing he’s heard all night. 
“It’s a small circle, but I promise, they're all nice lads.” Discreetly, he takes in your appearance. The way your black dress dances with the wind. Painted red nails glistening under the golden lights. 
You were beautiful. Tragically, beautiful.
“You know the groom or the bride?”
“Bride.”
He nods, taking a sip of the beer bottle he had been nursing. You both continue your conversation for a while longer. He’s Dutch. Recently 26. You mention your headache before he brushes his fingers against your hand. Looking down, he pulls away before clearing his throat. He apologizes and asks if you would like to dance. A soft melody now plays and you find yourself taking his hand. It's big as yours disappears into it.
Almost as if he’s shy, he carefully slides his hands down to your waist. You giggle as you throw yours over his shoulders. “I hope slowing down helps get rid of your migraine. Sucks. I get lots of those during race weekends.” 
“It is. Thank you for caring.”
He’s sweet. You can tell with the way he blushes when you mention the way you like his dimples. Slowly, you find yourself enjoying his company. You’re in the middle of laughing at some stupid joke he just told, when someone rudely clears their throat. Carlos’ smile appears bitter as he shakes his head.
“I’m sorry - I’ve probably killed the mood.”
“No problem, mate. We were just talking.”
He clicks his tongue before turning to you. Under his scrutiny, you feel as if you’ve just been caught smoking weed for the first time. Dazed, you hum, waiting for him to say something. You know it’s not your place to feel as if he owes you an apology, but you can’t help it. 
“Ollie said it’s best if you went to bed.” You let out a sarcastic laugh. Since when does she care if I get a good night's rest? He huffs before running a hand through his hair. “She - she…Just do as you’re told, please.”
Now you’re bothered. Up until that point, you were actually having a good time. Dumbfounded, you turn to Max as he smiles understandingly. Pursing your lips, you apologize. Tippy toeing, you lean up to press a kiss against his stubble. He smiles.
“See you around?”
“See you around, Maxie.”
Walking into the lonely house, you let out a sigh as you pour yourself a cup of water. The summer heat had completely dehydrated you. You could still hear the soft beat playing from outside as you sway in the kitchen. You were upset - angry - that your sister had cut your night short. And any other time you would have put up a good fight, but thought it’d be best to not make a fool out of yourself. Especially in front of people you barely knew.
The door sliding open has you alert as you look up. Carlos silently makes his way in as he groans with exhaustion. Loopy eyes match yours as he clears his throat awkwardly. “So…What were you talking about with Max?”
“Nothing that should concern you.”
His jaw clenches, a large hand running along it. Stepping closer, he takes your cup of water before chugging it down. It leaves you hot and bothered just how close he is. It’s a mixture of salt and musk, his scent. It makes your head spin. Lazily, he takes a step back before nodding.
“Right. Have a good night.”
-
Carlos knew he had messed up. He had no right lying and saying Ollie had ordered for you to go to bed. That was completely him. It’s just that - seeing you with Max, laughing, smiling, made him seethe - when he knows damn well that he shouldn’t. It wasn’t like he was your boyfriend, after all. 
So, he was embarrassed. He kept his distance. In his head it made sense. If you weren’t near then he wouldn’t feel the need to keep his eyes on you all the time. The house felt lonelier, colder without you sliding down the hallways. Rightfully so, you had spent your days locked up in your room. The only person that made happy was Ollie.
Either way, maybe it was for the best. He had a ton of shit to do. Starting with changing their honeymoon destination for what seemed like the millionth time that month. First, it was the Maldives, then Cancún - God - he knew that in a few hours his fiancée would come up with a new place. 
“I know, I know we said that, but it’s changed.” He paces the office, stressed. “Can you please just make it fucking happen?”
“Ouch.”
Turning his attention, he sees you peeking at the entrance, phone still pressed up against his ear. Pouting, you enter, sweet aroma filling the room. Excusing himself, he ends the call. “Need anything?” He honestly cared for your response. It had been days without seeing you and he was afraid he blew it before he even had a chance to marry your sister. He told himself it was only because he cared for your relationship with Ollie. But fuck that - he knew not even you both cared that much about each other.
Shaking your head, you walk closer. “You sounded mean. Not a nice look on you, Mr. Sainz.” You’re teasing. You had to be. 
“That wasn’t mean. It's called being straight forward.”
Ignoring him, you curiously eye the dark office. Books, trophies, helmets. Letting out a snort, you pick up the nearest picture frame. In it, it’s Carlos and Ollie, smiling wide. Tears brim her eyes as he looks down at her. The sight makes you want to puke. 
“When was this taken?”
“The day of our engagement.”
You hum, already setting it back down. You can’t help but picture the impossible. That in the picture it was you instead of her, that you wore that diamond ring, that he looked at you. 
Fuck her, honestly. 
“Why’d you propose?”
He’s thrown off by your question. He’s expecting you to bring up the fact that it was a joke, but when you looked back for a response, he found himself with a dry mouth. Because I love her?
“Jesus,” you shudder, taking a seat on top of his desk. His eyes wander down your tan legs as you rest them on top of his chair. You're playing mind games - he’s well aware -  and still he found himself following them. You were the worst temptation out there. It’s as if you knew the power you held. “I bet fucking her is a chore.”
Shocked at your words, he finds himself dumbstruck. He knew you two didn’t get along, but what the fuck happened for you to aim such insults? 
He knows Ollie. Sure, she was a bit much at times, but she was nice. She was pretty. There was no need for your vile words. 
You can tell he’s about to get defensive about her and that makes you shrink. Willing, you had handed him a reason to choose her over you. 
Looking back at the picture, you purse your lips. “Sorry. That wasn't the right thing to say.”
“You should leave.”
You’re embarrassed over him kicking you out, but you knew you had crossed the line. So much for a peaceful afternoon. You comply, jumping off the desk. Not before making your way over, pressing your soft lips against his neck, which was the only place you could reach, even after tippy toeing. You felt him get stiff. 
“Excuse my manners, Carlos.”
Skipping out the door, he’s left with a single thought. 
He’s fucked. 
-
The next morning, you’re forced to spend the day with your sister. Whether it was for running errands, fighting; it didn’t matter. As long as you made your father happy. All he wanted was for his girls to get along. 
“Go,” Ollie growls as she hands you your bridesmaid dress. Snatching it from her, you slowly climb up the stairs to your room. 
It’s a beautiful dress. Strong, dark, cherry red. Just like blood. It hugs your curves the way you’ve always thought all dresses should. For that reason, too, it made you look…older. Trying your best to get rid of the wrinkles, you smooth it down before making your way back. 
Papi loves it as he starts throwing out compliments. You look beautiful, tesoro! You are a true gem. His eyes are bright and proud as you stand there with a shy smile. And though you thanked him, nothing else mattered but the man right in front of you. 
The Spaniard had just gotten back from a meeting. He was exhausted and wanted nothing more than to eat and sleep the rest of the day, but as soon as he saw a balsé Ollie and an eager father-in-law, he was interested. She had told him to go relax; practically pushing him away. But as soon as you walked down those stairs, he swore his heart had never melted with such a sight. 
His eyes became fixated to the point of no return. You stand there like a divine temptress. A siren who was mixed with innocence. Enough to drool over, but also, to adore from afar. Someone he could worship. If God decided this were his last day on Earth, then he would happily follow, since he finally felt as if his life were complete. 
His big brown eyes are glued onto you as your father spins you. Ollie’s attention flickers between her younger sister and her fiancé. Tears fill up her eyes as she springs off the couch. You’re not bothered by it; don’t even bat an eye. That is until Carlos quickly runs off after her. That was a slap to the face as you show off a wounded smile to your father who stands there lost at the sudden commotion. 
Later on that day, you find yourself trying to forget it all with watered down tequila. That’s really all you could find in such short notice. Leaning against the balcony, you study the soft waves, cold wind causing your skin to flash small goosebumps. 
“Disgusting,” you mumble as you finish the rest of the alcoholic drink. Who knew a simple encounter would set you off?
“Woah there. Are you okay?”
Max cautiously steps closer as you shrug with a sigh. What was there to say? I’m a horrible person. I’m a horrible sister. And yes, we might not get along, but never in a million years did I think I would be falling in love with my future brother-in-law. 
“What are you doing up so late?”
Sheepishly, he raises his cigarette. Letting out a low hum, you raise a brow. “Can I have one?” He knows he shouldn't be the one to give a teenager a form of drug, but you looked so upset, so drained, that he felt as if you needed it. Lighting it up, you bring it up to your lips as you squint at him. He laughs. 
“First time?”
“No. It’s just been a while.”
You’re still not looking at him, but he notices the way you let out shaky breaths. The way you softly pinch your forearm. He frowns. 
“I know we only just met, but do you want to talk about it?”
And maybe it was the gist of the moment. Or that he was being sweet - showing that he cared, but it worked because next thing you knew, you were kissing. He lets out an erotic moan with the taste of your lips. All a mix of cigarettes and tequila. This is wrong. He was friends with Carlos and you were only doing this in a moment of weakness, but you just couldn’t stop. Neither could he. Not when you tasted like a thousand crimes. 
His large hands grab your ass as you gasp, brushing against his cock. He hissed as he pressed his lips much harder. Surely, you will have bruises tomorrow. Adrenaline rushes through your veins as you grind against him. Clumsily, you both make your way to the couch that’s nearby. Straddling him, you continue to dry humping. Slowly, but surely, the warm sensation between your legs starts to form. Panting, you pull away as he tries to angle his face closer to yours. You smile tauntingly. 
“You know what you remind me of?”
You hum, leisurely picking up your filthy actions. He bites back a smile as he grips harder onto your hips. 
“A Lolita.”
A menacing smile looks down at him before you kiss down his thick neck, soft bites being left behind. You can’t recall the moment you start bouncing on his cock, or when he sprawls you open like a map, kneeling down in front of you. It’s all a haze; a delicious one, too. You’re falling like a feather from your climax when you hear a thud. Did you hear that? No, he would mumble as he peppers kisses onto your soft skin. 
The tides are crashing harder now, signaling that the night was growing older. Timidly, you share a goodbye as you start to skip your way back into your room, but one last thing caught your attention.
A broken flower pot on its side and dirt trailing into the Italian home. 
-
More days had passed since your last encounter with the devilish Spaniard. If you were ever in the same room, he wouldn’t even glance at you. He would simply just walk past by. He was mad. Upset about something. You tried to think of what it might’ve been, but when he walked into his office with an infuriated expression, you decided it was time to call a truce. 
Knocking, you flinch at his sharp tone when he commands you away. Ignoring it, you still step in. Head thrown against his chair, man spreading, he has his eyes screwed shut.
“Are you okay?”
Your tone is sticky like honey. It annoys him the way it strings him in. Drumming his finger against the large chair, he angles his head to look at you. You’re almost scared to ask again, so you decide to stand still until he speaks up. 
“Why’d you do it?”
Puzzled, you purse your lips, waiting for further explanation. What was he talking about? Did you do something to make him upset? The thought alone made you feel queasy. When he notices you still don’t understand, he clicks his tongue. 
“Why would you fuck a friend of mine?”
Oh. Was it possible that this was something he was jealous of? Bewildered, you know you can’t deny it so you start to word-vomit. I am so sorry, Carlos. He came onto me that night - he kissed me first. I was confused. I was lured in by his words. I didn’t know what I was doing-
His eyes soften up as you try your best to break it down. But you were a liar; a good one. You knew damn well it was all you. You had kissed him first. You threw him under the bus and you knew that. Did he deserve it? No. Of course not. But you couldn't handle the Spaniard being mad at you.
He signals for you to get closer. Securely, he grasps your hand and hauls you onto his lap. It’s embarrassing how wet you’ve suddenly become; how your mind replicates a plate of jello. 
“I’m sorry he made you feel like that.”
His rough fingers slide up and down your arms and even that leaves you buzzing. Suddenly, you feel feeble. You assure him that you were fine - that it was no big deal. The way he looks at you is what gives you the confidence to lean in closer. A trace of panic slashes his face for a second. He should probably stop this before anything else happens. There was nothing okay about your ass pressed up against him. Or him craving to taste your plump lips. 
“He didn’t make me feel anything I haven't before.”
Your implication irks him far too much, he starts to consider this all an unhealthy encounter. He can’t stop the images of you being with other men. Someone else kissing you, pleasuring you. Whilst your words were suggestive, your features were anything but that. Wide eyes stare back at him, slightly crinkled. Moving your body, you scoot closer as if you weren't already. He growls as he pinches your hip. Then, you're kissing his neck, and he should be pushing you off, but he’s too far gone to pick up on how wrong this all was. I’m sorry I’ve upset you, Mr. Sainz. I didn’t think you would care who fucked me or not.
“I-I don’t. It’s just that you shouldn't be doing stuff like that. You’re too young for all that.”
“That’s where you’re wrong.” You narrow your eyes. “I’m wiser than one might think. I’m mature enough to know who can and can’t fuck me the way I like.” Your gaze focuses extra hard with your confession. As if it were meant for him.
Pressing your ass one last time against his tight pants, you leap off, giggling. 
“Take care, Carlos.”
-
It's a business dinner, your father fills you in as you sit nearby, enjoying a bowl of ice cream, hairollers dangling around your head. Pouting, you reach up to clip one back into place. He smiles.
“You know, lots of young, talented guys are going to be here. It could be a great opportunity to meet someone.”
You make a face at his idea. “Yeah. No, thank you.” Marching over to him, you gently pat his cheek. “I’m not here to meet anyone.”
Signhing, he grabs your hands. “Can I ask you something?” 
“Sure.”
“Are you and Carlos…” Choking on your own saliva, you push away. What? No. Of course not! Why would you even think that? He lets out a breath of relief. “It’s nothing. Ollie just brought it up, but I told her you would never actually do something like that. I know my precious girl.”
The door creaks open as Satan herself walks in, followed by an Angel. First thing you noticed are their intertwined hands. Ollie tries to be coy as she flashes the action right in front of you. She mainly greets your father as she sticks by Carlos like a piece of gum. Hello, he would say to you as you bite back a smile.
“What are we talking about?”
“Your sister might have a boyfriend by the end of the night, that's what,” your father jokes as you slap his shoulder. Boyfriend? The Spaniard’s eyes burn you, subtle threat evident. Ollie fakes a smile as she tugs him back a bit.
“Wow. You know what? That might actually be a good idea. Could help with how uptight you are. But I’m confused, boyfriend as in Max?”
Fury fills you as you shoot daggers right at her. Ollie’s eyes twinkle with satisfaction. You’re dating Max? “Of course not, papi! Ollie is just being a bitch.”
“No, no, no - I don’t think telling the truth is being a bitch. You should be happy, baby sister! You sure sounded like it when you let him fuck you out in the balcony.”
Shocked at her words, you can’t bring yourself to look at your father who stands disappointed. Ollie, that's enough, Carlos warns as he squeezes her hand. She yanks it away, jewelry clinging against each other. 
“My bad. Shit, I forgot. I forgot no one knew what a slut you are. Opening your legs for any man around you. We’re lucky you’re not attracted to your own father.” She lets out a sour laugh. “Now, that would be fucked up.”
“That’s low, Ollie,” you spit, skin feeling as if it's on fire. You know where all this pent up anger is coming from, but she had no right to make up shit for fun. What kind of sister does that? Embarrassed, your eyes flicker to where Carlos stands with a hopeless expression. Licking your lips, you force yourself to walk away.
Slamming the door shut, you let out a loud scream. Why? Why was she always like this to you? A hard knock is what makes you wipe your tears away. Ollie slithers her way in. It hurt you how proud she looked. As if she had achieved something spectacular. 
“The fuck - Are you crying?”
“What do you want?”
She takes a seat on your desk as she dusts off imaginary lint. “I just want to talk. The way sisters do.”
Ricocheting off the bed, you march over to her as you glare. “Sisters? No. You’re nothing of mine.” Ollie yawns as she rubs her eyes. Then, she clears her throat.
“Do you want to know why I hate you? You’re so stupid you probably don’t even know, but don’t worry - that’s what older sisters are for. I’ll explain it to you. Do you remember, Romeo?”
You do. It hits you all at once; the memories of the first man you ever slept with. He was nice - kind enough to teach you what a man likes. He had jet black hair, a smirk always lingering on his lips. He was tall and a local from where you grew up. He was the perfect experience. 
But that still didn’t make any sense. What did he have to do with Ollie?
She lets out a wet laugh. Already, you can see her own tears as she tries to quickly wipe them away. 
“I loved you; I did. You were my sister before my enemy. But I also loved him. He was my first love. Promised me a home high up in the hills. But do you know what it feels like to see someone you love fuck your little sister against a wall?”
We probably shouldn’t-
Don’t worry. I’ve got you. No ones going to see us. Men love a good thrill.
“You and him…”
She licks her chapped lips. “We had barely started dating.” 
“I didn’t know - I swear to God, I didn’t know!”
If you had, you never would’ve looked his way. Ollie was everything to you growing up. You admired her. Loved her. That’s why it broke you when she started pushing you away as if you were some disease. Later, when your parents got a divorce, she didn’t second guess it when she made the decision to stay behind; causing you to leave with your mother. She never cared for you after that and you never knew why.
But now you did.
“I was young…Younger than I am now, how was I supposed to know?”
“Well, I’m glad we agree on something. You truly don’t know anything.” Strolling over to you, she smiles at your desperate state. “Which is why I’m not making the same mistake twice. Stay away from my husband.”
-
Ollie’s words felt as if they had opened up past scars. You meant what you said. Romeo would have been someone you would have disregarded if you had known the truth. But like always, you were the one with the entire blame and that you didn’t like.
Despite wearing a pretty dress - one that everyone gawked at you for - you felt ugly. Has it always been this way? Maybe it did make sense as to why she despised you. Playing with your bracelets, you try to pretend you’re interested in meeting your fathers investors. You feel completely exposed when they all stare straight at your chest area.
“How are we all doing?”
They all look up at the Spanirad as they start spitting out their congratulations for his upcoming wedding. He thanks them before checking up on you. His eyes connect with yours. Butterflies swirl inside your stomach as you smile weakly. He’s the first one to truly talk to you that night. To show he cares about your wellbeing rather than the way your dress fits you. Though, you looked stunning as always. Excusing yourself, you make your way into the kitchen, looking for something stronger.
Serving yourself a shot of vodka, you throw your head back, burning sensation sliding down your throat. Coughing, you grip onto the counter. Soft moans whisper in between the walls. You stop breathing for a minute as you try your best to identify where it might be coming from. Striding closer, you press your ear against the closet door. Fuck, a mans voice groans. This is not something you should intervene with, it's not your right, but that all changes when you hear a name that makes you burn all over again. So fucking tight, Ollie.
Pushing the door open, you see your sister banging one of your fathers investors. Ben, you think his name is. Honestly, you could care less. Briskly, she pushes her gown back down as he zips his pants. You let out a cold laugh as you clap in amusement.
“Oh, God. This is great. Amazing. You really outdid yourself, Ol.”
Stepping forwards, she grabs your arm harshly as she tugs you out. “How much did you see?”
You purse your lips as you theatrically scrunch your face up in pleasure. “Oh, Ben! Fuck me! Oh, oh, yes, baby, right there!” You bow. “That much.”
“How old are you, sweetheart?” The brunette says as he scans your body. Ollie glares at him as he steps back.
“Not a word of this to Carlos.”
“Why would I keep this a secret? He deserves to know. What do you think, Benny?”
Panicked, the older man shakes his head as his eyes plead for mercy. That’s enough. Raising your hands up in defense, you grin back at Ollie. “You’re not mentioning anything if you know what's good for you.”
“Oh, yeah?” You tilt your head back. “And what’s good for me?”
“If you tell him anything of what you just heard - saw - then I’ll just tell him how you’ve been bending over for every man in this house. Charles, Lando, Lewis, Pierre…you name it.”
“He won’t believe you…”
She laughs sinisterly. “No, I think he will. I mean…You’ve already done it before.”
“Hey,” his soft voice enters the room as you turn to look at him. The Spaniard’s eyes dance between you and your sister and Ben. “Is something wrong?”
Ollie shakes her head with a bright smile as she walks up and kisses him. You flinch. “Nothing, amor. We were just talking.” She runs her hands through his hair as his eyes remain on you. 
“Are you okay?” 
Nodding, you grind your teeth together. “Yes. Ollie was just introducing me to Ben.” Awkwardly, the man waves from behind you. Slowly, Carlos nods.
“Papi asked me to introduce them. You know - with the whole ‘boyfriend’ thing!”
“He was serious about tha- Oh. Okay.” He reaches down to take your sister's hand as he eyes you and Ben. “We should probably leave you two alone then.”
Hastily, you nod. “Sure.”
-
If you were willing to try and fix your relationship with Ollie before, then that was long gone. This is what you knew her for. A pretender. She wistfully makes everyone believe she’s some sort of saint, when really, she’s a wolf in sheep's clothing. She’s a hypocrite. She has a man that everyone desires and she does this? 
You hated her.
You hated seeing the way she beams when Carlos’ mother gives her a necklace that belonged to her own mother. She didn’t deserve it. Or the way his sisters helped her slip in and out of her dress, making sure it's perfect for the big day.
Still, you try your best to be a supportive sister. Especially around the woman who raised a man like Carlos. Biting down on your lip, you take a sip of your champagne as Ollie disappears behind the curtains with the lady who is taking some last minute measurements. Reyes smiles warmly.
“We didn’t know Ollie had a younger sister.”
You smile. “Best well kept secret, right?” The older lady laughs. Your heart warms up as you notice it's the same way Carlos does. Ana and Blanca grin.
“Well, we’re glad to finally get to know you. Might I add, you’re beautiful. Those eyes!”
“Thank you,” you blush.
Ana takes a sip of her drink before clicking her fingers. “That’s what you remind me of! You - Carlos - almost have the same puppy eyes!” She turns to her mother. “Mamá! What’s that saying? Soulmates look alike…Something like that, no?”
“Be quiet, Ani,” Blanca hisses before smiling apologetically. “Excuse her - she can be a bit invasive.”
“No problem,” you reassure as you bite back a smile. Ana frowns.
“Lo siento, I don’t mean to come off as overbearing. It’s just that you do…”
Reyes clears her throat as she winks over at her daughter. “Don’t misunderstand us, please. We love Ollie, we do! It’s just…you’re different.” She examines you. “I like you.”
Their words stick with you like a post it. Do soulmates look alike? Playing with the sand, you circle your finger agonizingly slow. Why did their words matter so much to you?
“I always find you alone.”
You stick your tongue out at Carlos as he chuckles at your childish behavior. You pat the sand, inviting him to join you. What are you doing out here? You point at the ocean. “I told you it was my favorite place.” 
“Ah. I see.” 
You sneak in a quick look before looking straight ahead. “Nervous?”
“About?”
“Marrying a monster.”
He gives you a deadpan look, bumping his shoulder to yours. “She’s not that bad, you know.” He glances at you. “Ollie has been there for me through so much. Through my failures. Through my accomplishments. She’s the one who convinced me not to quit racing.”
“You were thinking of quitting?”
He nods. “It’s not as easy as it looks. It fucks you up mentally. But she…” He smiles. “She helped me overcome that. I thank her everyday for it.”
It’s a bittersweet feeling hearing him talk about her like that. On one hand, you’re thankful that she had made him realize that he should carry on doing what he loved. On the other, you knew her true reasons. She loved having a famous fiancé; someone she can brag out to the rest of the world.
Somewhere, far away, you hear a melody. It’s low enough that if you didn’t pay close attention, you wouldn’t catch on to it, but you did. You grab his hand, leading him to stand up. He quirks a full brow. 
“Want to dance?”
“I thought you said you didn’t know how to.”
“Nice memory, old man.” You gently kick some sand towards him. “But I feel like dancing. Plus, you should be practicing.”
Tugging you closer, he hums. “Alright. Only because that's true.”
His hands feel warm against you - so much so - it feels as if he’s on fire. An ease comes to it, too, as you both sway under the moonlight. You giggle when he spins you, dress flying around you like petals. The way you grin makes his heart speed up in a way he’s never felt before. It’s alarming. He pinches your hip as you yelp.
“Mentirosa.”
“Wha- No, I’m not! Can’t dance to save my life.” Clumsily, you dig your toes into the sand. He winces playfully. 
The air grows heavy the moment he brushes your hair behind your ear. Your eyes flutter shut as you lean against his warm hand. One look, and he’s hooked. It’s meant to be something lighthearted, but the way he wishes to feel your soft lips against his indicates that it’s not. He’s tried his best to see you for what you are; his fiancée’s little sister. Someone he shouldn’t find himself caring if they slept well, ate their three meals a day, or that they didn’t talk to any other man that wasn’t him or your father. This was sick and twisted and yet…
His lips meet yours as your eyes spring open for a nanosecond before letting yourself go under. It feels as if you’re exploding like firecrackers on a Fourth of July. Something about the way he cradles your face endearingly has your head spinning. Knees become weak, but his grip is secure. It’s better than you could have ever imagined. His tongue fights for dominance and when you don’t give it to him, he squeezes your ass. Moaning, you open your mouth and that's all it took. He kisses you the way you’ve seen in movies - only better. He’s hungry - desperate - for you as you smile against him. Biting down on his bottom lip, he groans as he kisses you harder than before. You were beginning to think your lips were about to snap. 
Letting go, he stands there, staggered. He’s ashamed when he realizes that he regrets nothing. You both stay quiet; only waves crashing and heavy pants being heard. At first you think he’s going to apologize, and maybe that might have been the case, but no words would come out. Pressing a peck against his swollen lips, you smile.
“Goodnight, Carlos.”
-
Carlos rues the day that he kissed you because that only made things more complicated. He couldn’t find a way to not look for you when he walks into the garden, full of family and friends. Or the way he would want to punch Max when he made you laugh. But there is also something sweet. Like the way you would gossip with his sisters and share stories with his parents. He had never seen them laugh and smile so much, not even with Ollie. 
He flinches at the cold hand that wraps around his own. Faking a smile, he presses a soft kiss on top of his fiancée’s head. Continuing the clicking against her glass, she smiles widely. 
“Grazie a tutti per esservi uniti a noi!”
Everyone claps and a few of the drivers whistle. Rolling your eyes, you lean your head against your father’s shoulder. His heart skips a beat. Ollie continued her speech filled with thank you’s, thank you’s and more thank you’s. Your father kissed your cheek before making his way up to his eldest. Taking the microphone from Ollie, he starts to share warm felt memories about her. You have to admit, you’re jealous about their bond. Somewhere in the past, that had been viciously stolen from you. He notices the way you shrink with sadness and he finds himself about to walk over to you when Ollie laughs awkwardly. Amor. It’s your turn.
“Right.” Fixing his rolled up sleeves, he smiles at the crowd of guests. “Uh…Well like my fiancée said, we’re extremely happy to have you all here. It takes a lot to get this many people out here all at once.” A few laughs echo as he continues. “This means a lot to me, too, to have my friends and family. To have met new faces.” His gaze flickers past you as your breath hitches. “Many ask me what about Ollie made me fall in love with her…And I’m here to be as brutally honest as I could get. I love the way she makes me feel as crazy as the ocean. I could spend calm days with her and not worry about getting bored. Or I could find myself getting into trouble. Ollie has made me a better man. Because of her I know what true love is…” His loopy eyes meet yours. “True love are the waves that meet the shore.” 
He lets out a sheepish smile. I want love like that, Lando yells out as he downs his glass of milk. Everyone claps and cheers and that’s where your nightmare begins. 
Let’s give it up for the happy couple! Kiss, kiss, kiss!
The chants continue as Carlos let out a nervous laugh. That’s something private between me and her, he tries but finds himself being booed. Leaning down, he pulls Ollie in for a peck before pulling away with a tight lipped smile. He hates himself for his sudden realization.
Kissing her suddenly did feel like a chore.
With all the whoops and whistles being thrown out by friends, he finds himself trying to find you. It doesn’t take long as he notices you had picked up on your conversation with the Dutchman. His jaw clenches. 
“Maybe Ollie’s younger sister would like to share a few words.”
Why would he say that? Frozen, you choke mid sip. Me? Your father beams as he nods excitedly. Oh! That’s such a great idea! Unfamiliar faces turn to look at you as they wait. Taking in a deep breath, you nod as you make your way over.
As he hands you the microphone, he can’t stop himself from grazing his fingers against your hand. Coughing, you yank it fast. 
“Ciao a tutti.” Everyone greets you back as you lick your lips. You take a moment to figure out what to say, but there’s not much. Cringing, you try to come up with anything. “As some may know, I’m Ollie’s sister…And I could go on forever about how great she is-” You suppress a sarcastic laugh as Carlos knowingly winks. Your nerves ease up. “But I think I should talk about the man who makes my sister the happiest. Carlos Sainz…When I first met you, you seemed uptight - more than the Grinch - but slowly I got to know the man that even my papi swoons over.” 
True, your father laughs. “You’re kind, respectful, and charming…Ollie is one very lucky girl. But there’s something also sensitive inside of you…Despite the permanent frown on your face, you still seem to like days by the ocean. Maybe it's a reminder that peace still exists or maybe it's the way…” Looking up, you see everyone staring deeply. Suddenly, you feel like this might be oversharing as you twirl your dress. “...Or maybe it's the way your face lights up when you take my sister dancing on the sand. Uh…Thank you for making her happy.” Handing the mic back to Carlos, you smile weakly at the strong claps. 
“That was quite sentimental,” Max points out as you bite down on your finger. Was it too much? He shakes his head. “Don’t worry. It looks like you and Carlos get along well enough. I, for sure, thought he hated you with the way he looks at you.”
“Oh. Yeah.” You pause. “I thought so, too.”
-
Aside from the fact that the wedding was approaching quickly, the mansion was quiet. The silence can almost be heard; it's scary. Carefully, you fix your dress as you skip down the stairs barefoot, lollipop painting your lips red. 
Peeking around the corner, giddiness fills your body as you snatch a handful of pre-washed cherries. Earlier that day, your father had scolded you for finishing the new batch. Popping them into your mouth, you hum a song as you kick your legs against the kitchen counter. It creeps you out the moment a chill runs down your spine. As if someone were watching.
“Boo!”
“Santa mierda,” you yelp as you clutch your heart. Laughing loudly, the Spaniard bends over as he gasps for air. You pout and kick his knee. “Cabrón, you scared me! Warn a girl!”
“Fuck - I’m sorry.” His lips form a thin line as he stands firm. Slowly, the corners lift up, wobbly at his poor attempt to not burst out laughing. You frown.
“You’re fucked up.”
Again, his laughs echo the dimly lit kitchen. “Can I have some?”
“No. They’re mine. Grab your own.”
He narrows his eyes. “Aren’t you on cherry prohibition or something like that?” You gasp as you look around before flipping him off.
“Keep your voice low or papi will disown me!”
He zips his lips as he whispers. “I won’t tell a soul. But I want one of those in exchange.”
Tapping your finger against your lip, you pretend to think about it before nodding. You extend your hand out, a single red cherry for him. You’re waiting for him to take it and leave to where he came from, but what he does instead has you swallowing a lump down your throat.
Crouching down, he opens his mouth as he picks up the cherry, lips slightly wrapping around your fingers. This was triggering you as you tried your best to keep sane. But there was no way of going about that when he looked up at you with deep, brown eyes. Licking the red juice sliding down your hands, he steps back. He licks his lips before swallowing. It amazes you the way his Adam’s Apple jumps up and down; thick neck begging to be sucked on.
“Fucking delicious.”
Blinking, you look down at the rest of the cherries in hand. All of a sudden they seemed like a sultry fruit rather than a drupe. 
“Wouldn’t you agree?”
“Of cours-s-e.”
Stupefied, you throw the leftovers straight into the trash bin. You had no clue what made you do that. A small chuckle escapes past his lips as you shut your eyes in embarrassment. Maybe they weren’t as sweet as you made them seem. Too mortified to speak, you keep your eyes focused on the way your feet hit the wood as a distraction. It takes all of you to not run away as he steps closer once again.
“Is there something in that dirty little mind of yours?”
