pairing: lewis hamilton x femalereader
summary: lewis gives you secretly his number. you're hesitant to call him at first, but when you do, things get a little much more interesting.
warnings: sexual activities, cursing words
(a/n): this is the last part! here's part one and part two.
YOU CHUCKLED AS Lewis excused himself to bring some more wine for the two of you.
You got more comfortable on the couch and fixed the silk material of your clothing.
When he came back, he filled your glass and then his.
"What do you do for a living?" He asked before taking his seat next to you once again.
"I'm a journalist." You answered, taking a small sip from the delicious liquid. "A sports journalist."
Lewis' eyes narrowed. "Formula one?"
"Nope," you said. "Basketball."
You noticed that he rolled his eyes. "Pity."
"What? You wanted me interviewing you, sir Lewis Hamilton?"
You caught a glimpse of something in his eyes as he smiled, bitting his lips before talking. "Maybe," he said, drinking from his wine and looking vacantly somewhere behind you. "That'd be very... very torturing." He said, his voice almost barely above a whisper.
"What was that?!" You laughed, your hands flying in the air. "What was that?!" You repeated again.
"Nothing." He said, smiling widely.
You studied his look. "Are you flirting with me?"
"Trying to." He answered, and you noticed that his hands were rested on the couch, just behind the area of your neck and head. "Does it work?" He looked up at you as he took another sip.
You bit your lips and felt that you were inevitably blushing. Looking at your nervous hands, circling the glass, you noticed his lap and the tattoos on the flesh of it.
It was very... very rideable.
"Maybe," you said, then a thought kicked in. "You promised you'd tell me why I was the chosen one at the race. I'm all ears."
Lewis cleared his throat. "You really want me to tell you?"
"If it doesn't involve some kind of a bet, yes, please,"
"A bet?" His nose wrinkled in something that looked like disguist. "Fuck, I'm not that kind of man."
"Tell me, Lewis." Your mind was in a haze, your thoughts blurred by his pretty eyes, so your hand found the soft flesh of his upper arm.
His eyes detected your hand for a brief moment and then smiled.
Lewis discreetly moved his white shirt lower on his body. Maybe to fix it in order not to look wrinkled or... to hide something, maybe?
"I just..." he started. "I saw you. You didn't even look at me at first."
"Yeah, because I was trying to find my best friend who was hooking up with a McLaren mechanic." You explained, and Lewis expression changed into pure curiosity.
"Okay, I presume I don't need to know more about that," he chuckled. "I just--I just genuinely thought to myself for a brief moment that you were the most beautiful woman I'd ever seen."
Your knees weakened, and thank God, you were seated.
"I love it when you're blushing." He grinned and wouldn't take his eyes off your hot face. "It just makes the color of your eyes stand out more."
You tried to change the topic. "You never signed my hat, by the way." You said.
"Do you want me to bring a pen? I can sign your hand if you want."
You smiled. "Yeah, whatever."
Lewis left and came back with a pen and a white shirt in his hands. He passed the shirt to you, but you didn't take it at first.
"What's that?" You wondered.
"A pumpkin." He said sarcastically and looked down at you. "What does it look like, love?"
"Oh, no, no." You shook your head negatively. "You're not gifting me one of your shirts."
He laughed and tossed the white material to you. "Why not? It's officially been worn by me."
Lewis thought for a brief moment. "You can wear it at home and think about me." His eyes lit up.
"I--I can't accept it, I'm sorry." You tried to give it back to him but he grabbed your wrist.
"What?" Your eyes narrowed.
He looked you with that intense, dark gaze. "Put it on." He repeated, comanding.
He smiled. "So I can sign it."
You knew where this was going, but you wanted to tease him a little.
"You can sign it unworn as well, you know."
"Yeah, but the shiet wouldn't be stretched enough, and the signature would come out bad-looking." Lewis insisted and passed the shirt to you.
You finally grabbed it. "Fine."
Shoving your hair to one side, you carefully pushed the material around your head and then let it wrap around your curves, covering the pink dress underneath.
You immediately got knocked out by a faniliar cologne. Gosh, this aroma would hunt you forever.
"Looks perfect on you." Lewis said and opened a black marker.
