summary: After three years at college your back on vacation in the villa of the Sainz family. Its a normal annual tradition of both of your familys...three weeks of summer, sun and salty hair, but you didnt expect the vacation to turn out like this.
warning: 18+, smut, yearning, childhood/family friends, childhood crush, age gap (reader is 22, Carlos 29), heavy making out, jealousy, sexual harassment (not Carlos, its a random boy, nothing to crazy...reader is a girlboss🫡), idiotic behavior, sexual tension, no good communication, dry humping, dirty talk?, fingering, p in v, condom use.
word count: 18k
masterlist
The heat of the Spanish coast brushed against your skin the second you rolled down the car window, smelling of sea salt, eucalyptus, and warm sand.
For three long years, summer had meant one thing: being locked in air-conditioned library basements, buried under mountains of textbooks while your family jetted off to Spain. Between brutal college exam seasons and endless summer courses, you had missed the annual three-week retreat at the Sainz family beach house.
The last time Carlos had seen you, you were nineteen—a stressed, tired student wearing oversized vintage tees, hair thrown up in messy buns, fueled purely by caffeine and panic.
You weren’t nineteen anymore.
Now, at twenty-two, you were leaning back against the leather seat of the rental car, checking your reflection in the visor mirror. The past three years had changed everything. You’d grown into yourself—your confidence, your style, your body. Before packing for this trip, you had intentionally cleared out your old clothes and replaced them with a completely upgraded summer wardrobe: backless linen sundresses, fiery Italian-cut bikinis, and effortlessly chic matching sets that left little to the imagination.
And if you were being completely honest with yourself, a good portion of that glow-up effort was tied to the man waiting at the end of this driveway.
Carlos.
He was seven years older than you, a gap that had felt like a mountain when you were growing up. He was the older boy who used to pull your hair, tease you about your terrible beach volleyball skills, and patiently teach you how to catch waves off the coast. He had always been protective, effortless, and entirely out of reach—the handsome family friend who treated you like a little sister.
Let’s see if he still calls you ‚kid‘ after today, you thought with a subtle, mischievous smirk, smoothing down the hem of your rust-orange crop top and high-waisted linen trousers.
The car turned down the private gravel road leading up to the Sainz estate, the familiar white-walled villa coming into view against the backdrop of the shimmering turquoise Balearic Sea.
Your heart gave a sudden, heavy thud against your ribs.
As your dad pulled the car to a stop near the front entrance, the villa doors swung open. Out walked the familiar faces: the whole Sainz, smiling warmly, followed closely by ofcourse Carlos himself.
He looked infuriatingly good. His dark hair was messy from the ocean breeze, damp at the ends, and he wore a simple linen shirt unbuttoned halfway down his chest with dark swim shorts. He was talking to his father, laughing, looking relaxed and tanned—until he turned his head toward the car.
You opened the door and stepped out into the bright Mediterranean sun.
The moment your feet hit the gravel, Carlos’s laugh cut off.
He stopped mid-step on the patio stairs. His dark eyes flicked over you—taking in the golden tan, the fitted top, the long legs, and the effortless way you ran a hand through your sun-bleached hair to push it out of your face.
For three solid seconds, the usually smooth, charismatic driver completely forgot how to speak.
A slow, knowing smile tugged at the corner of your lips as you grabbed your sunglasses from the top of your head and slid them into your hair.
„Long time no see, Carlos,“ you said softly, your voice carrying over the sound of the crashing waves.
Carlos blinked, forcing a quick breath back into his lungs. The familiar spark of charm returned to his eyes, but this time, it was laced with a dark, burning curiosity that definitely wasn’t brotherly. He walked down the rest of the steps, his gaze never leaving yours, his stride measured and deliberate.
„Well,“ Carlos drawled, his deep Spanish accent wrapping around the word like velvet as he stopped just inches in front of you. He looked you up and down, making no effort to hide his surprise. „Look who finally decided to join us.“
„Exams are over,“ you replied smoothly, tilting your chin up to look at him. „I’m finally done.“
Carlos stepped half an inch closer, the faint scent of salt water and high-end cologne wafting off his skin. His dark eyes locked onto yours, a subtle, dangerous smirk playing on his lips.
„Yeah,“ he murmured, his voice dropping an octave so only you could hear. „I can see that.“
After the initial chaos of family greetings—unending hugs, laughter, and chatter flowing in rapid-fire Spanish—you were finally handed the key to your room.
„We had to shuffle the upstairs layout this year,“ Carlos’s mom said with a warm smile, patting your arm as she ushered you toward the grand marble staircase. „Your parents have the ground floor suite, and we put you in the east wing bedroom. It’s got the best sunset view from the balcony.“
What she didn't mention was the spatial logistics of the east wing.
You carried your luggage up the stairs, taking in the nostalgic scent of sea salt and citrus that always lingered in the Sainz home. The bedroom was stunning—flooded with golden late-afternoon sunlight, a massive plush bed, and French doors opening out to a private balcony overlooking the Mediterranean.
Deciding to rinse off the travel grime before dinner, you unzipped your suitcase and pulled out a slinky, emerald-green silk matching lounge set. You kicked off your shoes, peeled off your traveling clothes, and slipped into the thin shorts and delicate camisole.
Grabbing your leather toiletry bag, you opened the heavy wooden door on the side wall of the room, stepping into a spacious, marble-tiled bathroom. It had a massive walk-in glass shower, a double vanity, and a tub that overlooked the ocean.
You set your toiletries on the marble counter, turned on the faucet, and splashed cold water over your face.
Click.
The sound was subtle, but in the quiet bathroom, it was unmissable.
You froze, wiping the water from your eyes just in time to see a door on the opposite side of the bathroom swing wide open.
Carlos stepped through.
He was wearing low-slung blue trunks—and absolutely nothing else. His dark hair was damp, sticking to his forehead, and water droplets were still trickling down the sharp contours of his abs, lost in the low line of his waistband.
He was mid-sentence, murmuring something to himself in Spanish, when his eyes hit you standing at the sink.
He stopped dead in his tracks.
Your breath hitched in your throat. Up close, without a shirt on, Carlos was absurdly built. The broad shoulders and lean muscle he’d developed over years of racing were right there, inches away from you.
„What are you doing in my bathroom?“ you blurted out, your hands instantly flying down to smooth the thin silk of your top, which suddenly felt very, very minimal.
Carlos blinked, his dark eyes slowly darting from your face down to the silk shorts hugging your hips, then to the delicate lace trailing down your chest. A slow, mischievous smirk gradually cut through his initial shock.
„Your bathroom?“ Carlos asked smoothly, leaning his hip casually against the doorframe and crossing his arms across his bare chest. The movement defined his biceps in a way that made it very difficult for you to maintain eye contact. „Check the handles, reina. This is a shared bath. Jack and Jill.“
You glanced between the door he had just come through and the one behind you. A sudden wave of realization—and heat—flushed straight to your cheeks.
„They... they put us in connecting rooms?“ you muttered, mortified.
„Looks like it,“ Carlos murmured, taking a deliberate step closer to the double vanity. He reached past you to grab a hand towel from the ring, his shoulder brushing against yours. The heat radiating off his skin sent a sudden, electric shiver straight down your spine.
He dried his hands casually, turning his head to look down at you. Up close, the faint scent of cedarwood and ocean water on him was completely overwhelming.
„I didn't hear you lock the door on my side,“ he added, a low rumble in his voice, his dark eyes sparkling with quiet amusement. „Unless... you were hoping I'd walk in?“
„In your dreams, Sainz,“ you countered quickly, trying desperately to sound unaffected as you folded your arms. „Next time, knock.“
Carlos tilted his head, his gaze lingering on your lips for a second too long before flicking back up to your eyes. The playfully arrogant boy you grew up with was nowhere to be found—in his place was a man who knew exactly what effect he was having on you.
„Fair enough,“ Carlos said softy, backing up toward his bedroom door, though his eyes never left yours. „I'll knock next time. But do me a favor...“
He paused at the threshold, leaning his shoulder against the frame, a wicked, lazy grin spreading across his face.
„...lock it if you're wearing that again. I'm only human.“
Before you could throw a sponge at him, he slipped back into his bedroom, closing the door behind him with a soft, teasing click.
By eight o'clock, the sun had dipped low over the horizon, painting the sky in deep shades of gold, rose, and purple. Down on the expansive cliffside terrace, the Sainz house was bursting with life.
After showering and shaking off the lingering embarrassment of the bathroom encounter, you had slipped into a fiery backless terracotta linen dress. It hugged your waist perfectly, leaving your golden shoulders and open back exposed to the cooling sea breeze.
When you stepped out onto the terrace, the scene was wonderfully chaotic. The long rustic wooden table was completely packed. Uncles were pouring rich red wine into glasses, aunts were speaking at lightning speed over large platters of grilled seafood and fresh paella, and an assortment of Carlos’s siblings and cousins were already arguing good-naturedly over seating.
„Over here!“ Ana, Carlos’s sister, waved you down, pulling out a chair near the middle of the table. „You have to tell me everything about your final year—mom said you practically lived in the library!“
You smiled, sitting down next to her, immediately pulled into the warm, familiar rhythm of the family. But as you picked up your wine glass, you caught a sudden shift in the energy across the table.
Carlos was sitting directly opposite you.
He had swapped his trunks for a sharp, dark polo shirt with the sleeves pushed up his forearms, his damp dark hair pushed back lazily. As you took a sip of wine, his gaze locked onto yours over the rim of his own glass. His dark eyes flicked downward, taking in the low dip of your neckline and the exposed skin of your shoulders, before climbing back to meet your eyes with a slow, heavy intensity.
