Toto walks into the room, his footsteps heavy, as though the weight of the day still hangs on him. The door closes with a soft click, and for a moment, he doesn't say anything. He takes in the sight of you, sitting at the edge of the bed, back hunched, hands fidgeting in your lap.
Something’s off. He notices it immediately, but he doesn’t rush in. You’ve been together long enough that he knows — whatever it is, you’ll tell him.
He loosens his tie, eyes not leaving you. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” His voice is deep, steady, almost casual, but you can hear the faint undercurrent of concern. He moves closer, and his presence fills the room.
You swallow hard, fingers still twisting. How do you even start? The air feels thick with what you haven’t said yet, what you can barely admit to yourself. Your heart pounds in your chest, loud enough you think he might hear it.
“Toto …” your voice comes out softer than you expected, almost wavering. You hate the way it sounds. Weak. Uncertain. That’s not you, but right now, sitting there, it’s all you can muster.
He stops, eyes narrowing just slightly, sensing the shift in the air. “What is it?” He sits down beside you, close enough that your shoulders almost touch, but he doesn’t reach for you. Not yet.
You breathe in. And out. Trying to gather the words in your mind before they slip through your fingers. But no matter how many times you’ve rehearsed it, nothing comes out the way you planned.
“I’m not … I’m not re-signing.” Your words are a whisper at first, as if that might lessen the impact, make it easier. But it doesn’t. If anything, it hangs in the air between you both, heavy, unmovable. “After the season. I’m not staying.”
Silence. It’s suffocating.
Toto’s face doesn’t change immediately. He just stares at you, and you can’t tell what’s going through his mind. His jaw tightens almost imperceptibly. He doesn’t speak, doesn’t even breathe for a second, as though he's waiting for you to say more, to explain yourself, to take it back.
But you don't.
“You’re leaving Mercedes,” he finally says, voice low, as if testing the weight of those words.
“Yes.” You glance at him, eyes searching his face, trying to find something, anything. Anger? Disappointment? Hurt? But he’s unreadable, his expression as calm as ever. That, more than anything, makes you anxious. He’s too calm. “I’m going to McLaren.”
Toto’s silence is unbearable. You watch him, every second stretching longer, his gaze sharp and unflinching. He doesn’t react, doesn’t move. The tension between you both is suffocating, and you can feel your palms sweating.
“Toto, say something,” you murmur, the plea almost involuntary. You hadn’t meant to sound so desperate, but you need him to speak, to give you something.
He stands abruptly, the motion fluid, decisive, the way he moves when he’s in control — because he always is. Even now, when everything feels like it’s spinning out of control, he manages to make it seem effortless. He turns his back to you, his broad frame casting a shadow across the room.
His voice, when it comes, is colder than you expected. “McLaren.” It’s not a question.
You nod, even though he can’t see you. “I’ve thought about it for a while.”
He laughs, but there’s no warmth in it. “Have you?” He paces to the other side of the room, hands coming to rest on his hips as he stares at the far wall. His back is still to you, and you hate it, hate that you can’t see his face, can’t read what he’s feeling.
“I know this is hard,” you say softly, your hands now gripping the edge of the bed, knuckles white. “But-”
He whirls around suddenly, cutting you off. His eyes, once calm, now blaze with something you’ve rarely seen directed at you. “You’ve thought about it for a while,” he repeats, voice dangerously quiet. “But you didn’t think to talk to me before deciding.”
Your heart sinks. You knew this would come. You knew he'd be upset. But the way his voice cuts through you, cold and controlled, is worse than you imagined.
“I didn’t-” You stop, collecting yourself. “I didn’t want to complicate things. I wanted to make the right decision for myself first, before … before talking to you.”
Toto stares at you, and for a moment, you swear you see a flicker of something — hurt, maybe — flash across his face. But it’s gone before you can grasp it, replaced by that familiar, impenetrable wall he puts up when things get too close.
“McLaren,” he says again, and this time his voice is laced with disdain. “You think you’ll have more success there?”
“I think I’ll have a fresh start,” you reply, forcing the words out, even though you know they’ll sting. “I need something different. It’s not about you.”
Toto steps forward, closing the distance between you in an instant. His presence looms over you as he stands in front of you, his expression fierce but restrained. “It’s not about me? You think I don’t know that?” His voice is low, barely above a whisper, but it carries the full weight of his emotions. “It’s about you and your career. I’ve always known that. I’ve always supported that.”
Your eyes drop to the floor. “I know you have.”
“Then why didn’t you trust me enough to tell me?”
His question slices through you, and you feel the weight of it. There’s no easy answer. You didn’t tell him because you knew this moment would be like this — tense, emotional, difficult. You didn’t want to see the look on his face, the one he’s wearing right now.
“I didn’t know how,” you admit, voice breaking slightly. “I didn’t want to hurt you.”
“You’ve already done that.” His words are sharp, but not cruel. They’re just true, and that truth hangs between you both, impossible to ignore.
There’s another silence, heavier than the last, and you feel the gravity of what you’ve just done sinking deeper. It’s not just about leaving Mercedes. It’s about leaving him, in a way. The life you’ve built together, the team you’ve been a part of for so long — it’s all intertwined with him. And now you’re walking away from it.
Toto’s eyes are fixed on you, unwavering, and it’s like he’s waiting for you to change your mind, to take it all back. But you don’t.
“McLaren,” he says one more time, almost like he’s tasting the word, testing how it feels in his mouth. Then, without another word, he turns on his heel and walks toward the closet, his stride purposeful, every step filled with determination.
You watch him go, your chest tight, heart pounding in your throat. You want to call out to him, to say something, anything, but you can’t find the words.
He disappears into the closet, and the sound of the door shutting behind him feels final.
The room is silent. The weight of everything hangs heavy in the air, and you sit there, frozen, your heart aching with the realization of what you’ve just done.
You’ve made your decision.
But the consequences … you didn’t anticipate them feeling like this.
***
You hear the sound of hangers clattering softly, shifting against the rail in the closet. It’s the only noise breaking the silence in the room, and it feels unnerving, foreign, like you’re waiting for something you don’t understand.
You shift on the bed, unable to sit still, your hands wringing in your lap. You bite the inside of your cheek, trying to figure out what to do, what to say next. You expect him to come out any second, to say something, to confront you again with the same unflinching gaze and words that cut deep. But he doesn’t.
The minutes drag on, and the sound from the closet doesn’t stop. You can’t shake the feeling that something’s happening in there, that he’s not just getting space to breathe.
Finally, after what feels like an eternity, the rustling quiets. The closet door creaks open, and Toto steps out.
But he’s not empty-handed.
Your breath catches in your throat when you see what he’s holding. A long, silver spreader bar, polished, gleaming in the dim light of the room. At either end, sleek leather anklets dangle, waiting. You blink, unsure if you’re seeing it right. This isn’t something you’ve ever seen before. You didn’t even know he owned anything like this.
Toto stands there, still and calm, his expression unreadable as he holds the bar in front of him. His eyes lock onto yours, and for a second, you’re speechless.
“What … what is that?” Your voice is shaky, unsure.
He tilts his head slightly, studying your reaction, not in any rush to answer. Finally, after a pause, he says, “A spreader bar.” His tone is measured, cool. “I think you know what it’s for.”
Your heart skips a beat. You do, of course. You’ve heard of them, but you’ve never actually been in a situation where one has made an appearance. Certainly not here, not with him. The weight of the moment suddenly shifts, turning from tense confrontation into something else entirely.
“What are you doing, Toto?” You ask, though you aren’t sure you want to know the answer.
He steps closer, slow, deliberate. His presence, as always, dominates the room, but now it feels different. The air crackles with an intensity you haven’t felt in a long time, maybe ever. His eyes never leave yours, dark, calculating, as though he’s waiting for you to react.
"You’re making decisions about your future,” he says, voice low, controlled. “I think it’s only fair I remind you who’s in control right now.”
The words send a shiver down your spine, but it’s not fear. No, it’s something else entirely. Something deeper, more visceral. You can’t look away from him, even though part of you wonders if you should. The other part — well, the other part is curious, intrigued by the shift in him.
He holds the spreader bar out slightly, as if testing its weight in his hand. “I don’t like being blindsided,” he continues, his voice firm, unwavering. “Especially not by you.”
“Toto,” you begin, but he cuts you off with a look, his eyes sharp, focused. You fall silent.
“I understand why you’ve made your choice,” he says, his tone still low, almost too calm. “But now, you’re going to listen to me.”
He steps even closer, close enough that you can feel the heat of his body as he towers over you. The spreader bar is still in his hand, its presence as dominant as his. “I’ve let you make decisions for yourself, always supported you. But right now, right here, I’m the one in control.”
You don’t respond. You can’t. Your throat is tight, your mind spinning as you try to wrap your head around the shift in the atmosphere. There’s a palpable tension between you, something electric and undeniable.
“Stand up,” he commands, voice smooth but firm. It’s not a request. It’s an order.
You hesitate for a moment, your eyes flicking between him and the spreader bar. But something in his gaze pulls you in, and before you know it, you’re rising to your feet, your legs a little shaky. Your pulse races, and the room feels suddenly smaller, like you’re being enveloped by his presence.
Toto watches you, his eyes narrowing slightly, approving of your obedience without needing to say a word. He steps behind you, his hand brushing against your back as he positions you in front of the bed. The contact sends a jolt through you, and you suppress a gasp.
“Sit,” he says quietly, and you do, lowering yourself back onto the edge of the bed.
Before you can fully comprehend what’s happening, he kneels in front of you, taking one of your ankles in his hand. The touch is gentle, but there’s a deliberate intensity to it that makes your breath hitch. You watch, transfixed, as he wraps the leather anklet around your ankle, buckling it with precise care.
“Toto,” you start again, your voice barely above a whisper. “What are you doing?”
He looks up at you, his dark eyes steady and unreadable. “I’m reminding you that there are parts of your life where you don’t get to call the shots.”
The second anklet is secured with the same care, and you feel the cool metal of the bar press against your calves as he connects your ankles to it. You’re hyper-aware of every sensation, every breath, the way the leather hugs your skin and the weight of the spreader bar keeping your legs apart. The vulnerability of it hits you hard, but instead of fear, you feel something else — anticipation.
Toto stands, his hand grazing your leg briefly as he rises. He’s looking down at you now, his expression calm, calculated. The spreader bar forces your legs apart, your position laid bare for him, but he makes no move to touch you yet. Instead, he watches you, as though waiting for your reaction.
“You think leaving Mercedes is what you need,” he says quietly, his voice filled with a quiet intensity. “But right now, I’m going to show you what it means to surrender.”
Your pulse quickens. You don’t know if you can even respond, your throat dry, your mind spinning from the gravity of his words, the gravity of the situation. There’s something intoxicating about the way he speaks, the way he commands the space, the way he commands you. And in this moment, you realize just how much power he holds — not just over you, but over everything in this room.
He steps closer again, this time standing between your legs, looking down at you with an intensity that makes your skin prickle. “Do you understand?”
You nod slowly, your breath shaky, your heart pounding in your chest.
“Words,” he says, his tone softer but firm. “I need to hear you.”
“Yes,” you whisper, the word barely audible, but it’s enough.
He reaches down, his hand tracing a line up your leg, slow, deliberate, until it reaches your thigh. His touch is light but charged with intent. You can feel the tension building in the room, in your body, like a storm about to break.
“You’ve made your decision about your career,” he says, his fingers brushing against your skin in a way that makes your body ache with anticipation. “But when you’re with me, I make the decisions.”
His words send a shiver through you, and you feel your body responding in ways you can’t control, heat pooling low in your belly. The spreader bar keeps your legs apart, keeps you vulnerable, and yet there’s something in the way he’s looking at you that makes you feel safe, even as you surrender to the moment.
Toto’s hand moves higher, his touch still teasing, deliberate, until his fingers reach the waistband of your pants. He pauses, his eyes locking onto yours again, and for a moment, time seems to freeze.
“You trust me?” He asks, his voice low, commanding but with a note of something softer underneath.
You swallow hard, your heart hammering in your chest. There’s no question in your mind, despite the tension, despite the intensity of the moment.
“Yes,” you breathe, and the word feels like a release.
He doesn’t hesitate. In one smooth motion, he pulls your pants down, the cool air of the room hitting your skin, sending a fresh wave of sensation coursing through you. You’re exposed now, completely at his mercy, and the reality of your position sinks in fully. But instead of fear, you feel something else — something deeper, more profound.
Toto stands there for a moment, taking in the sight of you, his eyes dark with desire, but still, he’s in control. He’s always in control. The power in that moment shifts entirely to him, and you can feel it in every fiber of your being.
Then he moves with that same deliberate calm, never breaking eye contact with you. Every inch of the room feels like it’s bending around him, like he’s the axis everything revolves around. He’s in control, yes, but it’s more than that — it’s like he’s waiting, testing, gauging just how far you’ll let him push.
Without a word, he steps over to the nightstand. His fingers brush the drawer handle, and you hear the faint creak as it slides open. You don’t try to see what he’s reaching for; your eyes are fixed on him, the tension between you two coiled so tightly it feels like a single wrong move could snap it.
Toto’s hand disappears inside the drawer, and for a moment, you don’t breathe. The anticipation is maddening, the silence louder than any words could be. When he pulls his hand back out, it’s quick, fluid, and whatever he’s holding is concealed behind his back.
Your heart races. “Toto … what is that?”
His gaze flickers with something unreadable — a hint of amusement, maybe? Or maybe it’s something darker. He steps closer to you again, still holding the object out of sight. He doesn’t answer your question. Instead, he comes to stand in front of you, towering over you, the spreader bar still keeping your legs apart, your body open and vulnerable.
“You trust me,” he says, and it’s not a question this time. It’s a statement, one that feels heavier than before, laden with more meaning now that you’re here, like this, with him. You nod, but he doesn’t acknowledge it.
“I asked you a question earlier,” he says slowly, his voice soft but firm. “About whether you understand what control really looks like.”
Your breath catches in your throat. “I-I do.”
“Do you?” He raises an eyebrow, and there’s that faint smirk on his lips again, the one that makes you feel like he knows something you don’t. “Because I don’t think you fully understand yet.”
You blink, heart pounding in your chest, the anticipation stretching out. “Toto, what are you-”
He cuts you off with a look. “I told you before. You’ve made decisions for yourself, and I respect that.” His voice is even, but there’s an underlying intensity that sends a shiver down your spine. “But tonight, right now, I’m the one who makes the decisions.”
And then, with that same deliberate slowness, he brings his hand around from behind his back.
Your breath catches in your throat as you see what he’s holding.
A vibrator.
A small, sleek one, the kind that looks deceptively simple but holds a power that’s anything but. Your stomach twists, and suddenly, everything feels too much — the spreader bar, your body’s position, the intimacy of the moment, the look on his face. The realization hits you in waves: he’s not here to just talk. He’s going to push you further than he ever has before.
“Toto …” Your voice is shaky, filled with a mixture of anticipation, uncertainty, and something you can’t quite name. “I-”
He doesn’t wait for you to finish. He steps even closer, his hand moving to gently tilt your chin up so you’re looking directly into his eyes. There’s something intense, almost possessive, in the way he’s watching you.
“You’re going to learn,” he says softly, “what it means to truly let go.”
His words send a ripple through you, your pulse quickening as he kneels in front of you again, his large frame making you feel even more exposed. The cool air of the room brushes against your bare skin, the sensation heightened by the tension thrumming between you both.
He doesn’t break eye contact as he presses the vibrator to your inner thigh, not turning it on yet, just letting the cool metal make contact with your heated skin. You tense, a soft gasp escaping your lips.
“Toto … this is too much,” you whisper, though part of you isn’t sure if you mean it. It’s overwhelming, the sensations, the anticipation, the way he’s looking at you with that unyielding gaze. But there’s another part of you that wants to see where this goes, that trusts him to take you wherever he’s planning to go.
“Too much?” He repeats, his tone light but edged with amusement. “Or exactly what you need?”
You don’t have an answer for that. Not really. All you can feel is the pressure of the spreader bar keeping your legs apart, the way his hands are gentle but unrelenting as they move along your thighs. You’re acutely aware of every inch of your skin, every nerve ending sparking with electricity.
Before you can say anything more, he presses the vibrator between your legs. The first touch of it is soft, barely a whisper of sensation, but it’s enough to make you tense, a sharp breath escaping your lips. He doesn’t turn it on yet. He just holds it there, watching your reaction, waiting.
“Toto, please …” You don’t even know what you’re asking for. For him to stop? For him to keep going? You can’t decide. It’s too much, but also not enough.
He tilts his head, considering you for a moment, his thumb hovering over the button. “You always try to control everything, don’t you?” His voice is low, steady. “But you don’t need to. Not here. Not with me.”
And then, without warning, he flicks the vibrator on.
The sudden vibration against your most sensitive spot makes you gasp, your back arching involuntarily. Your legs strain against the spreader bar, but there’s nowhere to go, no way to close them, no way to ease the intensity. You’re trapped in the sensation, every nerve alight, your mind spinning.
“Toto!” You cry out, your hands gripping the edge of the bed, trying to anchor yourself as the sensation overwhelms you.
But he doesn’t stop. He holds the vibrator against you, watching, his expression calm, composed, like he’s completely in control of everything happening to you. His free hand moves to your thigh, squeezing gently, grounding you in the moment even as your body fights to keep up with the onslaught of pleasure.
“You’re doing so well,” he murmurs, his voice like a low hum in the background of your own ragged breathing. “I know it’s a lot. But you can take it.”
Your mind is reeling, your body caught in a loop of sensation. You try to pull your hands away from the bed, to reach for him, to find something to hold on to, but he clicks his tongue and shakes his head.
“No,” he says, his voice firm. “You stay right where you are.”
You groan, half in frustration, half in surrender. The vibrator pulses against you, relentless, driving you closer to the edge. You want to close your legs, to escape the intensity, but the spreader bar keeps you open, exposed, vulnerable.
“Toto … I can’t …”
“Yes, you can,” he says softly, his hand squeezing your thigh again, reassuring. “You’re strong. You can take it.”
You shake your head, biting your lip, trying to focus, but it’s impossible. The pleasure is too much, too overwhelming, your body reacting in ways you can’t control. Every time the vibration shifts, it sends another jolt of electricity through you, and you feel like you’re teetering on the edge of something immense, something you’re not ready for.
Toto watches you closely, his eyes dark, focused, his thumb brushing idly against your skin as he holds the vibrator steady. He’s so calm, so collected, while you’re falling apart in front of him.
“I want you to let go,” he says quietly, his voice gentle but commanding. “Stop trying to fight it.”
You can’t even respond. You’re too lost in the sensation, your body trembling, your breath coming in short, desperate gasps. Your muscles tense, your back arching as you try to brace yourself for what’s coming, but there’s no way to prepare. You’re already too far gone.
And then, with a sudden shift, the vibrations change, intensifying. It’s enough to send you over the edge, your body convulsing with pleasure as you cry out, your hands gripping the bed so tightly your knuckles turn white. The world narrows to this one moment, this one sensation, everything else fading away.
Toto doesn’t stop. He holds the vibrator against you, drawing out every last bit of your climax, pushing you further, making sure you feel every second of it. You’re shaking, trembling, your body overwhelmed by the intensity of it all, but he doesn’t let up. Not until you’re completely spent.
When he finally pulls the vibrator away, your body sags in relief, your breath coming in ragged, uneven gasps. You feel like you’ve just run a marathon, your muscles weak, your mind still spinning from the force of it all.
Toto straightens, his eyes still on you, watching as you come down from the high. He’s quiet for a moment, letting you catch your breath, his expression softening just slightly.
“You see?” He says quietly, stepping closer to you again, his hand brushing your hair back from your face. “You don’t need to be in control all the time.”
You close your eyes, still trying to process everything that’s just happened. But you barely have time to catch your breath before his hand comes down on you.
Not gently, but not cruelly, either — just hard enough to make your body jolt, your mind snap back to the present moment. The sharp sound of skin meeting skin echoes in the room, cutting through the thick silence, and you gasp, your body still sensitive from everything he’s already put you through.
His hand lingers for a moment, warm, steady, grounding. But then it lifts again, and there’s no time to prepare before it comes down a second time. The impact isn’t painful, not really, but it’s enough to make you bite your lip, your legs straining against the spreader bar as your body reacts, twitching involuntarily under his touch.
“Still too much?” He asks, his voice calm, measured, as if this is just another conversation, nothing out of the ordinary.
You want to say yes, to tell him it’s too much, to beg him to stop. But you don’t. The words die in your throat, tangled up with the conflicting emotions swirling inside you. It’s overwhelming, yes, but it’s also something else — something deeper, more complicated, something that’s making you want to see just how far you can be pushed.
Instead of answering, you bite your lip and bury your face into the bed, trying to steady your breathing.
Toto’s hand comes down again, this time on the bundle of nerves between your legs, and the sharpness of the sensation sends a shockwave through your body. You let out a soft cry, the sound muffled by the bedspread. The slap wasn’t hard, but your sensitivity makes everything feel amplified, and it’s like you’re teetering on the edge again, your body primed and ready despite your exhaustion.
“Toto-” you gasp, the words half-formed, more a sound than a plea. But he doesn’t answer. His hand comes down again, another firm slap, and your legs twitch helplessly, the spreader bar keeping you in place, keeping you exposed.
You don’t know how long it lasts — seconds, minutes, maybe longer. His hand moves methodically, alternating between soft touches and sharp slaps, keeping you in a state of tension, always anticipating the next move but never quite knowing when it will come. Every strike, every caress, pulls you further under, your mind a haze of sensation, too overwhelmed to process anything beyond the immediate moment.
And then, just when you think you can’t take any more, he stops. The room goes silent again, save for your ragged breathing. You’re trembling, your muscles taut, your body flushed and aching, but there’s a strange calmness in the aftermath, a sense of weightlessness that settles over you.
You feel him shift, his hand moving away, and you think maybe it’s over. Maybe he’s done.
But then, you hear a faint click.
Your eyes snap open, and you look up just in time to see Toto holding something small and silver in his hand. It’s a butterfly clamp — delicate, intricate, the kind designed for maximum stimulation in the most intimate places. The sight of it makes your heart skip a beat, a wave of anticipation rolling through you.
“Toto, wait-”
But he’s already moving, his hands deft and practiced as he positions the clamp with precision. The cool metal of it brushes against you, and before you can protest, you feel the bite of it closing around that same sensitive bundle of nerves. The sensation is sharp, electric, and you let out a soft, involuntary moan, your legs straining against the spreader bar again.
“There,” Toto murmurs, his voice low, almost soothing. “That should keep you focused.”
You’re panting now, your body shaking with the intensity of the clamp’s grip. It’s not painful, exactly, but it’s tight, the pressure constant, unrelenting. Your hands clench into fists at your sides as you try to process the overwhelming sensation, your mind scrambling for some semblance of control.
But he’s not done.
Toto reaches for something on the nightstand again, and this time, when he pulls his hand back, he’s holding a small remote. You realize what it is just a second too late. The butterfly clamp is wired — it vibrates. And when Toto presses the button on the remote, the clamp comes to life with a low, insistent hum.
The first burst of vibration hits you like a shockwave, your body jerking against the bed, a sharp gasp tearing from your throat. The sensation is too much, too intense, and you can feel your mind slipping, overwhelmed by the sudden onslaught. It’s like every nerve in your body is lit up, your muscles tensing, your legs shaking.
“Toto, please …” you manage to gasp, your voice barely audible over the sound of the vibrating clamp. “It’s too much …”
But he doesn’t turn it off. Instead, he watches you, his eyes dark, focused, as if he’s studying your every reaction. He tilts his head slightly, considering, and then without a word, he turns the intensity up higher.
The vibrations increase, the sensation growing stronger, more insistent, and you feel yourself falling apart, your body shaking uncontrollably as the pleasure crashes over you in waves. You try to close your legs, to ease the intensity, but the spreader bar keeps you open, keeps you exposed, and there’s no escape from the relentless stimulation.
“Toto!” You cry out, your voice breaking, your hands gripping the bed so tightly your knuckles turn white. “I can’t … I can’t …”
But he doesn’t answer. He just watches, calm, composed, in complete control.
The vibrations pulse through you, unrelenting, and your body responds with an intensity that scares you. You’re on the edge again, teetering, the sensation too much, too overwhelming, and you’re not sure how much longer you can hold on.
And then, just when you think you might break, just when the sensation becomes unbearable, Toto steps back.
Your heart races as you watch him move toward the door. He’s still holding the remote, his thumb hovering over the button, but he doesn’t turn the vibrations off. He leaves them on, the clamp still buzzing against you, the sensation still coursing through your body.
“Toto …” you gasp, your voice shaky, desperate. “Please …”
He stops at the doorway, turning to look at you one last time. His expression is unreadable, his dark eyes fixed on you, taking in the sight of you trembling, helpless, completely at his mercy.
“You’ll stay like this,” he says quietly, his voice calm, almost detached. “Until I decide to come back.”
Your heart drops, panic rising in your chest as the reality of his words sinks in. He’s leaving you like this. Bound, exposed, vibrating, with no way to stop it.
“Toto, no, please …” you beg, your voice trembling, but he doesn’t respond. He doesn’t even hesitate.
He turns and walks out of the room, leaving the door ajar behind him.
The moment he’s gone, the room feels ten times quieter, the buzzing clamp the only sound cutting through the oppressive silence. The vibrations haven’t stopped, and your body hasn’t had a moment to recover from everything that’s already happened. Your muscles are still trembling, your body still tense, and the clamp’s relentless pulsing is driving you toward the edge, again and again, without mercy.