You noticed him biting his lip.
"Where do you want me to sign it exactly?" He asked, looking at you.
"I don't know." You replied, scanning the shirt for any empty space. "Maybe somewhere free of stamps and letters."
"Hmm..." He looked at your shirt, leaning forward. His eyes were practically on your tits.
"Here," you suggested, signaling to a spot on your chest, near your heart.
Lewis shallowed and looked up to face you. "Are you sure?"
His voice was soft. "Having my hands on you."
That man was literally perfection itself. "No problem. Go on."
He breathed in and then out. Then, his left hand found the area of your shoulder and grabbed it gently for resistance.
You stopped looking at him and knew he had started making the signature when a sharp thing touched your covered flesh.
"Is this okay?" Lewis' voice sounded a few seconds later. "Does it hurt?"
"Jesus, Lewis, it's just a damn marker!" You laughed, but he didn't seem to enjoy your comment.
He was done with the signature, you could tell. He was now writing something on your shirt. Even if you did want to read it, you couldn't. It was upsides down, and Lewis was also covering it up with his free hand as if it were a test and you were about to cheat.
His expressionless beautiful features didn't betray much of his thoughts.
You breathed and hoped that the brave side in you would kick in soon.
"What are you thinking of?" You blurted out before even fully considering what you were about to mouth.
Lewis clicked the marker shut and looked at you. "Nothing."
"Something must have been in your mind whole you were signing the shirt." You explained. "Tell me." You insisted with puppy eyes. "Please?"
He shallowed. Hard. "You want me to tell you the naked truth?"
"What are you scared of?" You eyes narrowed, and you grabbed your phone, opening the camera and reading what was now written on your freshly owned shirt.
Lewis' lips formed a thin line, and he scratched his almost nonexistent beard. "I'm scared of what might happen after this."
You chuckled, pushing the white clothing off you with a slow movement. "Just tell me, Lewis."
A fee moment of silence passed with Lewis studying you and you fixing your messy hair and dress.
"Honestly, I--" he started.
"You want me to tell you?" His voice rised dangerously.
"No, you fucking don't, love." He insisted.
Your words were interrupted by his lips crushing hard with yours. Your tongues fought in a messy but also loud battle, and before you knew it, you were on top of him on the couch, your hands around his neck. His his left one was rested on your back, caressing the flesh there before cupping your eyes and giving it a squeeze, while the other was bringing you closer by touching your cheek.
"Lewis, I--" You breathed, trying to create some space between your bodies and faces.
"I was thinking about how much I'd like to fuck you in that shirt."
His kiss had left you breathless, but his statement had left you something that wasn't currently in an official dictionary. Something that had just been added to your own vocabulary.
Gosh, is that even a word?
His lap was a great seat, you thought.
Lewis must have sensed your nervousness. "Sorry, I shouldn't have said th--"
"Lewis, grab me the shirt." You commanded, and his dark brown eyes found yours.
He smirked and did as he was told once again.
You were soaked underneath your underwear, you could tell. He could probably feel it on his lap too.
"Wanna know what I am thinking now?" You asked, breathless as his lips touched your neck and kept teasing and teasing.
He knew when to kiss you, where to kiss you, when to touch you, where to touch you...
This man could make any woman happy.
"Fuck me in this shirt." You fixed the clothing to cover the area of your thighs. It was large enough to become a dress.
His big hands found your waist and rested there. Then his one hand found your ass and he squeezed it as if he was the owner of it.
"Okay, but it won't be pretty." You stopped him just when he started kissing you again. "It might end up having white spots on it after you're done with me."
His fingers touched your lips, and you took the chance to playfully dig your teeth gently on one of them.
"Oh, love... I can give you a hundred of those, and they'd still wouldn't be enough with all those things I'm thinking about doing with you." Lewis smirked, and you took his two fingers in your mouth, savoring the taste of it as if it were a colorful lollipop. "Besides, I assure you that I don't want it to be pretty. I want it to be rough."
His lips collapsed with yours, and you teased, leaning away one last time. "Okay, but do me a favor."
"Anything for you, baby."
You smiled softly. "Keep calling me your love."