The room feels hot all of a sudden as you shake your head. There’s no words in your vocabulary when he stands this close. You can smell his cologne mixed with shampoo. If richness were a scent then this would definitely be it. His hands cage you in like a butterfly behind glass. Clicking his tongue, he steps aside as you let out a shaky breath. Taking the opportunity, you jump off the edge, bare feet slapping against the cold tiles. Cuidado, he mutters when you almost slip from the sudden action. 
“If you need anything I’ll be upstairs.”
Not sure why you said that, but it seemed like a rationalized excuse. Por supuesto. And that would have been the end of your night. That would have been another successful day of not falling for the forbidden apple. You had held out for so long; the kiss didn’t count. But it only takes a few steps for him to clear his throat. Almost as if this were your secret language, you spin and you find him staring after you; dazzling eyes following your every movement as if he’s trying his best to decipher anything you do.
Smiling wide enough for your eyes to look as if they had a smile of their own, you think - fuck the consequences - as you clumsily run up to him; jumping like a kid onto a tree. Legs wrap around his torso and his hands hold you close to him.
“Do you-”
“Yes,” he whispers. “Since the first day you walked through those doors: yes.”
If you had thought you were obsessed with his kisses before, you were wrong. So very wrong. Because now you were addicted. He kisses you with urgency as you run your hands through his locks, so soft against your fingers. He grunts when you tug on it. 
His kisses were stimulating enough for you to plead for something. Anything. Smirking, he pecks your nose before leading you both upstairs. It amazed you how he could continue kissing you as he hurried to get to the bedroom. Noticing him making his way into his and Ollie’s, you pull away. There’s no way you would let him do that. You spin your finger lazily through his hair.
“How about mine?”
He doesn't care if he fucked you against the floor, he needed you. Kicking the door shut, he throws you onto your bed as you squeal. He smiles fondly as you brush your hair out of your face. He’s had his fair share of girls. Models, nepo-babies, Ollie, but none of them compare to you. 
He was almost scared of touching you again, even though that’s exactly what he wanted. Doe eyes stare back at him as his cock gets harder at the sight. Ollie had always tried her best to look at him that way, but you didn’t even have to try. It naturally happened. Nothing about this felt forced.
You look untouchable. Like a complete goddess waiting to be ruined. Carlos, you would say as you squeeze your tits, eyes struggling to stay open. Carlos, please. Don’t be mean. Towering over you, he shakes his head.
“Linda, I could never be mean to you.”
Slipping your dress off, he groans when he sees you weren’t wearing anything underneath. He shuts his eyes as he tries to not finish inside his pants, which by the way, were starting to hurt. He pinches your nipple before slapping your tits. You hiss. 
“Please tell me you did this for me and no one else…”
“You know it’s always been for you.”
With that, he stands up as he yanks his shirt off; jeans and boxers following right after. A bit worried, you find yourself staring at his rock hard dick. You had never been with some as big as him; it kind of looked as if it would split you right open. That didn’t stop you from wanting it, though.
“Don’t worry. I’ll prepare you nice and good, cariño.”
His lustful tone snaps you out of it as you nod. His fingers rub your wet folds as you cling onto his bicep. C-Carlos. “I know, baby, I know,” he coos as he focuses on the way your face pinches. He slowly starts slipping his finger in as you gasp at the thickness. So big and long. He chuckles. “Oh, come on now. It’s not even fully inside of you yet.”
Stunned, you look down and sure enough, it isn’t. You almost cry out when you notice it’s barely even the tip. “I don’t think it’s going to fit.” He kisses your temple as he slips his finger back out. 
“Let’s start off with something else then.”
You almost pass out when he angles himself in front of your pussy. Glistening clit stares back at him as he moans. So pretty, he thinks as he touches you slowly. He stops himself, though, as he goes in for kitten licks instead. You squirm. His large hands pushed you down against the bed, to keep you in place. 
“Do you want me to make the ache in between your legs go away?”
“Yes.”
His pink tongue teases you as he hums. You bite down sharply. “You’re going to have to stay still. Relax, bonita.” Following instructions, you close your eyes, trying your best to not think of the handsome Spaniard. As if that were possible. Impressed, he leans in again as he licks you, picking up your pre-cum. Oh, fuck. 
Then it’s almost as if Carlos is taken over by something as he dives in like some animal. His stubble burns your legs, but you’re too fucked out to even care. You’re sure you're being loud, but how can you not be when he licks and sticks his tongue inside of you, exploring places you never knew existed. You choke back a moan when he rubs his nose against your clit, only adding to the euphoria. 
“Yes. Oh. Fuck, yes.” Looking down at the brunette, you find him taking in your appearance as he rubs himself against the sheets; a way to try and pleasure himself. And that’s enough for you to cum all over his face. He smiles as he greedily tries to drink up everything you give him. He knows he lost control, but he loves the way you were able to keep up. To take everything he gave you.
And that was only going to multiply.
“You taste so fucking sweet,” he groans in between your legs, picking up the white nectar. Crying out, you push his face away as you gasp for air. He sucks your tits as you take a break. His tongue swirls around your bud as you wiggle against him like a fish that jumped out onto land. He laughs. “Can you handle my fingers, now?”
No, you whisper as you push him away. But he knows you’re giving up too soon. He knows there’s an animal inside of you and he’s just waiting for it to decide to join him. He ignores you as he slides his fingers down to your center. You mewl against him. “Hey, hey, I got you, cariño. I’m right here.” 
His voice makes you clench harder against his fingers as he grins like a kid at a candy store. Slowly, you start dripping more than before, making it easier for his fingers to slide in and out of your hole. Can you handle a third? “Yes,” you respond, eyes still screwed shut. Hot air hits your ear.
“There she is…Good girl. Justo asi.”
Picking up speed, his fingers reach the gummy part inside of you as you scratch his arms in an attempt to remind yourself to not black out. His long fingers cross, doing figure 8’s as he touches your g-spot as if he knows your entire body better than any map. Leaning up, he bites down onto your nipple before sucking hard. You should be embarrassed with the way you squeal and shake against his actions, but he just made it so hard not to. Much to your surprise, if you dare believe it, he does the thing you last expected.
He adds a fourth digit.
“No, no, no,” you pathetically chant as your eyes fly open. He cocks his head to he side as he clicks in tongue as if seeing you struggle filled him with pride. 
“Ah, ah, ah. Just trust me; do you trust me?”
He didn’t need to ask because he knew you did. I do, you whimper out as you start grinding against his fingers. Amazement fills his dark eyes as he looks down to where you clench around him, juices sliding down his arm. It only takes a couple of more swirls before your shriek, velvety walls clenching around him as you reach your climax. 
Bringing his fingers up to his mouth, he licks your cum as if it were a meal he’s dreamed of having his entire life. Your mouth hangs open as you watch him lick them clean. You’re sure he’s going to fuck you now, but that flies out the window as he lays down as he drags you onto his face.
This man had stamina. Lots of it. You're trying to beg for a break of some sort. I can suck your dick. Give you a handjob. Just please let me rest. But he wasn’t even listening. 
Maybe somewhere deep down, he knew this would be the only night he would have you to himself and if that meant no pauses, then he would push all your buttons.
Like a starved man, he starts licking you all over as you grind against his face. The way he sucks on your clit and adds his fingers make you squeal as you push down harder. His nose rubs against you in such a way, it has you seeing stars. He seems to be enjoying that though, as his moans vibrate against you. Biting hard onto your lip, you try to distract yourself as you reach behind you for his rock hard cock. The moment your small hand wraps around him, he growls like a lion.
Smug over his reaction, your hand slowly starts jerking him off as he eats you out with more urgency. It takes all of you to control your actions as he shakes his face in between your legs. S-slow down, Carlos. He grunts as his actions speed up, but so does your hand. Gripping onto his erection much harder, you furrow your brows as you twist your wrist. Choking on your juices, he opens his eyes wide, whimpers flying past his lips.
Smiling down like the devil, you nod as your hand picks up its pace. Now it's his turn to be groaning with pleasure. He seems to have forgotten what he was doing as he takes in strong whiffs of your aroma. You shudder when his warm breaths escape to warm up your dripping pussy.
His cock twitches and he seems to snap right back into it; already diving back into your hole. Lurching forward, you grip onto his hair as the other remains wrapped around him. It’s a game to see who can make the other cum first, and you were not about to be the loser. 
Lively, you circle your thumb around his pink tip as he groans and finishes all around your hand. Sucking hard, he bites gently onto your clit as you screech and trap his head between your thighs. Shaking, you twitch against him as you reach your third orgasm that night. Huffing, you roll off him as he laps his tongue.
The way he looks at you makes you want to ride his face all over again, but you know you needed a break if you didn’t want the night to end so soon. Kneeling in front of him, you raise your ass up high as you lean down to wrap your lips around his cock. He flinches, slightly sensitive, but doesn’t dare push you away. Instead, he rubs your face with his calloused thumb; encouraging you. There's something so hot about the way your lips stretch around his fat cock. The way drool exits your mouth, messy blots of mascaras on the corners of your eyes.
Light of my life. Fire of my loins.
Gagging around him, you squeeze your eyes shut, feet curling up along the way. For sure, your throat would be bruised tomorrow, but you didn’t mind. In fact, you wanted that. Deepthroating him as best as you can, your small hands wrap around the rest of his length. He was huge. Dirty slurps bounce off the walls. You try your best to not pull away when you feel his sticky pre-cum connect inside your throat. Not when he looked so good with his head thrown back. His thick neck is a clear display. With his large hands wrapped around your hair as he fucks your face like theres no tomorrow. Spanish curses flowing past his lips. 
“Que linda. Arrodillada como una santa.”
When you giggle around his erection, he groans, head thudding against the headboard. His mind quickly slips over to Ollie - but not in the way one might expect. It hits him like a truck when he compares her to you. With Ollie, she would last at least 20 minutes before calling it a night. He pretended not to mind - he would never force her to do something she doesn’t want to, of course - but once she would knock out, his large hand would slide down past his boxers, looking for a new release. 
Then there’s you, ever so pretty. It seems like with everything you do, you want more. You sucking him off as if you’ve done this for him a lifetime ago. Sure, you’re struggling, but that only makes him harder. You’re trying to keep up with him and it’s working. Now, it’s like he’s the one trying to keep up. Swallowing, your throat closes around him as he flies forward, voice cracking as he presses for more. 
Glossy eyes look back up at him as you repeat your action. With one last blow, he pulls out as he cums all over your face. His dick immediately gets hard again when you smile wide, fingers going to pick up his mess. Greedily, you pout as you wrap your lips around your finger like the lollipop you had been sucking on a few hours ago.
“Fuck,” he mumbles, abs contracting together as he tries his best to even out his breaths. 
“Will you fuck me now?” 
You’re moving at a snail's pace as you lick his sweaty neck. A chill runs down his spine with the feeling of your warm tongue. Grinding slowly against his thigh, you throw your head back with pleasure, wet lips rubbing against him. He smiles.
“You’re a dirty girl, you know that?”
“I thought that’s what you liked about me, papi.”
In a flash, he flips you onto your back as he hovers over you like a giant. A beautiful, beautiful, giant. His large muscles he works so hard for stare back at you as you admire with an open mouth. It looks as if he could carry mountains on his shoulders. Dilated pupils admire you as you let out a pathetic whimper. Long gone were his brown eyes as they now appear completely black. Sensual.
“Then you should be fucked as such.”
With that, he swings your tan legs over his broad shoulders, practically bending you like a pretzel. You pat yourself on the back for all those pilate classes. Jerking himself off a bit, he looks straight at you, making sure this was something you wanted. The way you bat your cartoon eyes is all he needs to slip inside of you.
First thing he notices is how tight you are despite him already stretching you out to perfection. Raw moans leave both your lips as you try your best to adjust to his size. You had been with men before - that’s all you really knew - but no one’s cock had ever made you burn with such satisfaction. More than satisfaction. He’s reassuring you with his words in order for you to relax.
I’ve got you, preciosa. Just let go for me. I’m right here.
Still, you can’t help but squirm underneath him. His fingers make their way to your mouth as you stare back confused. Suck, he commands before forcing them in. Caught off guard, you gag around them for a bit before your tongue begins to twirl around them. Your cheeks burn up as you hear your low mewls. Ah- ah- ah, you cry out against his digits as he grins down at you. Retracting them, he slides them down to your clit as he starts rubbing small circles.
“Oh God.”
Instantly, you open up against his tired cock as he hums. There you go, he praises as you make it easier for him to thrust into you. You should both be ashamed of the way gushy sounds bloom from your mixed cum. Or the way he pounds into you so hard and fast that it has you sliding further back against the bed, hair tangling along the way. His fingers dig into your calves as he holds them in place.
“Mierda,” he wheezes as he throws his head back, ripping his eyes away from the way your puffy clit envelopes around him. Pants and whimpers escape you as you arch your back from the fulfillment. 
Carlos is a man - you know that - but in this moment; right now: he’s proving it the way a scientist would their hypothesis. His cock brushes against your g-spot as you gasp at the sensation. He’s looking at you as if you held the key to all secrets. 
The keys for the gate to Heaven.
Though he knows that this all feels like Heaven, he deserves nothing but Hell for cheating on Ollie. But that’s the least of his worries.
“Does that feel good, bonita?” 
Wide eyes look up at him desperately as you nod to the point where your neck starts to ache. Yes - Oh God, yes. So good, Carlitos. Yeah, baby - right there. Snapping his hips harder against you, your mind goes foggy with the way his hair flops around him. Sweat causing long strands to stick to his face. Beads of sweat drip down your legs as he presses sloppy kisses. His cheeks look as if he’s been out in the sun for hours. 
In this moment; he looked immortal.
“Carlos, I’m gonna-”
“Hold it.”
Like a doll, you flop back against the bed as you start to leak acid. No - please. Don’t ask me to do that. Feeling a sharp sting, you gasp. His hands dives back in to massage your cheek after slapping you. He cocks his head with fake sympathy. “I know you can do it,” - thrust - “Wait for me, yeah?”
You have no word as you wail - tits bouncing with every assault from his hip. Your stomach burns with the way his abs glisten, with the way his bottom lip juts out, or the way his muscles shine with a layer of sweat as they hug your legs like a teddy bear. 
He was yours. In this moment, he was yours.
“Alright, linda-” He brushes your hair out of your face as he wipes your sweat with his hand. “Cum for me?”
It’s an out of body experience the moment you squirt around his dick - the way your tummy feels like it's on fire. Sore groans leave his lips as he finishes inside of you, brown eyes trained on the way you gush around him. He freezes in place at the feeling. You squirm for a few seconds below falling limp against the bed. The room smells like nothing but filthy sex. 
Pulling out of you, he carefully places your legs back down before kissing your ribs. Then your bruised tits. Then your cheeks, forehead, and lastly, your lips that taste like home. Sighing against him, you try your best to remember the way he kisses you as if you're the only form of oxygen that exists. As if this were a dystopian world and you were the only source of survival.
He pecks your lips once more before brushing his fingers against your temple. “Get some sleep.” Yawning, you nod as your eyes flutter like a butterfly's wings. Will you stay? And he doesn’t know what takes over him when he says-
“I will.”
-
When you wake up you notice it’s still dark out. The moon shines, eyes flickering around, looking for the Spaniard. You let out a low breath of relief when you see him sitting on the edge of the bed. 
“Ollie,” he whispers into the phone as he runs a hand against his jaw. “...I made a mistake.”
Your heart stops with his words. He makes sure to speak low, thinking you're sound asleep. She - I - it was a mistake. She’s just a kid…Fuck. She’s just a child. Your heart shatters with the evident blame in his voice. You weren’t a kid. Sniffling, you stop breathing when you realize you’re crying. He pauses for a moment before standing up and making sure you’re okay. Bringing the phone up against his ear, he shakes, already walking out the door.
“Where are you? Let me just see you, amor. I’ll explain it all.”
-
There’s a saying that goes: You know, a heart can be broken, but it keeps on beating, just the same.
You would personally like to punch that person in the face. It’s not true. It doesn’t beat the same - because then why does it hurt everytime it pounds against your chest? Why is it hard to breath when the priest says-
“You may now kiss the bride!”
Everyone’s faces are blurry; cheers sound far away. You can’t be too sure you're standing upright as your father beams at the sight of Ollie pressing her lips up against Carlos. The way his hands slide down to her waist as shows her off proudly like some champion ring is what hurts the most. You feel flames all over your skin, letting out a flinch when your fathers signals for you to clap, too.
You don’t know what happened after that night. Whether Ollie forgave him or not - though clearly she had. Maybe she didn’t know about you the same way he didn’t know about Ben. This was all starting to feel like some nightmare. But it’s very much real life with the way the newlyweds hold hands, smiling brightly as guests throw a mixture of confetti and baby breath.
“Nice ceremony.”
“What? Oh.” You shrug towards Max as he points over at the couple. “Y-yeah. It was…”
He goes over his next words for a moment because Lord knows that if he has it all wrong then he would appear to be the biggest jerk to ever exist. “You fell in love with him, didn’t you?”
“I-I-I’m not sure I understand,” you trample over your words as your cheeks burn the same color of your red dress. He shares a small smile.
“It’s okay. I won’t tell anyone.”
Walking away, you’re left alone, second guessing everything. The violin seemed too happy. The guests seemed too bright. All of this was fake, couldn’t they see? Pursing your lips, you try your best to hide your broken heart as you catch up with old friends. How is college? How does it feel like having a brother-in-law who drives for Formula 1? Must feel pretty great, right? 
The night is boring. Half of it you spend faking smiles and the other you spend trying to avoid the Spaniard. Life was better back in Spain, where ironically, he was never around despite it being his home country. You’re in the middle of conversing with the Dutchman - who quite frankly is an honest listener - when Ollie walks up looking like a ball of whipped cream. Can I talk to my sister alone, please? Max’s concerned eyes ask if you’re okay with that as you nod. Slumping away, he squeezes your knee one last time.
Blue Velvet plays as she fixes herself onto the stool right next to you. “Have you tried the cocktails? They have cherry flavored; your favorite.” Something about her sweet voice makes you unsteady as you raise a brow. She shows off her veneers. “This is weird. Sorry. I’m just so…happy.” 
“Good to know.”
“But enough about me!” She places her left hand over yours, shiny rock sitting perfectly. You wince. “I want to talk about you! How’s school?”
“Like you care.”
She pouts. “I do now…” You furrow your brows. What do you mean now? She gasps. “Oh, you poor thing! You don’t know I know!” Your stomach drops. “Well, you know, as your older sister, I’m also your guardian since our mother is too fucked up to look after you…And a little birdie filled me in on your reputation back in Spain.” She giggles as she takes a sip of your drink. “Doesn’t surprise me, though. It only makes sense that you keep messing around with men old enough to be your father. You always had a thing for those.”
“What does this have to do with anything?”
Ollie grins ear to ear when she notices how annoyed you’ve become. “Carlos told you he was born in Madrid, right? Okay, well, he also has a whole bloodline there. And let’s just say, a cousin of his - my goodness, his daughters are beautiful - is a professor at your Uni.”
No.
“And well this birdie also told me how you’ve been sneaking in and out of his lecture room, late at night. And I wonder…What have you and him been doing behind closed doors?”
It can’t be. 
Professor Vázquez de Castro, he says as he extends his hand out, eyes roaming every inch of your body.
Suddenly, the name sounds familiar. The surname is Carlos’ extended one. Ollie’s eyes shine. “I see it’s clicking.”
“What do you want from me?”
“I want you to leave me and my husband alone. I want you to grab your things and leave. Don’t look back; just leave. Don’t contact papi ever again. I don’t want to hear a single thing from you. It’s bad enough you’ve already fucked my spouse.”
She knows. He told her. And they still got married. 
“Ollie, don’t…”
Tugging your hand harshly, she slaps her phone on it. And you don’t know how, but in it, it’s a video of you riding your Professor - Carlos’ cousin.
“Leave or I’ll show this to him. Your choice.”
Wet sobs leave your mouth as you shake your head in disbelief. How did this happen? Who took this video?
“Ollie, please…I love him.”
Her gaze sharpens as she takes the phone back and stands up. “You know what to do.”
Bringing your shaky hand up to your lips, you stare in shock. Wobbly legs walk past Max as he asks if you’re okay. One last smile looks back at him before you brush past by. 
Carlos is craning his neck, looking for you. He had confessed that night, but so had Ollie. He was breaking off the engagement. Spilling apologies as she cried against his chest. Despite it all, he still cared for your sister. But he knew it wasn’t going to work out. He was ready to leave when she brought up the tape of you and a cousin he didn’t even know he had. I’ll get her expelled. Don’t do this, Carlos. And so he stayed. He knew how much you loved school, regardless of what others might think. I just want to help others, you swooned one day by the pool. It’s what I wish someone had done for me.
You get to him before he spots you as you tap on his shoulder. He fills up with worry when he sees your red brimmed eyes. Sheepishly, you take his handkerchief as you wipe your rosy nose. What happened? Who made you cry? You shrug.
“Carlos…I love you.” He blinks. You let out a wet laugh as you lean up to kiss him. You didn’t care who saw anymore. This was it. He doesn’t seem to care either as his hands wrap around your waist. Holding you close, as if you might vanish into thin air. He was the waves, you were the shore. Pulling away, you wink. “Save me a dance, yeah?” 
Then, you’re walking away. Becoming smaller as you stroll over to the Italian house. Clutching his chest, he chokes: I-I…I.
“Carlos!”
Turning to face Ollie, he sees her waving him over to the giant cake. 
“Coming.”
-
Running into the quiet house, he calls your name. He looks behind every door, hoping to find the girl in red. Stumbling up the stairs, he swings your door open. He breathes heavily when he doesn’t find you, even here. Panicked, he grips his hair in despair. Only then, does it occur to him to open the restroom door, hoping to not scare you.
“¿Bonita?”
Silence. He still pushes it open as he carefully walks in, finding no harm in checking. And why? Why couldn’t he be as truthful like you were? Risk it the way you would have willingly done. Why did he let you walk into the house alone?
Falling to his knees, he desperately crawls over to your lifeless body, dark blood flowing from your wrists. 
As red as your dress.
He must be dreaming. This can’t be real. Surely, it can’t.
“No, no, no.” He drags your limp body into his arms. He can’t even pinpoint the moment his tears flow down his face. “Bonita, no. No. No. No.” The Spaniard cradles your colorless face into his hands. He gently taps your face a few times, but almost stops breathing himself when it only rolls back. Blood stains his white shirt. “Hey, hey.  C’mon, please. You want me to say it?” Hurriedly, he picks up your head as he kisses your lips over and over. He winces when he feels how chapped they’ve become.
“It doesn’t feel forced. I’m not saying it because I think it’s what you want to hear - I love you. I do. I love you as infinite as the ocean. I love the way you laugh, the way you trip over anything in your way, the way you say my name…I love you.” 
But he knew you weren’t listening. Not anymore. 
A piece of him died that day along with you. After that, life was a sickening blur. He’s out of it the moment he hears your father yelling out in agony or when Ollie screams at the gruesome scene. 
None of it mattered anymore.
3K notes · View notes
formuladoll · 8 months
Note
i’ve been thinking a lot about carlos with an innocence kink… would you be open to write something about that?
inocencia — c. sainz
nothing compares to the beauty in your innocent eyes expecting his next move.
cw: smut (innocence kink, inexperience, light manipulation)
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
And he shows me, he knows me
Carlos did not let go of the door handle as he entered your room. He feared the scene unfolding on his bed would cause him to lose all sense of balance. The unmade bed matched your frustrated expression, slightly furrowed eyebrows and glassy eyes suddenly opening up in response to getting caught.
Your inexperienced body awkwardly straddled a pillow, underwear visibly misplaced though still covering your core. A thin tank top pressed against your chest, tracing with its softness your hardened nipples. Blown pupils consumed his dark eyes as he couldn’t take his sight off your corrupted figure.
''I was just playing around and it started to feel good down there." You explained with your head down as the door closed behind him. Strong footsteps got closer to the bed as you focused on the white crumpled object pressing against your pussy.
Silence reigned again as you could feel his presence right in front of you, an overpowering shade consuming your frame. His firm hands held your face with great delicacy, connecting his reassuring gaze with your lost one. “But it doesn’t feel nice anymore. I just feel— frustrated.” You confessed.
He pushed back a few hair strands, getting a steady grip on your hair and slightly pulling on it to make you look up at him. "I can make that little ache between your legs go, baby. It would feel so good, I promise."
You looked absolutely entranced by his proposal, almost admiring the way he handles you in such a sensitive state. ''Please make it go away, Carlos."
Absolute fucking music to his ears.
How could he deny his curious little girl an orgasm she had probably been chasing for hours? He would teach you how to take care of that needy cunt when he can’t be there to do it himself. Still holding you by the hair, Carlos brought you closer, lips about to be abused by his eager kissing. “I’m gonna show you how to make yourself orgasm, hermosa. But you have to make a promise too.”
You could already taste the satisfaction only he had been able to give you before. “Anything.” He smirked at your desperate response.
“Every single time you come, I’m gonna be the only thing in your dumb little head. Me fucking you stupid, baby. Promise me that and I’ll show you everything.” He didn’t miss the way your legs attempted to close, causing the pillow between your legs to press further against your clitoris.
“Fuck— I promise.” You almost moaned as expectation brewed inside you to unprecedented amounts. He immediately captured your lips again, his hand massaging your tits through your shirt. The room seemed to become hotter by the second as his wandering hand stopped right on top of your underwear, the mere touch of his fingers sending shivers down your spine.
“Quieta.” (Stay still.) Carlos instructed with determination as he looked into your eyes, his right hand feeling up the lace on the small piece of clothing. He pinched it in between his thumb and index finger, pulling the fabric upwards into your most sensitive spot. You screamed into the kiss as he played with your pussy, pulling from your underwear and moving it side to side.
A numbing sensation overtook your abdomen as he finally pushes the pair of panties to the side, stroking your folds with his fingers. He brought your own hand previously tangled into his hair down to your center, guiding it towards your wet hole. “Fuck yourself for me, preciosa.”
The sensation of your fingers loosening up your tight pussy was underwhelming, absolutely nothing compared to the girth his cock molded you for. Even as you curled your fingers in search of your release, a desperate tear ran down your cheek— you needed him to make you feel like only he can.
“Are your tiny fingers not enough, baby?” He mocked as he swiftly took over, pushing your hand away as he replaced it with his own. Thick fingers got so deep into you that your whole body rocked with his repetitive motions, his chest supporting your weight as you felt like passing out. “I can feel you tightening on my fingers, amor— just imagine how much better that would feel on my cock.”
Carlos felt your whole body finally collapse against his, eyes unable to open due to the climax controlling your every sense. The bed was absolutely soaked as the relentless speed of his fingers had you squirt for the first time ever. “I tried to teach you but you’re just too perfect not to fuck you myself. No one will ever make you feel as good as I do, hermosa.”
4K notes · View notes
silversainz · 9 months
Text
In the middle of the night, CS55
Tumblr media Tumblr media
requested yes / no
summary — you look so pretty sleeping and he really needs you, especially when you’re wearing his favorite nightgown, thankfully for him you don’t exactly have to be awake in order for him to have you.
warnings — pure filth, somnophilia, dom!carlos, choking, crying, begging, reader gets called little girl, size kink, p n v, unprotected sex, mentions of cockwarming, face slapping, overstimulation, orgasm denial. Kinda 0/100 quickly but just ignore that, proofread but maybe some small errors.
Tumblr media
All day carlos had been frustrated and angry. Qualifying didn’t go as planned and of course something was wrong with the car, which made him end up in p15, and to make matters worse it was his home race. So of course, he was left angry and frustrated as he got out of his car.
He didn’t bother greeting anyone or say anything, was too afraid he would explode and say anything out of line. So he simply ignored them. Just walked to his motohome and got changed to head home for the day.
As he was gathering his things his manager had walked into the room, arms filled and heavy with paperwork. The once gone frustration he’d felt came back as he looked at her with an knowing glare.
“You need to do media before you leave” she simply told him, already holding the door open for him to leave. He scoffed, shaking his head while exiting the room to do media duties.
As usual media duties were something he wasn’t exactly too fond of, and if he heard someone say they were sorry he ended up in pt15 and they were expecting more from him he was going to explode. But thankfully he only had to answer a few more questions before he was allowed to go home.
Carlos walked through the door quietly, half wanting to surprise you and half needing a breather after his hectic day. He took his shoes off, set his bag down beside the door before wandering into the living room where he saw the tv still on, figuring you were still watching it as your favorite show on playing.
But as he peaked over the back of the couch, he saw your tiny frame sound asleep and cuddled up with a bear he’d given you for your anniversary. He nearly groaned seeing your state, so peacefully sleeping, chest heaving up and down, pink plum lips on display that practiced begged him to kiss and bit on.
Fuck he needed you.
He walked around the couch and gently sat down beside your sleeping frame, “amor” he gently shook your arm in attempt to wake you up. “I’m home” to his avail you didn’t wake up, nor did you move a inch.
Now he was painfully suffering and him carefully lifting up your covers to see you were wearing his favorite white nightgown to see, didn’t exactly help his case as he felt his cock twitch underneath his sweatpants.
“Fuck” he muttered underneath his breath. Breath picking up as he stroked his cock through his sweatpants. He needed you so badly.
“Y/n” he sternly called out your name in hopes it would you up this time, but it didn’t. For a brief moment he closed his eyes, jaw clenching up, hand tightening up around his cock that was still clothed up.
He felt shame wash over him as he tugged the covers off your body and threw them to the floor. He let his hands rub all over your body, before lifting up your nightgown to reveal your ass and cunt on display for you. You hadn’t worn panties to sleep.
“Fuck, love, wake up” his voice was deep and raspy as he begged for you to wake up, but you were too deep in a sleep to even hear or feel the weight of his hand rubbing every inch of your exposed skin.
He tugged your nightgown up more to free your breast, the coldness in the room making them hard immediately as he exposed them. His hand ran over the nipple lightly tugging at it, before cupping it in the palm of his hand.
Retreating his hand, he lifted up his hips to get rid of his sweatpants. His hardened cock hit his abdomen. “Fuck” he jerked himself off a bit before picking up your leg to wrap around his waist. He ran his cock over your folds before slowly passing himself into your cunt.
He grunted in relief keeping himself still for a brief moment before he started moving his hips in and out of your cunt. He started slow, taking his time not wanting you wake up. And letting him get used to the feeling of your warm walls clenching around his cock. He let his head fall back light moans and grunts leaving his lips.
But soon, the frustrations and anger he felt from earlier came back to him, making him grab onto your hips harshly as his slow pace turned fast and rough. He didn’t care now if you woke up, he was in too deep.
His large hand cupped your breast fingers pitching the bub roughy enough to stir you awake, “c-carlos” even hearing his name roll off your tongue he didn’t stop his movements. Only enjoyed the sight of you already moaning and hand grabbing at the couch.
“Now you’re awake, huh” your head felt dizzy and dumbfounded, “tried to wake you up” he grabbed at your jaw turning your head back towards him.
The sight alone made him nearly cum undone as he saw the lazy haze in your eyes and mouth hung open in confusion. “Looked so pretty sleeping in my favorite nightgown” he lightly slapped at your face to make you open up your eyes. “Tell me, did you wear this for me tonight?”
His another hand rubbed circles causing you to gasp, “oh, fuck, yes i did” you spat the words out before you could resister them.
He darkly chuckled, “mm, good little girl. Looked so cute and tiny”
You felt your stomach tighten up, legs started to shake. “Fuck, am gonna cum” he wrapped his hand around your throat tightly, lips brushing over the shell of your ear.
“Not allowed to cum yet, love. We just started” you felt tears Weil up in the corner of your eyes. Carlos stopped his movements for a second to reposition himself so you laid down on the couch, him hovering above you. He wrapped your legs around his waist as he continued on with his brutal thrust.
The feeling of his cock brushing against your clit as he thrusted in and out of your cunt made your throw your head back, hands scratching at his back. “Please, please. Let me cum” you begged, tears now flowing down your cheeks.
he slapped at your breast, “hold it” he simply said, ignoring your cries and begs.
It was almost painful as your legs shook and body squirmed around. “Please” you weakly asked, choking out moans.
“You look so cute like this tho” it almost like Carlos took an photo of your ruined body in his head. “So gorgeous, and fucking ruined. Bet you don’t even care that I fucked you in your sleep huh” he landed an slap to your upper thigh.