Under the warm glow of the hanging festoon lights, the conversation around you blurred into background noise.
Throughout dinner, Carlos played the attentive host to his family—laughing at his uncle’s jokes, passing platters back and forth—but his focus was sharp, constant, and entirely directed at you. Whenever you leaned forward to talk to a cousin, his eyes tracked the movement of your dress. Every time you laughed, a subtle, satisfied smirk tugged at his lips.
Under the table, the space felt entirely too small. Midway through the main course, you felt the subtle, firm brush of a knee against yours. You glanced up. Carlos was calmly cutting his steak, casually conversing with his father, but his leg remained pressed firmly against yours under the long tablecloth, radiating a distracting heat through your dress.
You didn't move your leg away.
After dinner, empty dessert plates were cleared away, and the chaos naturally migrated into the grand living room for the annual Sainz Game Night.
With dozens of competitive family members crammed onto leather sofas, plush armchairs, and floor cushions, the noise level doubled. The game of choice was an aggressively competitive version of Taboo combined with charades—a recipe for pure family mayhem.
„Alright, ground rules!“ one of the cousins called out, standing by the whiteboard. „No shouting over each other, and if Carlos cheats again like last year, he gets disqualified!“
„I don't cheat, I play to win,“ Carlos drawled, dropping onto the deep leather sectional.
Before you could pick a spot on the opposite side of the room, Carlos casually reached out, grabbed your wrist with warm, firm fingers, and pulled you down into the narrow empty space right beside him.
„Partner up, reina,“ he murmured near your ear, his breath hot against the bare skin of your neck. „You're with me tonight.“
Your heart did a sudden, chaotic flip. Pressed side-by-side on the sofa, his thigh was flushed against yours, his arm stretched casually along the back of the couch behind your shoulders. His thumb brushed lightly against the bare skin of your upper arm, sending a quiet electric spark right down your spine.
„You better be good at this, Sainz,“ you whispered back, leaning into his space just enough so your shoulder brushed his chest. „I haven't missed three years of beach trips just to lose a party game.“
Carlos let out a low, husky laugh, his head tilting down so his dark eyes were only inches from yours.
„Trust me,“ he purred, his fingers lightly gripping the fabric of your dress at your waist. „When I set my mind on a prize, I never lose.“
During the game, every single one of your senses went into overdrive.
Every time Carlos moved, your skin reacted before your brain could even process why. When he shifted on the leather sofa, his broad shoulder brushed against yours, sending a sharp, electric jolt straight down your spine. When he bent his head down to whisper a guess in your ear so his cousins wouldn’t hear, his stubble grazed the shell of your ear, and his low, gravelly voice vibrated straight through your chest.
„It’s the red one, reina. Say it,“ he murmured, his breath hot against your skin.
You could barely concentrate on the game. You were hyper-aware of everything. The heavy weight of his arm resting lazily along the back of the couch behind you. The way his thigh stayed casually flushed against yours, even when the sofa was practically empty. The way his hand—warm, large, calloused—occasionally rested on the small of your back to steer you forward when your team took a turn.
And then there were his eyes.
Whenever you weren’t looking directly at him, you could feel his gaze on you. But the moment you turned your head to catch him, he wouldn’t look away like a normal person. He’d just lock eyes with you, dark and unreadable, a faint, lazy smirk touching his lips as if he knew exactly what he was doing to your pulse.
By midnight, as everyone started heading upstairs, your brain was spinning into a full spiral of overthinking.
Is he just being affectionate because we’re family friends? You argued with yourself, pacing the length of your bedroom. He’s Spanish. He’s tactile. He’s always been touchy-feely… right?
Except he’d never touched you like that when you were nineteen. Back then, it was a quick, mess-up-your-hair hug or a playfully shove into the pool. It wasn’t this slow, deliberate lingering. It wasn’t his fingers tracing the edge of your waist for two seconds longer than necessary.
Or maybe he’s just teasing me, you thought, staring at the locked connecting door to the bathroom. He knows I had a massive crush on him growing up. He’s just playing around because he notices I dressed up.
That maddening ambiguity dragged on for the next three days, slowly driving you out of your mind.
The next morning down on the private beach, the sun was blindingly hot. You laid out on a towel in a tiny white bikini, trying to act cool while sipping an icy Coke.
Carlos spent the afternoon out on a jet ski, coming back to the shoreline dripping wet, salt water glistening over his tan shoulders and washboard abs. When he walked up to your towel, he didn’t just sit down on his own space. He dropped right onto the edge of your towel, leaning back on one elbow.
„Hand me a water, will you?“ he asked, his voice low and smooth despite the crashing waves.
When you handed him the cold bottle, his fingers wrapped around yours—not just taking the bottle, but letting his thumb sweep slowly over the back of your hand before letting go.
Your breath hitched. You looked down at your hands, then up at his face. Carlos just took a slow sip of water, his dark eyes watching you over the rim of the bottle with a quiet, lingering heat.
He’s doing it on purpose, you thought, your heart hammering against your ribs. He has to be.
By the third evening, the tension between you was practically a physical presence in the room.
At dinner, every time he spoke to his father or joked with his brother, his eyes would inevitably wander back to you, tracking the way you laughed or the way your backless top slipped slightly over your shoulder.
And then came the late-night run-in in the shared bathroom.
Around 1:00 AM, you walked into the dark bathroom to grab a glass of water, only to find the door from his side cracked open. Carlos was standing at the sink in dark low-waisted shorts, brushing his teeth.
In the dim light of the moon coming through the ocean-view window, he looked unfairly handsome. He paused, looking at you through the mirror.
„Can’t sleep?“ he asked softly, rinsing his mouth and turning around to lean back against the counter, crossing his arms over his bare chest.
„Just… hot,“ you murmured before you could filter yourself.
Carlos’s eyes darkened immediately. A slow, dangerous smirk spread across his face as he took two slow, unhurried steps toward you, stopping just inches away in the quiet, shadow-draped bathroom.
„Is that so?“ he purred, his voice a quiet, husky rasp that made your knees feel terrifyingly weak. „Because from where I’m standing, reina… you’re making this entire house completely unlivable.“
A nervous laugh bubbled up from your chest, breaking the thick, electric silence hanging between you.
„Are you seriously blaming me for the Spanish heat wave, Sainz?“ you scoffed playfully, leaning back against the cool marble counter to create a much-needed few inches of safety between your bodies. „You’re the one walking around the house in half an outfit.“
Carlos let out a low, husky chuckle, his shoulders shifting as he leaned in just a fraction closer. „I’m just trying to survive,“ he murmured, his eyes lingering on your face before glancing out the dark bathroom window toward the sea. „It’s suffocating inside tonight.“
He turned his attention back to you, a sudden, bright spark of mischief lighting up his dark eyes.
„Come with me,“ he said suddenly.
You blinked, caught off guard. „Where?“
„The beach,“ Carlos replied, as if it were the most obvious answer in the world. „A night swim. The ocean is perfectly calm, and the water is still warm from the sun today.“
He took a half-step closer, his deep voice dropping into an impossibly smooth, velvet rumble that sent a shiver straight down your spine.
„We don’t even need to waste time changing into suits…“ he drawled, a lazy, wicked smirk spreading across his lips as he tilted his head. „No one’s awake down there, reina. We could just go as we are.“
Your heart did a violent, dramatic leap straight into your throat.
Skinny dipping?!
The thought shot through your brain like a sudden jolt of lightning. Skinny dipping in the dark Balearic Sea with Carlos Sainz—the guy who was currently making your knees feel completely weak—was dangerously, terrifyingly bold.
It was one thing to share lingering looks across the dinner table or brush shoulders on the couch during a board game. That was cute, thrilling, family-friendly flirting. But naked in the ocean at two in the morning? That wasn’t just flirting anymore; that was stepping over an invisible boundary line. Your families were literally sleeping right down the hall. If your dads woke up and found the two of you sneaking back in dripping wet from a late-night midnight dip, there would be no playing it off as „harmless childhood friends.“
You forced a dramatic roll of your eyes, desperately trying to hide the fact that your pulse was hammering like a drum.
„Skinny dipping? Absolutely not, Sainz,“ you scoffed, crossing your arms tightly over your chest to keep your hands from trembling. „Are you crazy? Our parents are sleeping one floor down. If my dad sees us creeping back into the house at 2:00 AM, he’s going to throw you off the cliff.“
Carlos threw his head back with a soft, warm laugh, clearly delighted by your reaction.
„So… you’re saying if we wear bathing suits, you’re in?“ he countered seamlessly, leaning his hand on the counter right next to your hip, his dark eyes sparkling with absolute triumph.
You looked down at his hand on the counter, then back up at his handsome, smug face.
„Bathing suits,“ you insisted, poking a finger firmly against his bare chest, trying to ignore how rock-hard his abs were under your touch. „And you give me five minutes to get ready.“
Carlos grabbed your hand, his large, warm fingers wrapping around yours and squeezing gently before letting go.
„Deal,“ he whispered, stepping backward into his room with that dangerous, impossible smile still plastered on his face. „Five minutes. Don’t keep me waiting, reina.“
The five minutes gave your brain far too much time to process what had just happened.
By the time you had thrown on a tiny black triangle bikini, grabbed a beach towel, and slipped out the side door into the cool night air, your pulse was racing for an entirely new reason.
In the bathroom, you had automatically laughed it off and treated his skinny dipping suggestion like classic Carlos teasing—a playful, cheeky attempt to ruffle your feathers. But as your bare feet padded quietly down the wooden walkway leading through the dunes to the private beach, the full weight of the moment hit you like a wave.