You try to focus, to steady your breathing, but it’s impossible. Every second that passes, every pulse of the clamp, makes it harder to think, harder to hold on to any semblance of control. Your mind is slipping, consumed by the constant stimulation, and you don’t know how much longer you can take it.
Your hands grip the bed, your legs straining against the spreader bar, but there’s no escape. The pleasure is overwhelming, building, spiraling out of control, and you feel yourself teetering on the edge, again and again, but never quite falling.
“Toto …” you whisper, though you know he can’t hear you. “Please …”
But he’s gone.
***
Time has become a blur.
You have no idea how long it’s been — minutes, hours, an eternity — since Toto left the room, since the vibrations started, since the last coherent thought slipped from your mind. Your body is trembling, every muscle tensed and weak at the same time, caught in a relentless loop of overstimulation. Every pulse from the clamp is a fresh wave of sensation, building and breaking in rapid succession, leaving no room for breath, no time for your body to come down from the edge.
All you know is this: your legs, still spread open, still bound, the wetness pooling beneath you, soaking the sheets from the uncontrollable release that came over and over, without mercy. You’ve long since stopped trying to fight it. There’s nothing left to fight.
Toto is gone, but his presence lingers in every pulse of the vibrator, in every sharp intake of breath, in every broken sound that escapes your lips. You don’t remember why he left. You barely remember why you’re here, in this position, on this bed. Your body is the only thing that makes sense, the only thing you can focus on.
And it’s too much.
It’s all too much.
Your fingers dig into the sheets, clutching them with what little strength you have left. Your mind is fogged with pleasure, with exhaustion, with need. The clamp’s grip is unyielding, and the sensation has reached a point beyond control. You’re not even sure how many times you’ve come — whether it was once or a hundred times — whether the pleasure has blurred into pain or if it’s all the same now.
You bite down on your lip, trying to ground yourself, to find something solid in the overwhelming chaos. Your breath is ragged, coming in shallow gasps, and your legs are shaking uncontrollably. You feel like you’re drowning in it, like you’ve been caught in a storm of sensation with no way out.
You close your eyes, and in the darkness behind your eyelids, you try to focus on something — anything — to break through the haze. Your name. Your purpose. Your decision to leave Mercedes and sign with McLaren. But even that feels distant, insignificant, swallowed by the intensity of what’s happening to your body. The only thing that matters is the constant, endless rhythm of the clamp’s vibrations and the way it’s pushing you beyond your limits.
You don’t even hear the door open.
But suddenly, the vibrations stop.
Just like that, the clamp goes silent, and the absence of sensation is almost as jarring as its presence. Your body collapses in on itself, trembling and weak, every muscle in your legs and abdomen quivering from the relentless tension. For a moment, there’s nothing but silence, the quiet almost deafening after the endless hum of the vibrator.
Your eyes flutter open, and you see him standing in the doorway, tall and composed, his expression unreadable. Toto’s gaze sweeps over you, taking in the sight of your flushed skin, the way your body is still shaking in the aftermath, the dampness on the sheets beneath you.
He says nothing at first. He just watches, his eyes dark, intense, like he’s measuring every inch of your reaction, every subtle movement of your body.
“Toto …” your voice is hoarse, barely a whisper. You don’t know what you want to say. You don’t know what you can say.
But his name hangs in the air between you, heavy with meaning.
He steps forward, his presence commanding, and as he approaches, you feel a fresh wave of anticipation roll through you, despite the exhaustion that’s pulling at your limbs.
He reaches the bed, his hand moving to your ankle, fingers brushing over the cuff of the spreader bar. His touch is warm, familiar, and yet it sends a shiver down your spine.
“You’ve been through a lot,” he says quietly, his voice low and measured. “But you’ve handled it well.”
There’s a softness to his tone now, a contrast to the control he’s exercised over you all night. It’s almost comforting, though the intensity of the moment still lingers in the air, thick and suffocating.
You blink up at him, trying to gather your thoughts, but it’s like your brain is still catching up with your body, still trying to process everything that’s just happened.
“How long …” You ask, your voice shaky.
Toto’s eyes flicker with something — amusement, maybe — but he doesn’t answer your question directly. Instead, he kneels down in front of you, his hand moving up your leg, slowly, deliberately, as if he’s reacquainting himself with your body after watching it from a distance.
“You’ve lost track of time,” he says softly, almost teasing. “That’s good.”
You swallow hard, your throat dry, your body still buzzing with the remnants of overstimulation. “It … it was too much,” you manage to whisper, your voice barely audible.
His gaze meets yours, and for a moment, something softens in his expression. “I know,” he says simply, his voice a little quieter now. “That’s the point.”
He unclips the spreader bar from your ankles, letting your legs fall together. The relief is immediate, though your muscles are so weak and trembling that it takes you a moment to fully relax into the new position. The wetness between your legs feels like a constant reminder of what just happened, and your cheeks burn with the realization.
Toto reaches for the butterfly clamp, his fingers brushing against your sensitive skin as he removes it with the same care and precision as before. The absence of its pressure is almost startling, and you let out a small gasp of relief.
He stands up, towering over you again, and you look up at him, still trying to catch your breath, still trying to make sense of everything.
“Are you okay?” His voice is quieter now, more gentle, and it catches you off guard. There’s a tenderness in his tone that you haven’t heard all night, and it makes your chest tighten with something you can’t quite name.
You nod, though you’re not entirely sure if it’s true. “I … I think so.”
Toto’s eyes search yours for a long moment, and then he reaches down, gently brushing a strand of hair away from your face. “You’re incredible,” he murmurs, and the sincerity in his voice makes your breath hitch.
You don’t know how to respond. You don’t even know what you feel right now. Exhausted? Relieved? Overwhelmed? Grateful? It’s all tangled up together, too complicated to untangle in this moment.
“Toto,” you whisper, your voice shaky, “I … I don’t know what to say.”
He gives you a small, almost imperceptible smile, his thumb brushing softly against your cheek. “You don’t have to say anything,” he says, his voice low and comforting. “I already know.”
His words wash over you like a balm, soothing the chaos that’s still swirling in your mind. And for the first time since this all started, you feel a strange sense of calm settling over you, grounding you in the present moment.
Toto sits down on the edge of the bed beside you, his hand resting gently on your thigh. His touch is warm, reassuring, and you find yourself leaning into it, seeking the comfort and stability he’s offering.
“You’ve been through a lot tonight,” he says quietly, his voice softer now, more gentle. “But you did better than I expected.”
You blink at him, your mind still foggy from the intensity of everything, but his words start to cut through the haze.
“Better than you expected?” You repeat, your voice still shaky.
Toto’s lips curve into a small smile, and he nods. “Yes,” he says simply. “You trusted me. You let go. That’s not easy for someone like you.”
You feel a lump form in your throat at his words, the weight of what he’s saying hitting you all at once. He’s right. Letting go — relinquishing control — isn’t something that comes naturally to you. It’s something you’ve fought against for most of your life.
But tonight, with him, you did it.
You let go.
And somehow, in the midst of all the chaos and intensity, that feels like an accomplishment.
***
The bedroom air feels impossibly still as Toto watches you lying there, your body still trembling from the night’s events. Every breath feels like a chore, your legs heavy and unresponsive, a dull ache radiating through your muscles. It’s not pain — not exactly — but the overwhelming sensation of too much. Too much stimulation, too much strain, too much surrender.
Toto moves with a grace you envy. He doesn’t seem shaken by what just happened. If anything, he seems more in control than ever, and it’s a strange comfort as he leans down to whisper, “I’m going to run you a bath.”
You nod weakly, unsure if you could find your voice even if you tried. Your body feels like it doesn’t belong to you anymore. You close your eyes, listening to the faint sounds of him moving around the bathroom. The sound of water running, soft and rhythmic, is a welcome distraction from the buzzing in your mind.
Toto returns after a moment, his face softened in the dim light of the room. “Let’s get you in,” he murmurs, gently slipping an arm under your back and another under your knees. He lifts you as if you weigh nothing at all, effortlessly cradling you against his chest. You feel the warmth of his skin against yours, the steady beat of his heart, and for a moment, it’s the only thing anchoring you to reality.
You try to help, try to move your legs or shift your weight, but your limbs feel boneless, unwilling to cooperate. You can only manage a soft whimper, which Toto hushes with a quiet, “It’s okay. I’ve got you.”
He carries you into the bathroom, the air thick with steam from the waiting bath. The scent of lavender fills the space, calming, though your body still feels too raw, too sensitive to truly relax. Toto lowers you into the water with the same tenderness he’s shown all night, but the moment the warmth hits your skin, a sharp sting pulls a gasp from your throat.
“I know,” he murmurs, brushing a wet strand of hair away from your face. “It’ll pass.”
The water laps around you, soothing in some places, biting in others where your skin has been left tender and marked. You sink into it slowly, trying to let the warmth do its job, to soothe the ache that’s set deep into your muscles.
Toto kneels beside the tub, his hand slipping into the water to rub gentle circles over your arm, as though to remind you that he’s still here, still watching, still caring. His touch is light, absent of the dominance he held over you earlier, replaced now with something gentler, more intimate.
You open your eyes just a sliver, watching him through the haze of exhaustion. His face is softened by concern, a tenderness you aren’t sure you were expecting, even though you’ve seen this side of him before. It’s a look he reserves for moments like these, when the intensity fades and all that’s left is the two of you — Toto, no longer the boss, the leader, the man who demands so much. Just him, here, with you.
After a while, he pulls his phone from his pocket, still sitting on the floor next to the tub. His fingers move across the screen with the same efficiency he brings to every part of his life, and before you can even wonder what he’s doing, you hear the familiar voice of your performance coach answering the call.
“Hello?” Comes the voice on the other end, crackling slightly through the phone’s speaker.
Toto clears his throat, casting a glance in your direction, as if measuring whether or not you’re coherent enough to understand what’s about to happen. “Ja, it’s Toto,” he says, his voice steady, professional. “I’m calling about Y/N’s training schedule.”
You can’t help but crack one eye open, watching as he speaks, his tone cool and commanding, as though nothing out of the ordinary has happened. It’s jarring to witness after everything, the way he can shift so seamlessly between roles, so completely in control.
“She’s, uh …” Toto hesitates, and it catches your attention. Hesitation is rare for him. “She’s not feeling well. She’ll need to take a few days off from training.”
There’s a pause on the other end of the line, and you feel your lips curve upward, just slightly, as you crack one eye open further to see his expression. His eyes flicker to you, catching your amused gaze, and a faint smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth.
“Really?” Your performance coach’s voice sounds skeptical. “She was fine yesterday.”
Toto’s hand slides back into your hair, petting gently as his smirk fades, his tone back to business. “Yes. But today … she’s not well. It’s best she rests.”
You can’t stop yourself from rolling your eyes, the disbelief in the coach’s voice almost laughable given the circumstances. But you bite your tongue, too exhausted to interject.
“How bad is it?” Your coach presses. “Fever? Injury?”
“Something like that,” Toto says, his fingers weaving through your damp hair. His voice lowers, taking on that authoritative edge again, the one that says the conversation is over. “She’ll be back when she’s ready. No sooner.”
There’s a sigh on the other end, and you can almost picture your performance coach, frowning, realizing he won’t win this battle against Toto Wolff. “Alright, then. I’ll adjust her schedule.”
“Thank you,” Toto says curtly, and without another word, he ends the call, placing the phone on the tiled floor beside him.
You crack one eye open again, catching his gaze. “Sick, huh?”
Toto raises an eyebrow, his lips curving into that familiar smirk. “What would you prefer I say?”
You exhale a weak laugh, the sound soft and shaky in your throat. “I don’t know … ‘recovering from being tied up and overstimulated for hours’ doesn’t really flow off the tongue.”
His smirk widens, and he leans in, brushing a kiss against your forehead. “Some things are better left unsaid.”
You hum in agreement, your head falling back against the edge of the tub. The water has started to lose its initial sting, the heat now a welcome relief on your sore, overworked muscles. Toto’s hand continues to move through your hair, and with each gentle stroke, you feel yourself relaxing just a little bit more, the tension draining from your body as the exhaustion begins to take over.
For a few moments, there’s silence. Just the sound of the water sloshing softly around you, Toto’s fingers carding through your hair, and the steady rhythm of your breathing as you try to come back to yourself.
But the quiet doesn’t last.
“You know …” Toto starts, his voice soft, thoughtful. “I meant what I said earlier.”
You blink up at him, tired and still floating somewhere between the present and the haze of the night. “Which part?”
“About loving you,” he says, his eyes locked on yours. “No matter what.”
You swallow, the weight of his words sinking in. You remember the earlier conversation, the one that started all of this. The tension, the fear, the uncertainty when you told him you wouldn’t be re-signing with Mercedes. It feels like a lifetime ago now, but the truth of it still lingers in the air between you.
“I know you’ve made your decision,” he continues, his voice calm, though you can hear the undercurrent of emotion running beneath it. “And I respect that. I do.”
His hand moves from your hair to cup the side of your face, his thumb brushing softly across your cheek. His touch is tender, intimate, and you feel your heart constrict in your chest.
“But it doesn’t change how I feel about you,” he says, his voice steady, his eyes never leaving yours. “I’ll love you, no matter which team you drive for.”
You open your mouth to respond, but the words catch in your throat. There’s a part of you that wants to tell him you feel the same, that this — what the two of you have — transcends the politics of racing, of teams, of contracts.
But there’s another part of you that’s still scared. Scared of what it means to leave Mercedes, to leave the team that’s been your home for years. Scared of what it will mean for the two of you once you’re no longer bound by the same badge.
Toto seems to sense your hesitation, and he sighs, leaning forward to press a kiss to your temple. “Even if I wish it would always be Mercedes,” he murmurs against your skin, his voice barely a whisper.
Your chest tightens at the admission, the vulnerability in his words catching you off guard. You hadn’t expected him to say it, to admit that he still wants you to stay. But then again, you suppose you always knew. It’s not just about the team for him — it’s about keeping you close, about holding on to something that feels like it’s slipping away.
“I know,” you whisper, your voice soft, almost broken. You turn your head slightly, your lips brushing against his in a feather-light kiss. “I know.”
Toto rests his forehead against yours, his breath warm against your skin. For a moment, you just sit there in the quiet, your heartbeats syncing up, the water cooling around you, but neither of you moves.
cw: smut/pwp, cockwarming, size difference/kink, secret sex, semi-public sex, unprotected sex, daniel is horny (and needy), restaurant sex
kink-o-ween: formula one edition - call of duty edition
you knew daniel could seduce a habit off a nun. he was an inferno that buried deep into someone and made them hot all over. you were no exception. your beloved danny had a mean streak in his, at least sexually. as much as you tried to push back on the insatiable lust he carried in him, sometimes the allure of the driver was too much.
you were confident that this dinner together would go swimmingly. one date before you spent the entire summer in your apartment feeding into daniel's sexual desires. after weeks apart, he hungered for you. therefore, you were proud that you managed to hold him off to have one nice dinner together.
so why were your panties in your boyfriend's pocket?
the place was quiet on a tuesday evening, the moon hung large in the sky and the food was delicious. but the food tasted dull on daniel's tongue, he yearned for something more. the weight of your cotton panties in his pocket was heavier than the wallet next to it. when he went to wash his hands before dinner, he took them out and gave them a good sniff.
call him perverted, but being exhausted from the intensity of racing left him little time to sate his other urges. he was running on empty by the time the season break occurred. so call him a little antsy for some affection from his beautiful girlfriend of almost three years.
you were mostly alone, you had the privacy to let daniel's eyes wander across your form. the softness of your face, how your curves looked into the dress you wore. he wondered if he could take you apart over the table and no one would notice. or care enough to say anything. he had that kind of buying power.
but he knew you'd die of embarrassment. it was bad enough he had to forgo your panties for the evening. but something crossed his mind that would make both of you happy.
"babe." he said as he propped his elbows on the table and rested his chin across his interlocked fingers, "come here. i missed you too much, you feel so far away."
you looked up from your meal and raised your eyebrows, 'danny."
he pouted a little, showing those big brown eyes that seemed to touch the depths of your soul. you sighed before you got up, you went to his side of the table and held his face for a moment before he got you down on his lap. you could feel his erection straining against his slacks.
"danny, if we need to. we can do it in the car."
"it'll take too long. your dress should cover any activities we do here. just warm it up a little. get familiar again." he kissed at your neck before he fed you a piece of his meal, "please."
you got off of daniel's lap for a moment and thanks to the privacy of where you were seated, he was able to get his cock out of his slacks and with a little work you got yourself onto it. you clutched onto the side of the table as you felt the stretch. maybe you two were a little less familiar than when he left.
the skirt of your dress has enough volume to cover both of your laps, hiding your activities of the evening. you rested against him, while his cock remained pressed against the softest parts of you.
"this feels insane." you said softly, but daniel silenced you with a kiss on the lips. his hand in your hair for a moment. he tasted like the expensive cut of meat he was having for dinner. it tasted good, but you knew he'd forgo food for a month if it meant keeping his dick in you.
"don't worry, babe." he said as he kissed your nose, "just don't be too loud." he remarked as he held your face for a moment, "we'll share my dinner tonight."
it was hard to ignore the growing of warmth in your middle. daniel ricciardo's cock was inside of you at an expensive restaurant. you were enjoying food, wine and the familiar girth of your lover's cock in your slick pussy.
so much could go horribly wrong, but the way his cock nudged against your sweet spot made you almost choke on your wine. you covered your mouth with your elbow as you swallowed the tart liquid. the coughs that went through you caused your pussy to clench which made daniel hold your hip tightly.
"careful, beautiful." he said as he kissed your shoulder, "don't want to get me too excited." then leaned over you to cut another piece of his food. he slowly fed it to you and kept his gaze on you.
most would assume this was some lavish display of public affection. not daniel's need to feel as close to you as he could get. you could feel the heat rise in your body as you rocked your hips a little. his cock was snug in your, but it felt right.
you ate and after you swallowed, he brought you in for a kiss. everything felt over-saturated as you mind tried to focus on everything at once. the lust, the food, the setting. it was a lot.
but you snapped back in reality when you heard someone's voice nearby. you looked over and saw the poor waiter by the table.
"how is everything?"
daniel leaned back in his seat a little, not enough to show what he was doing under your skirt. he smiled, "everything is lovely. thank you so much. actually, if you can, may we get some more wine?" his smiled was confident, like all seven inches of him weren't shoved inside your poor pussy.
the waiter nodded, "of course. i have to ask, is the chair you were seated in okay, ma'am?" he turned his attention to you.
you blinked for a moment, feeling the gaze of the waiter and your boyfriend on you. you swallowed, it was sink or swim. play it cool or have your face in the headlines. you took your lover's hand and held it close to your chest, daniel could feel your rapid heartbeat, "of course! i just really missed my boyfriend so i thought his lap was better option tonight." you gave your own smile, hiding that your core was shaking.
daniel looked at the waiter once more, "we promise everything is perfect." he laughed, "thank you though." then watched the waiter nod and walk off to get you some more wine. when he was far enough away, daniel held onto your hips and rutted up a little further in your sweet pussy. it almost made you choke on your drink once more.
daniel pressed his chest against your back, he curved over you like a shadow, "amazing acting, beautiful. if i didn't feel your heartbeat, i would've called it a convincing performance." he took the napkin and pressed it at the corner of your lips, "next time i'll order you some white wine. this is the second time you've choked, babe. don't want to ruin this pretty dress. it hides everything."
"shut up." you groaned a little bit, but composed yourself when the waiter came back with two glasses of wine. you thanked the man before he walked away and did your best to keep yourself composed.
daniel was feeling good, he knew he wasn't going to last long. and while he couldn't make you finish as well. but he'd make it when you got home, he'd happily lay you out for hours and devour your sweet pussy. he shifted his hips a little bit to get that rush through his body. he continued to feed you his meal, your meal grew cold. but daniel was more than happy to share.
"you're so beautiful." he said, "i can tell you're all flustered. poor thing." he chuckled low in your ear. he feed you some of the vegetables and kissed your chin where a bit of the sauce from the vegetables ended up. tasted better on your skin.
he moved against you a little more, small shifts of his hips allowed for him to get a little more friction against you. you felt like a dream, to daniel it was heaven. he buried his face into the back of your shoulder as the fork in his hand trembled. he came inside of your pretty cunt.
he shuddered and deeply exhaled. it took all the focus in him not to moan. he kissed an exposed part of your arm and muttered, "i love you. oh fuck, i love you."
you craned your neck to look back at him and were met with a kiss. heat was high in your face and you fanned yourself with daniel's napkin before you slowly got up on shaky legs.
when your dress exposed his wet cock to the evening air, he was quick to put it back in his slacks. he adjusted himself and leaned forward in his chair once more. his hands were still shaky as he picked up the wine glass and took a careful sip.
you knew that this was only act one of tonight's sexual adventures. you hoped that the rest of the even was less public. the last thing you needed was your face on the front page tomorrow. daniel reached out for you and held your hand across the table.
"i have to say." he said, "next time i wonder how well your pussy would pair with this wine." he chuckled and held the glass up with his other hand.
you could've thrown your napkin at him. daniel ricciardo, your loving boyfriend, could be an insatiable sexual hound sometimes. <3
Y/n sat comfortably on the couch, a throw blanket draped over her legs as the soft light of the autumn sun filtered through the windows. Her tea was still warm in her hands, and she was scrolling absentmindedly through her phone, reminiscing about the boo baskets she had fallen in love with last year. It had become something of a joke between her and Toto—how she had shown him TikTok after TikTok of couples exchanging adorable, cozy, fall-themed gift baskets.
She had teased Toto at the time, jokingly asking, "So, where’s my boo basket, hmm?" He had just smirked, pulling her close, and promised that maybe one day she’d get a surprise. But Y/n knew her husband wasn’t the type to jump on trendy gift ideas, so she hadn’t pushed it further. Little did she know, Toto had remembered every detail she mentioned.
Meanwhile, in the kitchen, Toto and Jack were busy at work, their task much bigger than the average boo basket. What started as a simple idea had spiraled into something much grander. The giant basket they’d chosen was practically overflowing, and Jack was already planning what to tell Y/n once she saw it.
“Papa, what about these fluffy socks? Should we put them in the front?” Jack asked, holding up a pair of soft orange socks with little pumpkin faces embroidered on them.
Toto crouched down, examining the basket. “I think that’s a good idea, Jack. She’ll see them right away.”
Carefully, Jack placed the socks right on top, making sure they peeked out over the rest of the items. The basket was already brimming with a mix of cozy fall essentials and thoughtful gifts. There was a cinnamon-scented candle in a beautiful glass jar, a soft knitted blanket in a warm rust color, and a variety of pumpkin spice-flavored snacks—everything from chocolates to cookies.
Toto had also picked up some more personal items for Y/n. He knew how much she loved curling up with a good book on chilly afternoons, so he added a new novel from one of her favorite authors. There was also a set of bath bombs scented with lavender and chamomile, perfect for the relaxing baths he knew she adored after long days.
“Do you think we have enough chocolate in here, Jack?” Toto asked, eyeing the assortment of treats.
Jack giggled. “There’s never enough chocolate, Papa.”
Toto smiled and shook his head, placing another small box of chocolates into the basket. He then reached for the special pumpkin centerpiece they had bought—an intricately carved ceramic pumpkin that glowed when you placed a small candle inside. It would be the perfect touch for their living room, adding to the cozy atmosphere Y/n loved so much during the fall.
Jack tugged at his father’s sleeve. “Don’t forget the card, Papa!”
Toto smiled softly. “Of course, how could I forget?”
He pulled out a small, carefully folded card from his pocket, the cover decorated with autumn leaves and pumpkins. Inside, he had written a heartfelt note:
To my love, Y/n. Last year, you showed me all those TikToks, and I pretended not to understand why they were important. But I knew how much these little things make you happy. So this is for you—your very own boo basket, from Jack and me, to the best mama and wife we could ever ask for. I love you.
Satisfied with the card, he slipped it into the basket, tucking it beside the candle.
"All done, Jack," Toto said, standing back to admire their handiwork. The basket looked massive, filled with all the warm, comforting items that made fall so special. He was sure Y/n would be surprised—maybe even speechless.
Jack was practically vibrating with excitement. "Can we show her now, Papa?"
Toto chuckled, ruffling his son’s hair. "Yes, let’s surprise her."
Together, they carefully lifted the basket, with Toto handling most of the weight while Jack guided them through the house. As they approached the living room, Jack darted ahead, his excitement barely contained.
“Mama! Close your eyes!” Jack called out, bounding toward Y/n, who looked up from her phone with a puzzled smile.
“What are you up to?” she asked, raising an eyebrow.
“Just close them!” Jack insisted, and Y/n couldn’t help but laugh as she set her tea aside and covered her eyes with her hands.
“Alright, eyes closed!” she said, indulging him.
Toto followed quietly behind, the basket in his arms, his heart racing with anticipation. He knew Y/n would love it, but seeing her reaction was what he was most excited about.
He set the basket down in front of her and glanced at Jack. "Okay, Jack. Tell her she can open them."
Jack practically jumped. “Mama, open your eyes!”