Choking out answer, “n-no, it hurts, please”
“Go ahead and cum, little girl” he finally allowed.
Eyes rolling back, your body shook violently as you reached your climax. “Fuck, fuck, fuck” those were the words you could only repeat.
Carlos grumbled seeing the sight underneath him. “Look so fucking ruined” he mumbled out, grabbing at your hands and pinning them above your head.
Your body felt on fire and weak. Uncontrollable moans and screams left your mouth as you felt him start to rub circles on your clit again. “No, too much, please” you begged, which only made him laugh.
He leaned down foreheads brushing against each other, “you can handle it” you truly couldn’t.
“Can’t please” your begging only earned you another slap to your wet cunt.
“Mm, you can and you will” on command, you felt your stomach twist and legs starting to shake again, it felt painful. “See look at you, can handle it”
“Fuck, fuck, please” you sobbed out, fist clenching up. Mouth hunched open You saw white as you came again.
Carlos grunted as he reached his climax cum painting your walls. Your body still shook underneath him making him crackle, while laying his hand gentle against your cheek thumb drawing soft circles. “see you could handle it, sweetheart” he softly said now, voice changing drastically from earlier.
You sniffed, arms wrapping his neck to tug him down. “Was too much” you weakly said. Holding him close as possible.
“Saying it was too much, but your still letting me stay inside you?” He smugly said placing soft kisses to your neck. “I think you quite liked it” he made himself comfortable on top of you, making you whine as you felt his cock move again inside you.
“Because if you didn’t, you would have stopped me and you wouldn’t let me still be inside you. Now get some rest”
5K notes · View notes
leclsrc · 10 months
Text
do you want it? ✴︎ cs55
Tumblr media
genre: summer love!!!, slight age gap, porn w plot basically...
word count: 10.5k  
Whatever preconceived notions you have about your summer at the beach house are all toppled over when your parents announce the arrival of a guest, who happens to be your dad's friend. title from this
auds here… hiii :) req'd by several people! few notes... carlos is aged up a tad, the age gap is 21/33 so not too bad (i aged him up bc the age gap was 7 yrs and i was like. Huh. thats tame). if ur not into that (tho everything is consensual and reader is legal) its ok! anyway im sorry this came so late i had like 6 anons asking ab carlos and lana haha. also big thanks to dani whose work got me thru 4 writing ruts
nsfw warnings under the cut!
18+ because... sexual tension, penetrative sex, dry humping, oral sex (m and f receiving), deepthroating, semi public sex ish?, praise central, size kink, like a flash of spit kink sorry..., overuse of the term good girl
Half past noon and after a particularly snappy call from his manager, Carlos bites the bullet on summer plans and decides to accept what is arguably the least glamorous offer on his roster. By no means a dazzling standout, the offer to stay at a family friend’s house in Comporta seems to be the most comfortable option—besides, he doesn’t feel himself to be in the glitzy mood for cities like Los Angeles or Monaco.
Lando, beside him, is thus the first to get wind of the news that “grumpy old man” Carlos will not be accompanying him to the ultimate, tequila-flavored “summer extravaganza” in Morocco.
“You’re boring,” Lando moans, pacing the room. Outside, London’s skyline moves passively. Carlos hangs up his phone call with his assistant, receives a picture of his flight details, and looks up amusedly.
“Portugal is not boring.”
“Morocco. DJs, drinks, girls.” Lando raises one hand. “Comporta. Family friends, apple cider, sand in your eyes.” He raises another hand a few inches lower. “See the difference?”
“I appreciate the difference.” Truth is, Carlos has needed this kind of quiet, calm time off for a while now. The season gets heavy and intense and tiring, and sometimes just staying by the beach with a beer is the best kind of reprieve.
“You’re getting old,” Lando says with a sour grimace. “Old.”
“That is,” Carlos says, searching for the word, “defamation.”
Lando shrugs, moves off the subject as he shoves a handful of crisps into his mouth. “Are you meeting family there?”
“No.” Both of his parents are out of the country for the next few weeks; Carlos was invited by his dad’s friend, though the bond they share is more friendly than just the standard uncle-nephew type of relationship, and they often refer to each other as just friends. “Just friends. Gallery owner and a company owner, I think.”
Lando whistles. “Rich.”
In response, Carlos nods. “And their daughter, who’s visiting from university in the States.” The details are fuzzy in his head, but the gist is about right.
“Sounds boring,” his friend snorts. “Come on, mate. You, me, Daniel. One last chance to watch Peggy Gou’s set and take shots and have fuuun.” He says the last part with the suave that would only rival a preteen’s.
Carlos, for a second, lets his resolve waver. Maybe it would be better watching loud DJ sets, dancing, getting all flushed with alcohol. But he blinks and shakes his head anyway. He hopes his decision is the right one, that summer in the beach house ends up being worth it. It’s a few weeks by the beach, anyway—what’s the worst that could happen?
Any recollection of your childhood almost instantly connects to the beach house in Comporta, big and wide and right by the coast. You spent fall, winter, and spring in a constant bumbling state of excitement to spend summer there. Your parents owned it, and often offered family friends to take up residence there when summers in the city got unbearable; for the most part, though, it was the three of you and, on rare years, a guest.
Your summers there have since smudged into the same few memories, of your mum and dad’s faces, of swimming and the learning curve of sailing, of bonfires by the beach on cold nights. And they have since become just that: memories. Summers grew sparse with time, and eventually the idea of meeting distant family friends became more embarrassing than exciting; by the time your parents moved you out of Europe for college, you’d lost almost all memory of the house.
So when your parents ask if you want to fly back to Comporta and spend a few “quiet” weeks there, you figure there’s no harm in seeing what the house is like and what summer can offer you beyond the weekly club outings. Instead of the usual quiet and overall lack-of-bustle that comes with summers, however, you open the front door to three housekeepers dusting every surface in your immediate eyesight.
“Are we hosting a wedding?” You ask when you find your parents tending to two sweaty glasses of champagne. You gesture faintly to the cleanfest inside. “What is going on?”
“We have a guest,” your mother says as she gets up to hug you tight. “Staying for the summer.”
“You said this summer would be quiet,” you deadpan, eyes narrowing underneath your sunglasses.
Your mum pinches your elbow. “I wasn’t lying,” she defends, raising her eyebrows. “Carlos’ son is coming.” She pats your arm. “You know? The race driver! He’s close with your father.” And, leaving no space for you to voice your dissent, she slips back into the house through the screen door, your father kissing your cheek then following suit. Your mouth parts, thoughts beginning to rush with implications of what your mother has just told you.
Carlos—if you’re correct—is Carlos Sainz, Sr., a good friend of your dad’s, and his son is Carlos Sainz, Jr., another good friend of your dad’s, because if there’s one thing rich Europeans do well, it’s the repetition of names. You’ve never met his son, only heard of him and seen a few pictures, but being so far detached from life here, you can’t even shape his face.
All you recall is the fact that he should now be thirty or older, which makes him rather older than you—and therefore effectively incapable of providing any break from any possible summer boredom. For fuck’s sake, he’s close to your dad. You’re at the top of the stairs when you hear the commotion by the front door, peeking at the foyer to catch a glimpse of him.
He’s solo, you observe; upon a glance into the front parking, you notice he’s driven here in a Ferrari, one a bit too modern for your taste but beautiful nevertheless. He carries only two pieces of luggage, and the sun blinds you for a moment before he’s finally at the doorframe, smiling politely, talking to your dad in casual Spanish.
He is, for lack of better word, insanely handsome. He wears a polo that shows off much of his arms, that flex as he puts down his luggage to shake hands with your parents; you follow the movement of his hands to watch one comb through his thick hair, then down to his smile, back up to his brown eyes, deep and so, so pretty.
Maybe this summer deserves a little less begrudge, you decide as you retreat back into your room, still brewing with residual annoyance.
Your parents send him off after a drink and a brief conversation, catch-up, tour of the downstairs area. Carlos knows his room is supposed to be upstairs, but the problem arises in the fact that there are two upstairs rooms and he doesn’t know which one he’s supposed to be staying in. Setting his luggage down for a minute, he knocks on the first door; permissive silence greets him for half a minute, so he turns the knob and prepares to enter.
To his surprise, he finds somebody already inside, a figure by the mirror on the other end of the room. What catches his eye is not the tiny skirt, but the half-tied bikini top currently being wound around two fingers at the centre of your back. You’re basically clothed, but Carlos can’t decide if he’s thankful or not—he doesn’t have time to when you catch him in the mirror and turn around quick, mouth agape.
“Can’t you knock?!” You ask, catty.
“I did—I knocked, but you—there was no answer,” he explains profusely. “I’m Carlos. Sorry, apologies. Truly.”
You introduce yourself. You’re his friend’s daughter, this and that, and you’re visiting from the States to spend summer here. He apologizes again when you finish. 
“Well, seeing as though this is my room,” you shoot back, “that must be yours.” You gesture vaguely to the one down the hall. Amused and a little embarrassed, he mouths apologies as he closes the door.
Carlos exits, departs and doesn’t have time to take in the room before he’s facedown on the bed. Any sleepiness he’d collected from the trip over, from the day drinks, from the headache that’d been blooming at the temples of his head, has dissipated. His mind’s been imprinted with one image only, and it’s down the hall in a tiny skirt.
Lunch brings lemonade and pasta, two staples for every summer meal. You, however, find yourself hopelessly distracted by the presence of your guest, and despite your best efforts, the churn in your stomach disables you from fully enjoying the carbonara on the table. The conversation between Carlos and your dad ends up taking your attention instead. “So you’re racing again in a few weeks?”
“Sí,” Carlos nods in-between forkfuls. Then, to add, “Busy, busy times.”
“Well. It’s the worst of our days,” your mum says, a quote she picked up from—of all places—a BBC sitcom she watched to tears last winter. “You are a talented driver, Carlos. Very cultured. I’m sure you’ll enjoy Comporta.”
“I have not been around much,” he says; his gaze flutters over to his glass, which is devoid of water or lemonade. “Any recommendations?”
“A lot, cabrón. Our daughter will be happy to take you around,” your father says on your behalf. He turns to you. “Wouldn’t you?”
“Oh, sure,” you say, allowing a terse smile. “There’s some places around here that aren’t so boring. But that’s being generous.” Carlos laughs at your joke, raucous and goofy, and you would definitely be lying if you told yourself it didn’t get you blushing a little bit, eyes casting themselves to your still-full plate.
“While you’re here, Carlos,” your dad continues, “I have an old car in the garage that could use some looking at. Are you—would you know how to—?”
Carlos nods, accepting the favor—then the conversation naturally slides into one of cars and racing. Carlos chronicles his journey in Formula One, his Toro Rosso days back then when he was younger, his McLaren period, and now, his time representing Ferrari. He talks of pet peeves on the grid, annoyances but also praises for the sport.
“I’d appreciate the downtime, actually,” he explains, “that I’d get from working on a car instead of in one.” He laughs, eyes briefly meeting yours. He looks away, then looks again. He can’t help himself. He wonders if he’s being obvious, if you can tell the way his looks are anything but casual. “Can you pour me a glass?” He adds.
“Yeah,” you mutter, sitting straight to pour lemonade into his waiting glass. You meet his eyes and almost pour it over the pasta. The rest of the lunch is uneventful, a series of adult conversation you can’t seem to engage yourself in fully, and whether that’s because of personal preference or Carlos’ presence, you don’t make an effort to try.
“…ney. Honey.” Your mum’s voice distracts you from your thoughts; when you look up, half the table is clear and Carlos and your dad have ventured inside to deposit plates at the sink. 
“Sorry. Wh—sorry, what?” You blink.
“Your father and I are heading out for the evening. Carlos will be working on the car. That okay, or you want to come along?”
“Um…” You pretend the latter is even an option before shaking your head. “No, I’ll stay.”
“Good.” She strokes your hair. “He could use the company.”
You follow her walking figure inside, where you station your eyes on Carlos. He’s sipping a lemonade. His eyes meet yours for a second and your face is outrageously flushed when you realize you’ve been caught staring, just like his had been earlier when he walked into your room.
You’re hellbent on solving a Sudoku puzzle when the dinner bell rings, and you have to finish it on the stairs. Your dad’s always been a stickler for arriving to dinner on time—every meal, but a gargantuan emphasis on the last—and you’ve been victim to scoldings about being five to six minutes late, an instance you don't wish to repeat.
9, you scribble, bare feet moving with speed through the living room, indoor dining room, then to the patio door. 4 comes next, your footsteps following the smell of grilled meat. 8, you write as you turn into the outdoor dining area. You’re halfway through 2 when you stop, look up, and find Carlos preparing dinner.
“Oh—” You pause. “You rang the dinner bell? Are my parents not…?”
“They are at a dinner,” says Carlos, eyes meeting yours briefly. It reminds you of earlier and you clear your throat, looking away. “So I hope my cooking is good enough.”
“It smells great,” you offer, seating yourself down and pouring a glass of wine. He sets the plate down—just-cut steak, a smear of potatoes. “Christ, you cook better than Dad.”
“I take that as a compliment,” he laughs, sitting across you. “Listen, I want to apologize for accidentally walking into your room earlier.”
Your face warms. “No, it’s okay. I was just surprised.”
“It was wrong of me. Let’s start over. I’m Carlos.” He reaches over to shake your hand, still standing. You take it, eyes flitting over his hand, spotting no glinting ring on his finger. With a saccharine smile, you assure him it was an honest mistake, so he segues into a different topic, the corners of his mouth turning up. “So, do you have an itinerary for me tomorrow?”
You hum, passing the wine over to him. “A bookstore, an ice cream parlor, and a bike ride. Anything else is seriously not worth it. You’ll have the next few weeks to explore town. If the house gets that boring.”
“I haven’t been bored so far,” he says, eyes glinting.
“Oh?”
“You know, with the car fixing.” He points vaguely to where the garage is. “But it’s only been a day.”
“Car fixing is boring,” you state matter-of-factly. “You’ll have fun tomorrow.” You cut into the steak and bite into the forkful you stab at, eyes fluttering.
“Good?” Carlos asks, smiling a little.
“I love it,” you mumble. “You’re so good at this, Carlos.”
Carlos retires to his room that night, and finds that today has held a collective motif of losing his shit. He’s anything but sleepy. Restless, wild-eyed, combing hand after hand through his hair. God, if he’d known you were this pretty—this hard to resist, on his first night here, no less—he would’ve been watching some DJ spin out a set with Lando right now.
Instead, he finds he can’t stop himself from thinking about you, the way your eyes had fluttered when he tried saying something on the edge of flirty. Your hair. Your hands, your fingers, lithe around the stem of your wine glass.
I love it, you’d said, you’re so good at this, Carlos. You knew exactly what you were doing, skittish tone putting him on edge. Despite himself, he can’t help but squeeze himself through his pants when he sits down on the edge of the bed, breathing heavy to purge himself of thoughts so low and dirty.
You’re so pretty. You’d be so easy to wreck, make his, goad little moans out of you, get your lips around him, puffy and pink and pretty. He wedges his eyes shut tight and hopes these thoughts will dissipate as the week passes.
Something tells him he’s wrong, though.
The tour is delayed because your dad insists he go fishing with Carlos three days in a row, but eventually (likely due to your mum’s insistence) it pushes through. You greet him with a smile, waiting by the door, wearing a sundress. Sundresses will definitely be his demise.
You’re a good tour guide, though, Carlos figures when you’re finished pointing at every turn and sign and dictating what goes where and where the passage to the coast is, when you’ve even quizzed him about where you are and where the house is supposed to be.
After he points in the correct direction, you nod approvingly. “That’s how my dad made sure I wouldn’t get lost,” you explain when he laughs at your choice of tour guidance. 
“And you were what—twelve?” He asks, walking beside you. It’s fairly empty in town, a few tourists mulling about carrying shopping bags and plastic cups of juice.
“Try fourteen,” you argue. 
“Well, quizzing a, uh—a fourteen-year-old is really not the same as quizzing a grown adult.”
“Ha. Call me when you can’t find your way home tonight,” you diss sarcastically, making a turn toward the bookstore down the street. “Okay, here we are. Don’t get too excited. They’re just books.”
For a relatively empty town, the bookstore always has new batches of titles, displayed proudly for natives and tourists alike front and centre. But you’re already going to the right side of the store, busying yourself with looking at the signs. 
“The classics shelf is always my favorite,” you say, already walking ahead of him. Your dress bobs softly with your legs as you pace, short and sweet and white. You turn and his eyes slide back up instantly, and he hopes he was quick enough. “Do you have any authors you like?”
“I am not a big reader. You?”
“Huge,” you say, smiling a little. “Okay, we can browse. Are you into any genre…?”
Carlos proceeds to tell you his track record in the literary field includes: reading half the Harry Potter series, a car manual, and a few other titles in Spanish he cannot recall the name or plot of. But, he adds, he’s always wanted to read, found the activity so quiet and still and perfect, so he allows you to lead him through the titles stacked on each table and condensed on each shelf. He points at, sometimes, or picks up covers he finds appealing.
“How about—?” He reaches for a pink cover that reads It Ends With Us, but your hand loops around his wrist before he can pick it up and you’re pulling him into another aisle.
“…Not that.” You continue perusing the books around you, your hand still wrapped around his. With your free finger, you point at the top shelf, and tiptoe against the bookcase to try and get it. You come close, but not close enough.
Carlos, behind you, is successful, not even needing to tiptoe to reach for the red hardbound you’d been pointing at. It also means he’s pressed up against you, heavy and big, and the sensation dizzies you. When he finally pulls it off, you turn to him and find respite in the proximity—you two are so close, every exhale out of your lips causes a puff of air to blow against his hair.
He steps backward. You smile and gesture toward the book he’s holding. “That’s a good one.”
“Gabriel Garcia Marquez.” He reads out the author’s name in one fluid sentence, his Spanish accent becoming naturally more obvious.
“Okay, colonizer.” He knits his brows. “Trust me,” you insist. “One Hundred Years of Solitude—so good. It was one of the first books I read front to back twice in a row.”
“Wow, what an honor,” he teases sarcastically as you move along the aisle, fingertips brushing against the indents of the books. You turn to narrow your eyes and stick your tongue out. Unfortunately for Carlos, the effect this inflicts upon him is not oh she mocked me, but oh how would it look if—
He needs ice cream. Or to just get out of this aisle.
You punctuate the day with two cones of it, melting way too fast in the heat of summer. He’s already half-finished with his vanilla, and you’re taking your time with the lemon sorbet you’d gotten for yourself. Apparently, this is the only other highlight the town has to offer, and judging by the fact that most of the other stores are expensive clothes, souvenir shops, and a Bible bookstore—yeah.
Carlos is also more than sated with the three books in the paper bag he’s holding. Scratch that—six books, you bought a haul for yourself—but it’s not a particularly heavy load, so he’s fine. His phone has been buzzing with Lando’s update requests that he’s been deliberately ignoring.
“They make the best ice cream,” you rave, smiling. You lick over the melt on your lips. “Right?”
He might actually drop his cone now. “It is delicious.”
“Well…” You look around, your hair flying with every turn of your head. Lick over lips again. Again, and again. He has to look away.
“…Do you wanna stop by anywhere else?” You turn to him and ask, licking over the tip of your ice cream cone.
It’s hard for Carlos to pretend he’s looking around your surroundings, at the signs and storefronts, and not at your sticky lips, your pink tongue just peeking out to lap at the quickly melting gelato around your hand. His eyes flit downward, to where the hem of your tiny white dress has flown up in the coastal wind, exposing more of your thighs.
“Carlos?” You repeat, voice sweet and waiting.
He snaps his eyes back up and wills his voice to remain passive. “We can head back.”
So you do, meaning your tour ends around noon, and your parents greet you both with lunch and the round of inevitable questions. Did Comporta live up to your expectations? What books did you get? Was our daughter a good tour guide? The latter, Carlos answers with a smile—very good. You allowed your face to flush, blamed it on the sangria.
Now, though, it’s the brink in-between chilly and hot, sticky traces of the summer afternoon still lingering in the air, mixing with the cool of dusk when you decide to exit your room and fix yourself a glass of something, preferably sweet and alcoholic. An empty driveway save for a Ferrari means your parents are gone, leaving you and—if you’re lucky, which you hope you are—
“Carlos,” you call out from the window you’ve just tugged open with the expertise of somebody who’s lived here for twenty-one summers. “Thirsty?”
He looks up from where he is, outside, continuing his operation on your dad’s car. The hood’s been cranked open, and his long hair is damp with sweat, flying gently in the face of the sunset breeze. He smiles when he sees your figure peeking out.
“For what?”
“Whatever you want,” you respond, taking your bottom lip between your teeth. His white shirt’s stained with oil and dirt, tainting it beige and grey, the tight fit even tighter from his sweat. You can make out the outline of his abs just underneath. 
He squints. “Beer?”
You make an exaggerated eugh face to tease him, but duck back inside to bring your homemade aperol and an open, frosty beer outside. When he sees you, he walks closer, smiles and takes a swig of the drink you offer. He makes a noise of satisfaction and you have to make a real effort to maintain a semblance of normalcy, eyes averting from his lips to gaze instead at his solid shoulders, his build, big and tall.
“What’s the problem with beer, hmm?”
“Tastes like shit.” You raise your aperol. “The sweeter, the better. How’s Dad’s car?” You blink, sidestepping him to try and gauge his progress.
“Casi termino.” You look at him, raising your eyebrows, and he translates. “Almost done. It wasn’t that destroyed, if at all.”
“You think he’ll let you drive it when you’re done?” You ask playfully, swiping your condensation-wet finger over the side of the car. You turn, smiling expectantly; Carlos laughs a bit, shrugs.
“It is just a favor. But if he does, I’ll make sure you get to come along.” He says. “You like that?”
“Mmm,” you nod, sipping on your aperol. You part from your straw, lips stained, and smile up at him. “I do.”
His gaze is stuck on your lips. You lick over them, and he looks away with a slow blink. You watch as he ruffles his hair, rounds the car and crosses his arms to view it from the back.
God, he’s handsome. You think of the long-winded nights you’ve been spending trailing your fingers over your legs or texting inspired paragraphs to friends back in university about him. Their responses are almost always Send pic now and a cacophony of heart eye emojis when you manage to snag a stolen shot of him doing just about anything.
His gaze is scrutinizing, every little detail of the car, and eventually he closes the hood again. “Should be good by tomorrow.”
“Where’d you learn to fix cars?” You ask sweetly, nearing him. The wind bites at your legs, your flowy skirt bouncing sporadically and held down by your free hand. When your eyes flit to his, waiting for his response, you find them snapping upward. He’d been distracted.
“I work with cars, so it comes natural.” You lean on the hood of the car and he comes to stand in front of you, his eyes pointed downward at you. “That’s not a very good habit,” he adds.
“Drinking?” You pout, raising your half-empty glass. You blink up at him, the corner of your smiling lip caught in your teeth.
“Biting your lip.” His gaze is intense. “You do it a lot, I noticed.”
You smile, leaning backward a little. His resolve is breaking. “Can I borrow one of the books you got earlier?”
“The three ones you bought not enough?” He raises a brow, downing beer again. Some of it dribbles out of the corner of his lip. You’ve never been one to like the taste, but you’d lick it off him if you could.
“I just wanna browse it,” you push. “I’ll return it tomorrow.”
“Fine,” he relents. “I’ll give it to you tomorrow.”
He sees you the next day after lunch, which you’d skipped because you “weren’t hungry.” You’re wearing a dress, hair clipped into a bun when you excuse yourself to pick up an earring in front of him. He almost thinks it’s a fib until he sees it, the pink gem on the floor.
“Sorry,” you say, voice mellow, and then you’re bending over to pick it up. You’re wearing pretty lace panties underneath.
Carlos clears his throat and excuses himself, adjusting his shorts as he goes upstairs.
He gives you Norweigan Wood after dinner, like he promised earlier in the week. Two raps on your door, and when you open it, he’s already handing it to you with a quiet smile. “Goodnight,” he says, his voice clipped.
“Our tour isn’t over yet,” you tease, tossing the book onto your bed and descending the steps back downstairs. Confused and interested, he follows you, to the back area of the house, past the swinging screen door, down the steps, and onto the sand.
“Tour?” He repeats, for clarification. The only things to tour are sand and twigs.
“Yeah, Carlos. This is the real tour,” you joke, walking backwards. Every step sends your foot sinking into the cold sand, slowing your pace until Carlos catches up, matching your steps once he does. “Comporta—real and unfiltered.” You both laugh at your hyperbolic, MTV-worthy statement, and he waits for more, entertains you further.
“What is so real about this?” Carlos laughs, allowing himself to humor your little schtick.
“Well, mister. This isn’t bookstores and ice cream parlors.” You point to a nearby spot in the sand, just by a rogue stick. “This is where I smoke without getting caught. Near enough that I can run back in seconds, but faraway enough that my parents can’t immediately see what I’m doing. Granted, I don’t need to be sneaking around much, but if you ever want to do something in secret—”
The implication sends Carlos into a spiral of thought.
“—here’s your spot.”
“So you smoke,” he says when he sits himself on the sand, observing the now-dark skyline of the area. You continue pacing around a little, and when you raise your arms up to stretch, he catches a glimpse of your abdomen, the waistband of pink lace underneath the low rise of your denim shorts.
“Occasionally. Don’t play Holy Mary,” you warn, standing in front of him and stretching your hand out to reveal a box of Marlboro Reds. 
“Wasn’t planning to,” he responds, taking a stick and inserting it in between his lips. “Got a light?”
“No,” you tease, taking one for yourself and sliding your lighter out from your pocket in one quick motion. The flame illuminates your face, casts a light on your thin white tee and on the bikini top you have on underneath. You puff out a small cloud of smoke, and Carlos reaches up to take the lighter.
“I said no,” you giggle, your lips knotting into a pout. You hold the lighter just out of his reach, red and bold against the bleak evening. 
“Give it.” He sits up higher, reaches harder; he almost gets it, but you step backward and raise your arm out of reach. Again your shirt rises with the movement. The view he gets, this time, of your hips, the lace that hugs the area there, is much more close.  The laugh you emit sends a cloud of smoke out.
“No, no,” you continue, laughing, a sweet sound.
Carlos gets up, tries again to lunge for the lighter. At this point he doesn’t even care about the cigarette in between his lips, just wants to entertain you. He tries again but you’re quick with it, ducking every lunge just in time.
“Come on,” he goads, laughing himself. You pace backward, smoking, until your ankles hit the shallow shore water, water that goes deeper and deeper until you’re knee-level, still smiling at him mischievously. 
“Fine,” you relent, shrugging. You throw your hands up in surrender, in the process taking the stick out of your mouth to blow smoke out. “Do you want it? C’mere, then.” You beckon him closer, wave the lighter tantalizingly so he steps closer, closer, until you’re holding the flame to the cigarette between his lips.
He’s so tall, he has to bend a little to let you light it, his eyes meeting yours, illuminated by the pale moon and the orange of the flame.
It all goes to plan. Once you light it, you place two hands square on his shoulders, whirl him so he’s behind you and thus even deeper in the water, and with all your might, push him into the sea. 
“Brat—” he manages to gasp out as he goes, the word leaving his lips in the first and last puff of smoke he lets out. He surfaces, every dip and ridge of his abs and chest accentuated, his linen polo near invisible with how saturated it is with water. His long hair, too, sticks to his forehead; he combs it backward, reveals his amused-irritated eyes, the dead cigarette spouting seawater and ash.
He spits it out. You stare and pinch the soggy stick in between two fingers, stuffing the trash into his chest pocket. “That’s bad for the environment.”
“I am freezing,” he says in response, but you’re just stifling a laugh.
He narrows his eyes, and with unsurprising ease given his build, picks you up and carries you over his shoulder. You barely have time to protest, almost dropping your own cigarette into the water, kicking and pounding on his back to please put me down. You can feel the water getting deep, deeper, and when he finally dunks you in, it’s only a second of dryness before you’re submerged in the chilly water.
Your cigarette dies, and you manage to collect it, because you’re not in the interest of leaving your stick floating; you wedge it into your pocket.
“You’re such”—you gasp for air—“a dick!”
You’re smiling, though, flailing your legs to stay afloat. Carlos can’t help but stare, entranced with the way your eyelashes stick together, damp, the droplets of water on your cheeks, your two hands wringing saltwater out of your hair, and when you swim upward, the way your white tee leaves nothing to his imagination.
You can tell. He can tell you can tell—because the next thing you do, with some faux exaggerated sigh of annoyance, is say, “Can’t swim, too heavy,” and you’re taking off your shirt so all he sees is the red of your bikini top underneath. The white tee bobs softly with each passing wave, and you’re smiling up at him. Checkmate, you’re saying. I’ve got you. A skittish, playful smile on your lips.
“I can help you swim,” he offers—retaliates, more like, his height offering him great advantage. He finds your bare ankle underwater, guides it to wrap around his waist. Naturally, your other leg follows until you’re flush against him, held up by him so you don’t need to wag your legs around just to stay above water.
Your hands go on his still-clothed shoulders first, then eventually around them, fingers linking at the nape of his neck. Your smile is wicked. You’re so sinfully pretty. He wades deeper, holds you all the while, two big hands on either side of your waist, thumbs rubbing over your sides so you can shiver.
“‘M so wet,” you say, voice shaky with chill and laughter. His grip tightens and he has to squeeze his eyes shut to try and pretend you didn’t just say that.
He dips you underneath the surface to surprise you, and your shriek is cut off by the water—he pulls you up quick, laughing, but underestimates his strength because as he tugs, you barrel right onto him, forehead bumping his.
Your eyes are closed, and you momentarily detach from him to wipe salt out of them. “Ass.”
“Brat,” he responds.
You open your eyes to find he’s close, so close you could just lean forward an inch—an inch—and you’d be meeting his lips. You wonder how they feel, how he kisses. He’s confident everywhere else, would he kiss you like that, too? You lean closer, a wrecked gasp escaping you.
“You’re so pretty,” you say, and it’s supposed to be teasing, but your breathy voice is genuine, honest. A thumb swipes over his eyelashes, causing him to blink, then the bridge of his nose. He leans upward, tries to catch your lips, but pauses, his eyes fluttering open and closed.
“This is wrong,” he says in a quiet breath, making no move at all you stop either of you from kissing right now.
You want—need—to kiss him, but you can play the long game if he wishes to. Your eyes flit back up to his, dark brown and reflecting the moon.
“Then let’s head back,” you suggest, even if both of you want anything but.
Long game. He guides you back to shore, picks your tee up, uses it as a sieve for any loose ash and cigarette bits in your path back to shore, even finds your red lighter that’s now dispensing water. He apologizes for not having anything to dry you with, and drops you off at your room with a puddle in both of your wakes.
“Thank you again,” he says, his voice a whisper through your ajar door. He observes your room with what little vantage point he has. The posters on the wall, the art, postcards. The laptop on the bed, open. The phone charging on the nightstand. The thong hanging out of the hamper.
“No problem,” you say back, voice saccharine. Your hand wraps around his wrist. “See you tomorrow.”
Even if you’re doused in seawater, he can still smell the traces of your perfume, the summery sweet of it, when you close the door. He stays for a second, blinks, relishes in the hint of floral.
You spend three days walking on eggshells around each other, testing the limits of interaction.
Your night at the beach was risky, dangerous, thrilling—but it was fun, sending you both into antsy, restless trains of thought. Carlos self-medicates with coffee, beer in the afternoon, working on your dad’s car, and the first two hundred pages of the Marquez book you insisted he pick up. He spots you sometimes, lounging on the beach with his book in your grip, the waistline of your bikini bottoms leaving a tanline he can’t stop staring at when you walk back into the house.
But he can’t act on it—he was the one who labeled it wrong, the one who suppressed himself, held the urge back. He told you it was wrong. And it is wrong. He’s older, he should be wiser; he’s close with your dad; and a cacophony of other rational reasons he shouldn’t be playing into this skittish summer crush.
“Dad said the boat’s free,” a voice says, and he looks up from his book to find you standing in front of him, wearing nothing but a bikini top and a skirt, loose and riding low on your hips. Your lips stretch into a sweet smile. “Wanna come?”