Wait a second.
You stopped dead in your tracks on the wooden planks, the cool salt breeze whipping your hair across your face.
Carlos wasn't seventeen anymore, throwing you into a pool as a prank. He was twenty-nine. He was a grown, ridiculously smooth man who knew exactly what came out of his mouth. He hadn't just suggested a late-night swim—he had casually suggested stripping naked together in the ocean under a full moon.
He wanted to see me naked.
The realization shot through your chest, leaving you completely breathless. He hadn't phrased it like a joke. He hadn't laughed before you did. He had dropped his voice into that low, dangerous register, stood inches away from you in nothing but shorts, and explicitly given you an invitation to take your clothes off with him.
He actually wanted to see me naked. Carlos. The guy who watched me grow up.
Your heart hammered against your ribs. Every little lingering touch from the past three days—the way his thumb brushed your wrist during Taboo, his knee pressed against yours under the dinner table, his eyes tracking you across every room—suddenly lined up into a terrifyingly clear picture.
He wasn't just being friendly. He was testing the waters. He was waiting to see how far you’d let him push.
Swallowing down the sudden lump in your throat, you took a deep breath, gripped your towel tighter, and stepped off the wooden path onto the cool, pale sand.
The beach was completely deserted, illuminated only by the brilliant silver light of the full moon hanging over the sea. The water was glass-still, small, rhythmic waves lapping gently against the shore.
And there he was.
Carlos was standing right at the water’s edge, his back to you. He was already down to a pair of dark swim trunks, his broad back and defined shoulders silvered by the moonlight. Hearing your footsteps on the sand, he turned around slowly.
His dark eyes found you immediately, tracking your approach. As you stepped into the moonlight, his gaze dropped from your eyes, sweeping down the thin straps of your bikini, over your waist, down your legs, and coming right back up to meet your eyes.
He didn't look like a guy who was disappointed you hadn't taken his skinny dipping offer. He looked like a guy who was enjoying the view far too much to care.
„You made it,“ Carlos said softly, his voice cutting cleanly through the quiet rush of the waves. He didn't move away from the shore, just watched you walk right up to him. „I half-expected you to chicken out and lock the bathroom door.“
„I don't chicken out, Sainz,“ you said, stopping a few feet away and tossing your towel onto a dry patch of sand. You tried desperately to keep your voice steady, though every nerve ending in your body was humming. „I just prefer keeping things PG around our families.“
Carlos let out a low, amused huff, taking a slow step toward you. The ocean breeze carried the scent of salt water and his lingering cologne straight to you.
„Is that what you think this is?“ Carlos asked, tilting his head, his dark eyes sparkling with a heavy, unreadable intensity under the moonlight. „PG?“
He took another half-step, closing the distance until he was standing right over you, his warm body blocking the cool sea breeze.
„Because I have to tell you, reina...“ Carlos murmured, leaning down so his lips were just inches from your ear, his breath warm against your chilled skin, „...there hasn't been a single thing PG about the way I've been thinking about you since you got out of that car.“
Your breath caught in your throat, your heart beating so hard against your ribs you were convinced he could hear it.
Unable to take the scorching intensity of his gaze for another second, you let out a breathless, playful laugh, took three rapid steps backward into the surf, and plunged headfirst into the cool, dark waves.
The sudden shock of the salt water washed away the heat in your face, grounding you instantly. You kicked your legs, breaking through the surface a few yards out, pushing your wet hair back from your eyes just in time to see Carlos laughing.
Without hesitation, he dove right in after you.
When he surfaced a few feet away, slicking his damp dark hair back with both hands, the tension between you finally loosened into something lighter. For the next twenty minutes, the heavy silence of the night was filled with the familiar sound of splashing water, quiet laughter, and playful teasing as you swam in the calm sea.
You challenged him to a underwater diving contest—which he won effortlessly—and splashed him relentlessly when he mocked your form. For a few brief minutes, it felt like old times.
„Come on,“ you called out, turning on your back to float while kicking gently toward the dark shadow of the cliffside. „Let's check the cave.“
„The cave?“ Carlos swam up alongside you, his stroke smooth and powerful. „Are you serious? It's pitch black in there.“
„There's a full moon, coward,“ you teased, turning around and treading water near the arching entrance of the natural stone sea cave.
This was your secret spot growing up. A hollowed-out pocket in the limestone cliffs where you used to hide from your families during long afternoon beach trips, eating stolen ice cream and telling ghost stories.
You swam inside the mouth of the cave, where the incoming tide was calm and shallow. The moonlight filtered through a crack in the rock overhead, casting a soft, ethereal glow across the water and the dark, wet stone walls. The air inside smelled of moss, damp limestone, and salt.
„God, it feels tiny in here now,“ Carlos murmured, his deep voice echoing softly against the smooth rock walls as he treaded water next to you. „Remember when we thought this place was a secret pirate lair?“
„You literally convinced me there was treasure buried under that rock shelf,“ you laughed, resting your hands on a smooth, flat ledge of rock jutting out from the cave wall. „I spent two hours digging in the sand with a plastic shovel while you sat there laughing.“
„Hey, it kept you busy,“ Carlos drawled with a low chuckle, swimming right up to the ledge beside you. His face softened with a rare, quiet nostalgia. „You were so small back then. Always running behind me, trying to prove you could keep up with the big kids.“
„And now?“ you asked softly, looking up at him through your wet eyelashes.
„And now...“ Carlos murmured, a subtle shift coming over his voice as he looked down at you. „...I'm the one trying to keep up with you.“
A gentle ocean swell rolled into the cave, lifting the water level by a few inches. The sudden shift in current pushed you backward, your back pressing flat against the damp, cool limestone wall.
Before you could regain your balance, Carlos stepped closer on the sandy seabed below, gliding into your space to brace you. He planted one broad palm on the flat rock right beside your head and the other at your side, effectively trapping you between his broad body and the smooth stone wall.
The laughter died in your throat.
The water rolled gently against your waist. He was so close you could feel the heat radiating from his bare chest, see the individual water droplets clinging to his jawline, and hear the slow, rhythmic cadence of his breathing.
His dark eyes held yours for a long, heavy second, the atmosphere inside the cave turning suffocatingly thick.
Slowly, Carlos’s gaze drifted downward.
He watched the trickles of seawater trail down your neck, tracing the delicate collarbones exposed by your black bikini top. But as his eyes reached the center of your chest, he froze.
In the faint, silver moonlight filtering through the cave roof, something caught his eye—something he had never seen before.
Right in the dip of your sternum, where your bikini top separated, was a delicate, fine-line tattoo. It was an elegant eight-pointed starburst, framed by tiny, precise dots above and below it, sitting flush against your smooth skin.
It was impossibly intimate, hidden beneath high-neck shirts and tucked away from the rest of the world. A tiny, gorgeous detail that required someone to be standing right over you to ever notice.
Carlos’s breath hitched. His eyes stayed locked on the fresh ink, his expression unreadable, dark, and suddenly very intense.
„When did you get this?“ Carlos rasped, his voice dropping an octave, echoing off the wet stone around you.
Before you could answer, he slowly lifted his hand from the rock. His fingers were warm despite the cool sea water as he reached out, the pad of his thumb gently brushing against the center of your chest, tracing the tiny, delicate lines of the star.
The touch sent a sharp, electric shiver straight down your spine, making your breath catch loudly in the quiet cave.
Carlos didn't pull his hand away. His thumb lingered over your skin, feeling the heavy, frantic thud of your heartbeat right beneath the tattoo. He slowly raised his eyes back to yours, his dark gaze burning with a heavy, undisguised desire.
„You really haven't been a kid for a long time, have you?“ he whispered, his chest brushing against yours as he leaned in just an inch closer.
Your throat went entirely dry. The cool sea breeze outside, the gentle slap of water against the cave walls, the distant sound of the tide—it all vanished, reduced to a low, suffocating hum.
There was only him.
The heat radiating off Carlos was practically searing, a sharp, intoxicated contrast to the chilly ocean water lapping at your waist. His thumb didn’t move from your chest; instead, it pressed a fraction firmer over your sternum, feeling every single jagged, erratic throb of your heart pounding against your ribs.
„Answer me,“ Carlos rough-whispered, his head tilting down. His eyes—dark, heavy, and dangerous—dragged slowly from your ink up to your lips, lingering there until you felt a shudder ripple through your entire body.
„No,“ you breathed, your voice barely a thread in the dark. „I haven’t.“
A slow, dark exhale escaped his nose, his chest expanding until the bare, sculpted muscle of his pecs brushed against the wet fabric of your bikini top. The friction sent a sharp, electric shock straight to your core.
His free hand left the rock shelf beside your head, his large, calloused palm sliding up the damp skin of your neck, his fingers tangling into the wet hair at the nape of your neck to tilt your face up to his. His grip was possessive, firm, and uncompromising.
He’s going to kiss me, your brain screamed.
Or maybe he shouldn’t.
The boundary was right there, razor-thin and trembling between you. One kiss would ruin everything—or change everything forever. No more childhood jokes, no more easy family dinners, no more brushing it off as innocent teasing. If his lips touched yours right now, in this dark, hidden cave with the ocean washing around your hips, there was no turning back.
Carlos seemed to know it, too.
He didn’t take your mouth right away. Instead, he dragged out the torture. He leaned down until his lips were hovering millimeters from yours—so close you could taste the faint salt on his skin, so close his ragged, warm breaths were mixing with your own frantic exhalations.
„Carlos…“ you choked out, a helpless, desperate warning that sounded entirely like an invitation.