Y/n slowly uncovered her eyes, and the moment she saw what was in front of her, she froze. Her mouth fell open in shock. There, sitting before her, was the most extravagant, oversized boo basket she had ever seen. It was almost comically large, brimming with every fall-themed item she could have imagined—and more. The beautiful autumn colors of the blankets and candles, the smell of cinnamon, and the sight of the chocolate treats filled her senses all at once.
"Toto… Jack… what is all this?" she asked, her voice soft, her hands going to her mouth in disbelief.
Jack, beaming with pride, clapped his hands. "It’s a boo basket! For you!"
Toto stood behind Jack, his eyes soft with love and a small, proud smile on his lips. "You kept showing me those TikToks last year, and I figured it was time to make one for you—our way."
Y/n's heart swelled as she took in every detail. The thoughtful gifts, the little touches that she knew had Toto’s and Jack’s fingerprints all over them. She reached for the card and read Toto's note, her eyes misting as she smiled.
“You two…” she whispered, overcome with emotion. “This is… this is the sweetest thing anyone’s ever done for me.”
Jack jumped into her arms. "Do you like it, Mama?"
“I love it,” Y/n said, pulling Jack into a tight hug before reaching out for Toto’s hand, pulling him close as well. She wrapped her arms around both of them, feeling a warmth that had nothing to do with the basket itself. It was the love and care behind it—the way Toto remembered every little thing, the way Jack had helped with so much excitement.
Toto kissed her forehead softly, his hand resting on her back. "You deserve it, my love. Every bit of it."
Y/n, smiling through happy tears, looked back at the basket. “Well, I guess this officially makes you the king of boo baskets,” she teased, playfully nudging Toto.
He chuckled. “I’ll take that title.”
As they settled back onto the couch, Y/n surrounded by her new autumn treasures, Jack crawled into her lap, holding one of the stuffed pumpkins.
“I can’t believe you remembered all those TikToks,” she said, leaning against Toto as he wrapped his arm around her.
Toto smirked, his voice low and teasing. “How could I forget? You showed me at least fifty of them.”
Y/n laughed, resting her head on his shoulder. “Well, it was worth it. This is perfect.”
genre: age gap, porn with plot, angst, mentions of drugs, tragedy, erotic literature, mentions of homicide, bits of humor, child neglection, divorced!toto
word count: 16.5k
Toto Wolff, self-made billionaire, is on cloud nine; he has all he’s ever wanted. A beautiful wife, family, a great team. But when that starts slipping from his fingers, he desperately tries to keep hold of what is not his anymore. As a possible solution to cure his blues, Lewis kindly invites him to a place he runs off to when times get tough; to relieve some stress. But he just never expected a cosplaying angel, dancing around a metal pole, to be his salvation. And also, his cruelest life lesson.
nsfw warning under the cut!
18+…dry humping/ thigh riding, sexual tension, penetrative sex, oral sex (m!receiving f!receiving), size kink, breeding kink, praise, foreplay, riding
inspired by this and this !
STOP AND READ:
Typically, we keep it light here: occasional minor angst fics, but light, nonetheless. That will not be the case this time around. Because of that, I firmly believe that it is necessary to give a few warnings. There will be mentions of drug-use and homicide and if that is not something you are comfortable with then that is totally okay! I have more options for you to read over at my masterlist! This is purely fictional. With that, this story is based and inspired by Million Dollar Man and Yayo by Lana Del Rey (*run*)—what that means is that this story will not have a happy ending.
cherry here!…toto is like—a special appearance, here in this blog. probably won’t write for him all the time, but hey! we love him!originally this was going to be named yayo but have since changed my mind to million dollar man. IT WILL MAKE SENSE AND I’M SORRY, ANONS. please don’t hate the villain in me. consider yourself warned.
There was no room for love when it came to the world of motorsport. Toto’s first marriage was a transparent reminder, given its falling out. The Austrian didn’t seem to care, almost; Mercedes was at their prime, but by then, when Susie came along, he felt a gist of hope. She must’ve known the sacrifices that would be made—the expectations.
And yet, he sat there, signing the divorce papers once again. What had he done wrong this time? He had given her everything she could have ever wanted—spent time he didn’t even have—with her.
Neither of us were happy anymore, she would whisper apologetically, eyes trained downwards. But I’ll always love you, Toto. You must remember that.
Suddenly, he was fifty-two and with no true purpose in life other than to stabilize his broken team. If it wasn’t false accusations from other team principals, then it was trouble with the hydraulics, and if it wasn’t that, then it was losing his World Champion. Mercedes was already dwindling down to a mess, but with Lewis leaving—it felt like he was losing his mind.
“You understand where I’m coming from, right, Toto?”
Looking up at Lewis and Penni, his manager, the Austrian sighs, forcing a tired smile. No. He didn’t understand—did not want to understand. But he had no right to prevent the Brit from expanding one final time before retirement. I just feel like I need to do this for myself, but thank you for the infinite support. Mercedes will always be home to me.
Promises. Fuck them, they meant nothing at the end of the day, so why bother?
“Do what you need to do. I’ll always be here for you; no matter what.”
It was a bittersweet feeling to have. On one hand, the brunette felt optimistic. Maybe this was a chance to start over, perhaps offer up the golden seat to Carlos or Kimi. They had proven themselves in their own way and maybe that could bring better opportunities towards the team.
On the other, he felt like this was it. Maybe it was time to move on, retire with a sorrowful smile and live out the rest of his years. He could try fixing things with Susie. The thing was, he just re-signed as team principal, so none of that would work out even if he wanted to.
Running a large hand through his brown hair, he groans and takes a sip of whiskey. Wincing at the taste, he jumps up in alert from his seat when there’s a knock on the glass door. May I? He nods.
Entering with an easy smile, Lewis raises his dark brows in a teasing manner. “Drinking ain’t gonna help, I promise you that.”
The brown eyed man grins. “You have something else in mind, cause if so, I’d like to hear it.”
The Brit hums, tilts his head to the side. Lewis had been with Toto for as long as he can remember; he was there when Toto and Susie met, and long after when they tied the knot. He swore they were happy, and that may have been once true, but he also knows sometimes even that can’t be enough. So, when news came out to their inner circle that the two were getting divorced, he felt sorry for him. He knows what it feels like to have it all, to suddenly go to sleep alone every night. But there was always one place that always helped— even people like him.
“You up for Vegas?”
-
He should have said no. He was too old for any of this nonsense. Too mature. Only, one thing led to another, and before he knew it, he was entering one of the top-tier stripclubs in all of Las Vegas. He knows that while there is nothing wrong with the profession, he can’t help but feel sinisterly dirty. He blames it on the fact that Lewis was beaming right besides him. Maybe if he hadn’t once been his boss, then the feeling would be different.
“Oh, c’mon. Ease up. No one will even know that you were in here.”
It’s true. While the club was a part of the infamous Vegas strip, it was also exclusively exclusive. No one could get in if there was no form of proving to be millionaires, and even that was ridiculously low. NDA’s would be signed as if it were something normal. Made him wonder what kind of things occurred between these four walls.
Toto chuckles deeply, dark eyes roaming the entire room, loud music blaring. “How did you even know this place exists?”
Lewis winks, lousy arm waving at the bouncers. “You know how everyone thinks Formula One drivers are players and are up to no good?”
“Yeah?”
He smirks. “Well…they’re fucking right.”
After a couple of drinks, a few new friends—who would make great potential business partners—and a bit of gambling, the fifty-two year old found himself having a decent time. The atmosphere was a tad bit suffocating, but one time won’t kill him. He deserved it.
“Oh, oh, you might want to take a seat,” Lewis chants excitedly. “People get pissed if you block their view.”
Abruptly, the stage lights up. It was a bit alarming, the sudden speed these men took to claim their seats, trampling over each other to get front row. Carefully, he crouches down onto the couch of giddy men. This wasn’t a normal setting; girls were caged behind glass as if to protect them from these males and their slithering actions. A red head professionally swings around the steel pole, black skirt flowing, adding to the illusion men love to taste.
Whoops and hollers echo the red room as the Brit nudges Toto’s broad shoulder with a wicked grin. “Good, no? She’s my favorite.”
The Austrian scrunches his nose, half joking, half not. “Is this why you were always dozing off during our meetings?”
“Exactly why.”
It was an impressive art, he’ll give credit where credits due, and his eyes were bulging out of his head, but that’s about it. When he stood up to go and order a new drink, a string of boos were thrown at him. Even Lewis shook his head with disapproval. Man, you’re missing the show! He sends a sly grin. “I’m tough to win over, but they’re great, don’t get me wrong.”
The bartender shakes his head in disbelief. “That’s what they all say. Until they lay eyes… on her.”
“On who?” He’s quickly hushed as soon as the room changes gears. The once red club enhances into a soft yellow glow, the fast paced music slows down to an angelic piano intro.
A round of applause for everyone’s favorite girl—Peaches!
If the fifty-two year old ever thought he’s heard it all; loud cheers from fans, loud cheers for the other dancers; then he must have been mistaken, and awfully foolish. His ears ring with the sudden howls from everyone in the room. Turning around, he’s found with a girl, standing with golden angel wings. A shiny reflection colors her hair as she delicately bows, shy smile sewn onto her pouty lips. White dress wrapped around her figure as if it was tailored for her, and only her.
Yayo.
The way she pranced inside the glass box like a butterfly makes the men grow wild as they pant feverishly. She’s barely doing anything—hasn't even done half as much as what the other girls had done—and somehow, all eyes are drawn on her like a sticky potion. Toto’s heartbeat gets stuck in his throat as he tries his best to swallow it down. Sad eyes flicker throughout the club as she spins, dress fluttering like a flower in the summer breeze.
You’re someone desirable in all senses, and it appears as if you know it as well.
Let me put on a show for you, daddy.
Dropping down to your knees, you crawl towards the glass as you draw your soft brows together, as if pleading to be let out. Hot breath paints the glass before you press a kiss.
Then, you’re looking at him, and it’s as if you could point out all the fucked up shit he’s ever done. His heart speeds up as you tie your shiny legs along the pole, sensually spinning as you throw your head back. Like a signal, water sprinkles inside the box as it lubricates you down, dark mascara trickling your features.
Arms toss your hair back before sharing a quick wave as you step out, red lights turning back on. And just like that, Toto is left empty and alone once again.
“That shit was insane,” the Brits voice shakes him away from your spell as he flops down on the stool right next to him. “She must be new because I for sure wouldn’t have forgotten a pretty face like hers. What’d you think?”
Toto blinks. “She might be my favorite.”
-
Thank you, Ro, you say as you sign on the bottom x, waving him off as he tilts his head in agreement. Call me if you need anything. I’ll be outside, like always.
Even after all this time, you still got trepidatious. There came times where the connection was completely off, that you just wanted to bolt away, screaming like a baby. But you needed this job to survive, plus, it paid a pretty penny.
“Where do you want me?”
Once you spot the massive businessman, manspreading on the couch that he made out to look like a toy, you gulp. You had caught a glimpse of him already, basically performed for him, but you didn’t think he was the one who called for you.
He’s strikingly handsome in a way you couldn’t quite comprehend. Dark, untamed hair covers his face. Long nose catches your attention as you squirm. His hands are practically the size of your face and you could only imagine what his thick fingers must feel like. Curiously, your eyes dwindle down to his lap as you picture what rests between his legs.
“Oh, right. Um…”
You grin. “First time?”
He winces. “It was a friend's idea.”
“Hmph. Heard that one before.” Inching closer, you pour a glass of water. “Here. It’ll help.”
His hand swallows you whole as you gape down at the difference. Electricity zaps you as you flinch and he catches on. Bringing the cup towards his pink lips, he closes his eyes, lashes fanning his tan skin. Being taken care of by a beautiful, young lady, made him cringe in all kinds of ways. He felt like a child, then like an old man. To be fair, he sort of was.
“I’m not here for…you know.” You quirk a neat brow. You don’t want to fuck me? Your question has him choking on the ice as he raises his hand up. “N-no, I just th—”
“I’m afraid you’re just wasting my time, and time is money. Have a good day, Mr. Wolff.”
Gaining his composure, Toto storms over to you, grabbing your hand. “I’ll still pay you. Triple what you make, but please don’t go.”
Your cheeks are dusted light pink when you turn around, wings brushing against him. If you’re lucky, you reach his toned chest, but the height difference was scary. Enticing. You almost wish he would fuck you like a pornstar.
“You know what a girl wants to hear. I’m in.”
Turns out, he just wanted a companion. Someone who wouldn’t pity him. Didn’t hurt that you were the prettiest thing he’s ever seen, either. Narrowing your eyes, you click your tongue. “She said that?”
He sighs. “Maybe I was changing.”
“Perhaps, but that’s what a marriage is for. You change, sure, but you change together. Things can’t possibly stay that same, that’s just stupid.” Tucking your legs beneath your butt, you continue. “And what? Your number one driver decides to leave out of the blue? Even after it was mutually decided that he would stick around at least until 2026?”
That was something no one knew, but who were you going to tell? Toto grimaces. “It sounds bad, doesn’t it?”
“It fucking sucks.”
The Austrian chuckles deeply at your outburst. You blush at the cunning sound. “You’re a terrific listener. I’m glad you stuck around to talk.”
“I’m glad I did, too.” You play with the hem of your dress. “You’re a kind man, Toto. You didn’t deserve any of this.”
-
He slips away that night with a tranquility he hasn’t felt in quite a while. On the way back to Monaco, he wonders if you were some kind of guardian that he had to meet in order to move on from his bittersweet feelings. Because it sure did feel like it since he felt he now knew what it is that he had to do in the upcoming season. All thanks to you.
“…Toto….Hello?” Bono smacks his hand against the table and the Austrian flinches. They were in the talks of what position he would stay in now that Lewis was departing from his life-long engineer. “Do you want me to continue or?”
The brunette clears his throat, awkwardly. “We have a few weeks of break before the new season begins, correct?”
“Correct.”
He stands up to his full height. “Then let’s talk later. Enjoy your break, Bono. See you soon.” Then he’s walking out the sliding doors, with a dumbfounded engineer piercing his eyes at his large back.
Elizabeth, Toto’s rough voice speaks to his personal assistant. Clear my schedule for the next few weeks. Oh, and also; get me the first flight out to Las Vegas.
-
Cursing at the dusty wind, you huddle your way into your beat up car, fingers sliding your Dior glasses down the bridge of your nose. They were a gift from a recent client, and you never shamed them away. Taking a sip of your sparkling water, you sigh in relief at the refreshing taste. Screw Nevada for being annoyingly hot.
Tap tap.
Squinting your eyes at your window, you only catch a glimpse of a man’s clothed crotch as you yelp. Swinging the door open, you take out your pepper spray. “Go away creep, I will use this if necessary!”
"Warten! Warten!"
“Huh?”
“I said wait,” a thick accent clarifies. You bite back a smile. “Hello.”
Bringing your hands up to your hips, you giggle. “Hello, Mr. Wolff. Back for more?”
He can try and pretend that he was better than crawling back to you, even if all you both did was have a meaningful conversation, but he doesn’t have time for lies.
“I just wanted to thank you.” Your lips separate, slowly. “For everything. You helped me figure out lots of things.”
“Oh, wow… I, umm… You’re welcome?”
Intaking your soft aura, he closes his right eye due to the bright sun. “Can I take you out for coffee?”
-
You didn’t go out for coffee at a local cafe, but rather at his mansion he just blew his money on without batting an eye. Inhaling the yummy scent, you swoon. “This smells amazing.”
He smiles. “It’s from Germany.”
“Authentic. How’d you get it?”
“Don’t underestimate power.” Your eyes grow wide at his cold tone and the Austrian laughs. “Relax. I’m from Germany. It’s my favorite, so I always carry one with me. Call me old-fashioned.”
“Let’s just leave it at old.”
He flashes a devious grin, lines tracing his face. “Ha-ha. But seriously, thank you for helping me out of my little…crisis.” Midlife crisis, you correct him as he glares. You snicker.
“I’m glad I was able to help.”
“Can I ask you something?” Sure, you cheer as you sip on the hot drink. He fixes his glasses. “How did you end up working at Machiavellian Nights?” Your stomach drops. “You don’t have to answer.”
“No.” He nods. “I’ll tell you, because oddly enough, I trust you.” Okay, he whispers. “Are you close to your parents?”
“What?” Are you? He nods again. You smile sadly.
“That’s lovely, Toto. Appreciate that.” You release a shaky breath. “My father passed away when I was fifteen and my mother pretends to not know me.”
He gulps and you continue. “It was not always like that, though. We had a close relationship. She would braid my hair every night before bed. I would curl hers before every date. She was an amazing woman. One I could admire.”
“What happened?”
You lower your head, lips wobbling. Letting out a wet laugh, you brush a hand up against your nose. “Men are deceiving. Men are shit. Men are a complete waste of time and— I miss who my mom used to be.”
Handing you a napkin, you silently thank him. “She met him when I was only seventeen. It was fine at first; I was so happy for her. I would be moving out for college eventually, so I felt relieved that she had someone to rely on. Connor was great.”
The fifty-two year old is momentarily lost. Nothing sounds as bad as it seems, but he refrains from telling you so. “Then she got pregnant. Oh, Toto, I was so excited. A baby sister. Could you imagine? I bought everything my first job could afford. Onesies, blankies, pampers, I bought it all. And I never once expected anything in return.”
“That’s where things began to change. Connor swore I was trying to win my mom over and leave Rosie with nothing. Kicked me out before I even had a chance to defend myself. I thought —okay, I’ll just talk to her and explain that it was never my intention to do any of that. But she wouldn’t listen. She gave birth six months ago.”
“And you ended up...” You hum, bringing the mug up to your lips.
“It was either that or fast food. Salary is shit in that industry. And the customers aren’t bad. I could say yes or no at any given time.”
The brunette fiddled with his watch. “So, you could have turned me away?” Laughing, you nod. He fakes a smug look. “And why didn’t you?”
Tapping a lazy finger onto your chin, you close your eyes before fluttering them open. “I had a feeling you had shit locked away. Just like me.”
-
He bids you farewell, claiming he was glad to have met you, even with such circumstances. The way he hugs you goodbye makes the pit of your stomach fuel with fire as you brush away the urge to climb onto him and kiss his pain away, even if he promises to not feel any.
Take care of yourself, you beg, head resting beneath his heart. His breath hitches. You need to look after yourself, above all. Oh. And good luck with the new season.
He wonders why such a pretty plea makes his heart break. Perhaps it was because even though your life was at rock bottom, you still looked out for others. Or maybe it was him, but he couldn’t pinpoint it at all. He wouldn’t try either because as stated before, he was leaving for good. He could make room to visit you the next time he was here for the Las Vegas GP. Even then, he wouldn’t risk you like that.
But like a kid at a candy shop, he finds himself signing the NDA once again. Welcome back, Mr. Wolff. The usual? “That sounds great, thank you.” Taking a seat, he watches the vivid room, hoping to spot you. Set after set, he’s torn when you don’t show up. Others seem to notice you missing as they violently spit slurs of; Bring out the pretty one!
“Would you be kind enough to treat me to a sweet drink? Paloma’s are my favorite.”
Your sultry voice salutes him like a perfect hug as he looks down to where you bite down onto the inside of your cheek. Your eyes crinkle as you beam up at him. “You’re here…”
“I always am.”
He cringes, desperation humbling him as you take a seat. “Your act…you didn’t go on and I just thought you were out sick or something?” Leaning over to take a sip of his dark drink, loopy eyes train on him before sighing.
“Ugh, I wish. I’m on my period. I asked for the night off, but I’m still up to no good. Make a little bit of money, eh.” He clenches his jaw. “What are you doing here anyways, Toto? Oh shit—Mr. Wolff.” Smiling warmly at the bartender, you hug your red lips around the glass.
“I wanted to see you.”
Choking on the fruity drink, you clutch onto his thigh. He stiffens, but still pats your exposed back. You wore a silky red dress, just like the rest of the girls strutting through the busy club, but somehow, it looked better on you. Enhancing your soft features, tugging against your curves like an envelope. Perky tits begging to be licked— sucked on.
“Why?”
“I…I don’t know.” You frown. “I have no idea, but you’ve lingered on my mind from the moment I saw you, dancing sadly. Why was that?”
You purse your lips. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
He huffs. “Think a little bit harder, then.” His firm tone makes you sit up straight, drawing circles on his lap, as a tactic to not pull your strong gaze away. You don’t even notice his hard cock pushing up against the denim.
“I had just received a restraining order against Rosie.” He deflates. “I’ve never even met my newborn sister and they got a fucking restraining order.” You scoff. “Unbelievable.”
Toto was lucky enough to be a part of his kids' lives, but simply picturing the idea of Stephanie or Susie getting a restraining order against him, crushed him. Seeing you so upset about it makes him want to track down your mother and Connor and yell at them for how they’ve treated you. But then he would probably find himself with a similar piece of paper.
“Just when I think they’ve done it all, there always seems to be more.” You laugh, taking another sip of your cold drink. “They’re getting clever.”
“How are you so okay with any of this?”
You narrow your eyes, offended by his question. “You think I am? Toto, I feel like the odd one out. My own mother makes me feel like a culprit for simply wanting to give my baby sister a pair of shoes.” The brunette furrows his brows. You giggle. “I got Rosie a pair of ballet shoes. They’re the cutest thing you’ll ever see.”
His lips quirk upwards. “So, you’ve tried to meet her?” You shake your head, hair whiplashing. I called my mom, brought up the idea. I guess she didn’t like it because next thing I knew, hello, restraining order. It’s sick. “They don’t deserve you.”
Your mouth stays agape as you blink back at him, doe eyes ringing him in. “I’m done trying. I get tired too, y’know?” Edging closer to your seat, you cup your hands against his ear, getting a whiff of his musky, expensive scent. You almost let out a moan. “You have kids, right? Were they cute when they were babies?”
He nods, enthusiastically. “They’re heaven sent.” Your eyes twinkle, and he feels bad for a split second. “Want to see?” He dangles his phone towards you as you beam. Do you mind? “Not at all. As a father, you must know, I like to brag about them.” Rolling your eyes, you swipe through his gallery as you coo.
“Oh my goodness! She looks just like you,” you point out when you spot a blond girl. He grins. That’s Rosa. Flickering your eyes up to him, you gasp. “Rosie.”
“Huh? Similar…that’s funny.”
Your grin widens. “Oh, handsome. Just like his father.” Benedict, he informs you as he blushes at the comment. Swiping once more, you tilt your head. “Very cute—like insanely adorable—but he doesn’t resemble you at all.” He laughs, throwing his head back.
“That’s my youngest, Jack. He looks just like his mother.” He retrieves the phone from you before handing it back. Squinting, you analyze the older blond. “Identical. It’s almost as if you didn’t partake in the game, Mr. Wolff.”
“Oh, trust me, I did.”
Burning up, you rip your gaze away from the device, trying to erase your filthy thoughts. Especially of him and his ex-wife. “She seems nice. Beautiful, too.” He hums, slipping his phone back into his pocket.
“I can tell you have a soft spot for kids.”
“I don’t want to scare you off, but it’s an obsession. I can’t wait to be a mommy.” He swallows a groan at your innocent wish. “I would try to be the best; I just know I would.”
The Austrian rubs his arm. “It’s getting late. Are you still going to be around?”
You yawn. “I think I’m out of here, too.”
“Can I take you home?”
The sexual tension is as thick as thieves. It suffocates you whole as you stare out the window of his Mercedes Benz. His digits taps against the leather wheel, legs barely fitting from how massive he is. Head almost touching the roof of his car. I swear I’ll go back to school, God, but please help me keep the last bits of my dignity.
“How tall are you?” Come again? You gulp. “What’s your height? Curious, that’s all.”
His head rolls back, Adam’s Apple jumping up and down. “Meters or in feet?” You bite down on your tongue. Smart-ass.
“Feet, if it’s okay with you,” you reply sarcastically. He clicks his tongue in amusement.
“6’5.”
“Oh my God.” You smile sheepishly when he frowns. “You’re huge.”
“They normally say that after I have sex with them, but thank you.”
Heat rushes to your cheekbones and the tip of your ears. “You know what I meant.”
“Oh, of course, my mistake.” Pulling into your small driveway, he blinks slowly. “You live here?”
“Yes, don’t drool over it, please,” you growl at his rude tone. His brown eyes spin towards you when you hurriedly grab your things. He grabs the back of your dress quickly and you freeze.
“I didn’t mean it like that, it’s lovely, but I just thought…you said you made good money?”
High heels crunch against small pebbles as you scowl at the fifty-two year old. “I want to go back to Uni and I’m saving up, is that so wrong?” He’s embarrassed now, fixated on the empty passenger seat. You scoff. “Glad we agree. Good night, dickhead.”
Toto lets out a quiet laugh. Your eye twitches at the sound. Marching over to his window, you click your fingers as he rolls it down. This is funny to you? “Not at all. You acting like a child is.”
“I am not acting like a child—”
“Oh, you’re not? Fuck. Again, my mistake.” Grinding your molars, you glare at the brunette. He aims for a soft smile. “I wasn’t making fun of your living arrangements, please, do you really think that low of me?” You look away, wiggling your neat brows. “Come and live with me.”
“Excuse me?”
He climbs out of the car, making you stumble back. “In the meantime, while I’m here, which is not for long. When I leave, you can keep the house.”
You grow light headed from his delirious offer. “Are you asking me to have sex with you in return for a new home?” His jaw drops.
“No, I’m being a good friend. You’re a sweet girl who has dealt with some shitty people and I want to help. Please, accept.” His voice is soft but somehow demanding. As if he already knows you’re going to agree.