He really shouldn’t. “Sí.”
So he goes. He’s thirty-five. That’s a grown age. If anything, he’s capable of making sure he stays responsible. He dog-ears his page and picks up his beer to follow you to where the boat is docked. He’d been on your dad’s yacht earlier in his trip here, to go fishing, but it’s quieter today, bobbing softly atop the water. You lie yourself down on the sunny side of the boat, sunglasses over your eyes.
“Stay anywhere you like,” you say charmingly. It’s silent for a while, Carlos seating himself on one of the lounge seats in the shaded area, and then you’re moving around on your towel.
You peer over your lenses, blinking and sitting up, and this is when he knows he can’t do it.
“Carlos,” you call out. “Can you put sunscreen on my back?” You get up again, rifling in your bag for the bottle of sunscreen, dragging a hand through your hair to comb it out. It falls in loose waves, swishing when you turn to hand him the bottle. He pretends he’d been distracted on page 210 when he accepts it, watching as you sit in front of the seat, your back turned to him, your little figure in-between his spread legs. 
A minute passes with no hand at your back. “Go ahead, move even slower,” you joke, and the tension breaks a little; he humors you, laughs and apologizes.
“It’s because hour hair is in the way,” he says, touching it gently, combing it to the side.
“Wait—” You dig through your bag again and pull out a blunt pink ribbon, slipping it into his hand. “Can you braid it for me?”
“Braid?” He doesn’t know jack shit about braiding hair. “I don’t know how.”
“At that age of yours and you don’t know anything about how to please a girl,” you whistle lowly. “Adult virgin?” 
But you guide him through it despite your teasing, teaching him to divide your hair in threes, weaving one strand over the other until “it looks half decent.” He fucks up a few times and your hair looks odd at some point, but in the end, it’s—well, it’s a braid.
“How is it?” You ask, and he can hear your smile.
He does the job well enough for a first-timer, he thinks, finishing it with the ribbon, which he ties loosely lest you’re unhappy with the finished product. It becomes easier to move your hair out of the way, and once your back is saturated with sunscreen, you unfold your legs and get up, turning around and smiling down at his sitting figure.. Loose tendrils of hair frame your face, the braid resting at your back softly, already loosening.
“Your hair can be braided, too,” you comment quietly, knotting a rogue few strands in your fingers. It hasn’t been this tense since that night at the beach, but that ended before the tension rose further—this, now, keeps going. You step closer and he leans back, smiling. “Can I?”
He blinks, nostrils flaring, then nods, his grip on your hips gentle when you sit on his lap, your legs on either side of his. You smile coquettishly, feeling how hard he is underneath you, the denim of his jeans rough against the skin of your bare thighs. Your skirt’s riding up on them with every little shift you make, just to rile him up.
Carlos drinks in the sight of you, sunkissed and on his lap, legs sprawled out, pretty little face framed, bottom lip in your teeth. You’re inviting him closer, your gaze meeting his with sleepy, demure eyes—do something. You look so fucking precious, so pretty. It makes him want to give you everything right now.
You reach forward, make an attempt to try and weave his hair together—but he grinds upward, your breath hitching and a whimper punched out of your mouth.
Your hands are shaking now, barely able to piece his hair together with how good his clothed cock feels pressed against you, where you need it most. 
“Carlos,” you gasp, and all he can really think is—where’d all your fight go? You were so used to being a brat and a half, now you’re whimpering, on the edge of begging.
“Be quiet,” Carlos grunts, digging his fingers into your hips. His other hand lifts your skirt, bunching the fabric around your hips for a better view of your cunt rubbing against the bulge in his pants. The damp fabric of your panties is swallowed between your lips with every grind you make forward and he has to stop himself from cursing out loud at the sight. “Good girl.”
Your hands move from his hair to his shoulders, sturdy and broad; you can feel him squeeze your waist with both hands, then pull you down against him, just once, so your weight presses down on the hard shape of his cock. It makes him shudder and you whine out loud. You resist the urge to grind over it; you’re already so wet you’re making a mess on his jeans.
His praise, mumbled deep and slow in your ear, gets you feeling all warm, almost ditzy. Your hips roll on their own, chasing the delicious drag of rough denim against your clit, slick soaks into and through your panties, making the material cling to the shape your folds. Carlos’ hands are rough when they wander and grope, hiking this godforsaken skirt up so he can press a thumb against the centre of your folds.
“Been so good for you, Carlos,” you whine, circling your hips against him. He can’t stop staring at your pretty, fucked-out eyes, your bitten lips. He shoves two fingers in-between them, imagines how they looked just a few days ago slick with ice cream—now your tongue is laving over his hand. The braid you'd just taught him is quickly unraveling with every nod of your head. “‘M gonna—can I—” The pleas leave you quick, your voice choked.
Euphoric, your mind lifts, foggy and saturated with pleasure, the braid almost completely undone now. His praise is so addictive, gets you worked up and needy. Come on, he says. Make a mess. His accent, his deep voice, the way it rumbles right through you—his voice drops, his touch a little heavier as he presses harder.
You gonna cum for me? His thumb rubs faster until you’re gasping, shuddering, little ahs leaving your lips. He’s got the upper hand now, but you can hear the strain, the suppression in his voice as he rubs over the soaked fabric; you feel his cock growing under you, getting harder. 
P—please—I want to—please let me, you say breathlessly, and you’ve never needed it to the point of begging before, but Carlos is different. He keeps going, doesn’t give you permission, rubbing faster, your heart hammering in your chest.
Feel good?
Y—yeah, you whimper, trying your best not to fall apart here, on your dad’s boat, where anybody could walk on—or maybe see you from afar, humping your dad’s friend in broad daylight. He loves watching you like this; you’ve somehow become even prettier, face flushed and voice shaky.
Come on, he goads. Be a good girl. Cum for me.
It’s the only instruction that matters to you right now, your body seizing with it and cute little moans escaping you as you finish. You catch your breath against his chest, craving warmth even if it’s hot—maybe you’re craving him, his touch, Carlos, just Carlos. You maneuver yourself so legs, exhausted from shaking, are on one side of his body—he holds you close, humming.
He rubs a steady hand across your lower back, gentle and firm and you want him so much more now. “Are you okay?” He asks. “Talk to me.”
“Perfect,” you pant against his polo, fingers playing with the stitching, tugging the collar down so you can mouth at his skin. His hand plays with what’s left of the braid, winds the pink ribbon around his fingers. “Let’s go for a swim.”
“And we drove the jet ski around, too,” you say gleefully, your damp hair bobbing with every move of your head. Your face is sunkissed, a little sore from being in the sun for most of the afternoon. Carlos laughs along from where he is at the grill—he’s cooking for dinner, on a quest to make burgers because he’s known for making the best ones back in Madrid, apparently. Your dad, of course, insists on joining, and the two have been asking and answering questions while you and your mum sip rosé at the table.
“Did you have fun?” Your mum asks, her head turning to address Carlos.
“Yeah, tons,” he replies with a smile, his eyes meeting yours for a brief second. You know what he means. It’s been only two days since the afternoon on the boat, and since then you’ve mostly swam and ridden around on the jet ski with Carlos—nothing more.
“See, sweetie,” she adds, placing a hand over yours. “I told you this summer would be fun with him around!”
“Mmm, yeah,” you say, nodding and parting from your glass, “I can really count on him for some excitement.” The statement catches his attention and he almost trails off, eyes returning to yours, before he continues speaking in Spanish to your dad about something or other.
The burgers’ reputation precedes them, and is warranted, you learn later when you’re biting into it for the first time. The remainder of dinner passes by in lively conversation, the sun setting low underneath the Comporta horizon, wine taking the place of rosé. Carlos mentions the racing world again, about how he’ll be back into the thick of it sooner than later, and you pulse with something akin to sadness.
Your parents, apparently so grateful for the blessing that is Carlos’ burgers, offer to clean up and before long, they retreat to their downstairs bedroom. Upstairs, you marinate in your thoughts, blinking up at your ceiling, twining your pink ribbon around your fingers as your hair dries splayed over your bedding. You let your arm down, in the process bumping your elbow against a hard surface.
Upon investigation, you find it’s a copy of Norweigan Wood. 
Carlos is at his desk, taking a timezone-separated call about simulation and season prep, when two soft knocks go at his door and it creaks open. He turns the chair away from the desk to see who it is. An ankle steps in first, then more leg, and then you—in a lovely, pretty pink lace dress, your face illuminated by the moonlight outside. One hand clutches a copy of his book; the other, the ribbon he’d used on your hair earlier.
He’s nursing a bottle of beer, just to help ease the drag of the day, and he watches you approach him, your footsteps quiet against the hardwood of the floor. Wait, he mouths, finishing the call in a hushed tone, and when he hangs up you approach him again.
“I thought you should have this back,” you say, offering him the book. Your eyes rake over him, wearing the same getup he’d worn to dinner—denim jeans, because he’d ducked out to buy food, except he’s ridden himself of his shirt. 
He takes the book, places it on the table, continues staring up at you. “And I thought you should keep this.” The ribbon, pale pink, is now looped around his wrist and tied into a delicate ribbon at the apex of it. You admire your handiwork with a smile tugging at the corners of your lips.
You lean down, face just shy of his. “We shouldn’t,” he manages to eke out, his voice strained.
“But you want to,” you respond softly. “No one’s going to know. Our little secret.”
His eyes are shut, contemplating, and then he’s kissing you—the only thing you’ve wanted, craved, touched yourself to the thought of over the course of the summer. You reciprocate immediately, parting your lips to let him kiss you deeper, a whimper leaving your mouth. He kisses like he knows he’s a good kisser, and he really is. His scent is intoxicating, a drug, sending arousal and desire straight through you.
You part, eyes half-lidded as you stand straight again. You cock your head slowly to the side, and with your head’s movement your hair follows, gathering on one side. It exposes much of your shoulder and collarbones, which lay underneath the thin lace dress you wear to sleep, and which is now subject to Carlos' unwavering stare. He has no shame, eyes raking over you, up and down and back up. One hand curled around a bottle of beer, the other coming up to slowly graze the back of your thigh.
Your breath hitches. “Do you like the dress?” You ask softly, teasingly. It’s nothing special, Carlos, you seem to say; it’s just a nightie.
His hand is rough against the thin skin of your leg, traveling upward. He gives you a nod in response; he does like it, the sheer material, the pink color, the loose way it hugs your body. Roughly, he voices his assent. “Come sit on my lap.”
“Wait,” you say, pouting. Your knee rubs softly against the material of his jeans, and you slowly sink onto your knees, hands placing themselves on your thighs. His grip goes from the back of your thigh to your hair, combing it softly, cradling your face. 
“Let me,” you say, letting your silence imply everything unsaid. He’s going crazy, losing his mind.
“So pretty,” he says, nodding. his voice thin. “Go ahead, baby.”
The petname gets you dizzy. You lean forward, resting your face on the hard bulge in his pants, smiling up at him. You’ve got these big, doe eyes, begging him, and he’s not so sure he even has the upper hand anymore—he would do anything you asked, any request that left those pretty bitten lips. He gathers your hair in two hands, forms a messy, unclean braid, crisscross at the back of your head just so he has something to grip while he fucks your throat.
You make quick, deft work of unbuttoning his jeans, and he watches, leaned back on the chair, legs spread wide with bent knees on either side of your body, caging you in. Carlos’ eyes are half-lidded, a hand at your braid, bringing his beer to his lips, swallowing before he sets it onto the adjacent desk.
His cock is big—thick, intimidating—and you can’t help but wonder how you’re going to fit the whole thing in your mouth without choking. It twitches in your palms the longer you stroke him, precum weeping from the head and slicking up your palms. Gruff expletives, in Spanish and English, slip past his gritted teeth and the sounds travel directly to your core, causing you to instinctively press your thighs together to soothe the ache blossoming there.
You take head of his cock into your mouth, feel it roll over your tongue, heavy and warm. Drool gathers in your mouth and your fingers dig into the muscle of his thighs in anticipation. The hand wound around your braid, pressed against your head, presses heavier slowly, slotting the first few inches of cock into your mouth while avoiding the back of your throat. You relax, letting your lips seal around the length, cheeks hollowing and tongue lulling at the underside. He curses.
You continue bobbing your head, lewd noises leaving your mouth with every move you make; it embarrasses you, but also sends slick gushing out of you.
Tears prick at the corners of your eyes when the tip of his cock grazes the back of your throat; you cough, fingers heavy as they dig into the flesh of his still-denim clas thighs; drool trickles onto his balls. The hand remains there, though, pushing you and keeping you pinned in place as he slowly thrusts upward. You haven’t even gotten him all the way.
You gag and sputter, eyes fully watering the harder Carlos bullies his cock into your throat; you’re dizzy with arousal and submission, maybe one, maybe both, you’re too far gone.
“Easy,” he orders, and you will yourself to breathe nasally, relaxing, burying more of him in you. He loves seeing you like this, hair all pretty—his braid, too—and on your knees, trying your best to please him. “Being so good for me, good girl,” he says, losing resolve. You’re so pretty when you cry, eyes rimmed and bloodshot, tear streaks all over your cheekbones.
He ruts shallowly into your throat, every move punctuated by a guttural gag from your end—once, twice, a third time, before finally he releases you. You let out a cough, and a gasp, breathy, a string of saliva connecting your lips to his tip. He doesn’t want to cum yet—not like this. You gaze up at him, big eyes anticipating, and he guides you upward, on the bed.
He kicks his jeans off and readjusts his briefs, watches you scramble to position yourself on the bed, sitting down properly. “Will you fuck me now?” You ask, your sweet voice raspy. He likes knowing he’s the reason why.
You inch yourself backward so you’re fully on his bed, a hand traveling to stop your tiny dress from riding up any further. He steps closer, one knee on the bed, caging you in again, and stops you. His gaze flickers down to your legs, forces your knees apart so he can see in between them. Your pretty cunt’s soaked through your panties. “Don’t hide from me,” he says, voice rough as he steps back off the bed and kneels beside it.
“Carlos,” you breathe, letting him have his way with you. Your mind’s all fuzzy, but it’s okay—he takes care of you. 
Strong arms snake around your thighs and pull you toward him until your cunt is level with his face. His breath, warm, fans against you, muted by the thin fabric of your panties and it does nothing to help the unadulterated, dirty arousal throbbing in your cunt. He bites at the flesh of your inner thigh, then hooks two fingers into your panties and pulls them aside.
The taste of you is so good; it goes straight to Carlos’ head. And all of your embarrassed, whiny whimpers, the way your fingers knot helplessly into his hair as he drags his tongue up your cunt — that drives him absolutely crazy. He licks at your pussy, sticks his tongue in, nudges your clit with his nose, ekes whimpers and debauched moans out of your lips.
He pushes two fingers into you, doesn’t give you time to adjust before he’s fucking them in and out, moans spilling out of you involuntarily. It’s lewd, it’s dirty, getting his friend’s daughter all spread out for him like this, but Carlos loves it. More, you sob, more, please, I need—yeah—
His skilled tongue doesn’t let up, continues toying with you, licking up all the arousal oozing out of your cunt. He eats you, fucks you with his fingers, until your eyes are welling up with overwhelm and the need to release, your hands pulling at his long hair—your pussy dripping, quivering, right at the edge of your orgasm.
Any of the reservations you had are now out the window. Your grip on Carlos’ hair is tight, pushing his head deeper into your pussy and grinding against his mouth mindlessly.
I’m cumming—!
Your voice is so dirty, so lewd, so needy, when you finally finish around him, slick dripping out and your pussy twitching, clenching and unclenching around nothing as you release. Panting, you hoist yourself on your elbows, your braid surprisingly intact, and pout down at him.
“I said fuck me.”
“So you complain,” he responds with a coy smile, his lips shiny with your slick. You want him to fuck you stupid.
He does eventually, gets you all calm and lying down on the bed, knees to your chest. Your feet cross and uncross with anticipation. He lets his cock rest first on your stomach, where it twitches, smearing precum under your belly button.
“That’s where you’ll be,” you say, stroking him. When he finally does begin thrusting into you, he wishes he could save the image of your pretty eyes fluttering closed, puffy lips open in a whimper.
Your legs tremble with the size you’re taking, his hand gentle as it is firm on your hips, forcing you to take him, take him good, take him better. Good girl, he’s saying, good fucking girl. Inch by inch, you struggle to take all of him, his girth thicker than what your cunt is willing to take. You’re positive you’ll feel him in your stomach.
“Carlos,” you whimper, voice aching.
“Fuck,” is all he can muster, watching your pussy swallow him. “So tight.”
He’s drunk on the feeling of you, wet and clenching around him, so tight. He can tell you’re high on it too, on the stretch of him, the way you keep trying to meet every thrust, legs already beginning to tremble with pleasure and deep arousal. He bottoms out, an expletive leaving him in Spanish, and then slowly begins to fuck in and out of you.
He watches your face, the way your brows knit as you take him, take his cock, eyelides fluttering. “So good,” you moan, mouth open. He drops a glob of spit onto your tongue, tells you to swallow—you do, presenting your empty tongue to him. Good girl, prettiest girl—any and all praise leaves him in dizzy, heady breaths.
“Teasing me for so long,” he pants, his dick splitting you in half. “This what you wanted? Hmm?”
But even in your cloudy mind, you find the grit to retaliate, teasingly, a cloy smile on your lips. “You said it was wrong,” you gasp out with every thrust. “Fucking your friend’s daughter.”
“But you love it,” Carlos goads. “Do you?”
You nod, cockdrunk, but it’s not enough. “Use your words, pretty. You can do it.”
“I do, I love it. I need more,” you whine, getting off on his teasing, on the implication that this is all wrong, that neither of you should be doing this. “Needed this so much, Carlos.” You crack your eyes open to watch the bulge in your abdomen, the shape of his girth splitting you open. He slams into you harder and you try to squirm away, but he keeps you pinned in place.
“And if your dad walked in?”
You gush slick all over him. “Carlos,” you plead.
“Saw his daughter taking his friend’s dick?” He says it low into your ear, bending to make sure you hear all of it. “Taking it like a good girl, too.” He pulls out, slaps your ruined hole with his dick, then shoves it in deep again, groaning when you cry out—getting off on you whining about how sensitive you are, the way you tremble under him and around him. Your pretty little face, all sweaty and ruined.
“I’m gonna—fuck—I’m, Carlos—I’m gonna cum,” you say, nodding. You’ve probably cum twice already, little bursts of pleasure causing your cunt to twitch around him, sensitive. “Can I—?” 
“That’s it,” he praises. “Come on, cum for me. Been so good for me.” You tremble around him as you finish, broken moans fucked out of you with every surge of his hips forward.
He’s close, too, having held off fucking you for the past how many days, and you can tell; his thrusts get shallower, faster, until his hips are stuttering and he’s panting your name out, long hair framing his flushed, pretty face. You reach up to comb a hand through it. “Cum inside me,” you beg, watching him go crazy, his nostrils flaring and eyes blinking quick. 
He pumps his cum into you, thrusting several times as he rides it out, fucking you full of him, of his cum. You relish in the feeling, of being his girl, his good girl. “You’re a mess,” he comments, his face buried into your neck. He pulls out, both of you sighing at the sight and feeling of his cum dribbling out of you, onto the bed.
You unfold your legs, sitting up despite how sore you feel. Your dress is damp with sweat, and slick, and cum. “I feel a mess.” You pout.
“You look pretty.”
“Can I sleep here tonight?” You ask, voice meek. He nods, holds you tight as you both drift off, like he knows that you won’t be his to call his by the time the summer wanes and Comporta is left empty again.
“It’s the post-race interview,” Ali calls. “Hurry!”
“I’m coming, I’m coming!” You hop into the living room, tossing her the bag of popcorn she’d requested you to cook. Fall has officially dawned upon the city, adorning it with orange and red leaves, jazz music and cold nights—and weekends watching races.
Around you, all your university friends watch with intense gazes at the winner of the latest Formula One grand prix—something none of you had been remotely interested in just months prior.
You watch, eyes glittering, at the winner. Tan skin, long hair, jogging over to the journalist. Sainz, what a stellar drive! She sounds awestruck, genuinely taken aback by his dominance on the track today. She asks for a message in Spanish, as always; a few words of inspiration, and then, just as a fun little tidbit—did you have a good luck charm today?
He smiles to himself, like he’s just heard an inside joke and seems to think for a minute. “No, not really.” Then he combs a hand through his hair. There, looped around his wrist, is a pretty, pale pink ribbon.
5K notes · View notes
hemmingsleclerc · 5 days
Note
Hi! Could you write a fic with dad!Carlos x reader, where they have twins, and they're in a family gathering, they're playing UNO with the kids, each has one twin, but then Carlos loses, reader won, and pretenting to be super offended and says reader cheated, and everybody is siding with her, including the twins, and he pretends to cry, and the kids feel bad and hug and kiss their daddy? Thank you! <3
UNO! ┃CS55
note: ugh I love dad!Carlos 😭💕 this request was soo funny, I loved it
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
The Sainz family gathered for a joyful family reunion, and laughter echoed through the living room. Carlos and his wife Y/N watched over their energetic twins, Adrian and Noah, as they ran around the room, their laughter mingling with their voices.
"Alright, who wants to play a game?!" Y/N asked. Carlos approached the large table in the living room with different board games and the twins approached the table excitedly to grab their places.
''UNO! Please!'' Noah shouted holding up the deck of brightly colored cards.
''Yes! I love that game!'' Adrian nodded in agreement
''Alright, UNO will be''
Carlos smiled, knowing that a game of UNO with his lively twins was always chaos. "Are you guys ready?" he asked, ruffling Adrian's hair as he sat at the table next to him.
Adrian nodded enthusiastically, his eyes shining with anticipation. "Yes, Dad! We'll beat Mommy, right, Noah?"
Noah nodded, his small hand clutching a handful of UNO cards. ''Of course, because I will win!''
The game began with cheers and jokes. Y/N and Carlos teamed up with one of the twins each, creating a competition. As the game progressed, laughter filled the room and the twins' infectious giggles warmed their parents' hearts.
''Come on Noah!'' Carlos said frustrated, ''Why do you always give me +4 cards?''
Noah giggled ''Sorry papá''
However, luck seemed to favor Y/N and Noah as they drew card after card, inching closer to victory. Carlos and Adrián exchanged determined looks, but despite their best efforts, their stack of cards steadily grew thanks to Y/N's strategies.
Finally, with a triumphant smile, Y/N laid down her last card, declaring herself the winner. "UNO!" she exclaimed, her eyes full of joy and amusement as she watched Carlos throw his stack of cards onto the table.
Carlos's jaw dropped in mock disbelief, his playful expression turning into an exaggerated pout. "No, c'mon! You cheated, amor! You must have! I was winning," he exclaimed, feigning offense.
Y/N rolled her eyes playfully and her laughter filled the room. "Oh, come on, Carlos! You're just jealous because you lost fairly, once again I proved to be the best at this game, accept it cariño."
The room erupted in laughter as Carlos continued his charade, pretending to be deeply hurt by his defeat. "But…but…I thought we were a team, Adrian!" He said, turning to his son with feigned disappointment when he saw how he celebrated his mother's victory.
Adrian giggled, shaking his head. "Sorry, daddy! Mommy's the best at UNO!"
"No fair, Noah! You're supposed to be on my team!" Carlos exclaimed, turning to his other son, who simply grinned in response.
The rest of the family joined in, mocking Carlos affectionately as he continued his theatrics, pretending to wipe away imaginary tears while covering his face. However, the twins, sensing his father's distress, exchanged a worried look.
"Papá, you're the best in the world!" Adrian declared, throwing his arms around Carlos in a tight hug.''Please don't cry! We didn't want to make you feel bad''
Noah joined in, wrapping his little arms around Carlos's neck. "We love you, papá!"
Carlos's heart filled with warmth as he hugged his children tightly, his playful façade fading. Y/N watched everything fondly as she saw her husband along with their little children.
With a satisfied smile, Carlos leaned down to plant a kiss on the forehead of each of his twins. "I love you both more than anything in the world," he whispered, his voice choked with emotion.
660 notes · View notes
pucksandpower · 5 days
Text
Best Laid Plans
Carlos Sainz x Vasseur!Reader
Summary: you were just supposed to be a means to an end — a way for Carlos to get back at your father for dropping him — but the best laid plans often go awry and you quickly become so much more than that
Warnings: 18+ content and manipulation
Note: did I spend the whole day writing this to celebrate Carlos’ win? Maybe …
So much love to @struggling-with-drivers for always giving me the best ideas
Tumblr media
The warm Portuguese sun beats down on Carlos as he strolls through the luxurious resort grounds, trying and failing to shake the anger simmering inside him.
How could Ferrari do this to him? After all he has given to the team over the past few seasons? To be so unceremoniously dumped for Lewis fucking Hamilton is a slap in the face he can barely comprehend.
He kicks at the pebbled path, hands jammed in his pockets, catching the eye of a young woman lounging by the pool up ahead. She gives him a warm smile that does strange things to his insides for a moment before he recognizes her — Y/N Vasseur.
The reality of who she is hits Carlos like a truck. The daughter of the team principal who betrayed him.
An idea begins to form in Carlos’ mind, a cruel little seed taking root. If Ferrari wants to play hardball, he can play harder. And what better way to get back at Fred than through his precious daughter?
Putting on his most charming grin, Carlos changes course to approach you. “Y/N, fancy running into you here,” he lies easily. “I didn’t realize you were vacationing at this resort too.”
You sit up, shielding your eyes against the sun’s glare. “Carlos! What a pleasant surprise.” Your smile is bright and genuine, setting off warning bells in the back of Carlos’ mind. He quickly silences them — this is just collateral damage.
“I was just getting ready for a dip. Care to join me?” You gesture towards the welcoming blue waters.
Carlos pretends to consider it for a moment. “You know what, I would love to.”
Stripping off his shirt, he can’t help but sneak glances at your swimsuit-clad figure as you slide into the pool, telling himself it’s just for show. You really are stunning though, he has to admit. This might not be so difficult after all.
“So what’s a beautiful young woman like yourself doing all alone at a place like this?” Carlos asks once he’s waded in beside you.
You let out a tinkling laugh, sweeping wet hair away from your face. “Taking a much needed break from real life, I suppose. My job can be … demanding at times.”
That piques Carlos’ interest — to be quite honest, he had just assumed you did nothing all day. “Oh? Do tell, I’m fascinated.”
With a bashful look, you launch into an explanation of your high-powered career that genuinely impresses Carlos despite himself. You’re whip-smart, articulate, and passionate about your work in a way he can relate to.
“Wow,” he finds himself saying once you’ve finished. “I don’t know why, but I wasn’t expecting that from you. Not that I’m judging a book by its cover or anything!” He adds quickly at your arched eyebrow.
You let out another of those bright laughs. “Don’t worry, I get that a lot. People see a privileged girl and make all sorts of assumptions.”
There’s a hint of bitterness underlying the lightness of your tone that Carlos picks up on all too well. He knows what it’s like to be looked down on and underestimated.
“For what it’s worth, I think what you do is really impressive,” he finds himself saying honestly. “And anyone who thinks less of you for it is a fool.”
The words seem to catch you off guard for a moment before your expression melts into a warm smile. “Why Carlos Sainz, I do believe you’re flirting with me.”
He grins back unrepentantly. “Is it working?”
You pretend to consider it for a moment before laughing again. “Maybe a little.”
The flirtatious back-and-forth continues as you both float lazily in the pool, Carlos quickly getting caught up in the effortless fun of it. You match him quip for quip, parry for parry, in a way he’s not used to from women. It’s exhilarating and unexpected.
In fact, he’s so caught up in your company that he nearly forgets his original intention entirely. Until a stray thought brings the memory crashing back down … you’re Fred Vasseur’s daughter.
The realization is like a bucket of cold water being upended over Carlos’ head. What is he doing? This woman hasn’t done anything to wrong him. Going after you just to get petty revenge on your father is ugly and uncalled for. He should just be the bigger man, swallow the insult Ferrari dealt him, and move on.
But then he thinks about the disrespect, the callousness of dumping him like dead weight after all he bled for the team. Perhaps a little payback is in order after all.
With a wicked grin, Carlos begins swimming slowly towards you, an unmistakable glint in his eye. You seem to pick up on it, cheeks flushing ever so slightly. “What’s that look for?”
“Just thinking,” he murmurs once he’s close enough for you to feel the warmth of his breath. “About how I could make this vacation even more … memorable.”
His heavy-lidded gaze drops to your lips for just a moment, but you catch it. You bite your lower lip unconsciously as heat blazes between you. “Is that so?”
“Mhmm,” Carlos all but purrs, reaching out to gently cup your jaw, thumb stroking over your cheekbone. You shiver despite the warmth of the day, eyelids fluttering. “If you’ll allow me?”
For a long stretch, you seem to be rendered speechless, pupils blown wide as you study his face intently. Then, so softly, “Yes.”
That’s all the permission Carlos needs before he’s crashing his lips against yours in a searing kiss.
The moment your lips meet his, it’s like a jolt of electricity courses through Carlos. He kisses you deeply, urgently, all thoughts of revenge or ill-intent evaporating from his mind. This is pure want, unbridled desire singing through his veins.
You return the kiss with equal fervor, tangling your fingers in his hair and pulling him closer. Your mouth is warm, soft, pillowy — everything Carlos didn’t know he was craving until this very moment. He skims his hands over the slick curves of your body beneath the pool’s surface, marveling at the gasps and sighs he pulls from you with each exploratory touch.
When you finally break apart, you’re both panting heavily, faces flushed. Carlos drinks in the sight of you — hair tousled, lips swollen, and eyes dark with wanting. He’s never seen anything more beautiful.
“Carlos ...” You breathe his name like a prayer and something primal uncurls in his lower belly.
Instead of responding, he simply crushes his mouth to yours once more, walking you backward until your back gently hits the pool’s tiled edge. You let out a muffled moan as he settles between your parted thighs, the heated line of his body flush against yours.
One of his hands slides up over the soft skin of your ribs to cup your breast as you arch shamelessly into his touch. He drags his lips in hot, open-mouthed kisses along the line of your jaw and down the graceful column of your neck, relishing the way you keen beneath his attention.
“You feel so good, cariño,” he rumbles against the feverish skin just below your ear, punctuating the words with a deliberately slow roll of his hips that has you releasing a broken whimper. “So fucking perfect ...”
In this moment, with you writhing and mewling in his arms, Carlos has never been more grateful for his commitment to physical fitness. He knows he can keep this up all day if need be, ravishing you over and over until you’re a limp, sated puddle.
He runs his tongue in a scorching path up the side of your neck before returning to that sinful mouth, swallowing your desperate little moans hungrily. You cling to him as if he’s the only thing keeping you tethered, nails raking deliciously over his back and shoulders in a way that will surely leave marks. Carlos loves it, loves the proof of your passion painted on his skin in thin red lines.
Trailing his lips across the hinge of your jaw, he murmurs “Should we take this somewhere more private, princesa?”
You let out a shuddering breath, hips canting up instinctively to meet each roll of his. “God, yes ... please ...”
The sound of your needy whine sends a molten thrill straight to Carlos’ cock. He’s fully hard and aching for you, straining against his swim trunks with every second that passes. If possible, he wants you even more.
With a grunt of effort, he hooks his hands beneath your thighs and hikes your legs up around his waist in one swift motion. You let out a startled squeak that quickly dissolves into a moan as he shifts against you just right, creating delicious friction. Your arms wind around his neck as you bury your face in the curve where his neck meets his shoulder.
“You feel that, cariño?” Carlos rumbles darkly. “I can’t wait to be inside you. Stretching you so perfectly full of me. Will you be a good girl and take it? Every. Last. Inch?”
He emphasizes each of the final three words with a firm grind of his hips, rutting his rigid length against your clothed heat. Your back bows in response, mouth dropping open on a silent wail of pleasure. Carlos can feel your sticky wetness soaking through the thin material of your swimsuit bottoms and groans harshly.
“P-please ...” You keen, worrying his earlobe between your teeth. “I need you, Carlos. I need it so bad ...”
And just like that, the trance is broken. Carlos blinks, suddenly acutely aware that you’re grinding shamelessly against each other in the very public pool area of this high-end resort. A few pointed looks from other guests are enough to have a flush of embarrassment creeping up his neck.