„Tell me to stop,“ he growled low in his throat, his dark eyes searching yours with a raw, brutal intensity. His thumb stroked up your jaw line, his thumb pressing lightly into your bottom lip, pulling it down just enough to expose the small, wet gap between your teeth. „Tell me you want me to back off, reina.“
You couldn’t. The words were trapped in your chest, crushed under the suffocating weight of how badly you wanted him.
Your hands, acting completely on instinct, slid up his wet, bare arms, feeling the rock-hard muscle strain as he held himself over you. Your fingers dug into his shoulders, anchoring you to him as another gentle swell rolled through the cave, pushing your hips flush against his swim trunks.
Carlos let out a low, ragged growl at the contact.
He closed the remaining fraction of an inch, dragging his lips softly, tormentingly across yours—not a full kiss, but a agonizingly slow, agonizingly hot graze of friction. The contrast of his warm, soft lips against the cold dampness of your skin made your toes curl into the sand below.
Your eyes fluttered shut, your head leaning up to finally catch his mouth, but Carlos pulled back just a millimeter, holding you hostage at the absolute edge of sanity.
„You’re driving me fucking insane,“ Carlos rasped against your skin, his lips brushing the corner of your mouth, then the sensitive spot just beneath your jaw, making you let out a soft, involuntary gasp.
His hips shifted, pressing closer, leaving zero space between you. You could feel every inch of how hard he was straining for restraint, his chest heaving against yours, his fingers tightening in your hair as if he was fighting every instinct in his body not to completely claim you right there against the wet stone.
„One kiss,“ you whispered against his cheek, your voice trembling with pure, unadulterated need as your hands slid up to frame his neck. „Just one, Carlos.“
Carlos paused, his hot breath washing over your wet lips, his dark eyes snapping open to burn straight into yours, the absolute hunger in his gaze threatening to consume you whole.
„Tell me you're sure,“ Carlos rasped, his voice dropping into a rough, fractured murmur right against the corner of your mouth. His jaw tightened so hard a muscle twitched in his cheek, every sinew in his neck strained with the sheer effort of holding himself back.
His hand slid down from your hair, his warm, large palm cup-ing the back of your neck, his thumb resting over your racing pulse. He leaned his forehead lightly against yours, his dark eyes ablaze, completely unreadable, and violently focused on you.
„This okay, hermosa?“ he whispered against your lips, his breath hot and uneven. „Tell me yes. Look at me and say it.“
„Yes,“ you breathed out, the word slipping past your lips without a second of hesitation. You tilted your chin up, your fingers digging into the firm muscle of his shoulders, pulling him down that final fraction of an inch. „Yes, Carlos.“
A low, guttural sound broke from the back of his throat—a mixture of total defeat and electric surrender.
His mouth claimed yours.
It wasn't gentle, but it wasn't rushed either. It was deep, agonizingly slow, and thoroughly possessive. The moment his soft, warm lips pressed against yours, a sharp shockwave shot straight through your lower belly. Carlos tasted like salt water, cool sea air, and pure, intoxicating heat.
His tongue slid effortlessly against yours, deepening the kiss until your head rolled back against the damp stone wall. A soft, helpless whimpering sigh escaped your throat, and Carlos drank it in like a dying man, his hips pressing tighter, flushing you completely against the hard line of his body.
„God,“ he growled into your mouth, breaking the kiss for a split second just to trail his lips down your jawline, his teeth lightly catching the sensitive skin of your neck. „You're killing me.“
His large, calloused hand slid down your exposed back, ignoring the icy water around your waists, his fingers pressing into the soft skin of your hip to pull you even closer, lifting you just an inch off the sandy floor so your legs naturally wrapped around his waist.
The heat between your bodies was absolute fire, turning the cool, dark cave into a suffocatingly hot furnace. Every time he kissed you—reclaiming your mouth over and over, slow, deep, and heavy—his thumb stroked the delicate starburst tattoo on your sternum, tracing the line right down to where your pulse was thrashing against his chest.
„Carlos...“ you gasped when his mouth left yours to drag down the column of your throat, his stubble grazing your chest.
He stopped, instantly freezing his movements, his breathing heaving against your collarbone. He lifted his head, his dark eyes locking onto yours in the silver moonlight, checking every detail of your face.
„You okay?“ he murmured rough, his thumb brushing your heated cheek, his tone dripping with protective intensity even as his body trembled against yours. „Say the word and I stop.“
„Don't stop,“ you begged softly, your fingers tangling in his damp hair, tugging him back down to you. „Don't you dare stop.“
Carlos let out a dark, breathless chuckle against your lips before capturing them again, taking control of the rhythm, showing you with every touch, every press of his chest, and every heavy, devastating kiss just how long he had been waiting for this exact moment.
The dark cave became a blur of hot skin, salt water, and desperate, breathless friction.
Carlos devoured your lips like he had been starving for them, his large hands anchoring you against the rock shelf while yours tangled helplessly into his damp hair. Every press of his chest against yours, every slow, heavy slide of his tongue sent a shockwave directly down your spine. Your lips were already swollen, your chest heaving in rhythm with his as the tide gently washed over your tangled legs.
He dragged his mouth from yours just long enough to trace a scorching path down the side of your neck, his teeth catching lightly on your pulse point. A soft, involuntary gasp escaped your lips, echoing in the small cavern.
„Carlos...“ you murmured, your hands sliding down to the broad muscles of his back, holding him tightly against you.
„I know,“ he growled low, his hot breath fanning across your collarbone. He pressed his forehead against yours, his heart hammering violently against your chest, every muscle in his body rigid as he deliberately fought to keep himself from crossing the line into something they couldn't come back from. „I know, reina. Just... give me a second.“
He captured your mouth once more, a softer, lingering kiss that tasted like salt and pure temptation—
Click.
High up on the cliff edge, far above the beach, a sharp beam of white light suddenly cut through the dark. The villa’s upper balcony floodlight had just switched on, illuminating the top of the stone stairs leading down to the sand.
Both of you froze in an instant.
Carlos’s eyes snapped open, his posture instantly going rigid. He lifted his head, his hand instantly moving to shield you deeper into the shadow of the rock wall.
Up on the terrace, a faint silhouette paced near the railing before heading back inside, the patio light remaining ablaze. Someone had gotten up for a glass of water.
The spell was instantly broken. Reality crashed back into the cave with the force of a cold wave.
Carlos looked down at you, his breathing still coming in heavy, ragged hitches. In the dim moonlight, his dark eyes were wide, flushed, and dark with restraint. A low Spanish curse slipped past his lips as he ran a hand over his face, slicking back his wet hair.
„We have to go back,“ he whispered rough, his voice still laced with heavy gravel. „Before someone comes looking.“
You nodded rapidly, your heart doing frantic flips against your ribs. „Yeah. Yeah, okay.“
Carlos helped you down from the rock shelf, his fingers lingering on your waist for just a fraction of a second longer than necessary before letting go.
Together, you slipped out of the cave, swimming quickly and quietly back to the shore. The cold night air hit your wet skin, sending a sudden shiver through you as you scrambled out of the water and grabbed your towels. You didn't say a word as you crept across the pale sand, up the wooden path, and back through the side door of the villa like two ghosts in the dark.
When you reached the top of the stairs, you slipped into the shared bathroom, Carlos following right behind you and shutting the hallway door softly behind him.
The silence in the bathroom was deafening.
You stood near the vanity, wrapping the dry towel around your shoulders, your lips still tingling from his kiss. Carlos walked up to you, stopping just inches away in the faint glow of the moonlight coming through the glass.
He didn't say anything. He just reached out, his warm, calloused hand gently cupping your cheek, his thumb brushing over your lower lip. He leaned down and pressed a soft, lingering kiss to your forehead, his breath warm against your hairline.
„Goodnight, hermosa,“ he murmured softly into your skin.
„Goodnight, Carlos,“ you whispered back.
He gave your cheek one last squeeze before stepping backward into his bedroom, closing his side of the door with a quiet click.
You walked into your bedroom, locked your side of the bathroom door, and peeled off your wet bikini. Throwing on an oversized tee, you collapsed onto the plush bed, pulling the crisp linen sheets up to your chin.
The room was completely dark, save for the faint silver moonlight spilling across the floor.
You stared up at the ceiling, your chest rising and falling in the quiet room. Your skin was still buzzing. You traced a hand over your lips—they felt tender, swollen, and thoroughly kissed.
What just happened?
The question spun endlessly in your mind. Carlos Sainz—the guy who used to tease you at family barbecues, the guy who was seven years older, the guy who had felt like a distant, untouchable fixture of your childhood—had just pressed you against a cave wall and kissed you until you lost your mind.
And it hadn't been a mistake. It hadn't been a friendly joke. The way he had held you, the way his hands had felt on your waist, the raw, possessive heat in his eyes—he had wanted you. Really, truly wanted you.
How are we supposed to sit at breakfast tomorrow? you thought, a nervous, giddy flutter erupting in your stomach. How am I supposed to pass him the orange juice with a straight face when I know what he tastes like?
Through the thin wall separating your rooms, you heard a soft rustle—the sound of his mattress shifting as Carlos settled into bed on the other side.
You turned onto your side, facing the wall, resting your cheek against the soft pillow. Knowing he was right there, probably staring at his own ceiling overthinking the exact same thing, a slow, unstoppable smile spread across your face.
Closing your eyes, you let the rhythmic, distant sound of the ocean carry you off to sleep.
The morning sun poured through the terrace arches with a blinding brightness that felt entirely too loud for the state of your nerves.
You had spent an hour trying on three different outfits before settling on a simple white sundress, hoping to look completely normal, completely relaxed, and—above all—completely unaffected by what had happened in the cave.