Inching closer, you poke his chest. He raises his arms. “Are you real?” Super real, he states, rolling his chocolate eyes. What do you say?
“But my things—”
“I’ll send for them.”
“My downpayment—”
“I’ll take care of it.”
“Cool!” you cheer. “Let me just go grab my boyfriend.” His smile falls. Letting out an evil laugh, you clutch onto your stomach. “Ha! You should have seen your face.”
He pinches your forearm and you yelp in surprise. “Don’t make me regret this.”
“Too late,” you yodel as you skip around, back into the black Mercedes. “You’re going to regret it anyways.”
-
We still have to talk about the preparations required for the unveiling of the W15. Please tell me you haven’t forgotten?
Massaging his temples, Toto grimaces. “I haven't, but also, we don’t have to. It’s all ready to go; George and Lewis just need to show up.”
Elizabeth gasps. “And you.”
“Elizabeth, that was implied.” The assistant hums sheepishly as she continues talking his ear off. He groans. “I’ll be there, don’t worry. You’re doing a great job, keep it up. And please, enjoy your break. You’re going to wish you had when the season starts.”
“Of course. Take care, Toto.”
Once they hang up, he picks up on reading through articles about everything and anything people have been saying about Lewis’ new contract with Ferrari. He was happy for his driver, but it still stung.
“You look tired.”
Chocolate eyes direct over to you where you stand with an oversized t-shirt and a pair of panties. At least he hopes. “Oh, y’know. Catching up on work. Can’t be gone for too long, if not things get out of control.”
Rolling your eyes sarcastically, you slide your way closer to him. “Can I see?”
“See what?”
Squinting at the screen, your eyes glimmer brightly. “I love all things gossip. It’s my guilty pleasure.” Taking a seat on his thick lap, your delicate fingers start playing with the keypad. He grunts, placing both hands behind his head as his jaw ticks. “Charles Leclerc and Lewis Hamilton: The Unstoppable Duo.” You giggle. “He’s cute. Take it back, they both are.”
He lets out a strained chuckle. “You’re evil.”
Tossing your hair over your shoulder, you shrug. It looks so soft, he’s itching to run his fingers through it. “I see why you’re upset about this whole—‘I want Lewis! No, I want Lewis!—thing.” His smile falters. “It’s brutal.”
Hauling you off of his lap, he places you on the chair next to him, hoping you wouldn’t notice his hard print. “Is it?”
“Mhmm,” you chirp, chin propped onto your knees. “You must not mind people talking about you.”
“I do mind. I mind a lot.”
Perplexed, you take in his exhausted state. You never wanted to be famous, and seeing him live like this made you realize you had made the right choice. With slight hesitance, you brush his hair back; he sighs in relief. “It’s good to take breaks in between. That way you don’t have a stroke, old man.” His eyes fly open.
“Just because you’re younger, that doesn't mean I’m about to drop dead, sweetheart.” You squirm, forcing his orbs back closed as he squirms at the clumsy action.
“Wanna feel something nice?”
Toto’s mind wanders to a steamy place once you leap off your chair. His chest heaves up and down from nervousness, hearing your soft steps. Straddling him, you press a soft kiss onto his cheek. Relax, Toto. He nods, grips onto the sides of the wooden chair, knuckles turning ghost white. Digging your hands into his broad shoulder, you begin to massage him at a steady pace. He moans. “How are you so good at this?” Your lips curl.
“I like to think I was a masseuse in my past life, now shhh.”
The brunette’s main focus was between two things; actually letting loose and enjoying the much needed massage and the urge to slide your panties to the side and fuck you senselessly. Both were pretty good ideas in his book.
“Stop grunting,” you whisper in the nook of his ear as he shudders. You bite down on your pouty lip, leaning all the way back, and his hands instinctively reach out to catch you. His brown eyes flutter open as he admires the way you tower over him, even as you lay back, but also the way your fingers push adamantly against the knots in his shoulders. He growls animalistically. “What did I say, Mr. Wolff?”
Cold stare. “What am I supposed to do, then?”
Grabbing his large hands, you place them over your hips, an inviting smile dancing across your pink lips. Squeeze if you have to. He almost comes inside his pants as you lick your lips once more before continuing your actions. And it almost seems like you want to get a rise out of him. To make him groan, moan, grunt, cry out— for you.
Purposefully, you dig your knuckles extra hard before pinching down with your nails. He hisses, grasping your sides hard as he throws his head back, floppy hair hitting the chair. You force a whimper away as you feverishly grind against his crotch. That kind of hurt, Toto.
“Fuck…I’m sorry,” he spills out as he starts a massage of his own. You smirk, repeating the same painful actions, pushing him to do the same as before. This was no longer a peaceful massage, you both knew that. It really hurts, you whine as you place a small hand against his chest, hips moving feverishly against his rough pants. The burning sensation makes you let out a pathetic wail as you rest your head against his shoulder. “A-are you okay?”
Then, you press your forehead against his; lustful gaze challenging him while tears cover up your pretty eyes, making them shimmer even more than before. “Never been better.” With one last rub against his slacks, you’re climaxing as you plow your red nails onto him.
Gasping for air, you return to tracing soft circles against his wide shoulders as he’s left dazed and confused. His cock still hurts from how hard he is, but you don’t seem to notice. Or you ignore it. It doesn't matter, because you’re already jumping off him, lips bruised from how hard you had bit down.
“I thought your hands would hurt a lot less, Toto. You ought to be nice to me.”
Then, you’re skipping away, back into your room like a shy rabbit.
-
After the encounter in the dining room, you pranced around as if nothing had happened. Maybe nothing had. Toto’s mind was probably playing tricks on him because there was no way you could act so nonchalant, hallowing your lips around the cherry popsicle. Is it red? You stick your salivating tongue towards him.
“That’s a dumb question.”
You frown. “Grump.” A beat. “Can I take the Mercedes on a spin?”
“No.”
The frown grows deeper. “Why not? I swear I won’t scratch it. In fact, I won’t let anything happen.”
“Tempting, but still no.”
“Fine,” you grumble, munching down on the icy treat. He smiles, fingers typing against his computer. Can I ride you? His digits freeze midair as he flickers his brown eyes over at you. Holding the car keys directly to your face, you hum playfully. Yeah. Why not, Peaches? Just take care of me! “Of course, my sweet Benz. I won’t let anyone hurt you.”
“You are worse than my four year old.” He inhales sharply, rolling up his sleeves as he tries to ease his crazy heartbeat with water. You giggle.
“He said yes.”
“The car talks now?”
You blush. “That’s what I’m sayinggg…”
Analyzing the strand of hair that hits your chin, he folds his hands. “How did you choose Peaches as your stage name?”
You swallow the last piece of your popsicle. “It’s not an interesting story. I have a co-worker who goes by Foxy because she once fucked a fucking grandpa in the woods and he died of a heart attack once he saw a fox. Pretty cool, huh?”
His jaw drops. “You’re crazy.” Shrugging, you kick your legs up on the armrest. He swallows. “But I still want to know. No matter how boring it may seem. I can guarantee you I won’t think the same, pessimist.”
Gingerly squinting your round eyes, your lips for a thin line. “When I was younger, my mom would bring me a peach everyday after work. That way, when she would pick me up from school, she would have it ready. The sweetest ones were during summer, of course, but the ones out of season were still pretty good. Up to this day, I still don’t know how she got her hands on those.” He nods. “Simple as that.”
“I think it’s sweet.” His long legs stretch out to kick your chair away. You squeal. “Makes you seem a tiny bit human.”
“Hey!”
He smirks. “Way better than Foxy. That story is just a murder case waiting to be taken to trial.”
“She did receive a handsome inheritance,” you whistle and his eyes grow wide. You snicker. “I’m kidding.”
Pinching the bridge of his nose, he lets out a heavy sigh. “Do you enjoy your job? Is this what you want to do for the rest of your life?” You shake your head.
“Wait, let me rephrase. I do enjoy pole dancing. So many outsiders assume we’re sluts, but it’s not like that. It’s an art, whether you believe it or not.” I agree. You grin. “I have fun, but no, I don’t want to do this forever. I want to be an elementary school teacher.”
“Really?”
You wince. “Seems inappropriate, I know, but I think I could be really good at it. I would cut them slices of sweet peaches any chance I get. I’ll even figure out where to buy some more once the season ends.” Scooting closer to the table, you flick your wooden stick onto his lap. He aims for a deadpan expression. “And I just want to make it clear that I do not sleep around. But when I do, it’s because I want to. I have needs too, Toto.”
The fifty-two year old grinds his teeth together. “I’m sure you do.”
-
Wobbling against the shiny tiles, you gasp before a warm hand saves you. You let out a breath of relief, turning to see Toto shaking his head in disapproval.
“This is why you should leave to work on time. Now you’re just a mess.” Glaring at him, you fix your rollers as you walk out onto the private driveway. You were excluded from the rest of society, but part of you liked that. “How are you even going to get there?”
Spinning around, you almost crash into his chest before you regain your composure, close proximity making you struggle to find the words. “Toto, I never told you this, but…I can fly.”
“I’m being serious.”
You shrug. “I’m going to take the bus. Go back to your precious emails.” As soon as you twiddle your finger, he scoffs.
“I would take you—”
“But you’re busy— it’s fine.”
“Can you stop talking?” Beady eyes narrow up at him as he continues. “But I can’t because I’m drowning with work…You can take the Mercedes.” Your eyes light up.
“Are you fucking with me?”
He wishes he was fucking you, but no. “You better treat it like your own.” You click your tongue. See, you shouldn’t have said that because now my alter ego just grew. He points accusingly and you scrunch your nose. I promise. Handing you his keys, he watches carefully as you pull away, blowing him a kiss.
A few hours pass by before he feels the need to check up on you. He tries texting first. Busy night? Nothing. He tries calling. Nothing. He starts thinking you might've crashed on your way there, so he hurries out the door.
Paying the taxi driver, he marches past the doors as he is handed a piece of paper. He smiles back politely. “Don’t you guys think we’re past this?” The men take a quick glance at each other before nodding. Have a lovely night, Mr. Wolff.
Loud music makes the brunette wince, face twisting uncomfortably. Brown eyes study the club as he tries to decipher where you could possibly be. Maybe you didn’t make it and he was right after all. Jogging over to the bartender, Toto pants. “Peaches? Have you seen her?”
The young man points to the glass box, where you start your set. He sighs in relief as he takes a seat, rolling up his sleeves as he admires. Everyone cheers as you smile erotically. The Austrian can’t help but be one of them too.
Spotting him, you freeze. You narrow your eyes for a split second before you snap out of it, continuing your desirable movements. The music ends and just like that, you’re done. Hollering echoes the room when you brush past by.
“What are you doing here?”
A cheesy grin plays out. “I came to see you.” Weren’t you busy with work? He shakes his head. “Well, yes actually, but I thought you were dead in a ditch when you didn’t reply to my message or answer any of my calls.”
“Why could that be? Oh. Maybe because I’m working,” you hiss. “Listen, if you’re here as a client— fine. But if you’re here as Toto— leave.”
He narrows his eyes sharply and your breath hitches. “It’s Mr. Wolff, darling.”
You purse your lips. “Very well, Mr. Wolff.” Strutting away, you make sure you sway your hips. The brunette groans, falling back against his chair.
The night flies by as usual, until they book you. “Mr. Straforx, sitting in the back booth,” Ro informs you as you suck on your bottom lip, listening attentively. “Interested?”
“Very.”
“Actually, I am too.”
The rich accent makes your stomach flip as you muster up a stern glare. Toto’s lips form a firm line as he stands as tall as a sequoia. Fuming, you shake your head, perfectly done hair slapping your face. “I’m so sorry, Mr. Wolff, but I already agreed to somebody else. But rest assured, if I have time left, then I will get to you.”
“Is money the issue here?”
Your jaw ticks, temples grinding together harshly. “You think that’s all I care about?”
He shrugs. “I could lie and say no, but who am I kidding? We all care about money.”
Flustered, you scoot closer to Ro, who stands amused with the entire interaction. “Ro, tell Mr. Straforx that I’ll be there in a minute, and make sure to apologize on my behalf.” The older man nods, tipping his head towards the Austrian as he strolls away. “What are you trying to do, Toto?”
His lips flip to a teasing smile. “Mr. Wolff.”
“Oh, don’t you dare pull that card on me.” Your face pinches up. “This is an important client, I can’t say no.”
“How much do you want in order for you to come with me instead of him?” Your berry lips separate. “Name a price. I’m a self-made billionaire, sweetheart—a couple of millions are nothing to me.”
“I could never ask for you to do that,” you whisper, timidly fiddling with your necklace. “Deal with it. You’re not my boyfriend.”
His nose flares at the cruel reminder. “I never claimed to be. I’m a client.” Pause. “Two million.”
You gasp. “Are you insane?”
“You’re right, that’s childsplay. How about five?” When you still don’t say anything, he grins devilishly as he places a large hand on the lower part of your back. “Ro! Yeah, tell Me. Straforx that she’s coming with me. I’ll give you a bonus, don’t worry.” Your friend nodded happily. Press the button if you need anything.
You roll your eyes, sourly. “Thank you, Ro. Thank you so much.” Pushing you into the private room, you yelp. “Let go of me!”
The brunette scoffs. “Calm down, I was barely even touching you.”
Shivering, you focus your attention on the luxurious drinking options. Half of these were probably worth what you make in a year, but the rich fed off of that. The brown eyed man hums. “Is that something you’re interested in?” You quirk a brow. A drink? He shakes his head. “Do you want me to touch you?”
You blink up at him swiftly, rubbing your thighs together. “You’re reading into it. I don’t.” Digging his large hands into his pockets, he clicks his tongue. Okay. Then ask me to leave. We can pretend none of this ever happened. A sad whine bubbles up your throat as you fear that he might actually walk out if you even dared to imply. “Just don’t be a jerk.”
A threatening chuckles booms past his lips as he serves himself a drink you can’t even pronounce. He takes a slow sip before he raises his glass up towards you. “You’re getting to me a bit more than I’d like to admit. I mean, you must know that, right?” Demented, you play with your dress.
Tonight, you were cosplaying a wide-eyed devil. There was nothing threatening about your appearance, not if you didn’t count your crimson red lips. Plump, round, tempting. Your black gartner drives him to complete insanity as you bite down on your bottom lip, nervously. Your red dress is too short for his liking, but only because others get to enjoy the sight of your heavenly legs. The ones he was drooling over to nuzzle his face in between. Then your horns tussle your hair messily as you pant. He hasn’t even touched you and you were already dripping.
“That’s not true, Mr. Wolff.” The grin widens..
“You can call me Toto when we’re alone, sweetheart.” You shiver, lowering your gaze. No, you were right. It has to stay professional in this setting. The brunette rolls his tongue before squinting his eyes at you, fine lines forming. The sight alone makes you melt. “You should have thought about that before you came all over my thigh.”
Shocked at his vulgar words, you bat your eyes, flustered by the reminder. You had done that. But you had the upper hand that day and that was long gone as he towered over you. Inching closer, he drops down to his knees, him still appearing taller even with the action. You squirm.
“You were not playing fair that day. How come you only got to finish, and I didn’t?” You were hurting me, you cry out like a child as he scoffs at your weak attempt. Tugging you closer to him by your smooth legs, he droops them over his wide shoulders. Oh God. Turning his head to the side, he presses warm kisses. Your skin burns with every single one. “You know that’s not true.” Then, he’s hiking your tiny dress up.
Toto is hit with instant lust as he spots the wet patch of arousal. You whine, legs shutting around him. Do something—anything—but please, touch me. The corner of his lips lift up as he bites onto your red undergarment, pulling it down. Oh, you sigh at the intimate vision. Once you’re on full display, he groans. Your pussy glistens back at him, begging to be stretched out. “You’re…”
Humming, you place your soft palm against his cheek. “Toto…”
Like a starved man, he dives in, lips sucking on your clit as you fly forward, eyes screwed shut. He eats you out as if this was his true calling in life, the way he pinches your hips when you rock yourself against his face. He’s enjoying every second, every drop, as you find pleasure with the way his tongue swirls inside of you, finding new places you didn't know existed. The brunette nips quickly as you gasp, then he strikes his tongue. Warm sensation settles inside of your stomach. T-toto, holy fuck, oh my God.
You can feel the way he grins against your pussy as he continues his handy work. Slurping your juices, his dark eyes find yours as you pant, light sweat fanning your face. His large hand presses your dress down, further adding to the friction as your tummy is pushed down as well. Wailing, you writher an embarrassing amount that would normally have you pouring out apologies if it weren’t for his strong gaze.
“Taste so sweet,” he chants, kitten licks taking place. Your head rolls back against the couch, hand clutching onto his hair as he grunts. “Open your eyes for me, schatzi.” But you’re too busy trying to make this moment last, ignoring his command. Pressing his nose against your small hole, you squeal and look down. A coy expression takes over as he pulls away and rubs his fingers against your puffy clit.
“You s-so fucking good at this,” you pant, chest rises up and down, horns sliding down a bit before he extends his long arm, pushing it back. Your chest tightens. “I know what you’re going to do…Go easy, please.”
Taunting circles edge you further as he bites the squishy part of his cheek. “What am I going to do?”
“You’re going to try and make your fingers fit.”
Your words come out menacing as you scrunch your eyebrows together, a worried look clear to the Austrian. Kissing the inside of your thigh, he nods. “You’re an extremely smart girl.” Another kiss. “I’ll go slow. You won’t even feel any discomfort, just pleasure.”
“Wait!”
Panic strikes his face as you disconnect his left hand from your breast. Bringing his hand up, you inspect the wedding band. Why are you still wearing this? He groans. “Publicity. No one knows yet. They won’t know for a while, so I can’t take it off until then.” You hum, then slide his ring finger into your mouth. You can taste yourself, long digits immediately hitting the back of your throat as you gag. “What are you—”
Then he feels it. Your soft tongue and the way it lubricated the steel before you gently bit down and started pulling his hand back. His cock grows more pained from how hard he’s become. With a pop you smile, eyes crinkling as you show off the metal. “Better.”
“You’re…” I know, you seductively whisper as you return his hand to where it laid. Is that not what you like about me? The man practically growls as he slams two thick fingers inside of you. Your body jolts as you cry out. So good, Toto. His cock twitches at you ragged praises. His fingers barely even fit inside your tiny hole, but it sure as hell reaches your g-spot. White splotches burn your eyes as you dig your nails onto the side of his thick neck.
“Just like that. Oh, Toto.” He adds a third finger, and you hiss at the burning sensation. “That’s too much! Fuck.” He makes up for it, drawing figure 8’s between your velvety walls as you open up to him. Your legs start to slip down his shoulders as he spits. Keep them in place. You whimper, but obey, nonetheless.
The pad of his fingers continue assaulting your sweet spot, curling at a perfect angle. Your moans grow louder. Chocolate eyes flicker up to face your fucked up state. “Close?” You nod, vigorously. A warm strip teases your slippery lips. “Good. You’re doing so good, Peaches.”
Your hips buck suddenly as you suffocate him with your body, but he doesn’t seem to mind at all. Picking up on your candy nectar, he groans like a madman, greedy tongue swiping to lick every last drop. Shuddering at the feeling, you push his head away from in between your legs and grab him by the collar. For a second, he thinks you might kiss him, but when you don’t he realizes he’s disappointed. Instead, you plant a kiss on his cheek, hot breaths wrapping around his skin.
“Guess that makes us even, Mr. Wolff.”
-
“And then I rode a pony! I begged mama to let me get on a horse instead, but I just got a good scolding. But you would’ve let me, right papa?” Toto theatrically grins at Jack.
“Don’t tell her, but yes. I would have let you because you're a big boy now, aren't you?” The four year old nods, blond hair covering his eyes as he brushes it away with powdered hands from his donut. I miss you. When are you coming back?
Pressure tugs at the Austrians chest as he sighs. Jack was too young—he wouldn’t understand that he and Susie would no longer be living together. It was a mutual decision to tell him when the time was right, but it still killed him to lie to his son. Especially when he beams back with bright eyes. Toto winces. “Soon.” A pin drops. “Have you eaten your vegetables for the day?” Jack sprints away.
A soft laugh is heard from the other side of the screen as Susie comes to view. “He has not, by the way. Hi, Toto.” The brunette waves. “Are you actually busy with work or are you trying to forget about all your fatherly duties?”
“Is it that obvious?”
The blond chuckles. “Whatever it is, it’s great that you’ve taken time to yourself. Just don’t take too long.” Signing off, the fifty-two year old is left staring at his own reflection.
“He’s cuter than the pictures.” Toto flinches with surprise. Standing in a summer dress, you lick your lollipop. “His voice is super squeaky; it’s adorable.”
“Do you need something?”
His question may seem rude, but it’s not meant to come off as so. His voice is filled with genuine concern as he furrows his brows. You shake your head. “I’m bored, that's all.”
The brunette scoffs. “And by all means, you came to bother me.” A giggle dances out of you as you brush your hair back. Your sweet scent reaches him, even though you stand far enough away to make a run for the hills. “But I do have time. What do you have in mind?”
“I want to talk to my mom.” Your words shock him but he listens attentively, watching you as you sit on top of the table, legs swinging with rigidness. “I want to try and fix things.” He frowns. But you’ve done nothing wrong. You shift in an uncomfortable manner. “Well…”
“What did you do?”
“Remember how I got a restraining order, but I’ve never stepped close to Rosie?” He nods. You nibble on your thumb. “I s-sort of lied.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean I’ve met her, kind of…” You pout, hazed expression carving out through your doll features. “But I can explain.”
He sighs. “Please do.”
Your cheeks flush. “A few weeks before I met you, Connor called me. And I picked up. He told me he was willing to let me meet my sister, but only if I let him borrow fifty grand. To be honest, I don’t care if I never get my money back— I just wanted to be able to recognize Rosie’s face. Of course I said yes.” The Austrian listens carefully, loopy eyes dedicated to you. “I bought her ballet shoes, the one’s I told you about.”
“She was perfect. She giggled like the most angelic thing and her eyes crinkled in a way that made me love her instantly. I asked why Connor needed the money and if they were in trouble, but he only ignored me. Then he tried to kiss me.”
“He what?”
A timid smile plays out. “It’s okay, he does that sometimes, but I’m always able to push him off because most of the time he’s drunk out of his mind. I don’t normally care, but he had Rosie… What if because of some stupid mistake he put her in danger? I gave Rosie her gift and paid an Uber to take them back home.”
“My mom found out about the meet-up and marched right to my work. Don’t ask me how she got in. She yelled at me with such anger that I almost wanted to cry. She said I wanted to steal both Rosie and Connor from her. I promised that wasn’t true, but she didn’t care. Then I got my restraining order.”
The brunette’s words get stuck as he gapes at you. Clearing his throat, he drums his fingers against the table. “You should have told me the truth,” he begins. Hurt slashes your face—you thought he would understand. He offers a friendly smile. “But still…you’ve done nothing wrong.” A beat. “I can help you. Well, my lawyers can.”
Tears form inside your jello eyes. “Are you serious?”
He nods. “Your sister can’t grow up in a household that doesn’t want her, but keeps her just to twist the knife. Connor will pay for what he’s done to you.” Leaping off the table, you cross your arms. No. You can’t bring that up. He sends a sharp glare. “What he did was wrong, can’t you see?” Your bottom lip wobbles. She’s going to hate me even more. Tenderly, he sighs as he strolls over, cupping your face. “She shouldn’t, but if she does, at least you’ll be free from him. Has he only tried to kiss you?”
Closing your eyes, you release a wet breath. “He’s touched me a couple of times.” The Austrains eyes darken. Pushing his hands down, you quickly take a step back. “But by then I was due to move out, so it doesn’t really matter!”
“It matters a little,” he growls. “None of this is normal.” You flinch at his strong tone. “Sweetheart, tell me one thing; what would you do if God forbid, he did the same thing to Rosie?”
You gasp. “I would murder him.”
“So, you agree that we have to do something about this?” Hesitantly, you nod. “I’ll reach out to my attorney as soon as possible. I promise you that all of this will get taken care of.” Muscular arms drape over your shoulders as he hugs you. Bewildered, you blink as you stiffen. “You don’t hug much?”
“Nope.”
He booms with laughter, chest vibrating as you smile at the feeling. Everything about this feels right, so then why does that scare you?
-
He vows to be back as soon as he’s done with the car reveal. I don’t care, you reply as you pop a mint into your mouth, getting ready for work.
You’re going to miss me, watch.
And damn him, the fucker was right—you did. A part of you wishes he would rush past the doors, yapping about he thought you were dead and didn’t ask for permission to take the Benz. But he was across the world, smiling wide at media duties as you watched behind a tiny screen. It’s good that he’s taking time to see Jack, too.
“Why are you sighing so sad?” Roxy asks, fixing her combat boots. “Not getting any clients? Though I doubt it. They love you.”
You let out a forced laugh. “I’m not sad—tired.”
The red head furrows her brows suspiciously before hugging you. Your arms dangle lazily as you scrunch your nose. She giggles. “Does this have to do with Mr. Toto Wolff? He’s hot—crazy hot.” She untangles herself from you. “He must be the devil himself.”
“Is that so?”
“Oh yeah,” she cheers happily. “But also, you’re totally in love.” Your stomach drops. No, I am not. Roxy rolls her eyes. “You’re a good liar, but you’re not that good. I’ve noticed the way you look at him. Like you want to eat him alive as you kiss him until your lips snap.”