Clearing his throat, he reluctantly pulls himself back and sets you on your feet. You let out a disappointed whimper that goes straight to his groin.
“P-perhaps we got a bit carried away, princesa,” Carlos huffs out a laugh, running a hand through his damp curls. “Why don’t we go somewhere a bit more … private to continue this?”
You bite your plump lower lip and Carlos has to resist the urge to lean forward and free it with his teeth. Nodding eagerly, you cast a look around before tugging his hand and heading for the exit, leaving a trail of water droplets in your wake.
Carlos follows eagerly, openly ogling the way your soaked swimsuit hugs every tantalizing curve. He’s never been so grateful for his decision to book one of the private beachfront villas at this resort — just a stone’s throw from where you’re leading him, he’ll finally be able to have you all to himself.
The thought has him semi-frantically fumbling for the keycard as you press urgent, open-mouthed kisses to any patch of bare skin you can find — his shoulder, his neck, the line of his jaw. By the time he gets the door open you’re both panting like you’ve run a marathon, desire thrumming white-hot through your veins.
The second you’re inside, Carlos has you pressed back against the door, forearms braced on either side of your head as he towers over you. For the first time, a flicker of uncertainty crosses your features and he’s abruptly reminded of who you are.
“Are you sure about this?” He murmurs lowly, searching your eyes. “Because if we do this, I can promise you there’s no going back for me, cariño.”
You visibly swallow hard but then give a small, determined nod. “I want this, Carlos. I want you.”
That’s all the confirmation he needs before he’s capturing your lips in another searing, desperate kiss that has you melting against him. He walks you backward, never breaking contact until the backs of your legs hit the edge of the plush bed. With a growl, he hooks his hands beneath your thighs and hitches your legs around his hips once more.
You let out a breathless giggle as he tumbles you both down onto the soft cotton sheets, immediately rolling until he’s blanketed by the gorgeous expanse of your body. God, you’re even more stunning like this — hair fanned out in a tousled riot, cheeks flushed and lips swollen, eyes glazed with naked wanting.
Carlos takes a moment just to appreciate the view, raking his eyes over every inch he can see. A tremor goes through you beneath his weighty gaze and he smirks, leaning down to trail open-mouthed kisses along the column of your slender throat.
“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted this, princesa,” he rumbles against your overheated skin. “How many times I’ve thought about having you just like this, spread out beneath me and begging for it ...”
The truth is, he hasn’t thought about it at all until this very day. But something about the way your breath hitches and your hips cant up instinctively at his words makes Carlos want to keep going.
“I’ve watched you, you know,” he lies smoothly, relishing the full-body shiver that wracks your frame. He nips along the graceful line of your collarbone and you whine softly in the back of your throat. “Couldn’t tear my eyes away whenever you were around. Imagining what delicious little sounds you might make with my cock buried inside you ...”
You moan then, loud and unabashed as you tug needily at his hair to bring his mouth back up to yours. Carlos chuckles darkly into the kiss, reveling in how utterly desperate he’s managed to make you for him so quickly.
“Is this what you want, princesa? You want me to fuck you?” He keeps his tone a low, filthy rasp against the plush of your lips. “Hard and deep and ruthless until you can’t remember anything but my name on your tongue?”
“Yes!” The word rushes out in an urgent whine and Carlos lets out a feral growl, slamming his hips firmly against yours in one rough grind that has your mouth dropping open on a broken cry of ecstasy.
Moving with purposeful efficiency, he hooks his fingers in the waistband of your swimsuit bottoms and tugs them down over the swell of your hips and off completely. He shoves his own trunks down just far enough to free his throbbing length, giving it a few firm strokes to spread the pearling bead of precome over the swollen head.
With a low, heated look, Carlos hitches your legs over his shoulders and lines the blunt head of his cock up with your entrance. Just from this angle, he can see how slick and swollen you already are for him, glistening with arousal.
“Last chance, cariño,” he rumbles, rubbing himself in one deliciously torturous swipe through your folds and back again. You moan loudly, back bowing off the bed. “After this, I won’t be able to stop until you’re utterly ruined for anyone else’s touch ...”
The sound you make is practically inhuman, hand shooting out to grasp at his hip almost painfully hard. “Carlos … Carlos, please!”
Never one to deny such a desperate plea, Carlos braces one hand beside your head and slowly, inexorably begins to sink into your welcoming heat.
The tight, slick heat of your core enveloping Carlos inch by agonizing inch is utterly sublime. He has to grit his teeth and squeeze his eyes shut to keep from embarrassing himself right then and there. You’re impossibly tight, so perfectly molded to his shape — he’s never felt anything quite like it.
Beneath him, you keen softly as he stretches and fills you in one steady glide. Your fingernails bite crescent moons into the firm planes of his back as if you’ll fall apart if not anchored to him. Carlos rumbles his approval low in his chest at the sweet sting.
Once he’s fully sheathed, hips flush with yours, he pauses to simply bask in the feeling for a long moment. You feel so indescribably good wrapped around his throbbing length — hot and snug and fluttering subtly like your body can’t decide whether to grip him tighter or ease his way.
“Fuck, cariño ...” The words tear from Carlos’ throat in a ragged groan. “You feel incredible. So perfect for me.”
You whimper wordlessly in response, flexing and releasing your inner muscles in a way that has him seeing stars behind his eyelids. He captures your mouth in a filthy, demanding kiss to swallow your desperate little noises. It’s all he can do not to start pounding away with reckless abandon.
Pulling back slowly until just the thick head of his cock remains inside your clutching heat, Carlos locks eyes with you. Your pupils are blown wide, lips parted enticingly with each panting breath, the picture of wanton desire. He’s never seen anything so erotic in his life.
You must read the promise in his expression because suddenly you’re nodding frantically and chasing his retreating hips with a needy whine.
“Please, Carlos!” You keen desperately, nails scoring lines of fiery pleasure-pain down the rigid plane of his back. “I need it, I need you to-”
He doesn’t let you finish, snapping his hips forward in one hard thrust that buries him to the hilt. The broken cry that tears from your perfect lips goes straight to his dick.
Carlos repeats the harsh, punishing rhythm over and over, relishing the snug drag of your velvet walls against his aching cock. He soon has you a mewling, mindless mess beneath him, whining his name like a holy mantra with each powerful stroke.
“That’s it, princesa,” he rasps against the flushed curve of your neck, lips brushing saltily over your overheated skin. “Take it all for me. Every. Last. Fucking. Inch.”
As punctuation, he slams home with a sharp roll of his hips that has you keening shrilly and throwing your head back. You clutch at him desperately, meeting each heavy thrust in perfect counterpoint as he picks up the pace. The air is thick with the obscene sounds of skin sliding relentlessly together and your punched-out whimpers and moans.
Carlos has never felt so deliriously consumed by physicality before. It’s like his whole world has narrowed down to this moment, this connection of your joined bodies moving as one. He wants to burn the memory of how you feel, how you sound, how you taste, into his mind forever.
“Look at me,” he growls against the sweat-slick curve of your jaw when your eyes start to drift shut in ecstasy. “I wanna see those pretty eyes when you fall apart on my cock, princesa.”
You force your lids open with obvious effort, irises wild and hazy with lust. Carlos feels a molten surge of possessive desire lash through his veins at the sight. He slams into you with renewed fervor, savoring the high, desperate whine it punches from your parted lips.
“That’s it, cariño ... fuck, you’re exquisite like this.” His praise comes out in a ruined rasp but it seems to spur you on. Your nails dig bruising furrows into his lower back as you meet him thrust for bruising thrust.
Carlos can feel the telltale tightening and fluttering in your inner walls that signals your impending release like a vise grip around his cock. He wants nothing more than for you to shatter apart on his length. Slipping one hand between your sweat-slicked bodies, he finds the swollen bundle of nerves and rolls it firmly between calloused fingertips.
You release a strangled scream, back bowing off the mattress as white-hot pleasure spikes through you. “Carlos! Oh my god, Carlos, I’m … I can’t ...”
“Come for me, princesa,” Carlos encourages hoarsely against the side of your neck. He continues to work you over with nimble fingers in time with the punishing snap of his hips. “Let me feel you come apart all over my cock. Fucking soak it ...”
The guttural river of carnal filth coming from his lips seems to be the final straw, sending you crashing violently over the edge. You seize up around him with a shrill, sobbing wail, inner muscles clamping down in hot, pulsing waves. Carlos curses roughly, eyes squeezing shut against the unbelievable sensation of being massaged and milked for every drop.
If he thought the vice grip of your orgasm was intense, the aftermath is even more sublime. You lie utterly limp and boneless beneath him, still aflutter and fluttering in sweet, rhythmic clenches around his cock. He grits his jaw and fights to keep control, knowing he won’t last much longer buried in your intoxicating heat like this.
When you finally regain some coherency, eyes fluttering open with a dazed murmur of his name, Carlos pulls back slowly until just the throbbing crown remains inside. He intends to give you a brief respite before chasing his own thunderous release, but the moment he starts to withdraw your legs lock high around his hips.
“No ...” You keen, nails raking pleadingly down his back. The desperate craving in your tone very nearly undoes him. “Carlos, please. Don’t stop ...”
Growling low in his chest, Carlos immediately buries himself home once more — this time with a single, powerful thrust that has your brows shooting up as the air rushes from your lungs in a strangled cry. Clearly, you still need it as much as he does.
He fists one hand in the tousled hair at the nape of your neck, using the grip to tilt your head to one side as he lays a searing path of nips and sucking kisses along the exposed column. You shudder and whimper beneath him, utterly pliant and receptive to his claiming touches.
“Tell me what you want, cariño,” he rasps between rough drags of teeth over your thundering pulse point. He remains buried to the hilt, muscles bunched and quivering with the effort of holding himself rigid and still inside you. “Use your words and tell me.”
For a long moment, you seem too dazed and overwhelmed to reply. Then, in a small, wrecked voice, “I want … I want you to fuck me, Carlos. Please ...” Your eyes are glazed yet earnest, boring into his from beneath sooty lashes. “Don’t hold back. I need to feel you come too.”
A harsh groan is punched from Carlos’ lungs at your plea. Letting himself go and really taking you the way his body screams at him to would be heaven and hell all at once.
There’s likely no coming back from it — he’ll ruin you for anyone else’s touch, just as he warned. Once all is said and done, you’ll be irrevocably his in a way that frightens and exhilarates him to his core.
For a heart-stopping moment, he hesitates. And then you moan again — a thin, keening sound of utter desperation — and it’s like the last thread of Carlos’ control snaps completely.
“Hold on tight then, cariño ... because I won’t be able to stop.”
That’s the only warning he gives before pulling almost fully out and slamming back home in one brutal thrust that drives the air from your lungs on a high, shocked cry. He doesn’t let up from there — turning you over onto your belly and dragging your hips up onto his thighs so he can take you from behind in a series of ruthless, punishing strokes.
You quickly become an incoherent, sobbing mess beneath his onslaught, hands clawing uselessly at the sheets as he pounds into you again and again like he’s trying to split you apart. Carlos relishes the sharp smack of sweat-slick flesh on flesh, the strained crescendo of your hoarse wails, the drug-like delirium of being utterly surrounded and consumed by your scorching velvet grip.
It’s too much and not enough all at once. He clutches you flush against him, one big hand spread over your lower stomach like he could somehow force his cock impossibly deeper. The other winds around to toy and tug almost cruelly at your taut, reddened nipples — drawing out a stream of broken, overwhelmed whimpers.
Carlos has never felt more powerful. Body and mind, he owns you utterly in this moment. The thought is nearly enough to send him skating right over the edge into oblivion.
Instead, he jerks you up onto your knees fully so he can plunge into your straining, overworked sex at a different angle — this one hitting something deep inside that has you screaming hoarsely. He captures the wild thrash of your head in the curve of one sweat-slick bicep to bare the elegant line of your throat to his hungry mouth.
“Could you possibly have taken any more of me, princesa?” Carlos husks against the side of your neck, relishing the way it makes you tremble and clench even harder around his pistoning length. “You were made just to be split open on my cock ...”
You let out a garbled sound halfway between agreement and overwhelmed protest. Carlos snarls against your racing pulse, sucking a blatant mark of possession just below your jaw where everyone will be able to see before abruptly rolling you both back over.
He looms above you once more, grinding steadily into your core with deep, purposeful strokes that leave you writhing and wailing with over-stimulation. But Carlos isn’t finished yet — isn’t anywhere close to getting his fill.
“Look at me, cariño,” he commands in a guttural rasp, waiting with molten, heavy-lidded eyes until your lust-drunk stare meets his. “I need to see that pretty face when I come inside you ...”
His words seem to energize you somewhat, your eyes snapping sharper with renewed awareness.
And then, incredibly, you cunt flutters and grips down around him again in the unmistakable clutch of another orgasm ripping through you like a livewire. Carlos has to use every ounce of stamina and control not to follow you right over that blinding edge as you thrash and shriek beautifully beneath him.
By the time you come back down, cheeks flushed and chest heaving, Carlos is practically vibrating with the force of his impending release. His movements have taken on a desperate edge, hips snapping in erratic, forceful jabs as he chases that final blissful oblivion.
When your sated, velvety heat squeezes rhythmically one final time, Carlos throws his head back with his own roar of release. White-hot rapture spikes through every nerve ending as his balls tighten in excruciating bliss. His world narrows down to the exquisite pulsing of your sheathed depths rippling and drawing every last drop from him in endless, blistering waves.
It seems to stretch on forever, Carlos unable and unwilling to move from his impaled position even once the final shudders have wrung him dry. He simply remains blanketed over you, lungs heaving and muscles quaking with the aftershocks of his orgasm.
When he finally regains enough presence of mind to open his eyes and look down at you, the devotion burning in your spent, glowing expression makes his breath catch. For a long, fragile moment, it’s like you’re the only two people in the world.
Eventually, your eyes drift shut on a contented sigh and your body goes lax and pliant against the sheets once more. Carefully, Carlos eases out of your swollen, used entrance and rolls to collapse in a sweaty heap beside you. He immediately tugs you into his embrace, savoring the feeling of your damp, feverish skin pressed to his.
As you drift off to slumber coiled against his chest, Carlos presses a lingering, tender kiss to your crown and tightens his arms around you. He can feel the words pressing at his lips, straining to be released into the silence of this moment.
For now, he keeps them locked behind his teeth. But already he knows this isn’t simply lust or passion or a primal need for revenge that will fade with time. This was always meant to be more — something deeper …. everything Carlos never even realized he was missing until you stormed into his life in a whirlwind of smiles and secrets and blinding desire.
He’s in trouble now. Trouble of the very best kind.
***
Pale morning light filters in through the sheer curtains as Carlos blinks awake slowly. For a disoriented moment, he’s unsure of his surroundings — the rumpled white linens tangled around his naked body are certainly not what he’s used to waking up in.
Then the previous night’s events come rushing back in a heated wave. The pool … the frantic, desperate passion as he took you again and again until you were both hollowed out and sated … finally collapsing into a sweaty pile together. Carlos feels his chest tighten with a complicated swirl of emotions.
He turns his head on the pillow to find the source of the delicious warmth pressed along his side. And just like that, everything else falls away.
You’re tangled up with him still, one shapely leg hooked over his and an arm flung possessively across his torso. Loose riotous locks tickle Carlos’ skin where your face is half-buried in the curve of his neck.
He has to tamp down the overwhelming urge to pull you even closer, to wrap you in his arms and inhale the sweet, clean scent of your hair.
Like this — sleep-rumpled and soft in the morning’s buttery rays — you look almost unbearably lovely. An ache blossoms behind Carlos’ ribs as he studies the delicate fan of your lashes brushing flushed cheekbones and the gentle part of those full lips. Disheveled and without a stitch of make-up, you’re somehow even more breathtakingly beautiful.
Unconsciously, Carlos’ fingers find their way into your tangled tresses, lightly stroking and playing with the silken strands. You make a small, snuffling sound of contentment and burrow infinitesimally closer. He freezes, worried he’s disturbed your slumber, but your features remain smooth and serene.
He should get up. He should definitely get up and extract himself from this warm, addictive little bubble you’ve created before things go any further. This was only ever supposed to be a fling — a deliciously vindictive way to get back at your father for how he so callously cast Carlos aside.
Yet even as Carlos turns the thought over in his head, it rings hollow. What happened between you last night transcended anything so petty and cruel as revenge.
When he was sheathed so deeply inside you, your bodies moving in perfect sync like they were made for each other, Carlos felt something far more profound than just physical gratification. It was spiritual … cosmic, even, like every star in the universe had finally clicked into perfect alignment.
He should be disgusted with himself for having such saccharine notions. Carlos has always considered himself a realist — someone grounded in facts and figures, not given to romantic flights of fancy whatsoever. Yet here he is, helplessly mooning over a woman he barely knows all because of one night of incredible sex.
Except … Carlos is self-aware enough to recognize there was more to it than that, even if he can’t put words to the feeling yet. Some invisible cord has been lashed between you in a knot that feels unbreakable. Some intangible shift has occurred in his perspective that he can’t seem to walk back from.
Perhaps you sensed it too in the way you gazed at him afterwards — not just satiated, but glowing with a sort of wondering, naked adoration far too profound for a mere fuck. Carlos knows he should have been unnerved by the depth of emotion in your spent, happy features. And yet, he only felt it mirrored and compounded tenfold within himself.
With a frustrated huff, he tugs you closer and burrows his face into your hair, allowing your warm, comforting scent to soothe his wildly spiraling thoughts. You make another soft sound and your fingers twitch where they’re splayed over his ribs — reflexively trying to pull him in even tighter.
“What are you doing to me, princesa?” Carlos murmurs, low and graveled, against the crown of your head. “This isn’t how it was supposed to go at all ...”
Because the truth is, this was never meant to be anything more than a fleeting dalliance — an explosive joining of bodies and nothing more. But now that he’s had you, had this bone-deep connection to you, Carlos doesn’t think he can let it go so easily. The prospect of never again feeling you wrapped so perfectly around him in every sense of the word is abruptly gut-wrenchingly awful.
Which leaves him at an impasse. Because you … you are the daughter of the very man who unceremoniously discarded Carlos like an old rag after he gave everything to Ferrari. The offspring of the person who threw him away in a way that cut all the way to his core.
How could he possibly pursue anything real with you after that? It would be a horrific conflict of interests and constantly make things unbearably awkward, to say the very least. Not to mention Carlos has no idea if you even want more than just this one night of passion between you anyway. Perhaps to you he really was just an itch to scratch, a bout of impulsive lust to take the edge off before moving on.
The thought makes his stomach churn with jealousy so potent he has to physically swallow it back. Which … is not great, all things considered.
Tilting your head back with the lightest touch beneath your chin, Carlos studies your soft features searchingly. Perhaps if he stares hard enough, he’ll find some hint of deception or shallowness there. Some glaring evidence that this insane sense of yearning he feels is all one-sided — a misguided obsession brought on by the sort of euphoric sex one can never quite recapture once the high fades. He could use that as his cue to bow out now while you’re still tangled up together so prettily.
But even as he looks, really looks, all Carlos sees is the serene picture of a thoroughly satisfied, openly contented woman. There’s no shuttered gaze or pinched expression betraying any darker thoughts and feelings. Just blissed-out joy written in every relaxed line of those lovely features.
Something in Carlos’ chest cracks wide open at the realization that this is real for you too. You’re not just some meaningless one-off fling, but a woman who seems to have had her entire world upended in the same way his has been over the span of one incredible night.
“Carlos?” You murmur then, voice husky and slurred with the remnants of sleep as your lashes flutter open. “What’s wrong, mon beau?”
Your endearment sends a shockwave of tenderness and want pulsing through him straight to the roots. Carlos shakes his head minutely, winding one hand into your hair to hold you steady so he can simply … bask in your presence for a while.
“Nothing’s wrong, princesa,” he assures you lowly, thumb stroking gently over the arch of your cheekbone. “I just woke up early and got a little lost in my head for a bit there, that’s all.”
That small, secret smile he’s rapidly becoming addicted to tugs at your lips as your eyes rove languidly over his face. Your hand comes up to rest over his thundering heartbeat with surprising tenderness.
“Well then allow me to bring you back to the present. Right here with me.”
Your tone has taken on that rich sultriness from last night that shoots straight to his groin. Before Carlos can so much as draw breath to respond, you’re rising up to seal your mouth over his in a searingly passionate kiss.
He groans instantly, every atom of his being tuned to your frequency in a way that’s swiftly becoming terrifyingly natural. Carlos’ hands roam hungrily over your naked curves of their own volition, relearning each dip and swell through the silken glide of skin on skin.
When you break apart at last, you’re both thoroughly breathless and aroused. Carlos splays one big hand over the small of your back and simply holds you flush against him, savoring the feeling of your racing heart thundering in tandem with his own. He brushes kiss-swollen lips along the line of your jaw, prompting a delicious shiver.
“Don’t think for one second that I’ve had even a fraction of my fill of you yet, cariño,” he rasps against the feverish skin just below your ear, using his free hand to tug your head back so he can access the soft column of your throat. “You’ve addicted me beyond any chance of recovery now.”
Your breath hitches as he latches his mouth just above your thundering pulse point and sucks a blatant mark. Carlos revels in the needy whimpers spilling from your lips with each pass of his tongue over the tender patch of skin. He needs to mark you, claim you, render you unmistakable as his in every possible way.
“Carlos ...” You keen, back arching like a drawn bow as he continues trailing open-mouthed kisses down the slope of your neck and over your collarbones. “What are you saying?”
He pulls back to meet your heavy-lidded gaze, searching intently for permission to continue with what he suspects you’re asking. And there it is — desire and hope and invitation burning brightly in your soulful eyes, practically begging him to put words to this singular thing blazing between you.
Cupping your face in both hands, Carlos holds your rapt stare as he slowly, reverently presses a soft, lingering kiss to your slightly parted lips. You melt into him, one hand coming up to clutch desperately at his bicep.
“I’m saying,” he murmurs against the plush give of your pretty mouth. “That I can’t simply let this be the end, princesa. Not anymore. Not after experiencing what it feels like to be so exquisitely connected with someone in every possible way.”
The smile you give him in answer is as incandescent and warm as a living flame. You don’t attempt to contain the rush of emotion threatening to overwhelm you. Instead, you simply wind your arms around Carlos’ neck and pull him down into a molten kiss that somehow manages to convey every single infinite feeling ricocheting between your bodies.
He suddenly feels so overwhelmingly lucky in that moment. Lucky to have crossed paths with you by happenstance. Lucky that, by some miracle, he didn’t allow bitterness or pain or preconceived notions to blind him to your kindness and warmth and inherent goodness despite how this whole crazy thing started in his mind.
Because yes, you are the daughter of the man who turned his life and career upside down. But here, pressed against you, Carlos can feel the truth resonating through his bones — you are so much more than any of that.
And for the first time in his life, Carlos cannot fathom the idea of anything frightening him away.
***
The frantic Melbourne nightlife whirls and pulsates around Carlos in a dizzying kaleidoscope of neon lights and pounding basslines. Normally he would revel in the thrum of energy and excess — drinking in the atmosphere and feeding off the infectious exhilaration. But tonight, seated alone in the VIP lounge of one of the city’s most exclusive clubs, he finds his attention utterly undivided.
You stand out like a siren among the raucous crowd, every tilt of your hips and toss of your hair captivating Carlos completely.
He tracks the line of your body shamelessly as you sway and twist to the driving beat, that tantalizing little red dress riding up to reveal glimpses of toned, silky thighs that make his mouth water. A fine sheen of sweat glistens enticingly along your collarbones and in the hollow of your throat, no doubt making your overheated skin taste like salted caramel.
The urge to slide up behind you and drag his tongue along that slender, tempting slope is damn near overwhelming. He can vividly picture himself molding his larger frame against your softly undulating form, one hand spanning possessively across your lower belly to grind the rapidly stiffening ridge of his arousal against the lush swell of your rear.
He imagines precisely how you would react — arching back against him with a shuddering gasp, fingers threading into his hair to tug his mouth down upon yours in a frantic, needy kiss. How you would whimper and writhe against him, uncaring of the very public surroundings as desire rapidly whited everything else out ...
Almost as if sensing the scorching path of Carlos’ thoughts, you glance over your shoulder and catch his eye from beneath the veil of your lashes. That sly, inviting little smile immediately kicks his pulse into overdrive and lights a slow bloom of liquid heat unfurling in his lower belly.
With a crooked finger and a subtle uptilt of your chin you summon him to your side. And like the hopeless fool he is, Carlos rises instantly and crosses the small distance to enfold you in his arms from behind.
“Having fun out here without me, cariño?” He murmurs in your ear, lips brushing the sensitive shell so he feels the full-body shiver that wracks through you.
You lean back into his embrace, all soft curves and intoxicating jasmine scent. “I’m always having fun when I’m with you, Mr. Race Winner,” you sigh as your fingers trail delicately down the solid line of his biceps. “Even if we’re just sitting around doing nothing.”
The words are simple — honest and unguarded in a way that makes Carlos’ heart seize in his chest. For two people who came together in a wild collision of lust and passion, it’s moments like these that continually remind him of how much deeper your connection truly runs. Far beyond mere physicality into some soul-binding and unbreakable place.
You must sense the shift in his energy because you turn in his arms, expression questioning but so openly caring it nearly steals Carlos’ breath away. Tenderly, you cup his jaw and search his eyes.
“What’s going on in that beautiful head of yours, hmm?”
He shakes his head minutely, leaning down to brush his lips across your forehead before pulling you snug against his chest. You settle easily into the circle of his arms like that’s the most natural place in the world, cheek pillowed over his steadily thrumming heart.
“Nothing to worry about, princesa,” Carlos assures you gruffly, stroking soothing circles over the warm bare skin of your back. “Just feeling … lucky, I suppose. To have found someone like you.”
The words seem to catch you off guard and you pull back slightly to study his face, mouth curved in that secretive little smile that always makes Carlos’ stomach swoop.
“Well, I certainly feel the luckiest woman on Earth,” you tease lightly, booping his nose in a playful gesture that somehow serves to implant roots deep in Carlos’ soul rather than make him roll his eyes.
Instead, he just gazes at you for a long, weighted moment, allowing himself to simply bask in your presence. In the soft beauties that first drew him in — that delicate blush that finds its way across your nose and cheekbones, the little crinkles that bloom when your smile widens to that mega-watt, face-splitting beam, and those soulful eyes that never fail to pin Carlos helplessly in place.
Then there are the quieter, more intimate details he’s gradually uncovered the deeper he delves into your connection. The barely-there laugh lines at the corners of your eyes when you’re feeling particularly pleased about something. The trick of tugging on your lower lip with your teeth when you’re aroused and trying not to show it. The subtle furrow that appears between your brows when you’re concentrating intently on something.
Carlos knows them all now like geography he was born to navigate.
Without conscious thought, he smooths his thumbs over your jaw and guides you up into a slow, thorough kiss that has both your pulses kicking into overdrive. You whine quietly into his mouth, winding your arms around his neck and arching against him in ways that instantaneously have him hard and aching. But Carlos doesn’t give in to the heated urgency coursing through his bloodstream.
Instead, he keeps the languid glide of his lips over yours unhurried and leisurely — savoring the sensation of you pliant and receptive beneath his seduction. You seem to shake off your initial fervor as well, melting further into the molten drag of his mouth claiming yours over and over.
This too is a geography Carlos has long since mastered. The precise angle he needs to tilt his head to slot your bodies effortlessly flush together. The soft, mewling noises he can coax out of you with carefully applied suction to your plush lower lip. The tiny shudders when he swipes his tongue in long, slick caresses over the roof of your mouth.
You’re practically vibrating with restraint by the time he finally releases your mouth with an obscene, wet pop. Your lips are swollen and glistening, glistening with shared wanting. Carlos hums deep in his chest and brushes the pad of his thumb over the slick fullness reverently.
“So impatient, cariño,” he chides with a wolfish grin that has your nipples visibly peaking beneath the thin lace bodice. “You know that’s not what I had in mind for tonight.”
With an adorable little pout, you wind your arms around his neck once more. “And what, pray tell, did you have in mind?”
A dozen filthy scenarios immediately clamor for attention in Carlos’ head. Having you right here, up against the wall of this secluded VIP area. Bending you over the sleek lines of one of the low leather couches. Finding a shadowed alcove and sinking to his knees before you, nosing aside those delicate strips of lace to ...
He banishes each carnal thought before it can take root and produce visible effect. Tangling his fingers through the soft tresses at the nape of your neck, Carlos brings your foreheads together with a soft smile.
“I thought we might enjoy a moonlight stroll along the beach actually,” he murmurs, relishing the way your disappointed huff ruffles against his skin. “Just you and me under the stars, far away from the noise and crowds for a while.”
You regard him dubiously for a moment before seeming to melt at whatever expression Carlos doesn’t realize he’s allowed to show through. As always, you give in far too easily to his indulgent whims.
With a soft, fond roll of your eyes, you press up on your toes to drop a lingering kiss to the corner of his mouth. “Of course, mon amour. Just you and me under the stars.”
Twenty minutes later finds you ambling hand in hand down a pristine stretch of beach in the Middle Park suburb. The warm, salty breeze gusts gently over your skin, carrying traces of coconut sunscreen and the briny musk of the sea. Foamy waves lap invitingly against the silvered sands as Carlos steers you towards a small, isolated cove.
He procures a large woven blanket from his bag and unfurls it in a clear spot before tugging you down into the plush nest of fabric. You immediately gravitate into his space — curling against his side and tucking yourself beneath his arm like that’s where you were always meant to fit. For Carlos’ part, he cherishes the easy affection and careless intimacy of the simple gesture more than you’ll ever know.
You spend what could be minutes or hours like that — exchanging lazy kisses and sipping from a shared bottle of wine as the moon rises ever higher overhead. After a while, Carlos sprawls onto his back and you quickly drape yourself half-atop him so he can leisurely card his fingers through your windswept tresses.
The soft, steady thrum of his heartbeat beneath your ear combined with the soothing sounds of the lapping tide soon have your eyelids drooping. Carlos has never felt so at peace — this sublime bubble with you the single point around which the rest of the universe spins, perfectly in balance.
“Hey,” you mumble against the warm, sleep-rumpled fabric of his shirt. “Aren’t you the one always saying we should be living in the present?”
He huffs a quiet laugh, stroking one hand down the dip of your spine to rest possessively at the base. “What brings that up all of a sudden?”
You shift enough to look up at him through your lashes, eyes molten with a familiar heat that shivers down Carlos’ spine.
“I’m just wondering what’s got you stuck in your head so often these days,” you counter smoothly, punctuating the observation by swinging one leg over his hips so you can settle atop him fully, careful not to disturb his still-tender stitches. “We’ve barely been able to share … intimate moments at all the last month or so.”
Carlos sucks in a sharp breath as your weight settles over the rapidly stiffening ridge of his arousal. His hands find your hips of their own volition, squeezing reflexively as you begin moving atop him in a slow, undulating rhythm.
“Perhaps I’ve been overtly romantic,” he allows through gritted teeth, letting his head thunk back against the blanket as desire rapidly thrums through his veins. “Missing out on more … physical expressions of passion just because I wanted to remind both of us that this is built on so much more than lust.”
You hum thoughtfully, sitting up fully and swaying atop him in a way that has Carlos rapidly losing his tenuous grasp on reality beyond this blissful patch of the world containing just the two of you. He’s fully hard and straining against the loose linen of his slacks within moments.
“Then maybe we should do something about that right now,” you breathe huskily, arching your back in an inhumanly graceful roll that leaves Carlos’ mouth dry as the Sahara. His hands track helplessly up the delicious curves of your waist, bunching the delicate material of your dress around your hips.
He sits up to meet you so suddenly your foreheads nearly crack together. You release a breathless giggle that Carlos hungrily swallows with his lips, trapping you in a searing kiss filled with all the smoldering hunger he’s been studiously keeping banked for weeks now.
Mindlessly, he chases the taste of you over and over — salty and sweet and everything he’s been desperately starving himself for. His fingers fumble at the tie closures along your ribs until the bodice finally falls away, baring your breasts to his gaze and seeking hands.