When you finally walked out onto the terrace, Carlos was already sitting near the end of the rustic wooden table.
He was wearing dark sunglasses, leaning back in his chair with a cup of black coffee in hand, speaking quietly with his father. But the moment your sandals clicked against the stone floor, his entire posture went subtly rigid.
You didn’t look at him. And he didn’t look at you.
It was an unspoken, excruciating pact. You deliberately walked to the far side of the table, sitting down next to Ana and your mom, putting as much physical space between you and Carlos as the long table allowed.
„Good morning, tired eyes,“ Ana teased, pouring a glass of fresh orange juice and sliding it toward you. „You look like you slept three hours.“
„Just… the heat,“ you lied smoothly, taking a sip and keeping your eyes glued firmly to your glass.
Across the table, you could feel the oppressive, heavy weight of Carlos’s presence like a physical heat source. He didn’t say a single word to you. When his dad asked him to hand over the bread basket, Carlos passed it without looking up, his jaw set in a hard, tight line. If anyone else noticed the thick, vibrating silence between the two of you, they didn’t bring it up amidst the loud, overlapping conversations of the morning.
After breakfast, as the families dispersed to get ready for a boat trip, you retreated to the shade of a daybed near the edge of the pool, desperately needing a minute to breathe away from Carlos’s intense aura.
„Mind if I join you?“
You looked up to see Mateo standing at the edge of the pool deck, two chilled glasses of sparkling lemonade in his hands.
Mateo was twenty-four, an architect, and the son of close family friends who were staying at the neighboring villa for the week. He was undeniably attractive—golden-brown hair, a warm, easy smile, and a relaxed, effortless charm. For the first three days of the trip, he had subtly tried to get close to you, but Carlos had somehow always been in the way—hovering like a tall, dark shield whenever Mateo walked into the room.
Today, however, the shield was missing.
„Please do,“ you said, offering him a grateful smile and shifting over to make room on the wide linen daybed. „I needed a break from the morning madness.“
„I know the feeling,“ Mateo laughed softly, handing you one of the glasses. His fingers brushed yours casually as you took it, his green eyes warm and lingering on your face. „I’ve been trying to get ten minutes alone with you since you arrived, but I swear Carlos was guarding you like a bodyguard.“
Your breath hitched slightly at the mention of his name, but you forced a bright, innocent laugh. „Carlos? No, he’s just… protective.“
„Well, he’s not around now,“ Mateo said smoothly, shifting so he was facing you, his arm resting casually along the wooden frame behind your shoulders. He looked you up and down, his gaze admiring as taking in your sun-kissed skin and the white dress. „You look incredible today, by the way. College clearly agreed with you.“
„Thank you, Mateo,“ you smiled, tilting your head, genuinely enjoying the light, easy, low-stakes compliment. It felt safe. It felt normal.
„I was thinking,“ Mateo continued, leaning in just a fraction closer, a charming dimple showing in his cheek. „Later tonight, after dinner, maybe I could take you into town? There’s a quiet little wine bar right on the harbor. Just the two of us.“
„That sounds—“
Before you could finish the sentence, the shadow of a broad frame fell directly over the daybed, blocking out the morning sun.
Carlos was standing right at the edge of the patio stone, just three feet away.
He had taken off his sunglasses, and his dark eyes were burning with a sharp, icy intensity that made the hairs on the back of your neck stand up. He was wearing an unbuttoned linen shirt, his bare chest exposed, his hands shoved deep into his shorts pockets.
The easy, relaxed energy around Mateo instantly dissolved, replaced by a sudden, suffocating pressure.
„Mateo,“ Carlos said, his voice dropping into a low, deceptive calm that sent a jolt straight down your spine. He didn’t even look at the guy—his dark, dangerous eyes were locked entirely onto you. „My dad’s looking for you near the driveway. Something about the boat equipment.“
Mateo blinked, looking a bit startled by Carlos’s sudden, heavy presence. „Oh. Sure. Thanks, Carlos.“
Mateo stood up, giving you a warm, hopeful smile. „Think about that drink tonight?“ he asked softly, placing a quick, friendly hand on your shoulder.
From the corner of your eye, you saw Carlos’s jaw clench so hard the muscle flexed violently.
„I will,“ you replied softly to Mateo, keeping your voice light.
The second Mateo walked away toward the house, the silence on the patio exploded into pure, unadulterated tension.
Carlos stepped closer, his shadow completely enveloping you as he leaned down, resting one hand on the frame of the daybed right next to your knee. Up close, his breath was uneven, his dark eyes searching your face with a raw, possessive fury that he wasn’t even trying to hide anymore.
„A wine bar?“ Carlos drawled, his voice a quiet, gravelly rasp that made your heart hammer against your ribs. „Just the two of you?“
You looked up at him, gripping your cold glass tighter, forcing your chin up to meet his glare. „Problem, Sainz?“
Carlos leaned down another inch, his face inches from yours, his scent of cedar and salt water washing over you, making your mouth go dry.
The second Mateo walked away toward the house, the silence on the patio stretched taut, vibrating with unspoken frustration.
Carlos stood over the daybed, his broad shadow completely enveloping you. You looked up at him, gripping your cold glass tighter, forcing your chin up to meet his glare. „Problem, Sainz?“
For a second, the raw, possessive flare in his dark eyes threatened to spill over. But then Carlos caught himself. His gaze flicked toward the large glass patio doors of the main villa, taking in the faint sound of family voices inside, reminding him exactly where they were—and how fast gossip traveled in this house.
He swallowed hard, his jaw clenching so violently the muscle flexed beneath his skin. He forced a slow, measured breath through his nose, dragging his composure back over his face like a mask.
„No problem,“ Carlos drawled, his voice deceptively smooth, though his eyes burned with an icy, controlled heat.
He stepped an inch closer, leaning down under the guise of reaching for an empty tray on the side table near your daybed. As he bent down, his chest brushed against your bare shoulder, his familiar scent of cedar, salt water, and sun-warmed skin completely overwhelming your senses.
„Just reminding you the boat leaves in fifteen minutes,“ he murmured low against the shell of your ear, his deep voice a rough, private vibration meant for you alone. „My dad expects everyone on the dock.“
He straightened up effortlessly, smoothly sliding his dark sunglasses back over his eyes, hiding the storm raging behind them. He took a step back, looking down at you with a cool, nonchalant tilt of his head that completely contradicted the rigid, unnatural tension in his broad shoulders.
„Don’t keep us waiting, reina,“ Carlos added lazily, turning on his heel and walking away toward the house without another word, leaving you breathless, flushed, and trembling on the daybed.
The boat trip across the Balearic Sea was, by all accounts, picture-perfect.
The Sainz family yacht cut smoothly through the crystalline, deep-blue water, anchored off a hidden cove surrounded by towering red cliffs. The deck was filled with the sounds of warm laughter, acoustic music playing softly from speakers, and the occasional loud splash as Carlos and his cousins dove cleanly off the high stern into the sea.
From the outside, you looked like you were having the time of your life. You swam in the turquoise water, laughed at his dad’s endless stories, and soaked up the blistering Mediterranean sun.
But beneath the surface, your mind was entirely somewhere else.
Every time Carlos climbed back up the ladder—dripping wet, water glistening off his broad back, slicking his dark hair out of his face—you had to force yourself to look away. And even though he was acting completely normal with his family, you caught the way his dark eyes flicked toward you when he thought no one was paying attention.
Around mid-afternoon, feeling the salt crusting on your skin and needing a moment of quiet, you slipped away from the sun deck and stepped down the small set of stairs into the boat’s lower cabin bathroom.
The quiet inside the head was an instant relief, muffled only by the low hum of the generator and the gentle sway of the ocean.
You locked the door, turned on the small sink, and splashed cool, fresh water over your face to wash away the salt. Wiping the water from your eyes, you looked up into the mirror mounted above the marble counter.
Your cheeks were warm and golden from the sun, your damp hair curling gently over your shoulders. But as your eyes dropped from your reflection, they landed directly on the center of your chest.
There, framing the deep dip of your bikini top, was the fine-line starburst tattoo on your sternum.
Your breath hitched softly in the small cabin.
Standing there in the quiet space, staring at your reflection, the memory hit you with the force of a physical impact.
You could almost feel his hand again—the warmth of his thumb, large and slightly calloused, pressing gently into the delicate skin right over the ink. You remembered the way his breathing had hitched when he saw it, the dark, possessive hunger that had flared in his eyes when he realized how hidden, how intimate it was.
Your hand rose on instinct, your fingers pressing against the exact spot his thumb had rested just twelve hours ago.
„This okay, hermosa?”
His rough, fractured whisper echoed in your head so clearly it sent a sudden, electric shiver straight down your spine, making the breath catch in your throat.
You closed your eyes, leaning your forehead lightly against the cool glass of the mirror.
The memory of his mouth on yours rushed back in overwhelming detail: the taste of salt water and pure heat, the heavy press of his body holding you flush against the wet stone wall, the way his fingers had tangled firmly into your hair to tilt your head back. You remembered the feeling of his chest heaving against yours, the sheer, agonizing effort it had taken for him to keep from taking everything you were so ready to give him.
When you opened your eyes and looked back at your reflection, your bottom lip was visibly swollen—a subtle, undeniable mark left behind by the way he had devoured you in the dark.
You touched your lip with the tip of your finger, a helpless, breathless smile threatening to break across your face.
You weren’t just overthinking anymore. This wasn’t a harmless crush or a fleeting summer flirtation. Carlos Sainz was thoroughly, dangerously under your skin, and judging by the sheer intensity in his eyes every time he looked at you today, there was no going back to the way things were before.