You wince at the image. “You have a way with words…”
She beams, thin brows raising up. “I’ve also noticed that you haven’t gone into the private room since he walked in through those doors. So what, you’re just going to keep pretending?”
“You’re such a creep!” you squeal, delicate hand slapping her thigh. She squeals lightheartedly. You’re missing out on a shit ton of money. We’re talking dough. And yet you don't bat an eye because you don’t want anyone but him. Did I nail it?
You pinch your fingers together as you huff. “You’re crazy. Crazy. There is no way I could be in lo—” Hey! The ringing sound makes your blood run cold as you fear to turn around. Look at me. Foxy stares back at you with anxious eyes. Do you know her? Looking down onto your lap, you nod. “That’s my mother.”
“Oh shit.”
A dry hand yanks you by the arm as she spins you around. “I’m talking to you. Why won’t you look at me?”
You flinch. “I’m working, you can’t be doing this—”
“I don’t give two shits if you’re working or not, if I say we need to talk, then we need to talk.” Ro shakes his head, distressed as he apologizes. I’m so sorry, Peaches. She said she was your mom and I…I didn't know what to do. You smile back softly.
“Don’t worry. Can you get me a room?”
As soon as your mother enters the dark area, she whistles. “Fancy, but really? Bending over for any man willing to pay you a couple cents? That’s disgusting.”
Your cheeks burn up as you fight back tears. “What do you want? Is Rosie okay?” Panic rushes through your veins as you grab her by the shoulders, shaking her violently. She’s so thin, you think you might break her. “Is she okay, I said?”
“She’s fine,” she yawns. “So…this is what you’re up to? It always…catches me by surprise. Not really.”
“I had no choice,” you whisper meekly. “You gave me no choice.”
The older woman smirks. “Don’t you dare blame me. No one makes you do anything— this was your decision.”
You let out a tired sigh. “Just tell me what you want…”
Her eye twitches, as if she remembers why she was so angry to begin with. “I got your complaint; you’re suing me for being a bad mother and Connor for…assaulting you? Do you realize how stupid that sounds?”
“I’m not lying—”
“Really?”
“Why would I lie?” you yell back, acid sliding down your cheeks. “I would never make up such a thing. He assaulted me countless times as you never did a single thing.”
“I never saw anything.”
You let out a bitter laugh. “You walked in on it! You called me a slut! I was seventeen for fuck sakes. But no—you blamed me for sleeping with your husband instead.” You take a good look at her; dark undereyes, frail figure, needles imprints everywhere. “You can’t keep doing this. You need to think about Rosie—”
“Rosie, Rosie, Rosie—I could not care any less about her! She just bugs with all her crying. It’s exhausting.”
“She’s just a baby.” Grabbing her hands, you soften your gaze. “If you don’t want her, fine, let me raise her…I swear I can do it.”
Your mother perks up. “You would do that?” Yes. Of course I would, you respond instantly. You’ll never hear about us ever again. Her thin hand cradles your cheek warmly, and for a moment, you let yourself lean against it. Then she pulls away and strikes you harshly, causing you to stumble back. “Why would I ever please you like that?”
Bring your hand up to your stinging flesh, you sob. “I-I…what?”
“Here’s what you’re going to do; you're going to drop the charges against me and Connor.”
“No.”
She clicks her tongue. “Are you sure?”
Rising up with shaky legs, you keep a firm face even though it begs to howl in pain. “I said no. You’re not going to hand her over willingly, okay…Then I’m taking you to court.”
“Like hell you aren’t.” Tugging your arm, she presses her face insanely close to yours. You wince at the smell of intoxication; you can’t even tell what kind. “I will fucking kill you, do you hear me?”
You let out a wet laugh, ripping your arm away from her tight grip. “I don’t care. I don’t care anymore, but I am saving my sister from you two—no matter what.” Her nostrils flare as she heaves. You let out a sad whimper. “When did you become so inhuman? You used to be kind, beautiful, ha—”
“Heartbreak does that to a person,” she simply states before walking out, leaving you to yourself as you finally come crashing down.
-
He didn’t expect for there to be a racket, but the house felt awfully quiet. He knows you weren't at work—he had checked. He thought maybe you could have been out with friends, so he sighs before resting on the couch. He sits there for an hour or so before heading upstairs to take a shower.
As soon as he enters the bedroom, he finds you covered with thick blankets as you cry. Alarmed, he rushed to your side of the bed. Oh my God, you shriek at the anonymous person before squirting. “When did you get here?”
“That doesn’t matter—what’s wrong?”
You hope brushing your tears away would stop him from asking questions. “What makes you think something is wrong?”
A pinched up expression maps out. Your chin forms a peach seed as you let out a weak sob and stand on the bed, making you the same height as him, throwing your arms around his neck. He’s stunned, but snaps out of it as he hugs you back, calloused fingers playing with your soft hair. “What’s wrong?”
“My mom visited me at work. She said some nasty things, but that doesn’t matter to me, what does is that she won’t let me adopt Rosie,” you muffle against his neck, salty tears wetting his collared shirt. “She’d rather raise her out of spite. She’s not made for this, she's malicious.”
“What else did she say?”
You pause, sniffling before pulling back with a reindeer nose. “That’s it.”
The Austrian lowered his gaze with subtle threat. “No, tell me everything she told you.”
“I swear that’s all.”
His brown eyes scan your face, but you remain still, only shaky breaths being released. He clenches his jaw. “Where does she live?” Your face drops. Why do you want to know? “Where does she live?”
“I’m not telling you.”
“Stop being so stubborn and let yourself be helped—”
“I don’t need your help anymore, Toto!” You purse your lips, trembling hands brushing your hair back. Anger rushes over him as he inspects the purple bruise.
“Who did this to you?”
Sitting back down on the bed, your nose twitches. “I’m moving out.”
“Who fucking did this to you?” His voice is lethal. Thank you for trying to fix things, but I’m sure I can do it myself from now on. “What you don’t seem to understand is that you don’t have to. It was your mother, correct?” Forlorn, you agree with your silence. “What have they done to you?” he whispers, pain lacing his raw voice.
“I’m sorry I dragged you into all of this,” you whisper, salty tears sliding down. “I’m going to kill your image—they’re going to hate you because of me.”
“I don’t give a fuck,” the brunette ricochets back. “All I care about is that you’re okay. That you find the happiness you deserve to have.”
Grimacing, you sniffle, shaking your head. “I’m starting to think that doesn’t exist. Or at least I’m so unlucky that I won’t get a piece,” you joke. “The closest thing I’ve felt to that is when I met you.” His heart melts as he stares back, adoringly. “You’ve helped me in so many ways, Toto. Thank you for that.”
“But—”
“I know.” Rising up on the fluffy bed, you tower over him a bit, pressing kisses on his temples, cheeks, nose, neck. “You’re the only man who's ever made me feel something real. I can’t explain it, but I hope it makes sense.”
He gulps. “It does. You want to know why?”
“Why?”
“Because you’ve made me feel the exact same way from the moment you stepped into my life.” He closes the gap between you two as you stumble back against the mattress, but his large hands prevent you from getting away. “You’re not perfect—you’re flawed. You don’t have your life together—but you’re trying to. You’re not the tough girl you make yourself out to be—but that’s because you feel the need to build up walls to protect yourself from others.” Your stomach churns with every word he speaks. “And somehow…you have me wrapped around your finger.”
It happens so quickly, the way he presses his lips against yours. He can taste the saltiness but doesn’t dare to pull away. Like an animal, you move your mouth against his, whimpers flowing to his ears like symphonies. Toto knows why you never made the first move; you were scared to admit your feelings. But he was too.
Almost as if you read his mind, you run your fingers against his scalp as he breathes out, against your open mouth. “You won’t do the same, right Toto?”
“What, sweetheart?”
Gloomy eyes reflect against his own. “Leave?”
“Unless you ask me to, then no.” He pecks your temple. “I can’t even imagine living without you anymore.”
That’s all it takes as you jump on him, silky legs wrapping around his torso like a piece of ribbon. He grunts loudly when you bite down on his bottom lip before letting go. “God, Toto, you’re—” As soon as he sucks on your throat, your sentence dies. Writhing against him, you try pushing him off as he chuckles, then he sets you down against the white sheets.
Immediately, you crawl back to the edge of the bed to where he still stands. Frisky hands tremble as you aim for his belt. Such a pretty girl, he thinks as you slip it off. You don’t have to do this. “I owe you, remember?” Then eager hands push his pants down, along with his boxers.
You knew he would be big, but that was an understatement. Toto was huge. Being 6’5 should have been a warning itself, but still. Drooling over his cock, you lick your lips, doe eyes fixating back to him. “I might not be able to take it all in my mouth,” you sheepishly state, red faced. The fifty-two year old has probably had a much better encounter; you were just making a fool out of yourself. Running his thumb against your cheekbone, the corners of his lips fly up.
“I’ll walk you through it.”
Humming, you delicately wrap your hand around his length. Even just feeling it makes the heat in your belly grow. He clenches his jaw. Jerking him off, you wrap your lips around the pink tip. The Austrian releases a dirty groan, hips bucking as you smile around him. Pulling back, you stare up expecting the next step. Start off how you normally would.
Pouty lips welcome him down your throat as you whine, the vibrations sending him into an orbit. When your palm slithers to what you can’t reach, he tsks. “You haven’t even tried.” Soft brows pinch together as if to say; Probably because I know I can’t either way. His nostrils flare. “Relax your jaw.”
Doing as you’re told, you gag as you squeeze your eyes shut and curl your toes. Your back arches, ass flying up as you struggle. A large hand reaches out to smack it. Yelping, you ease your mouth, thick member sliding down furthermore than you could have even imagined. There you go.
Swallowing around him, you bob your head at a steady pace, reliving the steps, too scared to mess up. The Austrian throws his head back, sharp jaw in clear display as he pants. “Just like t-that, fuck. You’re doing so…shit.” While he’s enjoying himself, tears burst out as you clench your eyes, lashes becoming darker. The feeling is definitely getting him off, but he wanted to make things easier for you.
Brushing your untamed hair back, he traces the bridge of your nose. Your orbs remain closed, and he finds himself missing them. “Breathe through your nose.” Ragged breaths fly out as your fingers dig against his thighs. He hisses. But gradually, it gets better. Glossy eyes stare up at him, lips stretch around his cock as you continue your filthy movements.
As if to prove yourself to him, you deepthroat him even more as his head rolls back, floppy hair following along. Soft fingers brush against his legs as he shudders, face twisted with pleasure. Pulling away, you swirl your wet lips against his tip, feeding off of his precum before forcing yourself back down.
Thick ropes of cum slide down your throat as you moan loudly. The brunette grunts, shaky breaths flying past his lips. With a teasing pop, you kneel up as you open wide. He moans at the sight of his release swimming inside your sinister mouth, then you swallow. Even though your throat is extremely sore, you still beam at him.
“Where have you been all my life?.” Climbing over you, he lays you flat, slipping your dress off. He’s stunned to find out you’re completely naked. Cherry red feathers on your cheeks. “Are you sure you didn’t know I was going to be back?”
Your lips curl. “No idea.”
He wraps his mouth against your bud as you whimper, hand massaging his head as he repeats his actions to the other. You could definitely fall asleep to this. When you open your eyes, you’re impressed to find out he’s completely stripped down, toned body exposed. The sight makes you grow excited, nervous.
“Are you on birth control?”
You curse softly. “I’m not. Crap.” Disappointed, you’re expecting him to climb off, but he doesn’t. Instead, he let out a raw chuckle. “I t-told you I don’t fuck men on the regular—”
“I don’t need the reminder,” he grunts. His brown eyes soften. “What’s your wish in life?”
Confusion paints your face. “To have you?”
“Cute.” Flustered, you focus on his contracting abs. Foaming at the mouth, you try to picture rubbing your core against them. “The other one,” he demands.
“Oh…” No. He can’t possibly mean… Your heart stops beating. “To be a mom.”
“There it is.”
Briskly, he pushes into you as you wince in pain. I know, I know, he coos. But it’s better this way. It won’t feel so bad in a few minutes. Crying against his humid chest, your jaw hangs open. “It really hurts, Toto. Oh…it burns.” Hot tears reestablish themselves inside your orbs. “You’re too big.”
“Breath, sweetheart, breath.” His voice calms you down as your mewls lessen. “See?” You hum. “I’m going to move, alright?”
“O-okay,” you respond, dizzy. The feeling returns—less painful—but returns, nonetheless. Panic expands through your chest as you begin to think he might split you in half. His cock was just so thick and veiny. But it felt delicious between your velvety walls. “Fuck, baby,” you pant.
“I knew you could do it.” A warm peck lingers on your shoulder. “You feel so tight, schatz. So warm.” He sighs in relief as your tiny cunt compresses against his length, easing the pain from being as hard as a rock. Worse. Strong arms pick your legs up over his bare shoulders, making him travel deeper.
“Toto, Toto, Toto—”
Eyes entertained against your slippery hole, he raises his brows. Yeah, baby? Getting a hold of his hand, you bring it over your stomach. His jaw clenches. “I can feel you.” Writhing in ecstasy, you toss your head to the side, small whines echoing between the vaporized walls. Pouding into you at a faster pace, he growls, bite marks being left behind on your legs. You hiss, clamping your eyes even harder, which makes you clench around his cock even more.
“Do that again,” he begs. “Do it—” You oblige, attention set on how he moans feverishly, hands adding pressure to your legs. For sure his imprints would be left behind. Taking advantage of the little power you have, you untangle yourself, greedily climbing onto his thick lap.
“Looking good, Mr. Wolff.”
He looked more than good—he looked eternal. The way his chest heaves, his soft pants, sweaty hair framing his handsome face, dark eyes praising you as if you were Athena herself. A confession finds into your brain as you halt. Beads of sweat cover his long nose as he appears concerned by the sudden break. Is everything okay? Rubbing your eyes as if you just had the worst nightmare, you blink hastily.
Roxy couldn't have been right—she never was. Except, she is this time. It's as if a warm glow towers over him, your chest feels awfully vacant, but you’re not scared because you know your heart has found its home in the palm of his hand. You laugh in amusement as you touch his face all over. He smiles, eyes crinkling. “What’s so funny?”
“I love you, Toto Wolff.”
A lump forms inside his throat as he tilts his head. “You do?”
You shrug sheepishly. “I do.” Kissing his lips, you sigh with content. “I love you, I love you, I love you; I adore you.” He can hear the clock ticking as he stares back with his lips slightly parted. “You don’t have to feel the same, you dont have to say it back—I don’t care, but I can’t keep living a life of regret…”
“I love you, too.” Cartoon eyes blink back at him as he chuckles. “Do you believe me?”
“Uh…” Your lips stretch out. “Yes.”
Shifting on top of the Austrian, you make sure to slip him back inside as you moan in unison. Riding someone has never felt so addicting. Gasping at the raw feeling, you dig your nails onto his shoulders. When you look down at him, you are pleased to find him struggling to catch his breath. His fingers pinch your hips harshly as you bounce harder and faster, as if he would regret his words and leave you. “So big.” You drool, hair flourishing around you. “Stretching me out so good, Mr. Wolff.” He growls at you captivating words. “Making it so easy to ride you, huh? Cock brushing against the perfect sp—oh my God.”
Your face twists up with pleasure when the tip of his cock brushes against the mushy part that makes you almost black out. Movements slow down but it’s not long before he lifts you up and slamming you back down. “Toto!” you squeal, flimsy arms reaching out to balance yourself on his wide shoulders. Everytime he hauls you up and you look back at him, he represents like a giant. Your eyes roll back, mouth hanging wide open. “I-I’m close-e-e.”
“Me too,” he grunts. Like a devilicious man on a mission, he slaps your face carefully, forcing you to connect your glossy orbs with his loopy ones. “Gonna let me cum inside? Carry my baby, just like you’ve always wanted?”
“Yes,” you chant. “Yes—all of it—yes.” Cradling his cheek against your sweaty palm, you smile. “Cum inside of me, Wolff.”
With one final push, you both release loud moans, a strong wave of orgasms crashing violently against one another. Huffing, he makes a ponytail with your messy hair before letting go. “You think it worked?” You giggle.
“We’ll have to wait and see.” Leaning towards him, you kiss him gingerly. His mind grows blurry with how meaningful you make it seem. I’m yours—my heart is all yours—but please don’t break it, it seems to tell him as his enormous hands squish you closer to him, as if that were possible.
“I know of a few ways we can make sure.”
-
Though you had mutually admitted your feelings to one another, there still didn’t appear to be a proper label to it all. Time was slipping, he would soon have no other choice but to leave and face all his responsibilities.
But you can come back with me, he would desperately bring up as he fucked you against the wall. Tits would be bouncing at a hasty speed as you look back with your mouth in an O. I want you to. You won’t ever have to worry about anything, I promise. You can go back to Uni. You’ll get custody over Rosie, and Jack will be over the moon. We could have a family of our own, just you and I, Peaches. Huh? How does that sound, baby?
It sounded perfect; like a dream. You could taste it already. Early morning calls that you wouldn’t mind because he’d be laying down next to you. Quiet time as you jot down notes and he stresses over the next big decision for the team. And at the end, you would be glad you made the choice to choose him. Just like he chose you.
With shaky hands, you brush his messy hair back as he dotes on your bambi eyes. The way they glimmered extra bright that night; like starlight. The brunette’s face would soften up when you trace his nose, the curve of pink lips, his lines. Everything about him was breathtakingly dominant.
You’d be a fool to deny.
So, you accept.
-
If Toto were to be told that he had died and ascended to heaven; he wouldn’t second guess the possibility. Because being with you felt exactly like that. Every passing second only adds to the amount of love he bottles up for you. It would overflow and he’d be okay; bring out the next. Oh, that one’s full, too? Okay, next.
All of it made sense. You matched perfectly in sync with him like a cozy glove and he wouldn’t have it any other way. There’d be whispers from others, but he doesn’t care. He’d deal with just about anything for you.
“You’re leaving so soon.” A click. “Have you thought about quitting?”
He can see you grow as stiff as a tree. Your back faces him, but he can still spot your reflection. Of course you looked absolutely lovely, but there was something different about…God. He doesn’t even know what to call it.
“I’m not quitting.”
The Austrians' lips form a thin line; shoes clicking against the floor even more. A boom of lighting fills the room as you flinch. He smiles slowly. “Right—not yet, at least. Not until you move to Monaco.”
More heavy silence. “Sure.”
Now he’s worried. Strolling closer to you, he brushes his warm hand against your shoulder, kissing your exposed skin. “What is it?”
His heart stops when he notices you blinking back tears; bloodshot eyes tracing his tall figure. His first assumption is the most obvious; your mother and Connor. They had probably done something, said something, and now they’ve got you—
“I’m taking the car. See you later.”
He blinks. The cold demeanor was something unusual on your behalf, but leaving without a goodbye kiss was alarming. Toto tries to suppress his feelings with a bottle of scotch, but nothing seems to work. He has to see you.
Gathering his wallet and house keys, he strides out the door before he spots his laptop wide open. As soon as he returned, he would have to answer endless emails, but for now, that wasn’t his priority. Inching closer, he reaches down to slap it shut when his pulse runs cold.
We should think about Jack.
He’s too young to understand anything of what’s going on, Suse.
Let’s just try one last time. I swear I’ll change.
I love you.
He knew instantly; you had read the messages. He had sent them, there's no doubt, but that was so long ago. The date was right there; all before he met you. Before opening up to you. But he doubts you spared enough time to spot the tiny detail. You saw his texts and that’s all; the rest was blocked.
Toto’s palms get sweaty, ears burning red, and heart racing faster than a fucking F1 car. How must you feel? You had made him promise that he wouldn’t hurt you and now this? The confusion was completely explainable, but he had to get to you fast.
It’s as if he owns the place, marching fiercely past the open doors that swing once they spot the Austrian. NDA’s were rather foolish when it comes to him now because he just held that much power. That much respect. But he can’t think of why something feels off. You were hurt, and he felt awful, but no…there’s something else. As if there were an actual wolf lurking deep in the woods; ready to pounce. The hair in the back of his neck stands up, goosebumps forming, and eyes flickering all over the rich club, hoping to find you.
“Hey,” he pants when he spots the familiar redhead. Foxy lives up to her name because her laser glare has him scared for his life. She doesn’t even spare him a second glance before strutting away, a row of men following. The Austrian pushes past them all, pleading just like any other, but for a completely different reason. “Have you seen, Peaches?”
“Yes.”
“Great! Where is she?”
“Around.”
The dancer beams at the group of businessmen who relax against their seat, hunting down without shame. They wore wedding bands, but who cared, right? Toto’s large hand grasps her wrist, tugging her away as she gasps, causing a commotion. He doesn’t care, he just has to find you.
Brown eyes glimmer threateningly but also soft because they’re both aware he needs her, for she only knows where to find you. “Listen, I know she told you what happened, but it was all some misunderstanding! The messages..they were sent to my ex-wife a long time ago. Before any of this, I swear…you have to believe me.”
Foxy narrows her thin brows, digging a sharp nail against his toned chest. “No, you listen—Peaches is one of the sweetest girls I have ever met; she's my other half, so when you hurt her…” A beat. “That’s it. She doesn’t forgive.”
His shoulders drop like an avalanche. “B-but it was a...you don’t mean that.”
The redhead struts away, long legs prancing like a vixen. “Believe me; don’t believe me—I don’t care. Just leave her alone.”
But he can’t do that anymore, he's in too deep. No matter how many times Foxy cursed him to leave, he just wouldn't. He would explain. Even if it were that last thing he did. All's fair after that.
“Mr. Wolff?” A red drink is extended out towards him kindly, to which he shakes his head with a forced smile. If you can even call it that. He’s sure he looks awful, dressed in all black, but it perfectly represented him for who he is and how he was feeling. It’s almost as if he were ready to show up to a funeral.
As time ticks at a snail's pace, he grows more nauseous. There’d be a moment where you see him and he doesn’t know how you would react. Fuck—he doesn’t know how he would, either. To some it may be embarrassing to weep in front of a group of worldly men, but if you looked at him a certain way where he knew it was over? He’d be the first, and without hesitation or shame.
He’s come to recognize your set as fast as a racing strategy. The stage would light up a soft yellow; swallow the room like the early sun. The piano keys would start off slow, taunting, and almost sinister—Yayo. And of course, you’d prance around like a broken angel, wings brushing your hair like his long fingers would.
But this is strange.
He’s too busy analyzing the colorful club when the lights burn black, only the glass box raining a bright red. He doesn’t even recognize it’s you.
The intro isn’t the notorious piano lullabies, but rather scratchy violins. Million Dollar Man slithers across the crowded room like a venomous snake, waiting to strike anyone who doesn’t lay their attention on them.
And this time, you’re no angel, you’re no devil. You’re both. It’s confusing and alarming, but also beautiful and breathtaking. While your dress is cotton white, your makeup is dark and tempting, lips dark red. Your knee socks are tied with a simple ribbon, making men drool like some type of fuckery. You look miserably broken. If anyone were to guess, then they’d say that you’re high off drugs, but that’s not the case. You're high off heartbreak.
And the simple necklace you wear, with his marriage ring attached to it, is a pelluid indication. Even if it was new level petty.
Toto is in such a trance that he doesn’t even feel when a group of hands push him to sit down, eager to have a clear view of their own. They all secretly envy the Austrian when they notice that he had landed himself the best seat in the house without even trying.
So, was it fate to be sitting here, in front of you? Was it fate to have met, then hurt you without the means? The music is almost terrifying, along with your black wings and white halo. All of this is utterly puzzling; was he supposed to be into this, or fear it? Was he supposed to feel his heartbeat in the pit of his stomach, drumming against his ribcage, or was he supposed to be at ease? But most important; would you spare him this time to apologize, or would you kick him out of your life? The last notion scared him the most as he sat like a tired soldier, brown eyes blinking to where you start to seductively twirl.
I don’t know how you convince them and get them. Shiny legs drag behind your delicate figure as your eyes roam the room, sighing with every lustful stare. This is purely pathetic, it didn’t make you feel the way you intended for it to do, but shit. All you wanted to do was flee the state and never look back. But there were too many things tying you back; Foxy, Ro, Rosie…A stinging sensation begins to form behind your orbs and you fiercely blink them away, refusing for the thought of Toto to be what brings you down.
But in a moment like this, what were you supposed to think about? Toto was many things; devilishly, cunningly handsome, tempting, brilliant, intoxicating; but he was also a fucking no-good, professional heartbreaker, a screwed up man who roamed earth without a sense of direction, who truly never deserved to fall in love again, especially with someone was tainted and loyal as you—
But the eyes don't lie. He’s become known by you; someone in your favorite book whom you look for in every page, despite it all. His orbs remind you of your favorite kind of dark chocolate, swirly and dreamy; enough to make you swoon, but they’re filled with more than just that. They’re desperate, as if ready to run endless miles if that's what it took for you to speak to him. They’re loopy, blazing nervously when you spot him, brows knitted with concern.
And he deserves it…you think.
Still, that doesn’t stop your stomach from churning, causing you to panic at the thought of spilling your lunch in front of everyone eyeing the glass box you're hidden behind; it could only ever do so much. Everyone can see your usually tantalizing persona fly out the window, a frail—shattered—girl taking your place.