You gasp softly into the heated seal of his mouth when Carlos’ calloused palms close over your soft, pliant flesh. He cups and kneads with reverent, possessive strokes that have you quickly arching your chest further into his touch and throwing your head back on a wanton moan.
“Carlos ...” You breathe his name like a prayer, riding his lap with increasing urgency and bringing your mouths back together in a clash of teeth and tongues. Your fingers slide up beneath the hem of his shirt to map the shifting planes of his abdomen, nails raking over the taut, quivering muscles. “Don’t hold back with me any longer. Not tonight … need to feel all of you.”
A shudder wracks Carlos’ entire frame at your breathy plea. He knows you’re right, can feel that same desperate yearning driving you magnified inside himself. Every cell of his body is vibrating with the need to take you fully — heart, mind, and body aligning in euphoric harmony after so many weeks of well meaning denial.
Seizing your hips in a bruising grip, Carlos surges to his feet and simply holds you against him with easy strength. Your legs immediately wind around his waist as you giggle deliriously against his lips.
“Is this what you want, princesa?” He murmurs lowly, swaying subtly to grind his straining need over the lush juncture of your thighs in counterpoint. “For me to finally have my way with you the way we’ve both been craving?”
“Yes,” you hiss out through clenched teeth, back arching as Carlos nips and sucks a path down the slender column of your neck. “God, yes, Carlos. Will you just fuck me already? Here on the sand and beneath the open sky like something out of one of those romance novels you pretend not to love.”
The easy teasing breaks through whatever lingering threads of Carlos’ control were still intact and he growls low in his chest. In one deft motion, he divests you both of the rest of your clothes and spreads you out on the blanket before him in all your unabashed glory. His gaze tracks over your form hungrily, drinking in every dip and swell as you watch him with dark, wanting eyes.
“Princesa ...” Carlos breathes, gratified to see his own desire and reverent longing reflected back at him tenfold in your heated stare. “No more waiting, no more teasing.”
His meaning is clear even without the punctuation of sinking down to settle fully over your smaller form, blanketing you with his weight and forcing your thighs apart to cradle his hips. You immediately writhe beneath him, winding limber arms and legs around him in a vice grip that sears every point of contact between you.
“Carlos, mon cœur ...” You keen breathily into the scant space separating your lips, every word punched from you in counterpoint to the sensual roll of his hips grinding his arousal through your slick folds. “Please. I need you. Need to feel you all around me again after so long.”
He crushes his mouth to yours in answer, tongue instantly delving deep to taste the exquisite velvet heat of you. You clutch him closer even as Carlos shifts his weight to one forearm so his other hand can roam freely over every inch of bare, pebbled skin he can reach. When his calloused palm finally finds your breast and gives a rough squeeze, you shudder and cry out into his waiting lips.
There’s no more waiting after that. Carlos sheaths himself in one powerful, purposeful thrust that buries him to the hilt and your gasp dissolves into a broken moan. He stills for the briefest of moments, just reveling in the unbearably tight clutch of your molten sheath, every nerve ending alight and thrumming. Then he slowly withdraws until just the swollen head remains inside before immediately surging forward once more.
Your nails score lines of liquid fire down his back at the first deep, dragging stroke. But Carlos barely notices the delicious sting. He’s utterly consumed by the feeling of finally being surrounded by you again — hot, snug, and so utterly perfect. Every sound and shudder and arch of your form against his own is like the sweetest plea washing over him.
He sets a demanding pace, relentlessly pounding into you from that first jarring thrust onward. The only sounds are your mingled cries and the wet, obscene smack of flesh on flesh echoing out over the lapping ocean waves. Carlos wants to make sure there’s no doubt in your mind how much he’s craved every inch of you.
“There’s my good girl,” he rasps hotly against the bullet-hard peak of your nipple before laving it soothingly with his tongue. You release a strangled cry, back bowing sharply off the blanket as you clench down on him in rippling, vice-like pulses. “Fuck … taking me just how you were made to. So damn perfect, cariño.”
Your garbled whimpers and keens of his name drive Carlos to new levels of feverish intensity with each hitching breath. He snakes an arm beneath your sweat-slick lower back to position your hips at a slightly higher angle, seating himself even more deeply inside.
Every purposeful thrust now grinds against that tender cluster of nerves in a way that quickly has your eyes rolling back. You go boneless and whimpering, allowing Carlos to manhandle and use your plaint and plush form in whatever way he craves.
Pressure rapidly mounts within Carlos like an incoming tidal wave as your inner walls begin fluttering around him in telltale pulses. He can feel his own imminent release building in tandem at the base of his spine, that familiar molten curl of pleasure threatening to crest.
“That’s it, princesa,” he grits out raggedly against the sweat-slick arch of your throat. He slides the hand not anchoring your hips down to toy with the engorged pearl at your apex — drawing out a stream of sobbing wails. “Take what’s yours. Fucking milk me with that greedy little cunt. You were made for this cock, made to be split open and ruined on it over and over until you’ve got no idea where you end and I begin.”
The filthy words seems to be your undoing. With a sobbing cry of Carlos’ name, you seize up — inner walls rippling and convulsing like they’re taking him for everything he’s worth. Carlos hardens his jaw and summons the last threads of his control to keep himself from shattering apart at the very first fluttering pulse.
As the shattering waves of your release gradually crest and ebb, Carlos chases them down with powerful thrusts designed to prolong and intensify every aftershock. You writhe and whimper beneath him in overstimulated pleasure, rapidly going boneless and sated.
That’s when he finally surrenders to the smoldering inferno in his belly, hips snapping forward in a few final, erratic strokes before Carlos throws back his head and allows his own orgasm to rip through him. White-hot euphoria explodes across every nerve ending as he empties himself in heavy, throbbing pulses deep inside your spasming core.
“Ah fuck … just like that, cariño,” he rasps out hoarsely, grinding himself as deeply inside you as physically possible and simply shuddering through each exquisite contraction. “Taking every last fucking drop of me right where you were made for it ...”
Utterly spent, Carlos collapses forward with the last dregs of his stamina — just barely managing to catch himself on shaking forearms so he doesn’t crush you beneath his weight. You immediately latch onto him, peppering his flushed face with sweet kisses.
For several long moments, you simply hold each other through the aftershocks, chests heaving and bodies trembling. Carlos has never felt more peaceful or completely at ease in his entire life. His every sense is utterly surrounded and suffused by you in the most blissful of ways.
When his lashes finally flutter open, the first thing he sees is your adoring smile glowing up at him in the moonlight. It nearly steals what little breath remains in his lungs.
“Hi,” you murmur shyly. Carlos huffs out a breathless chuckle and tugs you even closer until your overwarm bodies are aligned from navel to sternum.
“Hi yourself, princesa,” he replies, just as softly against your lips before sinking into another deep, leisurely kiss that tastes equal parts salt and sex and forever.
When you part again, your eyes are sparkling with so much uncomplicated happiness that Carlos nearly melts into a useless puddle on the spot. He’s drowning and he’s never felt more gloriously unmoored.
“I love you, y’know? Like … down to the depths of my soul,” your fingers trail over the sharp jaw and cheekbones you now know better than your own.
The words should terrify Carlos with their intensity and implication. Instead, they simply roll through him in a cresting wave of overwhelming tenderness and clarity.
Of course he loves you. How could he not, when his existence now seems to revolve around your presence as the only fixed point in a dizzying orbit?
So rather than balk or deflect or shove those emotions back down, Carlos allows every infinite but of love and adoration and soul-deep need to shine through unfettered. He cradles your face between his palms and simply stares, committing every minuscule detail of this moment to memory before leaning down to brush his lips over yours in the sweetest, most loaded caress.
“I love you too, princesa,” he murmurs the words directly into your mouth like a sacrament. “With every fiber of my being. You are my everything.”
You tug him down into a heated, clinging embrace, holding him like you never intend to let go.
And at last, Carlos knows without a shadow of doubt that he never will either
838 notes · View notes
f1version · 7 months
Text
BIRTHDAY POSTS ★ CS55
Tumblr media
pairing: carlos sainz jr x gf!reader
summary: Five birthday posts that show how you and Carlos always loved each other.
notes: this short smau was supposed to be posted earlier but i just checked and tumblr didn’t post it (i did scheduled it, i think it glitched or something) anyways enjoyyy <3
Tumblr media
yourusername
Tumblr media
Liked by carlossainz55 and 217 others
yourusername Ostiaaaa feliz legalidad Chili, no tomes mucho!!!!! ❤️18❤️✨🌹🇪🇸🍻 [ happy legality Chili, don't drink too much!! ]
September 1, 2011
view all comments
carlossainz55 Tomar?! Eso no es lo mío 😂🤐 [ drink?! that’s not my thing ]
yourusername No te lo crees ni tú cabróncito!!! 😂😂 [ not even you believes that ]
yourusername
Tumblr media Tumblr media
Liked by carlossainz55 and 762 others
yourusername Felices 20 a mi piloto y rapero favorito🏎️✨ [ happy 20 to my favorite driver and rapper ]
September 1, 2015
view all comments
carlossainz55 Noooo 😂😂
yourusername Tú perdiste la apuesta, aguanta!! [ you lost the best, deal with it! ]
carlossainz55 La venganza será dulce [ revenge will be sweet ]
yourusername
Tumblr media Tumblr media
Liked by carlossainz55, landonorris and 6,726 others
yourusername 25 years loving you!! Happy birthday Chili🎂💓
September 1, 2019
view all comments
landonorris Get in line he loves me more 🙄
yourusername Pero a quién le da besitos??🙄 [ but who does he kiss??? ]
landonorris @ carlossainz55 i need translation🙏
carlossainz55 🤫🤫 Google it
yourusername
Tumblr media Tumblr media
Liked by carlossainz55, scuderiaferrari and 50,826 others
yourusername Preferisci l'italiano? Tanti auguri, amore mio 💘💘 [ do you prefer italian? happy birthday, my love ]
September 1, 2021
carlossainz55 Ti amo per sempre ❤️
yourusername ❤️❤️❤️
yourusername
Tumblr media
Liked by carlossainz55, charles_leclerc and 3,726 others
yourusername 29 years of being my best friend, 10 of being my kissing buddy 💋🥂
September 1, 2023
view all comments
carlossainz55 😘😘😘
yourusername 😘😘
1K notes · View notes
lorarri · 10 days
Text
꒰꒰ ‧₊˚🇲🇲 𝐌𝐄𝐄𝐓 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐅𝐀𝐌 ─ 𝐂𝐒𝟓𝟓 ˚₊· ꒱꒱
Tumblr media
─ summary . . . ❨ after a long winter break carlos decided to go and visit his gf's family and seeks to gain there approval ❩ ─ pairing . . . ❨ carlos sainz x fem! ferrari! race engineer! reader ❩ ─ genre . . . ❨ social media file ❩ ─ author note . . . . ❨ this is. really short one and I'm sorry it's not very good but I hope you enjoy! ❩
Tumblr media
❨ series masterlist | main masterlist ❩
Tumblr media Tumblr media
BIG BRO
so when am I meeting him
LIL SIS
when are you meeting who?
BIG BRO
your new bf
did you seriously think I wouldn't find out
LIL SIS
who else in the family knows
BIG BRO
everyone
did you forget dad legit has investments in most of the f1 teams
how long did you think you could hide this
LIL SIS
long enough....
how did i do?
BIG BRO
not half bad
though next time don't make out in the middle of the paddock
even if there are no cameras around
kind defeats the purpose of being "secret"
LIL SIS
fair enough
BIG BRO
anyway you should bring his to the family gathering
LIL SIS
and expose him to gossiping aunties and dad asking him 78374 questions
BIG BRO
they have to learn the hard way
it's the rules
LIL SIS
hi it's carlos here I would love to come meet your family
BIG BRO
we shall see buddy
carlosainz55 . 9hrs ago
Tumblr media
seen by landonorris charles_leclerc 89,475,679 others
landonorris replied to your story!
ahhh meeting the parents are we
and the rest of the family
uncles, cousins, aunts, and grandparents
have you been threatened by her siblings yet
yes
all 8 of her brothers have threatened me
5 different uncles
and her father and grandfather
I have never been more scared in my life
anything interesting happen?
yeah all of the aunts gossip is JUCY
spill when you get back ey?
the aunties were mostly gossiping about how I'm gonna be unemployed in 2025
carlossainz55
Tumblr media
liked by yourinstagram landonorris 79,568,989 others
carlossainz55 🇲🇲 bruma through the lens of my gf
view comments
user how does it feel to be living my dream
user carlos has a gf???
user I just searched up his gf and she's OLD MONEY how am I going to compete with her now
user forget carlos I want MOTHER
user oh how I wish I could call carlos sainz jr mine
user my parents ya'll
view more comments
Tumblr media
─ requested by . . .
anon ─ Hi can I request 🇲🇲for the next crazy rich Asian series with Carlos and the driver I’m sorry if I’m being demanding..tho😓But the story line were reader is his f1 engineering and they starts dating and they get to the point were it’s necessary to meet each other’s family like including relatives but reader already met Carlos’s family so Carlos is going to meet readers family and he finds out readers family is like “crazy rich” for generations and he spends a week with the families back in mandalay. With gossiping aunties, flirty cousins and readers protective dad and brothers.I’m sorry again if it seems like I’m demanding. I’m really up for an hour brainstorming for this storyline 😭😭thank you so much for even reading to this point.😅
686 notes · View notes
weeknd-ogoc · 7 months
Text
LUNA, SOL Y MAR ˳ ׄ ⟡  . CARLOS SAINZ JR.
Tumblr media
SUMMARY: in which carlos reminisces about your long relationship before he decides to propose to you. (inspired by the song, san lucas by kevin kaarl) FACE CLAIM: cindy kimberly CONTAINS: overprotective parents, major fluff, making out and carlos catching a feel! AUTHOR'S NOTE: as a latina, i feel likes there's not many imagines with latina girls for carlos so i decided to make this for ya'll. 🩵
Tumblr media
(the smaller words are the english translation!)
🩵 twelve years old
carlos and you had been best friends growing up so somewhere along the way the both of you ended up falling so in love with each other. at first your parents thought it was just a harmless crush so they allowed you to spend your afternoons with him.
since you guys lived a few minutes from each other, their was a little garden area near your house and that became your little spot to hangout.
"my dad's taking me on a trip to italy to enter a race tomorrow..." carlos had told you as he plucked the little blue flowers on the ground. "but i'll be back next week."
he was always worried about leaving you since he knew how harsh your parents could be with you, in the case he wasn't around he sent his older sister to make sure you were alright.
you smiled at him as he handed you one of the flowers. "lucky you, i want to go to italy some day."
the young boy plucked another flower from the ground and put it on your ear. "créeme, cuando seamos mas grandes te llevaré por todo el mundo." (believe me, when we're older i'll take you with me all around the world.)
little did you know he had actually meant that.
🌙 sixteen years old
as the new year started, carlos made it his mission to make sure you were going to be his from now on. so the next night he helped you sneak out of your room and the both of you walked to your spot — where he had set up some blankets and pillows on the ground.
"very romantic." you smiled as you laid down next to him.
god did he love that vanilla scent you had.
the both of you laid down under the stars in silence, he was trying to gain the confidence to ask you out and in doing so he slowly wrapped his arm around you.
"la luna se ve tan hermosa..." you had said as you laid comfortably against his arm. (the moon looks so beautiful)
you hadn't noticed he was actually looking into your eyes "no tan hermosa como tu." (not as beautiful as you)
this had you both screaming on the inside.
he cleared his throat and looked back up to the moon.
"it's now or never..." you mumbled out and before he could ask what you said — you had already softly pressed your lips on his.
deep down he was kind of glad you made the first move.
before you knew it the kiss was starting to get more intense and he pulled down one of your straps on your dress, which you allowed him to. "let's try to slow down..." he said in between kisses and you let out a small mhm. so the both of you tried to slow things down, but it wasn't easy since his hands were wandering and your lips had somehow attached onto his neck.
"y/n!" the both of you heard which made you guys jump up — you had pulled up the straps on your dress and he tried hiding his very visible boner.
your father stood their crossing his arms. "regresa a la casa ahorita mismo." (return back to the house now.)
you glanced at carlos before walking back to your house and overheard your father telling carlos he was never going to see you again, but the two of you were teenagers and in love so of coarse you were going to see each other again.
☀️ eighteen years old
the day before your eighteenth birthday, carlos was finally returning back to spain. he had chosen to become a professional driver and you one hundred percent supported him, he had been traveling for a few months but you guys managed to still talk over the phone whenever your family wasn't around.
his parents always welcomed you into their house when things got hard back at home, they had loved you as a daughter after finding out carlos and you were together.
"meet at our spot, i have something to tell you!" he excitedly told you before he got on his plane. "te quiero mucho..." (i love you so much)
so after your parents went to work, you snuck out and walked to your spot, where carlos was already waiting for you. he had the blankets placed on the floor and blue roses in his hands.
you jumped into his arms as he hugged you tightly. "god, i missed you hermosa." (beautiful)
after a few more kisses and hugs, the pair sat under the sun as he had told you about his races and showed you pictures. he loved how excited you were for him and he was excited for what he was about to ask you.
"you're turning eighteen in a few hours and i want you to leave with me..." he quickly told you. "come with me to my next race and after that we can travel all around the world."
your parents quickly crossed your mind but you nodded to his question "cuándo nos vamos?" (when do we leave)
he kissed your forehead and looked back down to you. "tomorrow morning!"
after talking about your futures, the sun was starting to get stronger and you put your hair up in a bun. "hace más calor" (it's getting hotter)
he smirked before planting a kiss on your head. "no tan caliente como tu." (not as hot as you)
you rolled your eyes at him before pushing him down into the blanket and kissing him once more.
the both of you stayed until midnight and he walked you over to your house, where your parents were waiting for you on the front porch.
your dad instantly stood up. "yo te había dicho que ya no te acercaras a mi hija." he told carlos as he walked up to him. (i told you before not to get close to my daughter)
before your dad could touch him, you stepped in front of them both. "i'm leaving with him..."
your dad let out a laugh and looked back to your mother who looked scared. "he's not going to be able to support you with his silly dream job."
you scoffed "carlos is going to make it and i'm going to be right there next to him so i'm getting my stuff and i'm leaving."
carlos had helped you pack your things and when you went to the bathroom to get the last remaining of your things, your mom walked into the room.
"carlos, por favor cuidala." (please take good care of her)
he nodded. "siempre." (always)
your mother knew he had actually meant that and he truly did.
🌊 twenty five years old
the two of you had now been together for almost ten years now and were living in a big house in spain, you guys had gotten two dogs and they were basically like your children.
your relationship with your parents had gotten better after you left and your father had apologized to carlos for saying the things he did the night you left. he was proud of carlos for being able to fully support you.
"woah, are you okay?" charles had asked you since he saw you throwing up in a trash can.
you nodded as he handed you a napkin and rubbed your shoulder. "just peachy..."
"what's wrong then?" he asked.
the italian gp of 2023 was just in a few hours and it had you feeling real nervous for carlos, he had been training real hard and even looked nervous.
what you didn't know was that he was actually nervous because he was planning to ask you to marry him right after the race, he was so sure he was winning this race.
carlos overheard you telling charles that you were twelve weeks pregnant and he froze for a second.
it's now or never.
he cleared his throat and you looked at him with wide eyes.
"oop, i'll be out there." charles quickly mumbled before walking out.
you had walked up to him to him and he stopped you.
"amor, i was going to tell you aft-"
"cásate conmigo" he got on his knee and pulled the little box out of his pocket. "cásate conmigo" he said again. (marry me)
your heartbeat had instantly raced "car-"
he interrupted you once more. "i have loved you since i was a little boy, our whole childhood i knew it was going to be you and right now i know that i'm going to love you and our child for the rest of our lives."
your tears had began spilling out and you nodded. "yes i'll marry you."
he slipped the beautiful ring on your finger and pressed his lips onto yours. "te queiro mas que la luna, sol y mar." (i love more than the moon, sun and sea.)
Tumblr media
thank you guys for reading, my requests are open!
© weeknd-ogoc, 2023
1K notes · View notes
love-belle · 10 months
Text
about damn time !!!
*ੈ✩‧₊˚ in which he finds out that his pregnant fiancée can really hold a grudge.
or
for when you love them too much to stay mad at them. ˚ ༘♡ ⋆。˚
real life // carlos sainz jr. x fem!reader
warnings - language, pregnancy talks.
author's note - had too much fun writing this, hope u like it as well!! thank u so much for reading, i love you <3 requests are open!!!
≡;- ꒰ °real life ꒱
"charles?"
"yeah?"
"can you tell your friend to stop poking me with that damn stick?"
"carlos," charles sighed, rubbing his face tiredly as he sat between his two best friends.
"yeah?"
"stop poking y/n with that damn stick."
"tell her to tell me that herself."
"y/n?"
"yeah?"
"tell him to stop poking you with that damn stick yourself."
"tell him to stop poking with that damn stick before i break it and shove the pieces high up his ass."
"carlos?"
"yeah?"
"your fiancée is really fucking scary."
"i know."
"why are you guys even fighting?" charles asked, looking from y/n, who was very pointedly ignoring carlos who was watching with a nervous smile on his face, trying his best to get her attention for the past hour. he wasn't very successful and resorted to more inconvenient methods, which included poking his pregnant fiancée with a small wooden stick that he had found in god-knows-which cursed corner of their house.
"ask your friend that because apparently i'm too stupid," y/n snapped, standing up and leaving the room without even sparing carlos a glance.
"shit, what'd you do?" charles asked as he watched her retreating form. "the only time i have ever seen her pissed was when max ate her last cookie. i have never seen a man so terrified."
"why is it you always assume i did something?" carlos whined, burying his face into a cushion.
"because it is always you, that does something," charles retorted, moving to lay back against the couch.
"fair but doesn't mean it's nice," carlos narrowed his eyes at his teammate. "and it was a stupid thing i said this morning. word of advice, it's always better to stay silent when you have a pregnant fiancée with anger issues."
"holy shit," charles laughed in disbelief, not really understanding what stupid thing could his friend have said to make y/n this mad. "what did you say?"
"well, since we found out that we were gonna have a baby, she's been so invested in knowing what's the size of the baby like it's the size of a grain of rice, two grains of rice, end to end, a — "
"what's the size of your crotch goblin right now?"
"first, it's about the size of a blueberry right now and second, don't ever refer to my child as a crotch goblin."
"pet sperm?"
"what is wrong with you?"
charles shrugged, motioning him to continue with his account of what had happened in the morning.
"uh — and she also tells me that the baby grew a heart today, or that the heart is 's' shaped right now and soon it'll have limbs and all, yeah?"
"uh huh," charles hummed, his eyebrows furrowed as he thought about what ever could carlos have had said about this for them to be like this.
"and today, apparently the baby developed a brain or something and y/n came in all excited and she was like 'mi amor, i grew a brain today' referring to our child and i said that..."
"that..?" charles raised his eyebrows, sitting up straight as he watched carlos inhale deeply before he finished his sentence.
"i said that it was about damn time," carlos whispered, as if afraid that y/n would hear him once again.
"oh."
"oh."
"you said that?"
"i said that."
"to a pregnant woman?"
"if the doctor's appointments are legit, then yes, to a pregnant woman."
"who happens to be your fiancée?"
"i'm not sure anymore, to be honest."
"do you have a death wish?!" charles exclaimed, looking at carlos with wide eyes.
he knew how well y/n could hold a grudge and her anger was something you would never want to be on the receiving end of. and a pregnant y/n was a force to be reckoned with. the mood swings were already heavy on not just carlos, but their entire friend group, no one wanting to get yelled at by a woman who wore fluffy socks and sang taylor swift during long drives.
"i knew i fucked up as soon as i said it," carlos groaned, running his hand through his hair. "i thought she was gonna get mad."
"she didn't?" charles asked, surprised at the revelation. he knew if he had said that to her, he would on the next flight, any flight, out of the country.
"no," carlos grimaced, as if reliving that moment. "i thought she would, to be honest, her mood swings are wild this week but she didn't. she just stared at me for a minute before walking away."
"woah," charles nodded, not knowing what to say. "that feels worse."
"yes, especially because i think i made her cry," carlos admitted with a frown, fiddling with his fingers. "i hate it when she cries because she hates it when she cries. something about her feeling overdramatic for crying at every single overwhelming thing, even though i tell her that it's okay. it's just those hormones. she hates crying and this pregnancy is really challenging that and i think i made her cry this morning. she was just excited to tell me about our baby and i unintentionally and indirectly called her stupid."
"you're stupid," charles immediately said, looking at carlos with an incredulous look on his face. "i feel bad for her. i mean, i know that she's mean sometimes and she yells at us when we're being stupid but her crying feels, i don't know, wrong."
"yeah," carlos sighed, standing up and nodded towards the direction of the master bedroom. "i better go and try to talk to her. you'll be okay in the guest room, no?"
"yes, i will be, thank you," charles smiled at his friends before making his way towards the guest bedroom, leaving carlos in the living room.
the man sighed, switching off the tv that played a random movie before he turned off the lights, making his way towards their bedroom.
he paused in the front of the door, his hand lingering on the handle before he pushed it open carefully, thinking that she was already asleep. his eyes took a few seconds to adjust in the dark as he moved blindly towards the bed, reaching for any furniture in his vicinity. he tried his best not to make any noise as he moved as y/n was asleep not even three feet away from him and he would not have her any more mad at him.
he finally found himself by the edge of bed and quickly got in after discarding his t-shirt and pulled the covers over him. he didn't dare move, in fear of waking her up. he knew that it was sometimes difficult for her to fall asleep, always one thing not being right, sometimes it would be the pillow and the other times it would be the texture of the bedsheets against her skin. he had found her in the living room all by herself at three in the morning too many times to count. so, whenever she finally fell asleep, he would do his best not to wake her up.
he sighed, feeling weird, not having her right against him as they both slept. instead she was there, all over her own side of the bed, a good few inches between them.
carlos couldn't take it anymore, he'd gotten used to having her lay next to him, her arms around him while his rested on her stomach, tracing random patterns. with a swift movement, he reached across the bed and pulled her towards him, whispering a soft 'sorry'.
y/n exhaled deeply, her hands unconsciously going around carlos as she shifted to get more comfortable against him.
"this doesn't mean i forgot what you said this morning," y/n's voice spoke, barely above a whisper but carlos heard it loud and clear.
"i'm sorry, hermosa," carlos kissed her forehead, moving to place kisses down her face, sighing softly. "forgive me?"
"you know, i already do," y/n whispered, holding his hand that rested on her stomach. "i'm sorry, i was being overdramatic earlier."
"no, no, no," carlos rushed to correct her, holding his face in her hands as he shook his head. "you were not being overdramatic. you just wanted to share something about our baby with me and i said something stupid and made you cry. i'm sorry."
"technically, these stupid pregnancy hormones made me cry," y/n answered, a slight giggle escaping her making carlos chuckle.
"i love you," carlos sighed, pulling me her impossibly closer to him. "so fucking much."
"i love you so much more," y/n turned head and pulled herself up so she could plant a kiss on his lips, smiling slightly when he pulled her back into another one. "you're the best."
"i think you confused yourself with me, sweetheart."
"of course i did," y/n laid her head back on the pillow, her hands fiddling with carlos' fingers. she couldn't help but feel her heart swell up with love for her fiancé and for her baby, who would be soon joining them.
she stayed there, for god knows how long, thinking of her perfect family before she turned her head towards carlos, not really seeing his face in the dark. with the way he was breathing evenly, the fact that he had not spoken in minutes and the hand that had been tracing shapes on the exposed skin of her stomach laid limp, she reckoned he fell asleep. and even though he was asleep and couldn't hear her, she couldn't help but say it one last time.
"i love you, so fucking much."
2K notes · View notes
cherry-leclerc · 5 months
Text
the red high heels ☆ cs55
genre: humor, secret relationship, leclerc!twins
word count: 1.9k
It's 2am and Charles is desperate to find you. Who better to help look for you than his teammate?
req... guys, i literally wrote different versions of this request at least 5 times...anyways, hope you enjoy a quick one :)
Tumblr media
Groaning, Carlos stands up from his bed, making his way to the door. It’s 2 am and he was far too comfortable until he was rudely interrupted. Opening the door, he sees a despaired Charles, dark under eyes evident. “Charles? Are you okay, man?” His voice is raw and croaky almost. His teammate shakes his head, then nods.
“Fuck, it’s just that…my sister. Mate, I don’t know where she is.” Hearing this, the Spaniard narrows his eyes, all of a sudden awake. 
“What do you mean you don’t know?” 
“Well, I checked her room, I called her and nothing. We’re supposed to be leaving for the airport in an hour!” 
Carlos stays still for a moment. “Okay, I’ll help you look for her, she can’t be too far out. She’s not like that.” The Monegasque nods slowly before beginning to slump his way into the room. Carlos sprints after him.
“Oh! Um…How about you wait outside? It’s just that the room is so messy.” Turning his gaze, he points to the spotless room. Charles frowns. 
“Carlos, this has got to be the cleanest room I’ve ever seen in my entire life.” He scrunches his nose before waving his hands in his teammates direction. “Hurry and put on a shirt so we can leave.” With tight lips, he nods. He’s slow about it too, the way he makes his way to his suitcase. Opening it, it’s empty. He slightly curses himself for being too much of a neat freak that he just had to organize his clothes into the small closet. “Some girl kept your shirt?” Charles' smile is teasing as he sends over a playful wink. Carlos winces.
“Of course not! Just have to…” He points over to the closet that is on the other side of the room. He pats his face. “You know what? I think I’m going to put my shoes on first! I’ll be quick, if you want we can meet outside.” 
“It’s no big deal. I can wait. I mean you are helping me after all.” The brown eyed man wants to yell when a kind smile tugs at Charles’ lips. Get out, get out, get outttt. 
“Of course.” Leaning down to grab his Golden Goose under the bed he takes a deep breath. His heart is beating so fast, he thinks it might leap out of his chest. Charles is talking, but all is unclear as Carlos reaches down. He quickly relaxes when he finds his shoes. He lets out a shaky breath.
“Oh no. Is your age getting the best out of you?” Charles snickers as Carlos grunts before sitting beside him, slipping on his shoes ever so slowly. Charles is growing impatient, he could tell. This was good.
“So, um, where do you think she is?” Carlos questions as he unties his other shoe. Charles hums.
“You know what? I have a feeling she’s not that far…Twin telepathy.” The broody man rolls his eyes as Charles shares a thoughtful glance. He laughs. “Call it what you want, but that shit exists.” 
“I bet.”
The green eyed boy furrows his brows at Carlos’ clumsy fingers playing with his laces. He desperately huffs. “Do you need help or something?”
“Almost got it…” The white strings become undone for what seems the millionth time before he finally gets the grips of it. Bravo, Charles mutters. 
“Coming back to what you were saying, what do you mean by twin telepathy?” Carlos stands up making his way to his empty suitcase again but Charles doesn’t even seem to notice as he becomes entertained by his bracelets. 
“Oh, well, it’s real. I feel like she can’t be that far. How else do you think I would win at tag when we were younger?” He raises an eyebrow over his teammate. He continues with a now moody face. “Though, something else tells me she’s with someone, y’know?” Carlos chokes as he turns to face Charles. I don’t, he squeaks out. “It’s just that I’ve had this feeling that she might be seeing someone from the grid. I told her not to and she said she would never, but I don’t know why I could never really believe her. Plus, she’s oddly been attached to her phone a tad bit too much.”
Just then Carlos’ phone rings. They both shoot their eyes to the bright light that shines in the middle of the messy bed sheets. Reaching out, Charles grabs it before handing it over. You should probably answer. Hastily, he takes it. 
Get. Him. Out.
He coughs as he slips his phone into his back pocket. “Hey, why don’t you start looking for her without me? I swear I’ll be out in a minute.”
“I don’t know where else to look, I’ve tried everywhere! Just hurry so we can brainstorm ideas. I swear to God when I find her-” A light thud echoes the small room as he cocks his head to the side in attentiveness. He raises his hand to his ear. “Did you hear that?”
The Spaniard immediately goes to rub his elbow. “I just hit my arm, that’s all.” 