Taking a deep, steadying breath, you smoothed down the fabric of your bikini, checked your reflection one last time, and unlocked the cabin door, ready to step back out onto the sunlit deck where he was waiting.
As the yacht docked back at the marina and everyone piled into cars to head back to the villa, your mind was finally made up.
You were going to say no to Mateo.
It was the only fair thing to do. Mateo was sweet, handsome, and attentive, but going to a romantic wine bar with him when your head—and your heart—was completely consumed by Carlos felt cruel. Even if you and Carlos were caught in this weird, unspoken limbo, you couldn’t pretend to be interested in anyone else. Not after the cave. Not after the way he had held you like you were the only thing that mattered in the dark.
After getting showered and dressed in a navy silk sundress for the evening, you walked down the grand staircase, aiming to find Mateo in the courtyard and gently turn him down before dinner.
As you rounded the corner toward the side patio near the garage, the quiet murmur of voices echoed through the open stone archway.
„Come on, man. I’m not blind.“
You froze in your tracks. It was Caco, Carlos’s cousin and close manager.
„I don’t know what you’re talking about,“ Carlos’s voice replied, sounding gruff, tight, and completely on edge.
You stepped back into the shadow of the stone pillar, your heart doing a sudden, nervous flutter. You shouldn’t be eavesdropping, but hearing his voice made your feet stick to the floor.
„You and her have been completely avoiding each other all day,“ Caco chuckled softly, the sound of a lighter flicking open echoing against the tile. „You didn’t say two words to each other on the boat. It’s weird, Carlos. Yesterday you were practically attached to her hip.“
„We’re not avoiding each other,“ Carlos muttered defensively. „She was talking to Ana. I was talking to my dad. It’s not a big deal.“
„Right. Sure,“ Caco drawled teasingly. „Because honestly? I thought you guys looked really good together before today. The way you were looking at her during game night? I thought maybe you were finally taking your chance.“
A heavy pause hung in the air. You held your breath, your pulse hammering in your ears, waiting for Carlos to say something—any subtle sign, any grain of truth about how he really felt.
Then Carlos let out a harsh, loud scoff.
„Oh God, no,“ Carlos said instantly, his tone sharp, dismissive, and dripping with forced exaggeration. „Are you insane, Caco? She’s way too young for me.“
The words felt like a sudden, icy slap across your face.
„I watched her grow up,“ Carlos continued, his deep voice carrying cleanly through the archway, completely oblivious to you standing just feet away. „She’s like a little sister, a family friend. I could never. I don’t even look at her like that.“
Your air supply completely cut off.
Every single word landed like a violent, crushing blow straight to your chest. The heat that had been buzzing under your skin all day instantly turned to liquid ice.
The memories of last night rushed through your mind like a sick joke—his thumb tracing your sternum tattoo, his body holding you pinned against the rock, his rough voice asking This okay, hermosa? Right before he devoured your lips until you were trembling in his arms.
It had all been a lie. Or worse—a momentary lapse in judgment that he was now thoroughly embarrassed by. He was treating what happened between you like a mistake he had to cover up from his family.
Blood rushed to your ears, hot and stingingly bitter. You took a slow, silent step backward, your hand gripping the cold stone wall to keep your knees from shaking.
You didn’t wait to hear another word. Turning on your heel, you hurried down the hallway, leaving Carlos and Caco behind in the courtyard, the sting of his brutal denial burning deep into your chest.
The sting in your chest didn’t last long. Within seconds, the sharp, suffocating hurt hardened into something much colder, much hotter, and entirely ruthless: pure, unadulterated anger.
A little sister? Way too young?
If that was the game he wanted to play—if he was going to pretend the cave was nothing, that your hands in his hair meant nothing, that his lips bruising yours was just a fleeting mistake—fine. You weren’t going to spend another second sitting around waiting for Carlos Sainz to make up his mind while he humiliated you behind closed doors.
You smoothed down the front of your silk navy dress, lifted your chin, and walked straight past the courtyard toward the front lounge.
Mateo was sitting on the terrace railing, chatting comfortably with your dad, looking handsome, relaxed, and delightfully uncomplicated in a crisp linen shirt.
As soon as Mateo spotted you, his eyes lit up, his conversation with your dad tapering off.
You didn’t hesitate. You walked right up to him, a bright, confident smile fixing onto your face.
„Hey, Mateo,“ you said smoothly, your voice carrying easily in the warm evening air. „Does that offer for a drink at the harbor still stand?“
Mateo looked pleasantly surprised, a warm dimple flashing in his cheek. „It absolutely does. Are you ready now?“
„Ready when you are,“ you replied, tilting your head. „I’d love to get out of the house for a bit and clear my head.“
„Perfect. Let’s go before the sun completely sets,“ Mateo smiled, stepping off the railing and gallantly offering you his arm.
Just as you placed your hand on Mateo’s forearm, a heavy set of footsteps echoed down the grand hallway leading from the courtyard.
Carlos walked out onto the terrace.
He had his car keys in hand, clearly coming back inside after talking to Caco. But the moment his eyes landed on you—standing right beside Mateo, dressed to go out, your hand resting comfortably on another man’s arm—he stopped dead in his tracks.
The atmosphere on the terrace instantly plunged through the floorboards.
Carlos’s dark eyes flicked from your hand on Mateo’s arm up to your face. His jaw set so hard you could hear the strain, his chest rising in a heavy, controlled breath. The casual, dismissive tone he had used with Caco just two minutes ago was nowhere to be found—replaced entirely by a dark, volatile fury that threatened to rip right through his carefully maintained mask.
„Where are you guys going?“ your dad asked innocently, taking a sip of his wine from the outdoor table.
„Just down to the harbor for a drink,“ Mateo answered politely, completely oblivious to the silent war happening three feet away. „We’ll be back before midnight, don’t worry.“
Carlos took two slow, deliberate steps forward, his knuckles white around his key ring. His gaze locked onto yours, burning with a frantic, desperate question that he couldn’t voice in front of your father.
You’re actually going with him?
You didn’t look away this time.
You met his dark, possessive stare head-on. But there was no longing in your eyes anymore. No blush on your cheeks, no soft vulnerability. Your gaze was as smooth, cold, and impenetrable as ice. You offered Carlos a tight, blindingly polite, completely dismissive smile—the exact kind of smile you’d give a distant acquaintance or an older, harmless family friend.
„Don’t wait up for us,“ you said softly, your voice dropping into a light, sweet tone that cut through him like a blade. „We might stay out later than planned.“
Carlos’s breath hitched in his throat. His lips parted, a muscle twitching wildly in his jaw as he desperately tried to find something—anything—to say that wouldn’t expose him in front of your dad.
But he couldn’t. He had boxed himself into a corner with his own words, and now he had to stand there and watch you walk away.
Without giving him another second of your energy, you turned your back on Carlos, looped your arm tighter through Mateo’s, and let him lead you down the stone steps toward his car, leaving Carlos frozen on the terrace, suffocating in his own regret.
The harbor bar had been objectively lovely—a candlelit table right by the water, expensive Spanish wine, and gentle sea breezes. Mateo had been really nice, but as the night wore on, subtle cracks began to show beneath his smooth facade.
He talked a little too much about himself, dropping the names of high-end clients he worked for and making offhand, slightly patronizing comments about your final year at college, as if your hard work was just a cute little phase before „real life“ started. You picked up on it immediately. You were a strong, independent woman who had just conquered three years of brutal academics on your own strength—you didn’t need a man to validate you, and you certainly didn’t need to tolerate subtle arrogance just to spite Carlos.
By the time the clock hit 1:30 AM, one thing was crystal clear: you felt absolutely zero spark for Mateo.
He was a fine distraction, but there was no heat, no depth, no pulse-racing pull.
He wasn‘t Carlos.
„I should get back,“ you said smoothly, setting down your napkin. „It’s getting really late.“
„Of course,“ Mateo smiled, sliding out of his chair. „I’ll walk you up the villa trail.“
The walk back to the Sainz estate was quiet. The path leading up from the harbor wound through dense olive groves and thick patches of bougainvillea, completely hidden from the main road. Down here, far away from the villa’s patio lights, it was pitch black, illuminated only by the faint sliver of the moon filtering through the trees.
As you reached the side garden gate that led up to the pool deck, you stopped and turned to him, keeping your posture tall and your smile polite.
„Thank you for tonight, Mateo. It was really nice,“ you said, stepping back slightly to create a comfortable distance. „I’ll see you tomorrow.“
Mateo didn’t take the step back.
Instead, he stepped right into your personal space, his shadow towering over you in the dark, secluded alleyway. The warm, polite charm he had displayed all evening shifted into something much heavier, much more demanding.
„Just ‚nice‘?“ Mateo asked, a slow, self-assured smirk playing on his lips. His eyes dragged over your navy silk dress, taking advantage of the quiet, hidden darkness surrounding you both. „Come on. I took you to the best spot in town, bought the best bottle wine on the menu… I think I deserve a little more than a ‚thank you‘, don’t you?“
Your jaw tightened. The subtle entitlement in his voice instantly made your blood run cold.
Before you could respond, Mateo reached out, his large hands grabbing your waist with an uninvited, firm grip, pulling you forward toward his chest. He leaned down, his mouth aiming directly for yours, completely ignoring the way you had visibly stiffened.
He was expecting you to yield. He thought a nice dinner earned him access to you, taking full advantage of the fact that you were completely alone in the dark where no one from the house could see or hear.
He underestimated you.
Before his lips could touch yours, your hand shot up, your palm slamming firmly flat across his face, halting his momentum instantly. With your other hand, you grabbed his wrist, squeezing hard enough to send a very clear message.