He’s tricked you. He made you let your guard down, let him in, and then ramshackled you whole; and he hadn’t been nice about it either. How could you have ever thought he would choose you over someone who actually held his kid for nine months? You had seen the messages that sunny morning; birds chirped, flowers bloomed. He had been busy doing God knows what, and when his bright laptop dinged, you couldn’t help but peek. As you once told him; you loved gossip.
Jack is asking if you remember where he last left his stuffed bear? You know, the one with the white spots?
Susie. You had heard a lot about her—you’ve read, a lot, too— she was someone to admire. Helped create a path of perseverance for young girls; it was astonishing. The thought of Jack made you smile, then the bear, then her. Which is why you aimlessly scrolled once, playfully, and then you came to a rude halt.
If someone were to grovel that way for you, you would helplessly fall for it. Fuck, he pratically begged for a second chance. Heat weaved through your body, anger rising, and then falling cruelly with a sense of undeniable ache. You had cried; sobbed. Then you got ready for work.
When he had asked what was wrong, you wanted to stab him with the nearby knife, and the thought scared you half to death. You could tell he was deeply wounded by the cold shoulder, but why the fuck should you care?
Here—in Machiavellian Nights—trapped behind a transparent case, with disgusting men eyefucking you, you realize; there’s no place to run. An attraction is what you are; tourists are what they all represent. Toto’s massive figure swallowed his seat whole, long legs spread open naturally. And you hate it how handsome he looks, dark clouds painting his usually happy eyes. His chest dances up and down, wrestling to catch a breath. The hollers make him flinch in the slightest, grimacing.
The Austrian is apologizing, cryptically. I’m sorry—I’m so fucking sorry. His lips aren't moving, but you can hear his pleads as the music continues.
C’mon! Dance, someone demands from afar, rough hand smacking the glass. Gasping, you purse your lips, continuing. Ignorance is horrible; especially coming from you. The idea of going on without you feel like a nightmare—torture. He tries standing up, and he doesn’t really know what his game plan is exactly in order to get to you, but heads turn and harsh arms force him back down.
It isn’t that hard, boy. To like you, or love you. It was as if you got yanked back into what is truly your reality. You can’t have good things in life. Your father hadn’t died—he had abandoned you. Your mother did too. And Toto…
Toto Wolff was just the same.
You’re glad no one can hear you choking back on tears, you wouldn't dare to fall. But emotions were running high, your throat felt raw, your eyes stung, knees felt wobbly, and it was too much. But aside from your hurt, an eerie feeling hugged your chest, forcing your rib cage to poke you as a warning. You allow yourself to look back up, rapidly scanning the unlit room. Everything was blurry—which didn’t help—but what was it?
You’re no longer focused; your legs sway, your gartner slides down, your nose is starting to get runny, and it was all a mess. Connecting your gaze back to his, you narrow them down like deathly blades. This is all your fault, they scream at him, enraged. If you hadn’t walked into my life, then I wouldn’t be this way.
You’re screwed up and brilliant.
“You fucking ruined me!” Running towards the glass, you violently slap and punch, over and over until you no longer feel any pain. Red bruises form rather quickly and everyone begins to murmur.
Look like a million dollar man.
“I hate you, Toto Wolff!” Muffled whimpers flow like a waterfall as everyone turns to face the fifty-two year old who sits with a hurt expression.
“I can explain,” he pleads, instantly rising up to his scary height and rushing over to where you’re caged. His large hand pathetically grasps it, fingerprints painting the shiny protection between you and him. “Sweetheart…”
So why is my heart broke?
“I’ll regret you for the rest of my—”
Chaos ensues; the volcano erupts. It’s suffocating, the way everyone tramples over one another, scattering like lab rats. The yells of terror make his blood run ice cold, swiftly turning around to face the open room. Foxy lets out a scream filled with agony as she crawls over to the stage. Acid slides down her face, makeup running. The other dancers run to hide where the bartender stands with his mouth wide open, orbs flickering with urgency. He doesn’t know what the hell is going on, but he has to get you out of here.
“Open it!” Foxy cries, hands hitting the clear box so forcefully that her nails begin to chip, light gore beginning to slide down. “Open the fucking stage right now!” She lets out a string of pleas, but no one is listening—they can’t even try to with all the loud noise. The alarms go off and that’s what snaps him out of his spot of confusion and what makes her cry and fall back against her arms.
The glass isn’t shattered like in the movies, all over the floor, no. There’s just a singular hole, scratches circling around it—and spikes of blood coloring the crystal clear mirror.
Even with eyes closed, face sticky with tears, and blood spurting out of your mouth and chest, pooling around your angelic body, you were still beautiful. The ring lays flat atop your unbeating heart, shining one last time against the cherry lights. You were gone as soon as the bullet hit, but Toto was the last person you had seen. And you wish you had time to tell him you never meant any of it. You could never hate him; you loved him, you loved him, you loved him.
“I…no. No. No.” Fists punch urgently, cuts finding a place in his pale skin. “Open it!” More pounds. “Let her out! Why is no one letting her out?” Trepidation sleeks over him as he stops his actions, taking a second to look at you. Your dark wings had somehow turned darker, your white dress is now drowned in crimson red, your halo is no longer on your head, and your lively skin is now ghostly pale, almost gray. “Peaches…” His voice quivers so much, he almost doesn't realize it's coming from him. “Get up, sweetheart—come on, just stand.”
His chest tightens when you go unresponding. “T-think about Rosie! She loves you; she needs you. I need you,” he declares, voice cracking. “The text messages are a mishap! I only love you, Peaches, that’s all! I swear I do, I swear it’s you…”
He dreads to turn around and face what was now his life. The music cuts, but the frightful screams continue. Toto blinks back the stingy feeling as he flickers up to make eye contact with who’s responsible for ripping you away from him.
You share the same eyes, but hers are sullen now. Her hair looks as if it could have once been glossy, but is now as dry as the desert. Her lips are nastily chapped, but an uncanny curl slips through as she ticks anxiously when Ro and the rest of the guards hold her without an ounce of remorse, cuffing skinny, needled wrists.
Your mother looks down at the gun, at her daughter, then at Toto. An unhinged stare strikes her impentent face.
“I brought her into this world…I can also take her out.”
The room is dark, lit only by the dim, golden glow from the bedside lamp. Toto sits on the edge of the bed, watching you as you toss and turn. The sheets tangle around your legs, and your face is scrunched up in frustration.
“Can’t sleep?” He asks, his voice low, almost a rumble.
You freeze for a second, not expecting him to still be awake. “I’m fine,” you reply, though it’s clear that you’re anything but.
Toto raises an eyebrow, the barest hint of a smirk tugging at his lips. “You’ve been moving around for the last hour. You’re not fine.”
You sigh, running a hand through your hair. “I don’t know … I just can’t seem to get comfortable.”
He doesn’t respond immediately, just continues to watch you, eyes narrowed as if he’s trying to figure something out. It’s unnerving, the way he studies you, as if you’re a puzzle he’s determined to solve. Finally, he speaks, his voice a deep, soothing timbre.
“Come here.”
You hesitate, unsure of what he’s planning. “Toto, I don’t-”
“Come here,” he repeats, more insistent this time. There’s a tone in his voice that makes it clear he’s not going to take no for an answer.
Reluctantly, you scoot closer to him, feeling the mattress dip under his weight. He’s so much larger than you, a wall of muscle and authority, and yet, there’s something undeniably comforting about his presence.
You rest your head on his chest, his steady heartbeat thrumming beneath your ear. For a moment, the world seems to settle, the chaos in your mind quieting down just a little.
But then you shift, trying to find a position that doesn’t feel so … awkward.
“You’re still tense,” he murmurs, his hand coming to rest on your hip.
You nod, biting your lip. “I guess … I guess I’m just not used to this.”
“This?” He prompts, his hand sliding up your side, his fingers trailing along your skin in a way that sends shivers down your spine.
“Sharing a bed,” you admit, your voice barely more than a whisper. “With someone like you.”
“Someone like me?” He echoes, and there’s a hint of amusement in his tone.
You huff, frustrated by your own inability to explain. “You know what I mean. You’re … you’re Toto Wolff. And I’m just … me.”
He chuckles, the sound vibrating through your entire body. “You’re not just anything, Häschen.” His hand cups your chin, tilting your head up so you’re forced to meet his gaze. His eyes are dark, intense, and for a moment, you feel like you’re drowning in them. “You’re mine.”
The words send a thrill through you, a mix of excitement and nerves. “Toto …”
“Shh,” he hushes you, his thumb brushing over your lower lip. “Relax. Let me take care of you.”
You want to argue, to tell him that you’re fine, that you don’t need him to take care of you, but the words die on your tongue as he shifts, his body pressing you into the mattress. There’s no urgency in his movements, no rush, just a slow, deliberate claiming of space. His hands are everywhere, warm and sure, and before you know it, he’s positioned himself between your legs.
Your breath catches in your throat as you realize what he’s doing. “Toto, wait, I-”
“Trust me,” he murmurs, his voice a low growl. “I’m not going to hurt you.”
He’s so close now, his breath hot against your ear as he whispers, “Tell me if you want me to stop.”
But you don’t want him to stop. You want this, want him, even though you’re still nervous, still unsure. There’s something about the way he touches you, the way he looks at you, that makes you feel like you’re the only person in the world.
So you nod, giving him permission without words. He understands, of course he does, and slowly, carefully, he presses into you, filling you in a way that makes your mind go blissfully blank.
You gasp, your hands gripping his shoulders as he settles deep inside you. He’s so big, so overwhelming, but it’s not painful. It’s just … intense.
“Easy,” he soothes, brushing a strand of hair away from your face. “Breathe.”
You do as he says, focusing on the rise and fall of your chest, the steady rhythm of your breathing. He stays still, just holding you, filling you, and somehow, that’s enough to calm the frantic thoughts racing through your mind.
After a moment, he pulls back just enough to look at you, his expression softening in a way that you don’t think you’ve ever seen before. “Better?”
You nod again, feeling a little dazed. “Yeah … better.”
“Good,” he says, leaning down to press a kiss to your forehead. “Now sleep.”
You blink up at him, confused. “Sleep? Like this?”
“Exactly like this,” he replies, a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. “I’m not going anywhere.”
The idea of falling asleep like this, with him still inside you, is strange and yet … comforting. It’s as if he’s claiming you in a way that’s both physical and emotional, a silent promise that he’s not going to let you go.
“Okay,” you whisper, your body relaxing against him. “I’ll try.”
“That’s all I ask,” he murmurs, his lips brushing against your temple.
You close your eyes, focusing on the steady rhythm of his breathing, the warmth of his body surrounding you. Slowly, the tension drains from your muscles, your mind drifting into a pleasant haze. It’s strange, but for the first time in what feels like forever, you feel safe. Safe and … loved.
Toto doesn’t move, just holds you, his hand resting on your hip, his thumb tracing slow circles against your skin. You can feel him still inside you, a constant, grounding presence that lulls you into a sense of peace.
“Sleep, Häschen,” he whispers again, and this time, you don’t fight it.
You let yourself drift, the world fading away until there’s nothing left but the steady beat of his heart and the feeling of him, warm and solid, holding you close.
***
The soft, rhythmic click of the keyboard echoes through the dimly lit room. Toto’s office is a sanctuary of sleek modernity — glass, steel, and leather, with the subtle hum of computers creating a low, constant backdrop.
His eyes are glued to the screen, sharp and focused, his mind immersed in the layers of data that demand his attention. But despite the intensity of his work, he’s aware of the time — late, far too late for you to be awake.
And yet, there’s a soft creak of the door opening behind him, barely perceptible but enough to make him pause, his hands hovering over the keyboard. He glances up, his eyes narrowing as they adjust to the sight of you standing in the doorway, hesitant and small in the oversized t-shirt you’ve borrowed from him.
“Häschen?” His voice is gentle, but there’s an edge of concern. “What are you doing up?”
You shift on your feet, unsure how to explain. Your eyes are heavy with exhaustion, but there’s something else there too — a need, something unspoken but clear in the way you linger in the doorway. “I … I couldn’t sleep.”
Toto sighs, his expression softening as he leans back in his chair, taking in the sight of you. You look so vulnerable, standing there with your arms wrapped around yourself, as if you’re trying to ward off some unseen cold. He knows exactly why you can’t sleep — why you’ve been struggling on nights when he’s not in bed beside you.
“Come here,” he says, his tone a mixture of command and tenderness.
You hesitate, still unsure, but the pull is too strong. Slowly, you pad across the room, the cold hardwood floor making you shiver as you approach him.
Toto watches you carefully, his gaze never leaving yours as you finally reach his desk. He reaches out, taking your hand and pulling you closer until you’re standing between his legs, his warmth already seeping into you.
“Why didn’t you tell me you were having trouble sleeping?” He asks, his voice low as his hand comes up to caress your cheek.
“I didn’t want to bother you,” you murmur, your eyes downcast. “I know you’re busy.”
He frowns at that, his thumb brushing against your lower lip in a gesture that’s become all too familiar. “You’re never a bother to me, Häschen. You should know that by now.”
You nod, but it’s clear you’re still holding back, your body tense despite his reassuring words. “I just … I can’t sleep without you.”
The admission hangs in the air between you, heavy with the weight of your vulnerability. Toto’s eyes soften, a mix of pride and concern flashing through them as he pulls you closer, his hands firm on your hips. “You need me that much, hm?”
You bite your lip, embarrassed but unable to deny it. “I guess I do.”
His response is immediate. Without a word, he lifts you effortlessly, turning you so that you’re perched on his lap, your legs straddling his hips.
You let out a small gasp, your hands instinctively gripping his shoulders as he settles you against him. The warmth of his body, the solid feel of him beneath you, it all works to ease some of the tension from your muscles, but it’s not enough.
Toto seems to understand, his hands sliding under the hem of your shirt, finding purchase on your bare skin. He doesn’t rush, doesn’t push, just holds you there, his fingers tracing lazy patterns along your spine. “Tell me what you need, Häschen.”
You close your eyes, leaning into him, feeling the steady rise and fall of his chest against yours. It’s a simple request, but it’s one that fills you with an odd mixture of longing and shame. “I need … I need you.”
His grip tightens ever so slightly, a reassuring pressure that grounds you. “I’m right here.”
“No,” you shake your head, your voice barely above a whisper. “I need you … like before.”
Toto’s hands still on your back, and for a moment, you wonder if you’ve pushed too far. But then, he shifts, his hand coming up to cup your chin, tilting your face so that you’re forced to meet his gaze. “You want me to fill you, Häschen? Is that what you need?”
There’s no judgment in his tone, only understanding and a deep, unyielding care that makes your heart ache. You nod, feeling a tear slip down your cheek, more out of relief than anything else.
“Then that’s what you’ll have,” he murmurs, wiping the tear away with his thumb before capturing your lips in a soft, lingering kiss.
He doesn’t rush, doesn’t demand. Everything he does is with a deliberate slowness, an assurance that he’s here, that he’s not going anywhere. His hands slide down to your hips, lifting you just enough so that he can position himself against you. You feel the hard length of him pressing against your entrance, and there’s a moment of hesitation, a brief flash of nerves that makes you tense up.
“Shh, relax,” Toto soothes, his lips brushing against your temple. “I’ve got you, Häschen. Let me take care of you.”
You take a deep breath, forcing yourself to relax as he slowly lowers you onto him, filling you inch by inch until he’s buried deep inside. It’s a stretch, a fullness that’s overwhelming and yet, it’s exactly what you need. The tension that’s been keeping you awake, the restless energy that’s been gnawing at you, it all melts away the moment he’s inside you.
“There you go,” Toto whispers, his hands rubbing soothing circles on your back. “That’s better, isn’t it?”
You can only nod, your face buried in the crook of his neck as you cling to him, your body trembling with relief. He doesn’t move, doesn’t thrust or push, just holds you there, letting you get used to the feeling of being so completely filled by him.
Toto’s hand comes up to cradle the back of your head, his fingers threading through your hair as he rocks you gently in his lap. “You’re doing so well, Häschen. Just let go. I’ve got you.”
You close your eyes, focusing on the steady beat of his heart, the warmth of his body surrounding you. His hands are everywhere, holding you, grounding you, and it’s not long before you feel the exhaustion creeping back in, your body finally relaxing against him.
“That’s it,” Toto murmurs, his lips brushing against your forehead. “Just sleep, Häschen. I’ll be right here.”
You try to fight it, try to stay awake, but it’s a losing battle. The combination of his warmth, his scent, the steady rhythm of his breathing — it all works together to lull you into a deep, dreamless sleep.
Toto doesn’t move, doesn’t shift even an inch as you drift off. He stays still, his hands keeping you anchored to him, his eyes softening as he watches you finally find the peace that had been eluding you all night.
The minutes tick by, the silence of the room only broken by the soft sounds of your breathing, the occasional rustle of the sheets as you shift in your sleep. Toto continues to work, his fingers moving deftly over the keyboard, but his focus is only half on the screen. The other half is on you — on the way your body relaxes completely against him, on the way your lips part slightly as you breathe, on the way you trust him so implicitly to take care of you.
It’s a feeling that stirs something deep inside him, something protective, something possessive. You’re his, in every way that matters, and he’ll do whatever it takes to make sure you’re safe, that you’re happy, that you know you’re loved.
Time slips by unnoticed as Toto works, the hours stretching out as the night deepens. Every so often, he glances down at you, checking to make sure you’re still comfortable, still resting peacefully. Each time, he finds you just as he left you, your body still pressed close to his, your breathing even and calm.
It’s only when the first hints of dawn begin to creep through the windows, the sky lightening to a soft, pale blue, that Toto finally lets out a breath, his work done for the night. He looks down at you, still asleep in his lap, and a small smile tugs at the corners of his mouth.
Carefully, so as not to wake you, he shuts down his computer, the soft whir of the machines fading into silence. Then, with the same gentle care, he shifts you in his arms, lifting you as he stands, cradling you against his chest.
You stir slightly, a soft murmur escaping your lips, but you don’t wake, your head resting against his shoulder as he carries you out of the office and down the hallway to the bedroom. The bed is still unmade from earlier, the sheets a tangled mess, but Toto doesn’t care. All that matters is getting you settled, making sure you’re comfortable.
He lays you down carefully, his movements slow and deliberate as he pulls the covers over you. For a moment, he just stands there, watching you sleep, a strange sense of peace settling over him. You look so small, so fragile in the big bed, and yet, there’s a strength to you, a quiet resilience that he admires more than he can put into words.
Finally, he slips into bed beside you, his arm wrapping around your waist as he pulls you close. You instinctively curl into him, seeking out his warmth even in sleep, and Toto can’t help but smile as he presses a soft kiss to the top of your head.
As he settles beside you, he gently lifts your leg over his hip, positioning himself against your entrance. With a slow, careful motion, he slips back inside you, filling you completely once more.
You sigh in your sleep, a contented sound that melts into a soft moan, and your body instinctively curls closer to him, seeking his warmth and strength. Toto holds you there, his presence filling you completely, a sense of belonging settling over both of you. He strokes your back, soothing and slow, his own eyes growing heavy with sleep as the night finally gives way to dawn.
With you nestled in his arms, warm and secure, Toto allows himself to drift off, knowing that you're exactly where you belong — in his arms, perfectly content and loved.
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It’s hard not to feel consumed by George, but that’s exactly what you love about him. His presence, both physically and emotionally, is all-encompassing. There’s a sense of safety and warmth in his arms, in the way his broad shoulders shield you from the world and his large hands gently guide you to wherever he wants you. His size has never intimidated you; instead, it has always made you feel small in the most comforting way.
From the moment you met him, his strength was apparent, not just in the physical sense, but in the way he effortlessly commanded attention with his quiet confidence. That strength carried over into every part of your relationship, especially when it came to moments behind closed doors. In the bedroom, George wasn’t just strong, he was gentle, attentive, and completely focused on you.
There was nothing rushed in his movements, just a steady, deliberate pace that made your pulse race. He could lift you with ease, guiding you into position with a grace that always surprised you. And once you were there, in his arms, everything else disappeared. The world outside faded until all that remained was you, George, and the connection between you.
Each time he touched you, it felt like the world narrowed down to just him, his hands on your skin, his breath against your ear, the weight of him pressing you into the mattress. There was something about the way he handled you as if he knew exactly how to make you feel both cherished and utterly desired, that made everything else slip away.
Tonight is no different than any other night. To say George was talented with his fingers and his tongue was an understatement. He had already made you cum twice on his fingers, but it still wasn’t enough for him. Already overstimulated, you cried out as he swirled his tongue along your folds while you grasped at the sheets.
“Oh fuck… George…”
“Shhh, let me enjoy your taste, love,” George purred before he dove back into your cunt.
You let out a sinful cry as he darted his tongue in and out of your entrance a few times before he went back to your clit. You practically dripped from how wet you were, and he wasn’t doing anything to solve that problem. Not that it was a problem for him. To George, the wetter the better.
“I can’t get enough of you,” he groaned into your body as he sucked at your clit and swirled his tongue around every sensitive spot.
Tears formed in the corners of your eyes as you felt your third climax of the night fast approach. George’s large hands kept you in place as he licked and sucked at your pussy until he heard the familiar cry of your orgasm. He felt your body tremble under his touch, but he did not let up.
“George,” you whimpered as you rode out your climax on his tongue, “Inside me… Please,” you begged.
With one final kiss, George broke away from your body and ran his large hand up and down your back comfortingly, “Are you sure you’re ready, my love?” he grunts, accent thick in the throws of passion, “could barely take me last time,”
“I’m sure,” you whispered your plea as you turned around to meet his eyes, “Please, George. I want you to fuck me.”
“Goddamn, sweetheart,” he groans, reaching down to replace your hand with his own, allowing you to cling to him once more, “Gonna be the death of me.”
Your breath hitches slightly as George finally moves, sinking into you agonizingly slow. George leans down into you as he continues, pressing his chest to yours and cocooning you within him. Quick and shallow breaths puff from your lips as he finally stops, seemingly reaching the end of you.
“God, George,” you whisper, voice cracking as he shifts, hitting something magical inside you, “It feels like you’re up in my throat, you’re so big,” you lean your head up to nuzzle into his neck, trying to quell the raging pleasure in your belly as you babble words of praise to the man above you.
George lets out an obscene moan at your praise as one of his hands falls to hike one of your legs over his hip, changing the angle and allowing him to slide even further into your wet heat. “You feel so good, baby, tight and wet and…” he lets out a strangled sigh and presses a gentle kiss to your temple before nuzzling your cheek, “Think you can take more?”
You let out a small gasp, eyes falling to where you two are connected and feel another shudder run through you. Despite feeling like he’s filling you completely, there’s still a few inches you haven’t taken yet. A sudden thrill runs through you and you shift your hips slightly, angling them up and whimpering in pleasure when you feel him go just a little bit further. George's face contorts with pleasure, his voice tight as he praises you.
“Oh, baby, you just took a little bit more. You're doing so good for me.” He starts to thrust in and out of you with slow, measured movements, his voice low and encouraging. He leans down and whispers in your ear, his breath hot against your skin. “You're taking me so well, baby. Can you handle a little more?” His hands grip your thighs and he tilts your hips up, allowing him to sink deeper with each thrust. “Feel that, sweetheart?”
You felt like you were being split open but in the best possible way. The stretch of George’s cock was more than anyone before, and you loved it. It burned so good as he slowly filled you inch by inch and you forced yourself to relax so he wouldn’t stop. You craved the way he brought you pleasure mixed with pain, and to finally have him inside you was better than anything you could have imagined. George’s hands caress your sides, smoothing over your curves reverently as he withdraws almost all the way before slamming back in, filling you up completely. “Look at you, baby. Taking me so beautifully,” he praises, voice tight. He grins, “Does it hurt, baby?”
“I’m ok… I’m ok,” you breathed. George's grin widens, his eyes gleaming with a mix of pleasure and dominance. "Good girl," he praises, giving your side a gentle squeeze before pulling out again and slamming back in, his thick cock stretching your walls painfully.
"Oh fuck, oh fuck…I…I’m gonna cum,"
“Cum on my cock then, baby. Milk me with your tight little pussy.” He starts to thrust faster and harder, the wet sounds of your coupling filling the room along with your moans. His voice grows harsher as he gets closer to his own release. “You feel so good, baby. Your little hole is so tight and hot, that I can't hold back much longer.” He buries his face in your neck, his hot breath and shallow pants mingling with your own gasps.
The previous day I The next day I Kinktober masterlist I Main list
Prompt: You are an actress and have been in a relationship with Max for a while. You have been trying to learn all your lines in the upcoming movie, and since this time of the year is off-time, which means no racing for a few weeks for Max, he volunteered to help you remember your lines and practice it with you.
You and Max sat on the couch together in their comfortable living room. Max had a script in his hand, and the other one was in yours. "Okay, ready to start?" Max asked, a slight smile on his face. You nodded, a look of determination on your face. "Ready as I'll ever be," you replied. Max chuckled. "Don't worry, I'll help you remember your lines. You've got this."
Sometimes you would stumble over a word or phrase, but Max was there to help you through it. He would gently correct or repeat the line if you forgot it completely. "Schatz, there’s another fun way to rehearse all these lines, and you can even memorise it faster. Take a break and meet me in the office.”
Max's proposal piqued your interest and curiosity. You couldn't help but wonder what new method he had in mind to help you remember your lines more effectively.
With a nod, you got up from the couch and headed towards the office. You found Max already there, waiting for you.
He waves you over to where he’s sitting on his desk chair, motioning for you to sit on his lap. You look at him, confused for a moment, before doing as he wordlessly asked.