“Be careful, mate.” He stands up. “Okay grab your shirt.”
“Mierda. I can’t find it.” But that's a lie because just a couple of feet behind Charles, it lies. Right next to a pair of red heels. Charles' eyes roam the room with a slightly annoyed expression before spotting it. Picking it up, he pauses. When he turns around he wears a toothy grin.
“Oh shit! You have a girl over! That’s why you went all shy!” He picks up the heel. “That’s crazy. Looks just like my sisters. Girls just have the same taste these days…”
Carlos quickly grabs the shirt from him before snatching the heel back too. “I-I didn’t–I mean I did, but she left! She must have forgotten her sh–” The words tumble past his lips so fast that he doesn’t notice how Charles’ expression has dropped.
The red high heel could have been anyones, true, but not everyone had your initials at the bottom. He knows since he was the one who had gifted them to you as a birthday present. You had begged for months.
“Hope you shut up now that you have them,” he says as you smile down at the designer heels. You nod happily. 
“I promise I’ll take care of them, Charlie! So sweet, I mean, you even added a nice detail!”
He’s fuming, but he’s also confused. “You motherfucker–”
“It’s just a shoe, mate!” Carlos' voice cracks in nervousness as his teammate strolls his way over. The Monegasque quickly grabs Carlos’ collared shirt as he pushes him against the closet. His body thuds as he groans. 
“Where’s my sister?” His harsh glare doesn’t equal his tone and that scares Carlos just a tiny…lot. 
“I don’t know! Let’s go look for her!” He tries to pry Charles’ hands off, but this only makes him push him back against the wood, harder. He cringes.
“Stop lying.” When Carlos looks down and doesn’t respond, he doesn’t think twice as he starts to bang his body against the brown doors. It shakes so much that the closet starts to get slightly unbalanced. And then…
It tips over.
Reacting quickly, Charles swiftly pulls Carlos away as they both fall onto the floor. The closet falls with a loud thud as they both gasp. But Carlos is quick to try to lift it up. “Calm down, it’s just a closet-”
“Fuck you, your sister is inside!”
Charles’ eyes go wide as he runs over to help his teammate. Finally, once it’s stood up correctly, they open the doors in a hurry. You moan as you rub your head.
“You both are so fucking innsufferable.” Your eyes are screwed shut when you reach your arm out for help. Your boyfriend is about to help you but your brother beats him to it. He leads you to the bed as you curl into a ball. “Oh God, I think I have a concussion.”
“We should take her to the hospital,” Carlos says as Charles bites down onto his nails. He agrees. They care, of course they do, but they’re not smooth about it.
“You grab her head and I’ll grab her legs.” Charles instructs as Carlos nods. 
“No!” You sit up straight as you crawl further away from them. “I’m fine.” 
“Amor, you should get checked out-”
“I don’t like that nickname. Stop it.” Charles mutters as he crosses his arms. You ignore him.
“Seriously, I’m fine. All your clothes saved me.” He lets out a sarcastic laugh as you giggle. Charles can’t help but glare at both of you.
“Okay, since you’re feeling well, then we should leave. Now.” 
“No.”
His gaze sharpens as you cuddle your legs to your chest. “Stop being a brat. Let’s go.” He reaches out for you but you only kick his arms away. I’ll leave with Carlos, you bicker back. “Just shut up. Let’s. Go.” He reaches out to grab your legs as he starts to drag you towards him, but you’re kicking and screaming so loud that he lets go to cover his ears. He almost loses it when you run over to Carlos as you hug him like your favorite teddy bear.
“You can go. I want to leave with Carlos.”
He clicks his tongue as he places his hands on his hips. He taps his shoe. “Listen, say goodbye or whatever you want, but you are not going anywhere with him.” You shake your head. Carlos sighs as he places a kiss to the top of your head.
“I think he’s right.” 
I don’t need your help controlling my sister, Charles wants to warn him but he doesn’t when he notices you deflate, furthermore. “No, I want to stay with you. I can deal with him later.” The Spaniard unties your hands from his waist before he leans down to place a kiss on your cheek.
“No, you should listen to your brother.” You know he isn’t breaking up with you, but perhaps a bang to the head has you slightly sensitive. Tears slowly fill up your eyes.
“Do you not want me anymore?” Your voice is small and he wants to punch himself for causing so much confusion. He’s about to say, you know I always do, but decides not to answer when he looks up at Charles, who stands by quietly.
“I…”
Charles awkwardly clears his throat as he twists his heel. You muster up the dirtiest stare possible as you say, “What do you want now?” He winces at your tone as he exhales in defeat.
“You can stay.” You narrow your eyes as you let out a wobbly smile. Are you serious? He nods as Carlos smiles at him in thankfulness. “But we spoke about this so many times, didn’t we? I always warned you that relationships like this take lots of taking care of, that's the main reason why I was always so against it, never because I didn’t want to see you happy.” His eyes flicker to Carlos, who’s attention remains on you. 
“I know that, but I don’t care. I’m willing to learn.”
“I know you are. And you.” He points sharply at the Spaniard. “I can’t believe you went behind my back! That’s my sister!” Calm down, you plead. “You know what, we’re twins, so I hope you think of me when you kiss her-”
The room goes silent as you stare back with wide eyes. Once a single giggle is let out, a string only follows as you hurl over laughing. “That’s so wrong!” Charles blushes.
“Forget I said anything, just…Be careful and treat her right.”
Carlos bobs his head as he hugs you from behind and you lean into his touch with a glow Charles has never seen on you. 
“I swear to God I will always do that.”
2K notes · View notes
enchanteleclerc · 8 months
Text
strawberries and cream 🂱 cs55
Tumblr media
genre: 18+, literally pwp, fem!reader who’s the sister of carlos’ best friend?? LMAO
word count: 2.5k
You seem to enjoy the company of your brother’s best friend. Especially right now, over some breakfast of pancakes, thinking you may never look at strawberries and cream the same.
a/n … idk how my last post did pretty well but thank u all for the support !! still learning how to write smut (and write in general bc i never write in uni 💀) this was heavily inspired by that one serena and nate scene i hope u guys know which one i’m talking ab :))
warnings … penetrative sex, semi public sex, dirty talk (degradation and praise), unprotected sex, food, rough ish sex?
-
You don’t remember when it started. The butterflies, the stolen glances across a room. Ever since you could remember, Carlos was always around. But he wasn’t here for you; you had to remind yourself. Your brother’s best friend. And yet, neither of you could deny the tension between you both. The way your fingers brushed when you handed him your plate, offering to wash it for you after dinner, caused you to subconsciously hold your breath. ”Need some help?” Sauntering into the kitchen where Carlos was washing the dishes. You don’t miss how his lips turned into a smile upon seeing you. Picking up the dishes he just washed, you began drying them beside him, taking quick looks at him from the side of your eye but making sure he doesn’t see. Flipping a plate over, you accidentally splash him with water. Your hands immediately went to your mouth to apologise, but you couldn’t help the giggles pouring from you. “Yeah? You think that’s funny?” He wrapped his arm around your waist to hold you still while turning the tap towards you, soaking the white oversized shirt you wore. Pleading for mercy, to which he loosened his grip, you retaliated by turning the tap onto him. Stepping through the puddle of water you both caused, he turned off the tap. ”Truce?” He sticks out his pinky for you to shake, which you take happily. Pinkies interlocked, you look up at him, still giggling, but the giggles dissipate when you look into his big brown eyes. His eyes held yours for a moment before travelling down your body to the white shirt that had gone translucent and stuck to your body, leaving almost nothing to imagination apart from your bra and panties. Carlos’ clothes were no better. His grey shirt had darkened and stuck to his torso, revealing the lines and curves of his toned stomach. ”What the fuck?” Your brother’s voice echoed between Carlos and you as if a strike of lightning. You both jumped away from each other but still connected through your pinkies. As if there was an invisible piece of string connecting you both. Clearing your throat and crossing your arms over your chest to hide yourself, you announce that you were heading up for bed, unwilling to let go of Carlos’ hand. You wonder how you could possibly fall asleep knowing that Carlos would be in the room beside yours. The answer to that question was reluctantly. However, you eventually fell asleep to Carlos’ light snores through the thin walls of the house. And the moment the snoring ceased, so did the little sleep you received. Early in the morning, you heard a door open. Well aware of your family’s ability to sleep into the late hours of the morning, you knew whose door that was. You were suddenly wide awake and wanting to run out your door to see him. Needing to regain some dignity after letting him see you basically half-naked yesterday, you decided against leaving your room immediately. After what you believed was enough time, you found yourself walking downstairs into the kitchen, where a figure was rummaging through the fridge. Despite only being able to see his back, you knew who it was, of course. That was a back you caught your eyes lingering on many times. The way his muscles flexed through the thin shirt had you in a trance. “You’re up early.” He returned the milk carton to the fridge before turning around to see you. You simply hummed back because you couldn’t form coherent thoughts when Carlos looked like this. Sleepy eyes looking back at you from the opposite end of the island, slightly obstructed by his hair that was messy and looked somewhat damp from a shower, you assumed. His voice, raspy from the morning, had your knees buckling. You sit on the island's counter to avoid the embarrassment of passing out simply because he spoke. ”Wow. He cooks and cleans. Is there anything you can’t do, Mr Sainz?” Your eyes flitted from the stack of freshly cooked pancakes to Carlos. His eyes unmistakably darkened at your use of “Mr Sainz”, but his head still shook with a low chuckle, placing his hand on your bare thigh. Picking a strawberry out of the bowl of toppings, you lean towards Carlos. He opens his mouth instinctively to accept the sweet fruit out of your hand, keeping his eyes focused on you and the way you bit your lip when the juice of the strawberry leaked from his lips. His eye contact broke only when your hand reached up to wipe the juice dripping down his chin with your thumb, only to place the thumb in your own mouth to suck off the juice. His eyes connect with yours again, and your close proximity is not lost on either of you. Your hand rests on his flushed cheek, the light stubble scratching your hand as his chest rises and falls. Carlos hums before wrapping his hands around your thighs to pull you towards the edge of the counter and moving in between your legs. Your faces were so close you could feel his warm breath from his slightly parted lips. He looked so pretty, like a prince straight out of Disney that you would have obsessed over when you were younger. You could’ve sworn you saw Carlos’ resolve crumble around you as his hands moved from your thighs to your head to catch your lips in a suffocating kiss. Years of sexual tension between you and Carlos finally being resolved had your head spinning in a whirlwind of lips, wandering hands and the taste of strawberries. The sudden action caused a squeal to leave your lips as your body connected with his, warm and hard. The feeling of his body in between your legs with your oversized shirt riding up and his clothed cock hardening for you from every minuscule movement you made, simply to find more friction and provoke him. Your arms wrapped around his neck, one arm reaching for his back, feeling the tensing muscles through his thin shirt, the other tugging slightly at the hair on the back of his neck, eliciting a silent moan from his mouth. His lips move from yours to your neck, letting your head fall back, and your legs wrap around his torso. Your fingers find the hem of his shirt, tugging slightly before he tugs it over his head, revealing his perfectly toned body, lightly speckled with hair. His lips are on yours again before his hands rest on your hips, inviting you to move them against him. You gasped at the feeling of him right where you needed him, and he used your gasp to delve deeper into your mouth. His fingers grip your hips and pull your shirt up for a better view. The feeling of the cold air and his hands on your overheating body stimulate you beyond belief. You pulled away from the kiss to breathe and look down at the way you slot in perfectly with him. Carlos tilts your head to look at him and lets his thumb rub your swollen and bitten lips. Your lips attach to the skin of his chest, placing light kisses moving down his stomach. “Fuck. Need to feel your lips around me.” he groaned deeply before you pushed yourself off the counter. You find yourself on your knees for him pulling down his grey sweatpants and boxers to reveal his cock spring up. It was intimidating how big he was. If you weren’t so needy, you would’ve made a cliche comment about his size, but there was no need; Carlos already knew. He could tell by your face and subsequently chuckled. Looking up at him through half-lidded eyes while you stroke it, you observe the way his head falls back for a moment from the pleasure before landing back on you, focusing intently on what you’re doing as if he would rather die than miss this. His eyes bore into your own, but not with the chocolate brown colour you know so well. A darker tint of brown has invaded, causing your thighs to clench together. You place the head of his cock in your mouth. The warm feel of it causes an involuntary moan in you that is reciprocated by Carlos. His hand wrapped around your hair, guiding you along his cock and allowing you to take it in full. Caressing it with your tongue, Carlos’ grip on your hair tightened as the muscles in his legs clenched. Carlos has spent so long seeing you flaunt in short skirts and cropped tops around your house. Spent so long watching your long legs as you walked or when you crossed your legs as you sat. Carlos remembers the day he started feeling like this towards you. It was a hot summer day, and he volunteered to drive you and your brother to get ice cream. Seeing the way you lapped up the ice cream as it dripped down your hand and the moan you let out when the cold liquid touched your tongue haunted Carlos’ dreams for weeks. Dreams that resulted in him having to take a long, cold shower. On the drive home from the ice cream parlour, Carlos was silent and painfully hard in his pants as he avoided looking at you in the rearview mirror unless they wanted to completely drive off the road. Carlos couldn’t believe this wasn’t one of his many dreams. You were real and kneeling before him, letting him fuck your pretty little throat. Your cheeks hollowed and wrapped around him tightly before pulling it out and letting your tongue swirl around the tip, catching all the pre cum. Carlos’ small groans start speeding up, as does your mouth on his cock, but he pulls you away using your hair. ”Need to be inside you.” His hands find their way around your thighs again to lift you up and place you back onto the edge of the counter, ripping your panties off and discarding them somewhere in the kitchen. Dipping his finger in the bowl of whipped cream left for forgotten pancakes, he draws a line on the inside of your thigh, stopping before the apex and letting you suck the whipped cream off his finger. Your back connected with the cool surface of the kitchen island, unable to take this amount of pleasure as Carlos dropped his head between your thighs and began lapping up the whipped cream. The frustrated groan you released when Carlos’ tongue stopped before he reached your heat was disrupted when you felt him drag the tip of his cock up and down your needy folds with ease from how slick you were. Your hips rutted towards his, needing him inside you or at least some friction. Finally, he began pushing, feeding his cock into you. Your eyes clenched closed at the overwhelming pressure you felt. No other boy had stretched you out like this, but none of them were Carlos Sainz. The shared moan that left both your mouths once he bottomed out inside you was intoxicating. You shiver momentarily at the loss when he pulls out of you, but all was forgotten as he slams back into you again He was everywhere— around you, inside you. So overwhelmingly good you understood why you waited so long for this. ”Faster, please” Carlos’ grip on your hips tightened, hearing you begging for him, happily speeding up his pace, hearing your little whimpers from every movement. His hand reaches up to grab your tits, kneading and flicking your nipple to perfection. Carlos had to restrain himself from cumming when he saw how sensitive your nipples were and how you responded to him. ”Fuck you’re perfect. This pretty cunt— so wet. all this for me?” His hand left your tits to attack your clit, rubbing in small circles that had you throwing your head back in pleasure. “Answer me.” He ceased his movements on your clit and began thrusting agonisingly slow. You tried moving your hips to find some friction, but his hands pressed your hips into the counter to stop you from moving. ”Fuck Carlos. It’s all for you. It’s always been you.” Carlos sped up once more. Faster than before. Faster than you thought was humanly possible. The sound of an alarm clock upstairs caught you off guard, the thought of someone— let alone your brother finding you like this. Fucking his best friend. And yet, the tightening feeling in your core didn’t disappear but got stronger. ”Please, can I cum?” He slows down, staving off your orgasm. Unable to move your own hips, Carlos set the pace, and apparently, Carlos did not care that someone could walk downstairs at any moment. He wanted to relish in this moment. The feeling of you beneath him and begging for release. He wanted this image to be ingrained into his memory for the rest of his life. “Cum for me, cariño.” Your legs shaking and releasing a moan that was much too loud for comfort, your orgasm hit you at full force. His hand slammed over your mouth to prevent anyone from hearing, although Carlos would love for the whole neighbourhood to hear you scream his name. His thrusts didn’t cease through your orgasm. Instead, they sped up. Twitching inside of you, he asks where you want it. ”Inside me, please. Fill me up.” Mumbling behind Carlos’ hand that was still firmly over your mouth and was now covered in your spit. Without warning, you felt it. Like a warm flood within you, pushed around by Carlos’ slow thrusts. His cum trickled down your thigh when he pulled out, and you both stood there in silence, listening to each other’s heavy breathing. Footsteps walking down the stairs sprung you both into action, however. Wide eyed for a moment before frantically adjusting your shirt back on and Carlos pulling up his sweatpants with no time for his shirt. ”Morning.” Your brother rubbed his eyes as you and Carlos stood behind the island. No panties on you. No shirt on Carlos. Both were discarded somewhere in the kitchen and soon to be found by your brother. “What are you guys doing? Where’s your shirt, mate?” Your brother’s eyes went between Carlos and you as you pretended to just notice that Carlos had no shirt on. ”Oh, pancakes. You want some?” Your brother offering you as if he was the one that made it. You shook your head before seeing the way your brother loaded his pancakes up with strawberries and whipped cream. You had to bite your lip to hold in a laugh as Carlos’ cheeks flushed. Walking behind your brother, you find your panties and Carlos’ shirt, sending him a wink before walking back upstairs with the clothing items in hand. Leaving Carlos to deal with your brother and the pancakes that were now cold.
-
2K notes · View notes
vamossainz55 · 10 months
Text
spanish lessons - carlos sainz jr.
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
summary (drabble, 0.4k) : carlos loves seeing you on your knees. warnings: 18+ , oral, degradation, dumbification?, also leclerc!reader
Carlos has seen you like this a million times before, but the sight of you down on your knees for him is something he could never get sick of. 
Your eyes are half-lidded, cockdrunk with your lipstick smeared all over your lips. You blink at him, tired eyes finding his just as he cups your cheek. “Te estas poniendo tonta eh?” You’re getting stupid hm? Despite his words he seems to pity the state that you’re in, swiping under your bottom lip to get the red tint off. 
You don’t even reply to his question, too preoccupied in taking the moment to breathe. Carlos isn’t impressed though, instead pressing his thumb against your lower lip. 
It’s almost an instinct really, the way your lips part and flutter your eyes towards him. You were always such a whore. 
“Si te hablo me contestas. Okay?” If I talk to you you answer, okay? Despite the heaviness in his voice he’s wearing a smirk on his lips, loving the way you fell apart whenever he could have his way with you. 
He gently guides you forward, taking his painfully hard cock back in his hand. He drags his grip over it a few times, letting out a groan. He doesn’t miss the way your knees move forward, as eager as always.
His free hand goes through your hair, wrapping your locks around his fingers before he experimentally pulls your head back. The moan you let out has him wondering, questioning whether poor Charles can hear you, his little sister, stupid and desperate over his teammate’s cock. 
He’d be lying if he said that didn’t make something inside him stir, but he’s not one to start dramas. He shuts you up with one move, holding back a muffled groan at how your throat feels. It’s not enough to quiet you though, not when you let out a moan around him and he needs to catch your attention by tightening his grip on your hair. 
The way you look up at him, teary eyes but pliant has him almost bucking his hips, forgetting what to say next. He somehow finds the way to push through his words anyways though. 
“Cuidado princesa, si no te callas van a saber que el español no es lo único que te estoy enseñando.” Careful princess, if you’re not quiet they’re going to find out that Spanish is not the only thing I’m teaching you.
2K notes · View notes
curiousthyme · 3 months
Note
In response to this
I would love to see soft, homebody!Carlos: spending time outside watching the sun set on those seemingly endless summer evenings, soft and gentle touches, whispered promises and dreams.
Am also curious to see the origins of her calling him papí 👀 like how did that come about? Did she slip and accidentally call him that or was it a joke that became a lot less funny and a whole lot spicier?
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
there’s an ache in you (put there by the ache in me)
{carlos sainz x fem!reader/oc} ft lando norris
in which carlos unlocks a new kink and confronts his ever-present fear of commitment.
warnings: smut, use of terms of endearment (papi/good girl), some dirty talk, unprotected sex, some angst.
a/n: this was sent in so long ago in response to this and i wanted to complete it in time for your birthday but unfortunately my brain broke. So happy belated birthday Mar! This is for you 💛
Her friend brings it up over lunch. 
“Yeah. ‘Papi’. I’d been thinking about it, and it was just in the spur of the moment when I said it and he, I swear to god, came so hard I think he blacked out.”
She’s accustomed to the dirty laughter, but does not expect the way her own cheeks grow hot at the prospect. 
‘Papi,’ she whispers to herself, testing the unfamiliar word, the way it feels in her mouth. 
Papi. 
She glances over at Carlos who stands with a cold beer in hand with the other boyfriends and husbands. He catches her looking, and gives her a cheeky wink which makes her smile. She wonders how he’d respond if she’d said it - whether he’d be mortified, or worse - if he’d like it. 
She keeps the secret to herself, too ashamed to share the thought with Carlos - but he notices how shy she’s become all of a sudden with him, how her blush hasn’t quite dissipated since lunch. He’s intrigued - wanting to get to the bottom of this.
Later that afternoon, he pulls her into their villa under the guise of wanting to freshen up before dinner. He presses her up against the door to close it, leaning in to kiss her between her giggles of delirious joy. 
“What got you so flustered at lunch, hm,” he asks, between kisses. Her face is cupped between his hands and she shakes it, quickly, leaning up to kiss him again but he stops, giving her an appraising look. “Why won’t you tell me?” His eyes turn mischievous. “Is is dirty?”
She makes a surprised noise that sounds a lot like guilt, in his book. “Oh. Now you have to tell me.”
She turns scarlet. “Carlos, it’s nothing.”
He doesn’t believe her, so he puts his hand up the hem of her sundress, up her thigh to leave goosebumps in the wake of his touch. She makes a sound so hungry he grins. “Tell me, or I won’t touch you like you want me to.” 
His warm hand’s so close to her cunt, she shivers. “Need you to touch me… please, Carlos.”
He stills his fingers, squeezing the inside curve of her thigh. She whimpers, pressing her legs together to feel even the tiniest bit more friction, but he won’t allow it. “Say it, or I’ll stop.”
She bites down on her lower lip, eyes rounding with nervous energy. “It’s… I…”
He sees the worry in her face, and softens a little by kissing the tip of her nose. “There is nothing in the world, querida, that you could say which would make me-”
“Papi.” She blurts out, and then shrinks back against the door, cheeks burning with shame. His eyes widen, but doesn’t take his gaze off her and she doesn’t look away - so transfixed by him. 
“What did you just say?”
His tone is imploring, curious - no hint of judgement, so she feels completely assured to tell him, “I was thinking, all afternoon, about calling you papi while you-”
Carlos’ eyes are so intense, and the surprise on his face has now morphed into pure hot wanting. “While I… what?” he asks, leaning in, and she can feel the bulge of his cock against her thigh. 
The courage to follow through this fantasy she’d built up in her head surges through her veins. She swallows. “While you pinned me down in the bed and fucked me.”
At first, he doesn’t say anything, as if the part of his brain responsible for coherent thought has fractured into pieces by her admission. 
“Carlos…” she says, squirming now, wanting to hide her face in shame, “forget it. I just….”
“No.” He says, firmly, holding her still in his arms. “That… is the hottest thing I’ve ever heard you say.”
She makes a noise, shame and delight colliding in her voice when she speaks. “You like it?”
He nods, grin spreading on his face. “Oh, I more than like it, cariño. It turns me on.”
She swallows, feeling hot all over. “Me too.”
He makes a low sound of approval. “Go on then. Ask me.”
He’s so close - his presence is making her feel drugged. She wraps her hands around the back of his neck and pulls him in until their lips touch, and she whispers, “please take me to bed and fuck me… papi.”
The hitch in his breath is obscene, as if the last thread of his self control and teasing has snapped and now he’s going to take what he wants. He makes this deep growl as he kisses her so fiercely, spurred on by that one singular word she’s thrown in to make him crazy. He drags her to their bed and they fall into it together, hands working fast to pull their clothes off so they can feel the heat of each other’s skin, to kiss until they have to pull away for air. His eyes can’t get enough of her, his lips unable to stop seeking hers out. 
“Papi,” she gasps out, when his thigh slides between her legs and his fingers find the wet aching centre of her, rubbing her clit in circles that making her body a hot, thrumming mess. 
“So wet,” he groans, praise and frustration circling in his voice because he wants to touch, to taste, to fuck all at once. “So good for me, huh? Gonna rub this pretty clit until you come for me, yeah?”
She makes a rough little noise. “Don’t stop, papi. Just like that… fuck.”
Her hips twist up, and his breath goes shallow and ragged when he watches her come, trembling in his arms, her eyes squeezed shut as she cries out the new name she christens him with - papi.
“That’s so hot, when you call me that,” his voice is a low rasp against her neck, where he kisses a spot that pulses with her racing heartbeat. She half-giggles in the delirious afterglow, pulling him close and begs for him to fuck her. 
“Please,” she whines, reaching for the stiff cock she finds. It’s hot and heavy in her hand, and throbs as her hand circles him, and Carlos stretches out over her, his taut, strong body caging her in. She wraps her legs around his hips when he pushes inside her, holding his face and feeling the stretch of him opening her up, invasive and deep, and she completely feels swallowed up by his hypnotic gaze on her, the love in his eyes that don’t even waver one bit. He’s gloriously hers. 
“Papi…” she murmurs, curling her fingers upward now into the lush strands of his hair. She watches as the word takes effect, now that he’s buried inside her - the possessive, authoritative nature of the word becomes a galvanising force for him - the way his breath punches out, his eyes pools of liquid heat and want and his mouth hungry to devour hers. He fucks her until the sheets grow messy and her inner thighs bruise with an ache she never wants to get rid of. 
“Ay papi,” she groans, knowing they’re close… “Quiero - I want to…”
“Yes,” he hisses, as her nails rake down his back, “wanna watch you come, mi vida.”
Her eyes are glassy and wide when she moans papi like a filthy mantra, shaking as he makes encouraging, soothing noises that tell her he likes this, very much.
“That’s my good girl,” he says, when she grips him tightly and dissolves into an orgasm that’s syrupy hot, like warm lava poured through her veins. He doesn’t last long, not after the way her body tightens around him, clenching around his cock and shuddering into his body. He comes, wet and hot and gasping into the curve of her neck and she just holds him close, absorbing the aftershocks of his orgasm that ripple out. 
She kisses his cheek, stroking down the back of his neck that makes him whine softly. “That was so hot,” he confesses, a flush staining his cheeks. 
She’s too spent to say anything else, so she giggles and curls up into him and falls asleep against the warm comfort of his body, the gentling rhythm of his heartbeat.
Later, at dinner on a porch overlooking the sunset, Carlos curls up against her on a divan and won’t let her go. The intimacy is not new, but it feels different, after the afternoon they’ve both had. He feeds her little bites of food and strokes the slope of her arm, her thigh. He’s never been so overtly affectionate with his touches in front of other people, and it’s somehow so comforting and exciting and dizzying all at once. 
He kisses her when the sun fully sets - his lips so warm and soft and eager, and she has to pull away before he gets carried away. “Ay, papi,” she whispers, teasingly, watching his eyes light up, “not here, please.”
“Call me papi again, and I won’t be held responsible for what I want to do to you,” he teases back.
She laughs, and he tips back the glass of wine they share, unable to take his eyes off her. Maybe it’s the comfort of being in the off-season, or the buzzing sensation of their afternoon quickie, but she never wants to leave his side. 
“So when are you two getting married, huh?” A teasing question is thrown in their direction, breaking the spell. 
Carlos looks away first, and she steels herself against this part of him she finds most troubling - his tendency to avoid hefty discussions about the future. She barely hears him when he addresses the whole group with his readily prepared speech about wanting to wait, about having fun first and needing time to make preparations. Everyone laughs, and eventually the conversation turns to casual things. 
She shuffles against him, smiling, but feeling this sinking, unexplainable feeling crop up in her chest. Does he not want to get married? It’s only been a year since they’d started seeing each other, and maybe it is too soon - too fast. 
Carlos seems to sense this shift in her mood, and so after dinner he brings her on a walk through the gardens, his hand loosely entwined with hers.
“How are you feeling, mi amor?” 
She shrugs, giving him a small smile. “It’s been nice to get away. And I had the most fun this afternoon.”
He grins, and tugs her in for a kiss. “Me too. But I want to talk about dinner.”
Her shoulders slump down. “Oh.”
He holds her face and strokes her cheek. “You seemed angry with me.”
She shakes her head. “Not angry.”
He pauses, searching the word out. “Disappointed?”
She bites her lip. “A bit.”
“Is it because I do not ask you to marry me?”
She wants to sigh, because he makes it sound like such an impossible, irrational, silly want. “I just want to know, Carlos, if there’s going to be a future for the two of us.” She strokes his shoulder where his shirt creases, distractedly. “I don’t need you to marry me today, or in a year, if that’s not what you want. I just want to know if it’s going somewhere - if you see yourself building a life with me, living together, having kids with me. I just need to talk about that. I don’t want to just have fun with you.” She shrugs again. “I could have fun with anyone. But I want to make a life with you.”
Carlos goes quiet. In the darkness of the gardens, he looks even more pensive and on edge. 
“I don’t need an answer today,” she says, the blissful buzz of the afternoon fading away. “I just think we-”
“I have an answer,” he says, interrupting. He takes a deep breath and she steadies her heart to prepare herself for what he has to say. He touches her face, fingers feather-light. “I can’t tell you what my life will look like in a year, or in two, or ten. But I love you. I love you so much it makes me afraid that I’m not enough for you, and that one day you will look up from the only life I can give you and regret it so much.”
She doesn’t say anything. It’s just words, but it’s the first time he’s tried to articulate his feelings, his thoughts of the future. “I don’t want you to make my choice for me, Carlos.”
He scrunches his nose at that. “That isn’t what I meant. I want - I want you to know I am in love with you, with what we have now. And I don’t want to lose it for anything.”
She nods, comprehending his fear - that marriage will somehow erode this thing they share. Still, she can’t shake the feeling that he should be brave enough to face this with her - but he’s cowardly, unwilling to venture forward because he’s afraid of falling off the edge. “Is it enough for you, being like this with me?”
He purses his lips, feeling instantly defensive, like there’s a trap at the end of that sentence. “Is it enough for you?”
She gives him a tight smile, and unlinks her fingers from his. “I love you, Carlos, but you know what I want. I need to know there’s something in our future.”
“Am I not enough?” He says, trying to draw her back in, but she keeps her distance, brows furrowed. 
“You’re always enough, Carlos.” She puts her hands in her pockets, suddenly feeling cold. “But this isn’t about you. It’s us, together, being committed to each other forever.”
“Forever is a long time,” he says, but it comes out almost cruel, and he looks pained, like he wants to take it back, but he can’t.
“It is.” She admits, wanting nothing more than to go back to their afternoon - wanting her teasing, playful Carlos back. “But if you have something precious, something you truly love - forever isn’t ever going to be long enough.”
She leaves him in the dust of their conversation, heading back to their villa, sleeping in the bed that’s messy from their afternoon. He doesn’t follow her, and she doesn’t allow herself to cry.
“You’re an idiot,” Lando readily tells him, in the midst of their FIFA game. Lando is beating him 5-0, and yet Carlos feels nothing but numb, thinking about his last conversation with her. They haven’t spoken in two weeks. 
Instead of defending himself like he’s always ready to, he just says, “I know,” and slumps in his seat, watching Lando’s striker put a sixth in the net. He tosses the controller one side and sighs. “I don’t know what I can do, Lando. She wants these things that I cannot give her.”
Lando scoffs. “What? Marriage? Come on, Carlos, be serious. She’s the best person for you.”
He fiddles with his fingers. “It is not an easy life, you know.” And Lando nods, because he does know. “Every day she has to sacrifice for my career, my ambitions. It is a very intense and all-consuming life.”
“Isn’t that her choice? She’s telling you she wants you, in spite of all the shit that being with you comes with. Isn’t that just all that you could ask for?” Lando’s eyes grow narrow, incredulous. “You’re being a complete asshole, you know - making two people suffer because of your stupid fears, your stupid paranoia. Isn’t it time you grew up, Carlos, and took some measure of responsibility for your own damn life?”