„Hands off, Mateo,“ you said, your voice dropping into a razor-sharp, dangerous tone that left zero room for misinterpretation.
Mateo blinked, startled by the sudden strength and absolute control in your grip. He tried to lean in again, a cocky smirk covering his annoyance. „Oh, come on, don’t play hard to get—“
„I said back up,“ you commanded, stepping forward into his space instead of backing away, using his own momentum to force him a step backward. You wrenched his hand off your waist and dropped it like trash. „I agreed to a drink, not a transaction. I don’t owe you a single thing.“
Mateo’s easy charm completely shattered, a flash of ugly, entitled irritation breaking across his face in the dark. „Unbelievable,“ he muttered, scoffing as he rubbed his wrist. „You lead me on all night, let me buy you dinner, and now you act like you’re too good for me?“
„I don’t need your dinner, and I certainly don’t need your permission to say no,“ you replied coldly, folding your arms across your chest, standing tall and completely unfazed in the dark. „Now get out of my way.“
Before Mateo could snap back, a low, menacing voice tore through the shadows of the garden.
„Is there a problem down here?“
Mateo spun around, the color draining instantly from his face as a shadow detached itself from the thick bougainvillea archway.
Carlos stepped into the faint silver glow of the moon.
He didn’t look like the smooth, smiling Formula 1 driver the media adored. He looked downright lethal. His dark hair was wind-mussed, his polo shirt unbuttoned at the throat, and his fists were clenched so hard at his sides that his forearms were corded with strain. His dark eyes were fixed on Mateo, burning with a silent, terrifying rage.
He had clearly been waiting near the garden gate, pacing in the dark, watching for your return.
„Carlos,“ Mateo scoffed, trying desperately to regain his composure and puff out his chest. „Chill out, man. We were just talking—“
„I heard what you were doing,“ Carlos cut him off, his voice dropping into an icy, dangerous register that echoed off the stone walls. He took two slow, deliberate steps forward, effectively crowding Mateo against the garden wall. „And I asked you a question. Is there a problem down here?“
Mateo swallowed hard, taking a instinctive step back from the sheer aura of intimidation radiating off Carlos. „No problem. She was just being dramatic about—“
„Get out,“ Carlos commanded smoothly, pointing a dark, steady finger back down the garden trail toward the road.
„What?“ Mateo sneered, looking between you and Carlos. „You don’t tell me what to—“
„I said,“ Carlos stepped half an inch closer, leaning down so his face was inches from Mateo’s, his dark eyes pitch black in the night, „get the fuck out of here before I make you.“
The threat hung in the cool air, heavy and absolute. Mateo looked at Carlos, realized he was entirely outmatched, and threw his hands up in defeat. „Whatever. You’re both crazy,“ he muttered bitterly, turning on his heel and retreating down the dark path, his footsteps fading rapidly into the night.
Silence fell over the garden, thick and suffocating.
The moment Mateo disappeared, Carlos’s terrifying composure cracked. He turned to you, his chest heaving, his dark eyes frantically searching your face, your neck, your arms—checking for any sign that Mateo had hurt you.
„Did he touch you?“ Carlos rasped, his voice rough and laced with panic as he stepped closer, his hands reaching out toward you. „Did he—“
„Don’t,“ you said coldly, taking a sharp step backward out of his reach.
Carlos froze, his hands hovering in the air before dropping slowly back to his sides. He looked at you, startled by the pure, unyielding ice in your voice.
„I handled it, Carlos,“ you said, lifting your chin high, your voice steady, strong, and completely devoid of warmth. „I don’t need you playing knight in shining armor. I can take care of myself.“
„He was crowding you in the dark!“ Carlos argued, his breath coming in jagged hitches, his frustration spilling over as he ran a hand through his dark hair. „I saw him put his hands on your waist! Do you have any idea what went through my head standing up there, waiting for you to come back, knowing you were out with that arrogant asshole—“
„Why do you care?“
The four words cut through his heated tirade like a sharp blade.
Carlos stopped mid-sentence, blinking as if he had just been struck. „What?“
You folded your arms across the front of your navy silk dress, looking at him with a cold, mocking smile that didn’t reach your eyes.
„Why do you care who I go out with, Carlos?“ you repeated softly, taking a slow step toward him. „Why do you care who touches my waist, or who takes me out for a drink?“
Carlos opened his mouth to answer, his jaw working as he tried to find the words, but you didn’t give him the chance.
„After all,“ you continued, your voice dropping into a razor-sharp, quiet bite, „I’m way too young for you, aren’t I? I’m just a little sister. A family friend. You don’t even like me like that.“
You blame this outburst on the whole three glasses of wine you drank at the bar.
The blood drained from Carlos’s face so fast it was visible even in the dim moonlight.
His eyes widened in absolute, sickening realization. The heavy, protective anger that had been driving him for the last ten minutes completely collapsed, replaced by a sudden, devastating wave of horror.
„You…“ Carlos choked out, his voice cracking. „You heard.“
„Every single word,“ you replied smoothly, your eyes holding his without flinching. „So you don’t need to play the protective big brother anymore, Sainz. The act is getting old.“
You turned on your heel, stepping past him toward the stone stairs that led up to the main house.
„Wait—hermosa, wait!“ Carlos begged, his hand shooting out to catch your wrist. His warm fingers wrapped around your skin, trembling slightly, desperate to keep you from walking away. „Please. That’s not—I didn’t mean—“
You stopped, looking down at his hand on your wrist, then slowly raised your eyes back to his.
„Let go of me, Carlos,“ you commanded softly.
He looked into your eyes, searching for even a sliver of the girl who had let him press her against a cave wall just twenty-four hours ago, but found only steel. Slowly, agonizingly, Carlos loosened his grip, his fingers sliding off your skin as if he had been burned.
„Goodnight, Carlos,“ you said, turning away and walking up the stairs toward the villa, leaving him standing completely alone in the dark garden, crushed under the weight of his own stupid mistake.
For the next three days, you gave Carlos a masterclass in total indifference.
You didn’t hide in your room, you didn’t mope, and you certainly didn’t give him the satisfaction of seeing you angry. Instead, you thrived. You wore your best outfits, owned every single conversation at the dinner table, laughed loudly with Ana, and treated Carlos with the polite, distant pleasantness you’d reserve for a neighbor’s uncle.
If he asked you to pass the olive oil, you passed it with a calm, blinding smile—never holding his gaze, never letting your fingers touch his.
It drove him absolutely out of his mind.
Carlos didn’t look miserable—he was far too proud and attractive for that. If anything, the silent tension made him look dangerously sharp. He still joined in on family jokes, still swam in the ocean, and still spoke to you when necessary, but there was a dark, restless edge to him. Whenever you walked into a room, his dark eyes tracked your every movement, heavy with an undisguised, hungry pining that he couldn’t mask anymore.
By the third night, the atmosphere in the house felt like a powder keg waiting for a spark.
Around midnight, you grabbed your leather toiletry bag, walked into the shared bathroom, and locked the hallway door. The room was already warm, thick steam clinging to the mirrors, and the steady hum of the shower was echoing behind the frosted glass door.
You didn’t hesitate. You stepped up to the double vanity, setting your serums down with a sharp clack.
„I’m in here doing my nighttime skincare, Sainz,“ you announced clearly over the sound of the water, your voice crisp and completely unbothered. „Keep your towel on when you get out.“
No answer came from the shower. Just the continuous, heavy rush of hot water.
You shook your head, pulling your hair back into a loose clip, and began washing your face at the sink. A minute later, the water suddenly cut off.
In the quiet that followed, the slide of the glass shower door sounded exceptionally loud.
You looked up into the steamy mirror, wiping your face with a hand towel. Through the swirling white fog, you watched Carlos step out.
He had a dark grey towel hitched low around his hips, water droplets clinging to the broad expanse of his chest and trickling down the cut line of his abs. His wet, dark hair was pushed back, and his skin was flushed warm from the heat.
The moment his feet hit the bathmat, his eyes found you in the mirror.
Through the steamy reflection, you saw him completely freeze. The air in the room seemed to evaporate. He didn’t move, didn’t reach for another towel—he just stood there in the ambient, warm glow of the bathroom, utterly spellbound. The sight of you standing at the sink in your simple silk camisole, completely relaxed and unbothered in his presence, seemed to strike him right in the chest.
Carlos let out a long, slow exhale that sounded like pure surrender.
He didn’t corner you. He didn’t block your path. He simply walked up to the vanity, stopping a respectful foot away from your side, though the sheer heat radiating off his body was completely overwhelming.
„I can’t do this anymore,“ Carlos said.
His voice wasn’t aggressive or sharp; it was a low, velvet rasp, rough around the edges and thick with pure exhaustion.
You turned your head slowly to look at him, holding your hand towel, keeping your chin up. „Can’t do what, Carlos?“
„This,“ he murmured, turning his body fully toward you. His dark eyes searched your face with a heavy, undisguised intensity that made your breath catch in your throat. „This icy distance. You treating me like a stranger. I can’t take another day of it, reina.“
„You’re the one who set the boundaries,“ you replied coolly, placing your towel on the counter. „I’m just playing by your rules. Your little sis, right?“
Carlos closed his eyes for a brief second, a subtle, pained wince tightening his features. When he opened them, the wall he had built between you was completely gone.
He took one slow, deliberate step closer, closing the distance until he was standing right over you. But instead of the possessive, fiery aura from the garden, he reached out with incredible, agonizing gentleness.
His large, warm hand hovered near your face for a fraction of a second before his knuckles lightly, softly brushed against your cheekbone, tracing down to your jaw. The touch was so tender, so careful—like he was terrified that if he pushed too hard, you’d walk away forever.