“What are we doing? I thought you would help me with the script.” you half laugh, half ask curiously.
You can feel Max fumble his hands behind you, his cold watch brushing against the warm skin of your tailbone that’s exposed from your dress.
“I’m helping you to study it better with some motivation.” He whispered to your ears.
You hear his zipper come undone, and that’s when you realize what he’s wanting. Max adjusts you on his lap so you’re hovering, and he aligns his length with your clothed entrance, teasing your clit through your underwear. He pushes the fabric to the side with his fingers, allowing his tip to brush against your wetness. You slowly push yourself onto him, and Max guides himself into you at a snail’s pace. You aren’t quite wet enough yet, so he takes his time. Once he’s wholly sheathed inside your warmth, Max grabs your hips so you can’t move.
“I want you to just sit here and be a good girl while learning, alright?”
“That’s kind of hard with you inside me, Maxie .”
“You can do it, baby. You’re so good for me.”
You aren’t sure what you’d do if you had to act normal while Max’s thick, now-throbbing length is being squeezed by your walls.
He grunts softly as you shift a little, and he kisses your neck, nipping and sucking on your skin. Max's trying to distract himself by reading the script. "Act 1, Scene 1... Oh, god, you're getting wetter, aren't you?"
He starts moving his hips slowly, pushing himself in and out of you, his thick length stretching you open with each movement. He keeps his hand on your hip, holding you in place as he sets a slow, steady pace. "Focus, baby... Focus on the script..."
Max thrusts into you, disguising it as a minor shifting in his chair, and you have to clear your throat to stifle a moan, “Uh … Oh, a chapel. Do…Do you think dad will be able to cross the threshold,” you try to read the line outloud.
“You are doing great, Schatzi. Can you go on.”
“Of course,” you nod your head, rubbing your palm along Max’s thigh out of sight.
Max's breath hitches slightly at your touch, but he keeps his face neutral, continuing with the script. "That’s a good question…" He punctuates each phrase with a measured thrust, maintaining the facade of simply coaching you through the scene. His voice grows huskier.
You begin to feel restless on Max’s cock, wishing for nothing more than to fuck him senseless. You want to end your learning session, spin around, and bounce on him for hours. But of course, until he gives the word, you can’t move. Max's intense gaze bores into you as he slowly trails a finger along your jawline.
“Please,” you whimper, “Let me move.” “Then move.”
With his permission, Max's hands move to your backside, gripping firmly as he helps guide your movements. His hips thrust up to meet yours, the two of you finding a rhythm together. The sound of your labored breaths and wet, slapping bodies fills the room, the script is long forgotten on the desk.
The previous day I The next day I Kinktober masterlist I Main list
Prompt: They had met a few months prior at a high-profile charity gala in Paris. Toto, being a prominent businessman and philanthropist, was a guest of honor, and you were part of the event planning team. Now months apart, you guys meet up at a welcome party in Monaco, before the Monaco Grand-prix.
You’re struggling to hold in your breath as Toto's large hands grip your waist. You grip onto the rail of the stairwell the two of you are standing in, biting your lip and eyes clouded with lust. Toto leans in closer, his breath ghosting over the shell of your ear. “Mmm, you’re not here for the cars, are you?” He nips at your earlobe, his large hands squeezing your sides. “I must admit, I’m glad.” His hands slowly slide down to your backside, giving it a gentle squeeze. "You know, I've seen you around the paddock before," he murmurs, "But you've never caught my eye like this." His fingers trace the hem of your skirt, teasing the skin beneath. Toto's touch grows bolder, his hands sliding up your thighs and lifting your skirt. His touch is gentle, yet firm, commanding your body to obey. "I want you," he growls, burying his face in the crook of your neck. "Right here, right now." His large hands grip your backside, lifting you up and pushing you against the cold metal wall. His body grinds against yours, his hard length is obvious through his tailored suit pants. "Wrap your legs around me," he demands, his voice low and gruff.
You comply, wrapping your legs around his waist as he hikes up your skirt. His hands slip under your thighs, spreading you wider. He grinds against you again, a low growl escaping his throat. "You feel that?”
"That's me, wanting to bury myself deep inside you." His lips claim yours in a searing kiss, his tongue delving into your mouth. His hands release your backside, unbuttoning his suit pants and freeing himself. He tears your underwear aside, his thick tip prodding at your entrance.
If you had a clear head, you’d never be here, in this place and under his grasp. It’s a mistake to feel the warmth from his skin. He’s the big bad Wolff, and you know it, but like a moth to moonlight, you still find yourself drawn to him.
“I hate you,” you murmur as he slides the head of his cock over your slit, using your slick as lubrication.
He smirks at your desperate whimper, the head of his cock teasing your entrance. "Mmmm, that's what I thought. You need this, need me to fill you up and make you forget everything but my name."
You sigh out dreamily and struggle to not buck against him, your heart pounding heavily in your chest. You grip the rail even tighter, your fingers running over the worn away paint. “Shut up and fuck me.”
Toto chuckles darkly, relishing your desperation. "As you wish." With one swift, powerful thrust, he sheathes himself fully inside you, stretching you deliciously. He sets a hard, fast pace, pounding into you relentlessly against the wall. His powerful body slams against yours, the sound of skin meeting skin echoing through the garage. He looks down at where they're connected, his thick length disappearing into your tight, soaked pussy. "Fuck, you're so damn tight. I can feel your little clit rubbing against my pelvis with every thrust." Toto's pace intensifies, his hips snapping forward with brutal efficiency. The stairwell fills with the vulgar symphony of your moans and the lewd squelching of his cock pistoning in and out of your dripping cunt. "Take it," he snarls, his voice raw with lust. "Take my fucking cock, you desperate little thing. You're mine, right here, right now." He reaches between your legs, his fingers finding your clit and rubbing it furiously in time with his thrusts. The coil of pleasure in your core winds tighter and tighter as Toto works you relentlessly. His cock hits that perfect spot inside you with every plunge, and his fingers on your clit have you seeing stars. "That's it," he grunts, his thrusts growing erratic, as he chases his own climax. "Come on my cock, now. Fucking come all over my dick like the desperate little slut you are." His words are the final straw, and you shatter apart, your pussy clenching around his cock in a vice-like grip as you scream in ecstasy. Toto hilts himself deep as your pussy spasms around him, triggering his own intense orgasm. He groans long and low, his cock pulsing as he pumps you full of his hot, thick seed. "Fuck yes, take my cum. Milk me dry with this greedy little cunt." As the last of his release finds its way into you, he buries his face in the curve of your neck, his ragged breaths fanning across your damp skin. "Good girl," he praises, nuzzling against you. His lips find yours in a softer, more tender kiss than before. Gently, he unwinds your legs from around his waist and sets you down on unsteady feet. He rights your clothing, smoothing out wrinkles and tucking you back together. "There you are," he says softly, tucking a strand of hair back into place. "You're perfect." Toto steps back, tucking himself away and rebuttoning his suit pants. He straightens his tie, regaining that air of refined composure he usually carries. "Now," he says, all traces of the crude, demanding lover gone from his voice. He reaches out, gently cupping your cheek. " You, my dear, will go to the team dinner and pretend we both didn't just get up to no good in this stairwell." His thumb brushes across your lower lip, his eyes smoldering with barely restrained desire. "But don't think for a second that I'm done with you. Later tonight, I expect you in my hotel room. We have unfinished business to attend to."
Summary; A few scenarios in which Toto is angry and frustrated and you’re there to calm him down and save his poor team from his wrath
Warnings; angry Toto.
F1 Master List
It was no secret that during a race weekend Toto could get a little….frustrated.
Okay, frustrated was putting it way too lightly, the man got way too passionate about his work and when things didn’t go the way they’re supposed to it was like a volcano was erupting in his mind and he just loses all sense of control leading him to his famous actions of smashing headphones.
The Austrian was already intimidating enough with his tall stature and the confidence he eluded but when he was angry he wasn’t just intimidating, he was scary.
The way his dark eyes seemed to turn almost entirely black and how the veins in his forehead throbbed were signs that had the Mercedes team shifting in their seats and the moment he started running his hands down his face was the moment the higher people in the team would get their phones out and call for help.
That help being you.
It had taken a long time for the team to acknowledge the effect you had on their team principle because he never got angry when you attended races but it was when you arrived to races later in the day that they started to see how things changed.
It was one particular day when Toto had arrived to the track already a bit frustrated, whether that was because of your absence or not they didn’t know but the pile up of disastrous events had lead to the team principle throwing things and shouting at the top of his lungs.
Then you arrived.
You certainly hadn’t expected to walk into the garage and be greeted by your husband in a fit of rage and the entire team stood frozen like petrified animals but the sight of fear on their faces had upset you greatly, especially knowing that it was because of Toto’s, quite frankly unnecessary, tantrum.
You walked over to your husband, who hadn’t even noticed you amidst his anger, and gently placed your hand on his arm.
Any member of the team would’ve called you crazy in that moment, walking over to the beast of a man with no fear on your face when he could have easily turned around and launched you across the room without even thinking.
He had been ready to throw a fist at the person who had the gall to touch him before he saw that it was you, his beloved wife looking at him with nothing but love in your eyes even as he was acting like a brute.
The team had never seen him change personalities so quickly in that moment.
You didn’t say anything to him, instead you placed your other hand on his back and guided him away from everyone, you wouldn’t have been able to move him by yourself but he allowed you to guide him away with absolutely no argument.
You opened the door of his makeshift office, saying nothing as he strode straight past you without a glance, steam practically spilling from his ears, you could feel the anger radiating off of him.
Apart from his unsettled shuffling the room was filled with an intense silence as you shut the door, simply watching as his chest rose and fell harshly, you could see that he was trying to calm himself down now that he was in your presence but he was struggling to do so and that was only frustrating him further.
"Sit down," you gently instructed him, nodding towards the small sofa pushed up against the wall of the small room.
He wanted to argue but he stopped himself and did as he was told, sitting down on the sofa he buried his face into his hands.
You walked over to him and wrapped your arms around the back of his head, allowing him to lean into your stomach, you ran your hands through his hair.
"I understand you’re stressed and that things aren’t going the way you want them too but the way you’re shouting is unfair to the team, they are not your verbal punching bag but you’re treating them as they are."
Toto closed his eyes, releasing a heavy sigh, he wrapped his arms around your body to bring you closer.
He knew you were right, you always were and that’s what he loved about you, how you were always there to talk some sense into him.
He didn’t say anything though, he just held you firmly but gently and used your presence to calm him down.
There were many things he needed to be doing right now but he couldn’t find himself to care, right now the most important thing was calming down and spending time with you, no matter how long that took.
When the Mercedes team heard the door to their boss’ office unlock and saw the man himself walk out completely calm with you following shortly after, they were beyond amazed.
It was that day that the members of the team who had your number put you on speed dial in preparation for when an incident like this happened again, which it no doubt would.
"It seems that Toto Wolff is beginning to get a little bit frustrated down in the Mercedes garage."
You couldn’t help but roll your eyes at the unnecessary commentary that wasn’t helping in the slightest.
Your husband was getting agitated and the nearby team members were nervously glancing in his direction as though they were mentally preparing themselves for him to blow his top.
Instead of waiting for Toto to lose it, you stood behind him and loosely wrapped your arms around him, thumbing at the collar of his shirt.
Everyone around could see the tension immediately release from his body just from your comforting touch.
Toto grabbed one of your hands with his own, stroking his thumb back and forth across your skin, using the motion as a way to ground himself.
The whole garage went silent at the sight of both of their cars spinning off the track in turn 1. What once was going to be a promising race from starting second and third has turned into a disaster in such a short amount of time.
Everyone was utterly speechless as the entire team just sat there staring at their monitors in shock.
But then they actually acknowledged that it was silent and all simultaneously turned towards their boss with confused stares only to see you blocking him from the cameras that were pointing into the garage, leaning down and whispering, what they could only guess were calming, words to him.
Whilst the cameras couldn’t see his face, the team could and they could tell he was, rightfully so, furious as the situation, he wasn’t shouting or throwing things.
He definitely wanted to but he wasn’t.
You weren’t really in the mood to be in the garage today surrounded by so much noise to the point you could barely hear yourself think and the smell of fuel so strong it made you nauseous but you still wanted to support your husband as you weren’t able to accompany him everywhere he went so you settled in his makeshift office on what was possibly the worlds smallest sofa with your laptop sitting in your lap and your headphones placed over your ears to block out the noise from the team outside and the cars on the track.
It had been hours and you were content in the alone time you were getting, it was just you and your music playing in your ears that you didn’t notice the multiple calls you were receiving.
Unbeknownst to you, outside of his office, your husband was kicking off and nothing anyone did or said could calm him down.
The team had never witnessed Toto as angry as he was right now, the veins in his forehead more prominent than ever and whilst most didn’t understand the German words coming out of his mouth, they knew he couldn’t be saying anything nice.
Bono was trying to get a hold of you for possibly the twentieth time and he was still having no luck, he felt the pressure of the teams eyes on him, begging for the news that you’d be coming knowing that he was only one of a few that had your number and the means to find you right now but he wasn’t getting anywhere.
Poor Lewis and George were getting the brunt of the Austrian’s anger and even though they hadn’t a clue of what he was saying, they were starting to question the security of their jobs.
Luckily, a mechanic who had just entered the garage and was completely taken aback by the scene in front of him, awkwardly side shuffled to Bono and questioned what was going on. "He’s acting crazy! I can’t get a hold of Y/N."
"Didn’t she go straight into his office when they arrived earlier?" The mechanic asked.
Bono looked at him in shock and relief before jumping to his feet and wasting no time as he jogged in the direction of Toto’s office.
It was rude but he didn’t bother knocking, he almost cried when he saw you sitting there.
You got the fright of your life as the door burst open but the sight of a frantic Bono caused you to remove your headphones and look at him in confusion.
"Oh thank god you’re here! Toto’s gone mental!"
You released a sigh at his words and pushed your laptop to the side and got up from the sofa. "What for now?"
"I honestly have no idea but if he doesn’t calm down soon then Lewis and George might just start crying and Toto looks like he’s about to burst a blood vessel."
The moment you stepped out into the short, narrow corridor you heard your husbands angry German shouting. "Mein Gott," you muttered to yourself.
Entering the main part of the garage you weren’t greeted by a pretty sight at all, Bono wasn’t overreacting in the way he described Toto, Lewis and George and let’s not forget about the rest of the team.
You headed straight for your husband, not acknowledging the looks of relief you saw build on everyone’s faces, especially the two drivers’.
You didn’t even need to say anything to Toto, you just stood in front of him and looked up at him with a stern gaze that soon got him to shut up but his eyes were still blazing with fury as he looked down at you, you knew his anger wasn’t aimed at you, he was just still pent up with emotions.
You nodded in the direction of his office and simply walked away, expecting him to follow after you if he knew what was good for him.
He followed you.
The moment you heard him close the door you turned to him. "This needs to stop."
He looked at you furiously, "how am I supposed to stop when I have two drivers that can’t even get through a lap without crashing into each other!"
"Don’t you dare talk to me like that, Torger!" Your voice cut through the air as you glared at him which soon caused his face to shift from angry to wounded as you scolded him.
"How hard is it for you to simply sit them down and give them a stern talking to, there’s no need for the way you completely blow your top, you’re acting like a child throwing a tantrum."
He was still beyond angry, you could see it in his eyes and the way he shifted on his feet and he was about to retort but you cut him off. "I don’t want to hear you right now, I want you to sit down in silence and calm down before a single word comes out of your mouth."
He pursed his lips, not at all happy but he did as he was told and sat down in the chair behind the small desk, you didn’t spare him a glance as you sat yourself back where you were before Bono came searching for you, pulling your laptop back onto your lap to finish what you had been doing.
It was a good 15/20 minutes later when you heard him get up from his seat and make his way over to you. He sat beside you and rested his head on your shoulder causing you to roll your eyes but a smile grew on your face at his actions, you were glad he couldn’t see it though.
You continued to carry on with what you were doing, letting him decide how he wanted your conversation to go and so it remained silent for a few more minutes with you and Toto simply sat there, him resting against you simply soaking up the comfort of your presence.
He shifted and pressed a kiss to your temple before returning back to his position. "Are you mad at me?" He asked when you remained silent.
You closed your laptop and put it away before shifting the both of you so you were up straight and looking at each other. "No," you told him honestly, "I just wish you wouldn’t let your frustrations get the best of you all the time."
He looked down at your words before looking back into your eyes with a sincere look, "I’m sorry."
"It’s okay," you smiled at him, reaching out a hand to brush his hair back. "We just need to find a way for you to keep yourself together."
"You’re the way," he replied immediately which stunned you and he was okay with that. He pulled you into his arms and you both just sat there.
You could be quite the opposite at times but you were content with that because you would always be there to ground him whenever his emotions got out of control.
Summary: Max used to think that you’re too sweet for him … now he has to learn to live with the fact that Toto has quite a sweet tooth (inspired by the song that I’ve had on repeat)
I take my whiskеy neat
The doors to the upscale restaurant swing open and Max strides through, his fingers lightly grazing the small of your back as he guides you inside. The dimly lit interior is bustling with the chatter of well-heeled patrons enjoying their evening repasts. A sharply dressed hostess greets you with a polite smile.
“Good evening, sir. Welcome to The Sazerac Room. Do you have a reservation?”
“Verstappen,” Max replies curtly.
The hostess consults her tablet, then nods. “Right this way please.”
She leads the two of you through the elegant dining room, weaving between tables topped with crisp white linens and elaborate floral centerpieces. Max keeps his hand at your back, his thumb idly stroking in a soothing pattern as you take in the opulent surroundings with wide eyes.
“This place is incredible,” you murmur, craning your neck to admire the ornate chandeliers glittering overhead. “Thank you for bringing me here.”
He simply grunts in acknowledgment as the hostess stops before an intimate table tucked discreetly in the corner. After pulling out your chair for you with a flourish, she sets two leather-bound menus on the table.
“Your server will be right with you,” she informs them before departing with a polite nod.
You waste no time in opening your menu, hungrily perusing the offerings. “Oh Max, look at all these amazing cocktails! The La Vie en Rose sounds divine — rose liqueur, raspberries, lemon ...” You glance up at him hopefully. “We should get a couple of those to start.”
Max barely glances at his own menu before shaking his head. “I’ll just have a whiskey neat.”
Your face falls slightly at his brusque response. “Are you sure? These all look so good! We should live a little and try something fun for once.”
He fixes you with a stern look from across the table. “You know I don’t like frilly drinks. Now stop pestering me about it.”
Chastened by his harsh tone, you lapse into a wounded silence and continue reading the menu with diminished enthusiasm. A few moments later, a dapper middle-aged gentleman in a crisp suit appears at your table.
“Good evening, and welcome to The Sazerac Room. My name is William and I’ll be your server this evening.” With a polite smile, he produces a notepad from his breast pocket. “May I start you off with something to drink?”
You glance back at Max, giving him one last chance to change his mind. When he simply gazes back at you impassively, you sigh. “I’ll have the La Vie en Rose cocktail, please.”
William jots down your order before turning to Max expectantly.
“Whiskey neat,” Max says flatly. “Redbreast 27 Year, if you have it.”
“An excellent choice, sir.” William makes a note. “And may I bring you both some bread from our bakery while you decide on your meals?”
“That would be wonderful, thank you,” you reply gratefully.
William departs to place the drink orders, leaving you and Max alone once more. An awkward silence stretches between you, filled only by the tinkle of silverware and murmurs of conversation from surrounding tables.
Finally, you try again. “Max, are you sure I can’t tempt you with one little sip? This La Vie en Rose cocktail sounds absolutely divine. You might lov-”
“For fuck’s sake!” Max suddenly explodes, slamming his menu down on the table hard enough to rattle the cutlery. “How many times do I have to tell you I don’t want any of your ridiculous fruity bullshit? I’m a fucking race car driver, not some ridiculous Instagram model trying to look pretty with my drink.”
His nostrils flare as he leans across the table, eyes flashing with irritation that you would dare continue to push the issue. “I’ve had a long fucking day and I am going to drink whatever the fuck I want. So order your stupid fucking girly cocktail if you must, but don’t act so goddamn disappointed and keep shoving it in my face when I say no.”
You shrink back in your chair, eyes widening with hurt at his enraged outburst. The crestfallen look on your face is enough to douse Max’s fury like a bucket of ice water. He slumps back, remorse already stirring as he witnesses the light dimming in your eyes, lips trembling ever so slightly as you blink back sudden tears.
“I … I was just excited to try something new together,” you whisper shakily. “But never mind. You’re right, I’m sorry.”
The arrival of William with a basket of assorted breads and your glittering pink cocktail garnished with raspberries provides a merciful distraction from the tension.
You immediately reach for the drink, wrapping your hands around the delicate stemmed glass and taking a large gulp — both to avoid making eye contact with Max and to sample your coveted libation.
A look of bliss softens your features as the tart, sugary concoction bursts across your taste buds. “Mmm, this is incredible!”
For a beat, Max can’t help but drink in your look of pure enjoyment — the way your eyes flutter closed in delight, pink lips quirking into a contented smile as you savor each sip. It simultaneously tugs at his heartstrings and fills him with an irrational stab of resentment.
Here you are, sweet and radiant, able to find joy in the simplest of things … while he is just a miserable bastard who can’t let himself enjoy anything without getting irrationally angry.
You deserve so much better than him.
The thought is sobering and he feels shame burn hot in his gut. Unconsciously, his shoulders slump as he watches you take another euphoric sip of your cocktail.
“I knew it, this is amazing,” you sigh happily, seemingly recovered from his earlier tantrum as you bask in the deliciousness of your drink. “Max, you have to try just one little-”
“No.” The refusal is automatic, the word slicing through your offer before he can think better of it.
Your face shutters once more, the bright light in your eyes dimming as your smile fades into resignation. With a soft exhale, you set your glass down and reach for the bread basket instead.
“Suit yourself, then.”
As you silently butter a roll, Max finds himself at a rare loss, anger dissipating into regret as the knot in his stomach tightens painfully. Tonight was supposed to be a celebration after his impressive win on the track, a chance for the two of you to enjoy each other’s company and make more happy memories together.
Instead, he’s gone and ruined the mood … again … just like he always does.
***
“Another round?” Checo’s voice cuts through the sound of laughter and chatter around the table.
Max glances up distractedly from pushing the remaining bits of food around his plate. He, Checo, and a few other members of the Red Bull team are celebrating a successful Monaco Grand Prix. Despite making the podium, Max’s mind hasn’t really been on the festivities.
“I’m all set, thanks,” he mutters, raising his glass of whiskey with a tight smile before taking a sip. His gaze drifts across the opulent dining room of Cipriani Monte Carlo, idly scanning the crowd of wealthy patrons enjoying their evening meals.
That’s when his eyes catch on a shockingly familiar figure.
You.
Sitting at an intimate corner table, bathed in the soft glow of a candle’s flickering flame. For a moment, Max’s breath catches in his throat as a thousand bittersweet memories assault him all at once.
The hurt look on your face that night at The Sazerac Room … the resignation in your eyes as you accepted, yet again, that he would never be able to appreciate the sweet, simple pleasures that brought you such joy ...
The cold, empty silence that descended over your apartment when he finally left for good, stuffing his belongings into a duffel bag as you watched with trembling lips from across the room ...
Max blinks, and the moment passes — but his gaze remains riveted to your table. Because there, sitting across from you with adoration written across his insufferable face … is Toto Wolff.
Max feels his lips curl into an unconscious sneer as the Mercedes team principal murmurs something to you with a gentle smile, reaching across to delicately brush a lock of hair behind your ear. You catch Toto’s hand as it falls, pressing a tender kiss into his palm that makes the older man’s expression soften even further.
Your waiter arrives then, providing a momentary distraction as he lays out a couple of fresh cocktails on crisp white linen — a bright purple concoction garnished with a sugared rim and a plump cherry for you and an amber-hued old fashioned for Toto.
Your eyes light up as you take in the colorful beverage, immediately wrapping your hands around the delicate stemmed glass and bringing it to your lips to sample. A look of pure delight crosses your features as the no doubt sugary drink bursts across your taste buds.
“Mmm ...” you hum in pleasure, causing Toto to chuckle affectionately as he watches you enjoy the first reveling sips.
Setting your glass down, you gesture enthusiastically toward it as you address Toto. “This is incredible! You have to try it.”
Without hesitation, the Mercedes team boss dutifully leans across the table to take a long pull from your straw. Max watches with a mixture of disgust and morbid fascination as Toto’s expression morphs into one of surprised enjoyment.
“Wow, that is quite good, isn’t it?” Toto remarks with an indulgent grin, licking a telltale dab of purple syrup from the corner of his mouth.
“I told you!” You crow in delight, eyes sparkling with unrestrained glee.
The pure joy radiating from you in that moment is enough to make Max’s heart clench in his chest. He has seen that look before, so many times — whenever he deigned to let go of his surly demeanor for even a moment and actually indulge whatever fleeting whim or simple pleasure you desired to share with him.
But it was always so short-lived with him, stamped out by his own stubborn refusal to truly embrace anything resembling happiness or frivolity. You deserved so much more than his constant scowling and gruff rebuffs.
As if reading his thoughts, Toto then leans across the table to tenderly capture your lips in a soft, lingering kiss. The gentle intimacy of it makes Max’s gut churn as a feeling too complicated to fully unpack blossoms in his chest.