He blinks. “Did you just call me immature?”
Lando grins. “Well. I guess so. How the tables have turned.”
Carlos wipes a hand down his face, sinking back further into Lando’s overpriced sofa. “I can’t stand being without her. I love her, Lando.”
Lando makes a frustrated gesture. “So why the fuck are you still on my couch, when she needs to hear these words from you?”
He looks so pained that Lando wants to reach out for him. “What if she wakes up one morning, and she sees me for who I am. That I’m not enough for her? That I can’t protect her from the fears that I could die in this sport, or that the media will tear apart anything and everything she does. Who would choose this life, Lando?”
“I don’t know,” he says, matter of factly, “a woman who loves you more than all that?”
Carlos blinks back the tears in his eyes. “She can’t possibly.”
Lando protests, but Carlos shakes his head. “Even if you what you say is true - she won’t forgive me.” His voice is grim. “It’s too little, too late.”
Lando gives him a withering look. “Mate. You’re so stupid. Are you going to spend your life wondering about what ifs, or are you going to go back there and tell her the god honest truth that you’re scared, but you’re willing to work it out with her?”
Carlos flings his hands up in a gesture of impatience, or maybe it’s hopelessness. “I can’t just show up at her doorstep.”
Lando brightens. “Yeah. Of course not, cabrón. You gotta grovel!”
He frowns. “I don’t know what that is.”
“Like, show you’re very sorry. Apologise. And beg her to take you back.”
“But I don’t know whether what I do will make her take me back?”
Lando gives him a vaguely pitying look. “Well that’s the thing, mate, you won’t know, will you? But if you’re going to just sit here like a coward without even fucking trying, then maybe you didn’t deserve her after all.”
Carlos bristles, but he knows Lando is right. Even a broken clock, he thinks, is right twice a day.
“Will you help me?” He asks, after a pause, and Lando lights up like he’s been waiting for this very opportunity for his whole life. “It has to work,” Carlos says, and Lando nods.
“Don’t worry. It will.”
It’s clear that Lando’s idea of romance and his is very jarringly different. Carlos is thinking of flowers, a dinner at a nice restaurant, but all Lando wants to do is to make a gift basket full of junk snacks. Carlos watches, horrified, as he fills their shopping cart full of snacks his girlfriend (ex?) would never ever touch. 
“These are so good,” he grins, tossing in some chocolate bars, and a pack of sweets that look like curled worms. “She’s going to have to take you back after this.”
Carlos quietly disagrees, but he doesn’t want to throw out any ideas. “I think her taste is a little more refined than this, Lando.”
“Nonsense,” Lando proclaims, wielding a half-crushed packet of biscuits that he claims is excellent, and when his back is turned, Carlos dutifully returns it to the shelf it came from.
Lando insists on ordering a comically large balloon that spells out “this cabrón is sorry” in bright glittery letters, which looms over his head ominously. He scowls at it when it dips too low, hitting him in the head, and it feels like bad luck already.
Lando drives him over, bundling him in the tiny car he owns with the gift basket and the stupid balloon. He pulls up to her driveway, and Carlos feels his throat close up with worry. He’s been to this house a thousand times over, but this time it’s so much weightier. 
Lando turns to put an arm on his shoulder, which gives him a measure of comfort he’s grateful for. “Go get her, Carlos,” he says, and as cheesy as it sounds, it gives him the courage and drive he needs to exit the car (as gracefully as he can with that balloon in one hand, and the wretched gift basket in the other). He saunters over to her doorstep and takes the deepest breath.
He rings the doorbell, and turns only for the briefest moment to see Lando waiting at the side, cheering him on. He’s so nervous, especially with an audience, even if it is only Lando.
She takes her time to answer the door, and he shifts his weight from foot to foot - nervous, sweating already. She comes out with her hair still wet - she’s clearly thrown on some clothes, fresh out of a shower. She smells good - Carlos drinks in the sight of her - her soft skin, still damp, and feels the horrible wistfulness of wanting her slam right into his gut.
“Carlos,” she says, taking him in - his disheveled hair, eyes that look sunken in. A gift basket he’s holding that looks stuffed haphazardly with junk food, and a balloon that spells out an apology. “What are you doing here?”
He swallows, and leaves the gift basket on the floor, looping the balloon’s tie on his wrist. “I wanted to come see you.”
She looks unimpressed, folding her arms over her chest. “What’s the gift basket and balloon for?”
“Peace offering.” 
She raises an eyebrow, equal parts puzzled and amused. “With chocolate digestives and Haribos?”
He groans. “No? Just… never mind the gift basket.” He leans in towards her but she shifts back out of reach - instinctively defensive. He puts up his hands, retreating. “Sorry. I don’t mean to - I know I’ve been so fucking shit to you, and you don’t ever deserve to be put through the hell I made you go through.”
She leans against the frame of her door, giving him an appraising look. He’s still so devastatingly handsome, despite the way his hair seems to have lost just that little bit of its windswept, luscious quality - falling flatly over his forehead, accentuating the dark purple circles under his eyes, his cracked lips. He hasn’t taken good care of himself in the two weeks since she’d last seen him, and she allows her heart to feel just a tad bit sorry for him, even though he does not deserve it at all.
He carries on with a speech he seems to have rehearsed but never quite put together in an orderly fashion. “I miss you. I’m so… I’m so stupid, honestly. It’s not that I don’t want to make a life with you, my love. I don’t want anything to change with us, and I’m scared that…” He pauses, taking a breath. “I’m scared that I’ll be the worst mistake of your life - and marriage… being shackled to me, being forced to live this difficult life with me, and you’ll wake up regretting it all and I couldn’t take that.”
She doesn’t shift her stance. It’s not the angle of apology she wants. “So why are you here, now? I thought we were done. You didn’t even say a thing for two weeks and now you’re here?” She glances at the basket - the balloon - before letting her gaze settle back onto him, and suddenly he feels so small, so insufficient. 
He takes in a breath. “You’re right. It’s not enough.”
She watches the balloon sag a little above his head, amused at the parallels of Carlos’ own deflation. “And I’m supposed to believe that you changed your mind in all of two weeks?”
“I told you I’m an idiot.” 
She doesn’t refute the point. “Well, maybe I’ve changed my mind.”
He blinks, like an animal backed into a corner, and sees the resoluteness on her face, as certain as a death sentence. “Oh,” is all he manages - because this is his worst fear realised. He knows that now - he’s too late to repair things. No apology will ever be enough. “Yes that… I won’t blame you if you did.”
She watches his face fall, feeling her heart go out to him. She pokes hard at his chest, which makes him wince. “You said being with you is the most difficult thing. But it’s not the racing that’s difficult, Carlos. It’s you and your stupid, preconceived notions of what I can take. What I want.”
His eyes round with a sadness that makes her heart ache. “I get that now. You have every right to be disappointed with me, with my stubbornness, with how much of a coward I am.”
She purses her lips, steeling her heart against those sad, sorry eyes. “You’re goddamn right.”
He nods. “Yes. I know what I’ve done is terrible. I’ve hurt you, and that was the last thing I want to do. I have been selfish, arrogant, and most of all - I haven’t been fair to you, and I haven’t listened.” He takes a breath, as if bracing himself. “I’m so sorry. I want to say - I love you. I want to be with you. Until you don’t want me any more - but even then I’d still want you. Beg you to take me back.”
She doesn’t say anything, and so he takes this as a chance to carry on.
“You don’t have to forgive me,” he murmurs. “But I’m just asking for a chance to be able to love you like you deserve. To earn back your trust.” He dares to flash her a little smile. “Have you call me papi again.”
The memory of their last fuck flits through her mind, and she can’t help the warmth that floods through her. She feels this conflict within her somehow - does she dare to be vulnerable with him again, as she had that afternoon? To share not just new kinks again with him, but her whole life, her trust?
He’s giving her those glassy, wide eyes, so brown and beautiful she could drown in them. She’d thought being with him for so long would make her immune to him at this point. 
Evidently not.
Carlos is ever patient, watching every micro-expression that crosses her face, and putting them through the encyclopaedia of her feelings that he’s not realised he’s subconsciously catalogued over the course of their relationship.
The furrow of her brow. Dilemma.
The glassy quality in her eyes. Sadness.
The way she absently bites down on her bottom lip as she looks at him. 
Hope, maybe?
And yet - her shoulders sink down. She exhales, and his breath catches in his throat. He reaches for her, but all she does is push his hand away. 
He says her name, a soft pleading murmur. 
But she shakes her head. “I can’t… I don’t know, Carlos. I need some time.”
Fuck. This was not what he thought would happen. But he knows it’s not his choice. It’s hers to make. And he will respect whatever she wants. Whatever she needs.
It’s no longer just about him. He knows this. 
He lets the silence hang between them for a moment, even as he feels the last vestiges of hope fade away. He glances absently at the gift basket, kneeling down to tie the balloon to its handle, before nodding resolutely. “Of course,” he says, voice flat, “take all the time you need. You know where to find me.”
-
Lando watches as Carlos slinks back to the car, tail between his legs, looking worse for wear. His mouth is agape - he can’t help it.
“What happened mate? What did you say? What did she say?”
Carlos throws up his hands in frustration, in despair. “I don’t know, Lando. But I gave her everything. All the sorrys I had. I promised to be better. To do better. To give her a life together. And you know what?” His eyes are wide and wet and resigned. “It wasn’t enough. And that’s… that’s on me.”
Lando pulls him into a hug, and in contrast to the tight squeeze of his arms, Carlos’ dangle loosely by his sides. His chest is heaving into Lando’s, and he feels a protective instinct rise up in him. He’s never seen Carlos so broken before. 
Lando doesn’t know what to say, how to make it better, because he can’t. It’s her decision, after all. But he wishes it were all different, of course - for the sake of his friend’s happiness, because he deserves to be happy, deserves to love this woman in a way that Lando knows Carlos is capable of. 
Without fear. No holding back.
They hug for what feels like hours, until Carlos sniffles and pulls back slightly. His face is splotchy, tear-stained, and Lando’s heart goes out to him.
“Let’s go get a burger, yeah?” He says, because at least if his stomach is full, maybe his heart won’t feel so broken anymore. 
Carlos nods, spurred on by the thought of drowning his sorrows in greasy fast food, and signals for Lando to drive on, to pull into reverse and-
Lando falters as he glances into the rear view mirror.
And Carlos just looks at him, curious. “Why are you stopping?”
Lando blinks, and turns swiftly in his seat. “Mate. Turn around.”
Carlos follows suit, and he cannot believe what he sees.
She’s standing there, on the road now where they’re parked - his stupid, apology balloon held in her hand, and the look on her face is clear as day.
He thinks it might be forgiveness. Or maybe it’s his mind playing cruel tricks on him - ever so stupidly hopeful. 
He swallows. Brushes his hand back through his unruly hair. She looks so beautiful his heart aches.
Lando is the one that snaps him out of it, all but shoving him out the door with a yell of, “go to her, man!”
He bolts out the car that very second, not even bothering to slam the door shut as his legs carry him to her - eating up the distance between them in seconds. 
His heart is thudding in his chest - he feels like he’s on the cusp of something so precious and yet he feels so anxious he could combust from the anticipation. She looks at him with those beautiful eyes that hold his entire world, and wonders how he could have ever thought of leaving her. 
It’s such an unthinkable, stupid notion.
He stands in front of her now, so close and yet it’s not close enough - his chest brushing hers, her sweet scent engulfing them. 
She looks up at the balloon looming over their heads, and Carlos follows where her gaze is, seeing the words ‘this cabrón is sorry’ etched in gaudy glitter on them.
“One chance,” she says to him, and he nods fervently, solemnly. 
She releases her grip, and the balloon floats from her hand, freed into the sky, and Carlos watches it go with palpable relief. 
She winds her arms around him tight, and he breathes out all the tension he’d been holding for the last two weeks, catching her up in his arms and holding her so tight because he’s afraid if he lets go, this dream will turn to dust.
“You’re still an idiot who has so much to make up for,” she tells him, and he nods, agreeing, but relief floods him for the fact that her defenses have crumbled just a little - she’s ready to give him a chance. One that he will not waste. Ever.
He knows he won’t take this for granted - her willingness to overlook all his stupidity, his flaws - because she loves him - she can’t help but love him.
“I’ll never let you go again,” he vows solemnly, and she laughs. 
“You‘ll have to put me down at some point, Carlos.”
He shakes his head, pretending to be stubborn. “I love holding you like this too much.”
And somewhere in their teasing, exchanged laughter, his mouth finds hers and there’s that magical spark in their kiss to smooth over the tensions and frustrations of the past two weeks. His hands slide into her hair and she makes a soft noise and calls him papi, and he answers back with a content hum of his own.
From the car, Lando feels his heart flood with inexplicable warmth, watching Carlos embrace her, and for the tiniest millisecond, he allows his cynical heart to believe that true love just might exist.
Does he deserve forgiveness? Debatable. But well… I’m a softie and silly for him. So a happy ending was the only one I was willing to accept. I also really adored writing Lando in this so much!
ever so grateful to my bestie @percervall who got to see this first and helped me beta-read through it 💛 I hope you liked it, even if it is a month late (or eleven months early) for your birthday 😂
many thanks also goes to @bipanda for answering my questions about the use of the word “papi”.
please pardon any errors in my tiny foray back into writing, because I seem to have forgotten what it means to write anything and my brain broke for a month. So - here it is. The fic I’d been wanting to write for ages and I finally buckled down to just finish it, even if the ending was perhaps a little rushed / wishful thinking.
Would love to know what you thought!
love, ives
732 notes · View notes
charles-leclerizz · 18 days
Text
🏎️ ๋࣭ ⭑blue views
Tumblr media
🏁 Pairings : Carlos Sainz X fem! Reader
🏁 Warnings : smut [nothing major, listed at the end of the writing], fluff, stress [which is aliviated by the smut]
🏁 Word Count : 3.6k words (3612 words)
🏁 Summary : It’s time to celebrate! For everyone else that is. You, on the other hand, will be planning your’s and your fiance’s “engagement week” festivities, until you die. That is, until an impromptu intervention is planned.
🏁 translations via radio comm below
🏁 credits : word dividers by @heavenlayt
🏁 Music player : Good to be by Mark Ambor
Tumblr media
“Carlos!” You shouted out, leaning back against the heel of your soft wedges as you reached behind you for more cocktail glasses. The sound of your fiancé’s loafers against the terracotta staircase echoed throughout the ground level as he made his way to the kitchen, where you were working alongside half a dozen cooks.
“Si, Mariposa?” He came up behind you, plucking the crystal margarita glass from your fingers and taking a sip of the peachy, carbonated concoction that you had masterfully created. You giggled when he hummed happily and kissed your neck, “It’s delicious.”
“Ay, Ay, Señor. Tienes que esperar a la luna de miel” An elderly voice scolded from your left followed with a hollow bonk. Carlos hissed, rubbing the back of his head where a thick wooden rolling pin had struck him playfully, “You wound me, Maria.”
He followed with a pained “Literally.” When Maria had merely shot him a fond look over her shoulder as she went back to washing the tomatoes in the deep-set ceramic sink.
“You’re absolutely sure that everyone got the invites?” You leaned down to inspect the dozen drinks that you had made, “Because we invited at least 60 people, and if I make 60 drinks and there are not exactly 60 throats present to ingest them. You are going to remain abstinent until we’re married.”
Carlos stared at you open mouthed, a betrayed expression overtook his face, “So you would choose Maria’s wishes over mine? muy cruel.” He then bought his hands up from your waist to brush your hair from your shoulder, dragging his fingers up your arm-he slipped off the thin spaghetti strap of your white, cotton summer dress to press short, sweet kisses on your skin, “I mean can you really resist this?” He reasoned.
“It would be very easy Mi Amour.” You harrumphed, ignoring the tingling shocks that fluttered beneath your skin at the drag of his lips against your shoulder. You jolted forward when you felt his other hand travel from your waist, down to the front of your dress, “Carlos- I have so much to do. I mean I promised Alex and Lily I would make trifle for dessert, but then your parents have this one friend who hates custard! I mean did you hear the story, he literally puked, and I will not have him puke in my engagement party, nope. Not on my watch.”
You wagged your finger in the air before grabbing another five glasses from their upside-down position on the kitchen island where you were working. Taking the washcloth that sat comofortably in the front pocket of your plaid apron, you began wiping away the droplets of water from the crystal before continuing to babble about your long list of duties for the upcoming week of festivities.
“So, I need to also make these cute fruit tarts that I made that one time. But then I realised that Charles and Max hate kiwi, and the whole dessert is basically that, so for them I’m making this great chocolate gateau, the one at the restaurant? Since they really fucking liked that one.”
You grumbled out the last part, crushing up your freshly picked strawberries that had previously been resting in a metal strainer along with a cream, cotton cover up to keep them moist. The marble mortar grinded against the matching pestle as the sweet fruits reduced to a thick paste.
“On top of that the other like, 40 guests have very specific wants, so I have 20 different things to make along with this signature drink that Jenni designed for us! You know her, right? the bar tender at the other restaurant in Monaco, I learnt how to make it, and you said its good. It’s good right?”
You add a few cups of carbonated water to the pinkish paste in front of you, before turning back to Carlos, who had been patiently listening to you rant- mainly due to the fear that if he were to stop, you would give his ear the same treatment as the berries that remain crushed beneath you, “Si, mi mariposa. Very good.”
You sighed before fully spinning around to face him, resting your back on the dark wood counter, looping your hands around his neck, “I’m sorry Carlito.” You brush a singular strand of hair that fell from its carefully crafted style onto his forehead, “This isn’t very fun for you, is it?” You move onto your tiptoes to reach his cheek.
“Nonsense, I have Papa and Guillermo coming to help with the decorations outside, I think Blanca and Mama are also coming- to help.” He chuckles when you groan happily and bring his head down to kiss his lips graciously.
“Thank you, Mi Amour.” You murmur against his mouth, running your fingers through his hair as his arms came to circle your waist, pulling you against his chest. You sigh against him, melting in his embrace as you barely manage to hold yourself up and anchor yourself on his broad shoulders that strain against the baby blue polo top, he chose to wear.
“AY, SEÑOR,” Maria bumped Carlos slightly as she came rushing through the walkway, trotting determinedly through the low, exposed brick archway and outside to the patio area that was protected from the morning sunrays by the lattice structure that stood tall whilst being overtaken by winding ivy.
Beneath this, Maria sat down at least 3 trays full of freshly sliced vegetables, sun drying them as preparation for the multiple dishes that would be served that evening, “Si no estás aquí para aportar nada útil, sal de la cocina.” She screeched whilst heading to the other side of your estate, towards the large garden that housed many seasoned plants, ready with multiple fruits and vegetables for plucking.
“I think she will cook me next.” He shuddered before laying his forehead on yours, “Do not worry, Mariposa. Everything will turn out fine.”
“Why did I suggest an engagement week.” You pouted, nuzzling your head into his chest, to hide away from all the responsibilities you had brought onto yourself. You shake your head wildly, causing flurries of hair to escape from the bun you had messily done up, “All I know is that it must go well. Maria will for sure have a heart attack if it doesn’t,”
“I still think it’s a good idea” He comforts you, until the melodic sound of the doorbell resounds throughout the house, and he detaches from you, “That must be the back-up.” He winks at you as he jogs off to open the large, rustic door. You watch from the kitchen as Carlos laughs boisterously whilst embracing his family.
His mother and sister quickly wave him off, ushering the men out to the acres of back garden they have yet to decorate to approach you.
Blanca dances up to you, wiggling her arms and hands excitedly as she beams at your exhausted face, “There she is! Beautiful bride-to-be, our mariposa.” The knee length dress she chose skims her legs as the burgundy silk falls from her shoulders delicately, she hugs your neck tightly, swinging you both side to side whilst you flail around.
“Hola, diabla.” You chuckle, catching your mother-in-law’s eyes, you wait until Blanca removes herself from you for Reyes to do the same, but instead of violently rotating you like a ragdoll, she rubs your back and coos sympathetically.
“Ay mi muñeca, you look too tired to be a blushing bride.” She moves her arms from being drawn around your neck to rub your shoulders.
“What can I say? There’s too much to be done for me to be blushing.” You shrug, already going back to pouring out 10 more drinks, adding to the sea of glasses in front of you.
Blanca tuts disapprovingly, “This is not what being engaged is meant to be, it’s meant to be fun! And new! And sexy!” She waggles her eyebrows suggestively, ignoring her mother who had picked up your to-do list and hid her face in the paper.
“Blanca, please.” Reyes rolled her eyes, “But she’s not wrong.” She reaches for a spare apron that hung rejected on the back of the pantry door.
“No, mamá please,” You attempt to snatch the apron away from Reyes, who tuts disapprovingly and had already begun to collect multiple utensils from your spacious kitchen whilst talking quickly with the cooks who had been diligently making progress on the rest of the menu, “I can’t possibly allow you to do my work.”
Blanca plucked the neatly tied bow around your waist, undoing the stained, pale blue cotton that protected your dress, “No, your job is to relax, and let my culo brother treat you nicely. Champagne, strawberries, chocolate.” She listed off the aphrodisiacs one by one, pushing you through the living room and up the stairs. You braced yourself on the railing as you let her guide you through the landing.
“I have all of that in the food that I should be making,” You whined, stomping your foot, and swivelling to level her with your eyes, “There is just too much to do before tonight. And the boys don’t even know what to do for decorations.”
Blanca swatted her hand through the air, as if physically plummeting away your doubts, “You’ve had the entire family added on your Pinterest board.” You snorted at that, but pressed your lips together when she shot you a look, “If I can’t whip them into shape, consider me a bad sister from day 1.” She planted her hands on her waist before pointing at your bedroom door, “Now either you can start yourself a bath, or I will.”
You harrumph and dig your feet into their spot on the newly waxed, wooden floors beneath you, “I see how it is.” Blanca squints her eyes at you, “Fine, I see how it is.”
You half expect her to push you into the room, but instead she leans over the banister and shouts, “CARLOS !!”
“Blanca!” You gasp, grabbing her dress and tugging her back from the beam, “W-Why would you?” You splutter.
“AY CARLOS !!” She continues to screech until you slap a palm over her mouth, careful of the nude brown lipstick she had worn.
“Si diabla?” Your fiancé shouts back up, already at the base of the staircase. Blanca licks your hand, causing you to yelp and jump back, giving her the perfect opportunity to answer, “Your fiancé is anxious as fuck.”
“What else is new?” He chuckles, hand braced on the railing as he emerges from the winding staircase. Carlos takes in the new scene, you are tackling Blanca onto the floor, she’s squealing whilst attempting to wrangle free from you, tummy first on the floor, “Mi amour, if you are going to leave me for my sister...” He starts, crossing his arms and tilting his head at you.
“You both are insufferable.” You grit out, twisting the knob to your bedroom, wating for Carlos to step inside. He stops momentarily when Blanca darts an arm out and begins to ramble to him in Spanish, Carlos answers just as quickly before his sister reaches up to smack the underside of his head.
“Blanca!” He shouts out after her, but she ignores him and sprints downstairs to assist with the preparations. Carlos turns back to you, slumping forward to rest his head against the door frame that you were currently leaning on, arms folded amusedly as you looked at him from under your eyelashes. He pivots his neck, gazing fondly into your eyes, “You’re pretty.” He mumbles, bringing a limp hand up to rest on your cheek, thumb moving soothingly against your face. You lean into his touch, “So are you” You breathe out, leaning upwards to ghost your lips over his.
This moment was merely poetic, the two of you, finding respite in the chaos within each other. His soft touch as he leaned forward for more, you grant it, because you craved him as deeply as he did for you. The astringent sweetness of his lips against yours and the heavenly feeling of his fingers cradling your hips made you moan out as he caught you weight when your knees gave out from beneath you.
The door creaked shut behind the two of you, your palms digging into the waistline of his shorts to tug his shirt out, his fingers dance down from your neck to the large cut-out of your dress that showed off the curve of your spine. Carlos broke away from you momentarily, his eyes still shut as he chuckled when you whined, chasing his lips desperately, “Jump,” He murmured, bracing himself by tugging you close and digging his fingers into the back of your thighs.
You complied, hopping into his secure hold before attaching your mouth to his once again, nipping at his full bottom lip. Carlos passed through the bedroom with ease, his muscle memory allowing him to walk underneath the long archway that led to your shared bathroom. He released you gently, his fingers pinching the hem of your dress on your way down, he bunched up the flowy linen, dragging it up to your waist and tugging it over your head- leaving you in just a pair of white, lacy underwear.
You laughed slightly, your hair mussed at taking over half of your face, “Carlos” you huff out. He laughs at your annoyance, gently moving the strands out of your eyes before tracing the dips and curves of your chest and stomach with feather-light touches.
Sighing, you tilt your head back, allowing him to press his lips against the column of your neck. You loop your hands around his neck, stumbling backwards towards the sink whilst bringing him with you. Carlos hoists you up and onto the counter, finally stepping back to gaze at your naked body, his eyes ravish you, the stiff peaks of your breasts and curve of your stomach, you watch him intently when he finally makes his way down to your panties, a damp patch already forming.
Carlos approaches you once again, his breath fresh and minty against your skin, “Tan bonita.” He compliments, trailing warm, open mouth kisses on your collar bone, starting from your shoulder until he reaches your sternum, “Tan deliciosa.” He moves to your breast, decorating it with his own purple-ish love marks, he littered them across until he enveloped your nipple into his mouth, his tongue licking against the pebble until it hardened beneath his attention.
Carlos turned his attention to the other whilst his other hand slipped beneath the elastic of your underwear, his middle finger teasing your wet slit, “all for me?” he moaned against your breast.
“of course.” You bury your hand in his hair, arching into his touch before he lowered to his knees in front of you.
“F-fuck” you whine, biting your lip harshly as he settles between your legs, he shucks you closer, harshly tugging you to the edge of the counter as he inches his mouth closer, hot breathe settling on the front of your underwear. You arch your back at the feeling, fingers teasing your peaked nipple, “please,” you whisper, eyes darting down to where Carlos had begun to lave lazily at your newly soaked panties.
“Please what? Huh?” He whispers, tongue darting out to push further into your throbbing hole. You whine, thighs threatening to clamp shut around his head, your hand inches down to shyly tug at his hair and guide him closer to your leaking cunt, “can’t even talk now? ‘s okay mariposa. I’ll take care of you.” He promises, laying one of your legs over his shoulder.
You breathe hitches slightly when you feel him drag his lips up your hip, only for his teeth to sink into your underwear band, trailing it off you.
You scrunch your eyes with a gasp when his kisses trail up from your ankle, to your calf and towards the inside of your thigh- you growl playfully when you hear him chuckle and coo up at you, “you were just stressed...” he pressed an open mouthed kiss to your skin, “being so diligent..” he continued, tongue ghosting over your leaking folds, “so perfect.”
“Carlos,” You moan, scratching your nails against his scalp, “you’re being mean. Hah. It’s not good to be mean to your future wi-“you cut yourself off with a scream, well, a muffled one, you managed to cover your agape mouth with your hand. He dove into your sex, tongue searing through you as he fucked the muscle steadily into you, curling it to poke gently at the sensitive, spongy part within you.
Carlos let his eyes flutter shut, the sweet taste of you staining itself onto his tongue, how he could stay like this forever, fuck the dinner, he only ever wanted to taste you. Only you.
“taste so good,” he panted against you, his tongue nudging your clit, in an oh-so delicious way that made you bite down on your fingers to stop your needy moans leaking down from the open, semi-circle window towards your in-laws, who were dedicatedly preparing your back garden to host a multitude of people.
“uh uh mariposa, quiero oír tu voz.” He reached up with one hand, tugging your palm away from your still open mouth.
“I-“you gulp heavily, trying to unscramble your mind from its mush state, “I- wan’ want more, need you to- do something please.” You bring your other leg to his shoulder, locking him between your limbs.
Carlos huffs out a laugh, biting playfully at your tender skin, he brings up one hand laying his fingers gently against your pussy lips, creating a ‘V’ to spread them wide, exposing the sensitive area to the midday warmth. And then, he spat, a fat string slowly drips from his mouth to land directly on your hole, he gawks at it with interest, his large puppy-dog eyes shining with lust.
You blush and cover your face, “come on- please? I’ve been soo good, did ever’thin you wanted.” You babbled, gyrating your hips against his face, baiting him into pleasuring you again until the delicious wave reached the crown of your skull until the tips of your toes.
“have you? You been my good girl? Hm?” He arches a brow at you, but stops you from answering when he lays his tongue flat against your clit, gently shaking his head side to side until you begin to shake and whine, “yeah, I know mi amor, se siente bien, ¿sí?” he whispers, prodding you cunt with his index finger, “you want it, don’t you?”
You hummed, eyes widening as though he had proposed all over again, “yeah, come on, please, pretty please with a- ahh,” once again, he wouldn’t let you finish your pleading, instead, he answered you with your prize, him pushing his fingers into you, your wetness dripping down into his palm and along his wrist.
Obscene squelches echoed through the bathroom, along with explicit sounds of his knuckles slapping against your skin and your high-pitched moans.
“yes- oh, don’t stop.” You sobbed, tears pricking at your eyes when he thrusted in a second finger, stretching you out whilst he crooked his digits to continue stimulating your g-spot mercilessly.
“don’t plan on it,” he promised, delving back in for another sacred taste, he tongue worked wonders against you, drinking in your nectar as though from the gods- letting in slip down his throat graciously. You groaned and bit your lip harshly, arching your back at angles that chiropractors would wince at until you could feel that euphoric feeling begin to bloom within your stomach.
Your walls fluttered around Carlos’ fingers, making him smirk against you and continue his movements, hungrily licking and slurping at you until your toes curled and eyes crossed over, “fuck,” you grit out, gasping laboriously as the tight knot finally snapped and torrential pleasure rained over you.
“te entendí my love,” He crawled over you, bracing himself above with his hands planted on the thick, white marble countertop you were currently blissed out on.
You brought your shaky hands up to his face, kissing him gently, “what about-hah, what about you,” you panted, wrapping your arms around him, continuing to softly brush your lips against his face. His temple, stubbled cheek, and muscled neck.
“We still have-“ He looked down at the heavy, silver Rolex on his wrist, “40 minutes, until Blanca comes hunting for us.” Carlos looked over to the floating bath that sat in front of the Juliet balcony, “and we have a bath.”
“That is just by a huge ass window,” You reminded him, glancing over to the open doors, revealing the intricate black grill of the balcony along with the pristine view of your tall trees that lined the well-kept entertaining space of your garden.
“Well, I doubt they don’t know what’s going on, I mean, my sister probably told them to leave a box of condoms outside.” He shrugged.
“In that case,” You started, your low whisper a mere breath of warm air between the two of you. Marinating hard and heady eye contact with him, you reached down to take his hand in yours, then slipped the two fingers that still dripped with your wetness, into your mouth.
Carlos stared at the sight, a short, strangled noise leaving him when you popped out his digits with an all too innocent noise, “Better make the most of it,” You leaned back against the mirror, hand open for him to carry you.
He groaned, shaking his head slightly before hoisting you in his arms, “best 40 minutes of my life.”
Tumblr media
[Smut warnings : alot of kissing, fingering, sucking, love-bites, fem! oral recieving, fem! fingering recieving.]
Tumblr media
📻 Kcccchh.... come in.... come in...translatiion available...over
📻 Kchh...Spnish..to engli..sh....over
Ay, Ay, Señor. Tienes que esperar a la luna de miel - Oh, Oh, Lord. You have to wait for the honeymoon
muy cruel - very cruel
AY, SEÑOR - OH, SIR
Si no estás aquí para aportar nada útil, sal de la cocina - If you're not here to contribute anything useful, get out of the kitchen.
mariposa - butterfly
Hola, diabla - Hello, devil
Ay mi muñeca - Oh, my doll
Si, diabla? - Yes, devil?
Mi amour - My love
Tan deliciosa - So delicious
Tan bonita - So beautifull
quiero oír tu voz - I want to hear your voice
te entendí, mi amor, se siente bien, ¿sí? - I understood you, my love, it feels good, yeah
📻 Kchhhhh.loosing sign....al.....kcchh....over and out...
355 notes · View notes