When you finally part, both of you are smiling at each other with such open, unguarded adoration that it’s almost obscene to witness. Toto reaches out to cradle your face in his palm as your lips find his once more in another chaste, loving caress.
This time, when you pull away, you let your head loll back with a look of pure bliss. Something deep within Max cracks and splinters at the sight. In a haze, he finds himself drifting back through the churning currents of memory ...
… that last, fateful shouting match in your living room, both of you red-faced and furious as the dam holding back all the anger and resentment and accusations that had been building for months finally burst ...
… you weeping silently as you clutched a meager trash bag containing what little remained of his belongings, not even able to look at him for fear of collapsing completely ...
… “I’m too sweet for you, Max. You’ve made that perfectly clear.”
The acid words burn in his mind even now, feeling as fresh and raw as that night they were spat out like venom between you. His chest constricts as his gaze falls guiltily back to the present day scene in front of him.
Toto and you, basking in the warm, rosy glow of new love — careless and unrestrained in your public affection. Delighting in each other’s company and simple pleasures … just as you always desired for Max to do, yet he could never fully surrender to.
The display is like a twisted mirror, taunting him with the vibrant reflection of what he threw away. What he was too foolish, too emotionally stunted and uncaring to fully appreciate at the time.
Stumbling from his chair in a daze, Max barely registers the questioning looks and concerned murmurs from his team as he staggers from the dining room. He hardly makes it to the privacy of the restroom before bending at the waist, hefting the contents of his stomach into the thankfully pristine porcelain basin.
The whiskey burns on the way back up.
Max grips the edges of the counter, face contorted in anguish as a realization washes over him in searing waves.
You were the real prize all along … and now, he’s lost you for good.
My coffee black
The drone of announcements over the PA system and the dull roar of hundreds of people bustling to and fro mingles into an ever-present white noise hum. Max trudges ahead, the brim of his ball cap tugged low as he weaves through the teeming crowds filing through the airports’ terminals.
It’s just after 5 am, the start of another grueling race week. This time the travel will take you from the Middle Eastern leg of the circuit to the other side of the world in Australia. Twenty-plus hours of planes, layovers, and jet lag beckon — a prospect that grows less and less appealing with each passing season.
A warm weight presses against his side as you shuffle along beside him, head lolling adorably as you struggle to keep your eyes open. One slender hand is looped through the crook of his elbow, gripping the strap of your carry-on bag with the other. You let out a jaw-cracking yawn, leaning into Max’s solid bulk.
“I need coffee,” you mumble groggily. “I’m barely conscious.”
He shoots you a sidelong glance, mouth quirking ever-so-slightly at your dramatics. As grating as your tendency for excessive cheerfulness can be at times, he does admire your ability to shake off the fatigue and stress that plagues him more and more these days.
“There’s one of those chains up ahead,” he grunts, nodding toward the familiar logo peeking through from around the corner.
You light up immediately, straightening and quickening your shuffling steps in anticipation of the caffeinated boost soon to come. By the time you reach the counter, there’s a bright spark back in your eyes that makes the exhaustion plaguing Max’s own limbs feel slightly more bearable.
The barista, a pimple-faced youth who can’t be any older than 18, greets you with a too-wide smile. “Welcome to Daily Grind! What can I get started for you?”
You lean in eagerly, surveying the massive display of chalkboard signs advertising the latest sugar bombs and “coffee” concoctions designed to appease the basic palates of everyday people who wouldn’t know a good cup of joe if it slapped them across the face. Max scowls, already anticipating some ridiculously saccharine order.
“I’ll have a large cinnamon honey oat milk latte, please,” you chirp, as expected.
The barista marks down your request with a perky nod. “Excellent! And for you, sir?”
“Black coffee,” Max replies flatly. “Medium.”
Your brow furrows as you shoot him a quizzical look. “Just black coffee? Not even a splash of cream or anything?”
He shakes his head tersely, one hand already rummaging in his pocket for his wallet as the barista rattles off the total. “We’re in a rush as it is, and that sugary nonsense you ordered takes forever to make with all the fussy bullshit they do to it.”
You wince at his blunt assessment, shoulders slumping a bit in a way that makes a pang of guilt flicker through Max’s chest. He doesn’t mean to be so harsh … but sometimes it’s like the more considerate side of his nature has been ground away by years of constant training and calculating every single variable down to the most minute detail.
The poor kid working the register seems to shrink under the intensity of Max’s gruff demeanor. With shaky hands, he quickly processes the payment before stammering out your total. As you shuffle off to the side to wait for your orders, Max can’t help but keep picking.
“Honestly, I don’t know why you insist on ordering those stupid drinks that are 90% milk and trash,” he mutters, shooting you a disapproving look. “Barely any actual coffee at all.”
You frown, immediately hunching into yourself a bit as you cradle a handful of napkins against your chest. “It’s not like that coffee flavor isn’t there at all,” you argue meekly. “And I have to get some kind of caffeine boost to stay awake during all these flights and race weekends. I just … I don’t really like the taste of black coffee.”
Max scoffs loudly at that, shaking his head in open derision. “Sure, because drinking just regular black coffee like an adult would be too difficult. Instead you have to get your ‘caffeine boost’ from some tooth-rottingly sweet concoction that looks like something a child would order.”
The barista shifts uncomfortably behind the counter, clearly flustered by Max’s abrasive tone. Not that he cares — he’s been dealing with people gawking at him in public for years now. What does rub him the wrong way is the wounded look spreading across your delicate features, eyes dropping to stare dejectedly at the floor.
He opens his mouth to continue chiding you, but at that moment the barista appears with your drinks. The sweet, cinnamony aroma of your order hits Max’s nostrils like a slap in the face, making his nose wrinkle on instinct. You accept your oversized paper cup gratefully, hands automatically curling around the comforting warmth.
With visible enthusiasm, you bring the drink to your lips, unable to resist taking a sip despite the scalding temperature. Max tracks the minute changes in your expression — the slight widening of your eyes, the upward quirk of your lips into a smile of unalloyed contentment. Your lashes flutter closed on a quiet hum of blissful appreciation.
“Mmm … heaven,” you practically moan, hunching over your cup as though to better inhale the revitalizing notes of sugar and spice.
It makes Max want to retch, watching you so unashamedly indulging in such vapid, artificial flavors. How can you find such simple-minded pleasure in that, when you could be savoring the bold, robust notes of a proper cup of black coffee? One meant to awaken the senses and caress the taste buds with its smoky aroma and rich, nuanced flavor notes.
“You can’t honestly get any enjoyment from basically drinking hot milk and flavored syrups,” he mutters, sneering at the offensive beverage in your grasp.
In response, you simply shift closer to him until you’re pressed alongside his body. Your free hand snakes around his bicep, squeezing gently as you tilt your head back to gaze up at him imploringly. Exhaustion and hurt war openly with the angelic softness of your delicate features.
“Max … can’t you just let me enjoy this?” You plead in a low murmur. “It’s early, and we’ve got a long flight ahead.”
His jaw clenches stubbornly, unwilling to back down so easily. Caffeine and sleep deprivation have eroded his already thin sense of decorum.
“I’m just saying, drinking a syrupy dessert drink loaded with sugar and god knows what else isn’t doing you any favors. You might as well just stick to black coffee like a normal adult if you want to be awake and energized.”
The wounded look in your eyes deepens into something more somber and resigned. Slowly, you pull away from Max’s side until a noticeable distance stretches between your bodies. Something inside him shrivels at the loss of contact. Your slender fingers work feverishly at the cup’s lid until it pops off with a dull thunk.
Max stares blankly as you march over to the nearest trash can and upend the contents of your cup into the receptacle. You don’t even seem to hesitate — simply turn on your heel and hurl the now-empty cup in after the wasted drink. It clatters hollowly against the canister, mocking and empty.
When you turn back to face Max, the sight makes the now-lukewarm coffee sitting neglected in his own cup feels like a lead weight in his gut. Your arms are wrapped protectively around yourself, hunched against some unseen foe. Head bowed, you refuse to meet his gaze as you slowly make your way back over to where he stands rooted to the spot in stunned silence.
It’s only as you draw up beside him that Max notices the twin tear tracks striping your cheeks. Your chin remains stubbornly trembling, but you make no move to wipe at the tears now falling freely. Max’s chest constricts almost painfully at the sight of your misery, the guilt gnawing at him as the reality sets in.
He is the reason for it. His harsh, uncompromising tongue has wounded you in one of the cruelest ways once again. Too strict, too unyielding, too incapable of allowing even the smallest indulgences that bring you simple joy without sneering dismissal.
For several agonizing moments, the two of you stand in silence amid the milling crowds of travelers streaming past. Max can’t bring himself to meet your gaze, knowing he’ll only find the depths of his own callous thoughtlessness reflected back at him in your swimming eyes.
Finally, you release a shuddering sigh that sounds far too weighted for someone of your sweetness and light. When you speak, your voice is little more than a tremulous murmur laced with dejection.
“Let’s just go to the gate, Max.”
You brush past him without another word, leaving him to trail numbly in your wake as shame burns a hole through his gut. He watches as your form disappears into the throngs, shoulders already beginning to hunch inward as that spark of happiness in you gutters and fades.
Lingering behind, Max’s gaze falls to the empty cup lying crumpled and discarded in the trash. A reminder of yet another instance where his unchecked tongue and inability to empathize has spoiled an innocent attempt at simple pleasure.
His coffee suddenly tastes like ash on his tongue.
As he moves to dump the neglected drink into the nearby basin, Max wonders with a sinking feeling just how many more times he’ll be able to snuff out your light before it dwindles to nothing.
***
The late morning sun bears down with oppressive force, causing a mirage-like haze to shimmer over the sweltering asphalt of the paddock. Despite being early summer, the Spanish air is already thick and heavy enough to bathe Max’s skin in a sheen of perspiration as he trudges toward the Red Bull Energy Station.
Ahead, he spots a cluster of people milling aimlessly near the entrance to the Mercedes motorhome. At the center appears to be you, head tilted back in unrestrained laughter at something George Russell is regaling you with. The British driver is equally animated, pale features scrunched up in exaggerated motions as he relays what is no doubt an amusing tale.
Max feels his steps gradually slow of their own accord as he takes you in from a distance. You seem utterly at ease and in your element — cheeky grin splitting your face, one hand toying idly with the ends of your hair as your eyes crinkle with unbridled mirth.
A pure vision of effortless contentment.
His gut clenches unexpectedly, unbidden memories of how he methodically chipped away at that very lightness in you until it was all but extinguished washing over him in a nauseating wave. How quickly he took such simple joys for granted ...
So transfixed is he by the sight of your open, honest amusement that Max barely notices the figure slipping up behind you. Not until Toto Wolff raises a conspiratorial finger to his lips, eyes twinkling impishly as he pantomimes for silence at a sputtering George.
You remain oblivious even as the Mercedes team principal slides flush against your back, looping one arm around your waist to tug you snug against his chest. With his free hand, Toto cups it teasingly over your eyes — to which you release a tinkling peal of laughter.
“Guess who?” The playful lilt of the older man’s Austrian lilt is unmistakable, dripping with honeyed warmth.
“Hmm … I wonder,” you murmur coyly, making a show of tapping your chin in feigned confusion. “Is it a dashing gentleman caller here to sweep me off my feet?”
Toto chuckles deeply in your ear, the sound positively dripping with unguarded affection. “Only if you’ll have me, liebling.”
Craning your head back with a cheeky grin, your arms instinctively wind around his neck as you stretch up on your tiptoes to greet him properly. Toto meets your lips in a lingering, languid kiss that has George hastily clearing his throat and looking resolutely anywhere but at the affectionate display before him.
When you finally part, all radiant smiles and flushed cheeks, it’s like the rest of the world has completely fallen away. Toto gazes down at you with such pure adoration that Max feels his throat constrict as though a belt is suddenly cinched tight around it.
“I have a surprise for you, schnucki,” Toto murmurs huskily, lips brushing your temple as he speaks.
You light up like a kid on Christmas morning, practically vibrating with excitement at his words. “Oh? Do tell!”
With a wink and roguish smile, Toto brandishes his other hand from behind his back — in it, clutched protectively, is a large cup topped with whipped cream and what looks like edible flower petals sprinkled over the top. The light purple hue of the iced contents catches in the bright sun, refracting a prism of soft, delicate colors.
“I had the barista in our hospitality whip this up for you,” Toto explains fondly. “After I mentioned how much you enjoy trying unique coffee flavors. It’s a lavender vanilla iced latte.”
Your mouth drops open in a perfect ‘o’ of delight as you instinctively make grabby motions toward the tantalizing beverage. Max recognizes that earnest enthusiasm all too well. It’s the same look you used to get whenever presented with any unique taste or experience to appreciate.
A look he always met with disdain and scorn.
Toto doesn’t hesitate for a second before depositing the cup into your greedy hands. You immediately cradle it reverently, as though it’s the most precious thing you’ve ever held. Ducking your head, you take a long pull through the striped paper straw.
The expression that blossoms across your features as that first taste bursts over your tongue is one of pure, unadulterated bliss. Your eyes flutter closed on a muffled moan of sinful enjoyment, lips pursing as though savoring each individual note of flavor. Max hasn’t seen you look that unguardedly delighted by anything in … well, he can’t actually recall the last time.
“Oh Toto, this is heavenly!” You gush, swiping your tongue across your lower lip to catch a stray drop of condensation. “The lavender is subtle, but gives it such a uniquely fresh and floral twist. And the vanilla adds this creamy sweetness that keeps it from being overwhelming.”
You open your eyes to beam radiantly up at the older man, who returns your luminous smile with equal warmth. “It’s perfect, thank you! You have to try it.”
Without prompting, you eagerly offer the cup up to Toto. He accepts it with an indulgent chuckle, locking eyes with you as he takes a contemplative sip — no doubt eager to share in whatever fleeting moment of bliss the simple drink has brought you.
Unlike Max, who would have turned up his nose and likely received it with derision, Toto seems to savor the complex blend of flavors. Humming thoughtfully, he swipes his tongue across his upper lip as though committing each separate note to memory.
“You’re quite right, liebling,” he agrees readily, “this is delightful. So refreshing for this heat. I may have to acquire a taste for these iced coffees myself.”
You positively glow at his assessment, lighting up from within like a joyful little sun. Max is helpless before the storm of emotions suddenly ripping through him at the sight.
“Oh! That reminds me,” you chirp giddily, bouncing on the balls of your feet, “I was talking to the barista about maybe incorporating some other floral syrups for iced coffees too. Like rose or hibiscus! And maybe we could get her to try making those fun layered drinks with the espresso on the bottom-”
Toto’s deep belly laugh cuts off your stream of eager rambling. Without warning, he snakes an arm around your waist and tugs you flush against him once more. You let out a startled giggle as he buries his nose in the crook of your neck, lips brushing the feverish pulse point just beneath your jaw.
“You adorable thing,” he rumbles warmly, words slightly muffled against your skin as he presses a languid line of kisses along the sharp line of your jaw. “So enthusiastic about the simplest pleasures in life ...”
Pulling back, Toto lifts one hand to tenderly cradle the side of your face. You automatically nuzzle into his palm with a look of such smitten devotion that it makes Max’s heart stutter behind his ribcage. When Toto leans in to seal his lips over yours once more, the kiss is deep and thoroughly unhurried — as though the two of you have all the time in the world to savor this intimate little moment.
Max’s hands clench into white-knuckled fists, blunt nails biting crescent moons into his clammy palms. He should turn away, leave you to your blissful display with someone who so clearly appreciates you. Yet he remains rooted in place, unable to tear his eyes from the scene unfolding before him.
It’s like witnessing an alternate universe version of your shared lives play out in vivid, scorching detail.
In this reality, Toto is the one tenderly stroking the pad of his thumb over the elegant arch of your cheekbone as the two of you part, drinking in the sight of your passion-addled features hungrily. He is the one basking in the radiance of your bright and unrestrained joy. Celebrating each of your simple thrills, from the most frivolous of flavored coffees to the sensual graze of skin on skin.
And where does that leave Max? An outsider peering in at paradise with his face smeared against the glass, watching the warmth and affection he could never fully embrace slowly slip through his calloused fingers.
And my bed at three
The mattress shifts, the subtle movement rousing Max from his slumber. He cracks one eye open to find the space next to him empty, the sheets disheveled where you had lain.
A glance at the digital clock on the nightstand tells him it’s not yet 5 am. Where are you going at this hour?
He hears faint rustling from the living area of the hotel suite, followed by the soft click of the door. Groaning, he kicks off the covers and pads out of the bedroom, the plush carpet warm beneath his bare feet.
You’re sitting on the couch, slipping into a pair of flats. “What are you doing up so early?” He asks, his voice still husky from sleep.
You look up, startled. “Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you.” A soft smile plays on your lips. “I was going to watch the sunrise.”
Max rakes a hand through his tousled hair. “Why would you want to do that?”
“Because it’s beautiful.” Your eyes sparkle with an excitement he can’t comprehend this early in the morning. “The colors, the way the light slowly creeps over the horizon — it’s just magical.”
He snorts. “It happens every day. Nothing magical about it.”
Your face falls ever so slightly, and it tugs at something in his chest. But the feeling is fleeting, replaced by annoyance at having his sleep disturbed for something so trivial. “So you didn’t want to join me, then?” You ask, almost timidly.
“And wake up before the ass-crack of dawn? No thanks.” He flops onto the couch beside you with a huff. “I was up until 3 am sim racing. Not all of us find staring at the sky such riveting entertainment.”
You say nothing, simply nodding as you avert your gaze. The light in your eyes has dimmed, and he feels a pang of guilt. But he shakes it off — it’s far too early for this kind of whimsical nonsense.
“Suit yourself,” he mutters. “I’m going back to bed.”
He doesn’t see the way your shoulders droop as he turns and trudges back towards the bedroom. Doesn’t see the tears that prick at the corners of your eyes before you blink them away and readjust the set of your jaw with determination.
Max burrows under the covers, fully intent on drifting back into oblivion. But sleep evades him, his mind buzzing with a peculiar restlessness. He punches his pillow into a more suitable shape, flips it over to the cool side, but still he lies awake, listening to the silence that fills the suite.
After what feels like an eternity, curiosity gets the better of him. He kicks off the covers once more and pads over to the floor-to-ceiling windows that overlook the city street below. Sure enough, there you are, a tiny figure perched on a bench across the way, your face tipped up towards the slowly lightening sky.
Max leans his forehead against the cool glass, watching as the inky blackness of night gives way to soft shades of periwinkle and lilac. Slowly, the colors deepen into blazing pinks and vibrant oranges that streak across the heavens. The sky ignites in a brilliant blaze of crimson and gold, the clouds set afire by the rising sun.
And there you sit, bathed in the dawn’s ethereal glow, utterly transfixed. In this light, your features seem softer, more at peace than he’s seen you in a long while. A smile plays on your lips, genuine and unguarded, as you take in the spectacle unfolding before you.
Max finds himself holding his breath, as if the slightest movement might shatter the magic of this moment. He’s never seen you look more beautiful, more alive than in these fleeting minutes as day breaks over the city.
A rare pang of tenderness blooms in his chest, quickly overshadowed by a creeping sense of unease. He isn’t certain how much time has passed before the brilliant hues fade into the pale blue of morning, but eventually you rise from the bench, taking one last, lingering look at the sky before turning and disappearing from view.
Max exhales slowly, his breath fogging up the glass. He isn’t proud of how he dismissed your simple joy, that spark of wonderment at the little things that he so often takes for granted.
An emptiness settles in the pit of his stomach, the guilt heavier than before. How many other moments has he trampled on in his relentless pursuit of success?
He thinks of your radiant smile, how it lit up the pre-dawn gloom more vibrantly than the sunrise itself. With a sigh, Max turns away from the window, already dreading the apology he knows he owes you.
Because in that single, breathtaking moment, he realizes just how lucky he is to have someone like you in his life. Someone who can find magic in the mundane, beauty in the simple things he’s become blind to along the way.
Someone, Max fears, who may be too sweet for him.
***
Max gives up on sleep around 4:30 am, as he has for the past several weeks. Insomnia has become his constant, unwanted companion, leaving him tossing and turning until the first hints of dawn creep through the curtains. On nights like this, slumber remains persistently out of reach no matter how exhausted he feels.
He lies in bed, staring at the ceiling as the brightening sky slowly illuminates the room. It wasn’t always this way — he used to be able to sleep like the dead after a race weekend, knocked out by the physical and mental exertion. But lately, his mind refuses to shut off, thoughts swirling endlessly until his head pounds.
With a groan, Max kicks off the tangled sheets and drags himself out of bed. Maybe going for a run will quiet the racket in his brain, at least for a little while. He dresses quickly, lacing up his trainers and grabbing his earbuds before heading out into the semi-darkness.
The pre-dawn streets are blissfully empty as he starts off at an easy jog. He despises becoming one of those obnoxious morning people, but exhaustion has a way of stripping away one’s self-respect. If pounding the pavement before the rest of the world awakes is what it takes to catch a few hours of sleep, so be it.
His route takes him along the harbor, the gentle lapping of the waves against the seawall providing a soothing soundtrack. The first rays of sunlight glint off the glassy surface, and he finds himself averting his gaze, oddly resentful of the impending sunrise.
It wasn’t so long ago that he scoffed at your eagerness to greet each new day. But ever since you’ve been gone from his life, those brilliant, fleeting moments of beauty have begun to mock him at every turn.
He picks up his pace, as if he can outrun the rising sun and the flood of memories it brings. But there’s no escaping the vivid flashes of you, smiling radiantly as the world awakes in a blaze of fiery hues. Or the hollow ache that twinges somewhere beneath his rib cage whenever he’s reminded of just how little he appreciated you.
So lost is he in his circling thoughts that he nearly runs right into you, appearing abruptly on the path ahead. His trainers skid against the pavement as he grinds to a halt, his heart stammering in his chest.
“Max?” You blink up at him, clearly startled by his sudden presence.
He opens his mouth, an automatic apology rising to his lips — until his eyes zero in on the camera clutched in your hands. Of course. Still chasing sunrises after all these years.
A wry grin tugs at the corner of your mouth as you take in his rumpled running attire. “Fancy meeting you here.”
Max says nothing, his gaze flickering briefly towards the brightening horizon before fixing on you once more. You look … well, radiant as ever, lit by the soft morning glow. A small pang of something — longing, maybe — twists in his gut.
“Out enjoying another sunrise, I see,” he says at last, nodding towards the camera.
You glance down at it fondly. “Well, you know how it is. I have to capture them while I can.” A teasing lilt edges into your voice. “Not all of us are night owls.”
He huffs out a humorless laugh. “I’ll never understand what’s so fascinating about watching the same thing happen day after day.”
“But that’s just it — each one is different. Unique and fleeting and … breathtaking.” Your eyes spark with that gentle wonderment he remembers so well, the sight sending a tremor through his chest. “Like getting a front row seat to the greatest show on Earth, but it’s one you’ll never see again.”
You trail off with a small shake of your head, seemingly at a loss to put the feeling into words. Max doesn’t need the explanation — he’s seen that look of childlike awe on your face more times than he can count.
An awkward silence stretches between you, laden with the weight of history and unspoken apologies. You shift your stance, mouth opening as if to say something more.
But Max cuts you off before you can get the words out, unable to bear whatever sentiments might cross those sweet lips of yours. “Toto not joining you this time?” He asks gruffly.
Your expression softens into a fond smile, and it’s like a physical blow to Max’s sternum. He knows that look, has been on the receiving end of it more times than he cares to remember. The way your entire being seems to brighten when you so much as think about someone you love.
“Ah, you know Toto — he’s more of a sunset person,” you say with a light laugh. “I’ve never been able to drag his grumpy butt out of bed for a sunrise.”
Even as his insides curdle with jealousy, Max can’t help the quirk of his lips at the mental image. He could all too easily picture Toto swatting irritably at you, burrowing deeper under the covers to escape the blasted sun.
“But we make it work,” you continue, that loving glow refusing to dim from your eyes. “I take photos of the sunrise to share with him later. And he does the same with the sunsets for me. That way, we both get to experience it in a way.”
The gentle sound of your voice washes over Max like a salve, momentarily easing the tangled knot of regret and longing that’s taken up permanent residence inside him. He watches, transfixed, as the early morning light bathes you in ethereal radiance.
In that moment, he sees it so clearly — the depth of give and take in your relationship with Toto. The effort, large and small, that you both put into nurturing one another’s happiness.
Even when your desires don’t perfectly align. Even when compromise is required.
It’s such a simple gesture, capturing those magical moments to share with your loved one. But it’s one Max was never willing to make when you were with him.
A lump forms in his throat as realization washes over him with unforgiving clarity. You weren’t too sweet for him, as he had so arrogantly assumed time and again. No — the truth, much harder to swallow, is that he was simply too sour for you.
Too selfish, too wrapped up in his own ambitions to make even the smallest concession. Too blind to recognize the magic in the simple things that brought you unbridled joy. Too bitter and jaded to embrace and nurture the beautiful nature that made you … well, you.
And now, after all his careless cruelties and wasted chances, he can only stand idly by and watch as someone else basks in the sweetness of your affection. As someone else goes out of their way, day after day, to put that blinding smile on your face and those stars in your eyes.
Something in Max’s chest cracks and crumbles at the injustice of it all. At the agonizing truth that he let the best thing in his life slip through his fingers, all because he couldn’t be bothered to change his sullen ways.
Because you were never too sweet for him … he was too sour for you.
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