„I lied,“ Carlos whispered, his thumb resting over the corner of your jaw, his dark eyes burning into yours. „I panicked, and I lied to Caco because I was terrified.“
You blinked, caught off guard by the sheer honesty in his voice. „Terrified of what?“
„Of how fast this happened,“ Carlos confessed softly, his hand sliding down to cradle the side of your neck, his thumb caressing your pulse point. He stepped closer, his chest heaving slightly, the scent of warm cedar and eucalyptus wrapping around you both. „I walked down those stairs a week ago expecting to see the kid I used to tease… and instead, I saw you. Stunning, confident, completely out of my reach.“
He leaned down a fraction of an inch, his breath warm against your lips, his gaze dropping to your mouth before rising back to meet your eyes with a soft, desperate sincerity.
„I said those stupid things because I felt like I was losing control,“ he murmured, his fingers gently tightening against the back of your neck, drawing you just close enough so your chests brushed. „So if you want to punish me, punish me. But don’t look at me like I’m nothing to you, hermosa. Because you have been the only thing on my mind since the second you stepped out of that car.“
What?
Did he just admit that?
Your brain was screaming at you to hold the line.
Seven years.
That was the giant, glowing elephant in the room. He had been twenty-two when you were fifteen; he had literally seen you in braces, arguing with your siblings, and failing miserably at beach volleyball. If the two of you crossed this line and it burned down in flames, three weeks of beach vacations—and decades of family friendship—would be completely ruined. Your dads would never look at each other the same way again.
Logic was giving you every single reason in the world to step back, lock your bedroom door, and keep playing it safe.
Except.
Except the entire bathroom smelled like him—a intoxicating haze of warm cedarwood, fresh eucalyptus, and hot shower steam. Except he was standing right over you, clad in nothing but a low-slung grey towel, water still glistening on his chest. And except those massive, dark brown eyes were looking down at you with a raw, terrifying vulnerability that completely obliterated every last bit of your defenses.
It was pure, unadulterated torture.
You swallowed down the sudden dryness in your throat, forcing your hands to remain firmly against your sides instead of reaching up to touch his chest.
„You’re seven years older than me, Carlos,“ you murmured, your voice steady despite the frantic beating of your heart right beneath the starburst on your chest. „Our families eat dinner together every single night. If we do this—if we stop pretending—and it blows up, we could ruin everything.“
Carlos didn’t look away. He listened to every word, his thumb continuing ist agonizingly soft, rhythmic stroke along the side of your neck. He didn’t dismiss your fear. He didn’t brush it off like a joke.
„I know,“ Carlos whispered, his deep voice heavy with the absolute truth of it. „I’ve spent the last three days telling myself every single one of those things. I told myself it was dangerous. I told myself it was stupid. I told myself to leave you alone.“
He stepped half an inch closer, his lower body brushing against yours, trapping you entirely in his warm, scented orbit. He tilted his head down, his dark eyes searching yours, burning with a heavy, steady conviction that made your knees feel terrifyingly weak.
„But I can’t,“ he rasped softly against your lips. „I tried to be responsible, hermosa, and I ended up watching you walk away with another guy. I’m done pretending.“
Your breath hitched in your throat. „Carlos…“
„I’m not asking for a summer fling,“ he murmured, his other hand rising gently to rest on your hip, his large fingers spanning your waist with absolute care. „And I’m definitely not treating you like a mistake. I’m right here. No more running, no more lies to Caco, no more hiding behind my family.“
He held your gaze, giving you the control, giving you every chance to pull away if you really wanted to.
„So tell me to leave,“ Carlos whispered, his lips brushing the corner of your mouth, making every nerve ending in your body flare to life. „Tell me you don’t feel this, look me in the eyes and say it… and I’ll walk out that door right now.“
You opened your mouth to speak, but the words died in your throat. Looking up into those big, dark eyes, smelling the heat radiating off his skin, feeling the steady, heavy thud of his pulse under your hand—you knew you were completely, hopelessly undone.
So you kiss him instead. Carlos melts into ur touch, he starts to give in and devours your mouth.
His hands slid down from your waist, his thumbs catching the hem of your silk camisole and tugging it upward.
He broke the kiss just long enough to look down, his breathing ragged and uneven. In the steamy bathroom light, his dark eyes fixed straight on the starburst tattoo in the dip of your sternum.
Carlos let out a low, rough exhale, his thumb pressing directly onto the center of the ink, tracing the line down to your thumping pulse.
„This fucking tattoo,“ Carlos growled low in his throat, his dark eyes snapping up to meet yours with a dizzying intensity. „You have no idea what you did to me in that cave. It’s been burned into the back of my mind for three fucking days, reina. Every time I closed my eyes, all I saw was this…“
He dipped his head, pressing a hot, lingering kiss right over the center of the starburst, his stubble grazing your skin so sharply it made your back arch off the marble counter.
„Every time I tried to sleep,“ he murmured against your chest, his voice dripping with gravel, „I was thinking about putting my mouth right here.“
Before your head could stop spinning, Carlos hooked his arms under your thighs, lifting you completely off the vanity in one smooth, powerful motion. You wrapped your legs tightly around his waist, holding onto his wet shoulders as he kicked open the connecting door and carried you straight into his bedroom.
You had never stepped foot in his room.
It was dark, cooler than the bathroom, lit only by the pale moonlight streaming through the open balcony doors. It smelled purely of him—expensive cologne, warm cotton, and crisp sea air.
Carlos didn’t waste a second. He carried you over to the king-sized bed, bringing you down onto the dark, soft sheets with him hovering right over you, his broad body casting a shadow that completely consumed you.
The heat flared instantly as his mouth claimed yours again, heavy, deep, and completely unhinged.
Carlos was vocal—infinitely more vocal than you ever expected. He didn’t just kiss you; he talked through every single touch, his low Spanish rumble vibrating right against your skin, driving you absolute mind-mad.
„God, look at you,“ Carlos rasped against your lips, his hands sliding up your ribs, his large palms gripping your waist like he was trying to imprint himself into your skin. „Laying in my bed… looking like an absolute dream. You drive me fucking insane, do you know that?“
„Carlos…“ you choked out, your nails digging into his bare back as his hips settled heavily between your thighs.
„Say my name again,“ he commanded low, his teeth lightly nipping at your lower lip before soothing it with his tongue. „I want to hear you say it while I touch you.“
His hand trailed down, his fingers pressing into the curve of your hip, nudging your leg wider so he could press flush against you.
„You’re so damn beautiful, hermosa,“ Carlos murmured, his breath hot and frantic against your jaw as his lips dragged down your neck, leaving a searing path of kisses down to your collarbone. „So sweet… so tight against me. I swear to God, if I knew you were going to be like this, I would’ve carried you up to this bed the first night you got here.“
„You… you wouldn’t have,“ you gasped, your eyes fluttering shut as his hands slid higher, his thumbs grazing the soft skin exposed above your camisole.
Carlos let out a dark, breathless laugh right against your chest, his mouth returning to your sternum tattoo, kissing the ink once, twice, three times until you were squirming beneath him.
„Try me,“ he growled low, looking up through his wet, dark eyelashes, his eyes burning with pure, unadulterated possessiveness. „Ask me if I can stop now. Go on, reina… ask me.“
„Can you?“ you whispered, completely breathless, your fingers tangling into his damp hair.
Carlos leaned up, his lips hovering millimeters from yours, his heavy chest rising and falling against yours in a frantic, wild rhythm.
„Not a chance in hell,“ he rasped, before taking your mouth again with a fierce, intoxicating passion that completely stole the air right out of your lungs.
The darkness of his bedroom swallowed both of you whole, the cold ocean breeze sweeping in through the half-open balcony doors doing absolutely nothing to cool the feverish heat radiating between your bodies.
Carlos sank into you, his broad, heavy frame settling perfectly between your thighs. The dark cotton sheets beneath you were cool against your bare back, but everywhere his skin touched yours—his chest, his hips, his large, calloused hands—felt like pure, intoxicating fire.
„Look at me, reina,“ Carlos rasped, his voice dropping into a rough, commanding whisper that sent a fresh wave of electricity straight to your core.
You opened your heavy eyelids, your breathing shallow and fast. In the pale silver glow of the moonlight, his dark eyes were pitch-black with a raw, unhinged intensity. His wet hair was messy, sticking to his forehead, and his jaw was set tight as he fought for a sliver of restraint he clearly didn’t have anymore.
He reached up, his thumb catching the thin strap of your silk camisole and slowly sliding it down your arm. His eyes followed the movement, tracking every inch of exposed skin with a hungry, possessive reverence. When his gaze landed on the fine-line starburst sitting right over your sternum, his breath hitched audibly.
„Dios mío,“ Carlos growled low in his throat, his Spanish slipping out effortlessly as his composure cracked. „Eres tan hermosa que me vas a matar.“
He didn’t wait for a reply. His large hands slid up your sides, his palms spanning the narrow curve of your waist, his fingers digging into your soft skin with a firm, uncompromising grip. He leaned down and pressed his mouth to the starburst tattoo, his lips soft and scalding hot, his warm breath fanning across your chest.
A sharp, helpless gasp broke from your throat, your back arching off the mattress as his tongue traced the tiny center of the ink.
„Carlos…“ you whimpered, your hands flying up to grip his broad shoulders, feeling the thick, corded muscle strain beneath your fingers.
„I told you,“ Carlos murmured against your skin, his teeth lightly nipping the swell of your chest before trailing a agonizingly slow trail of wet kisses up to your collarbone, „I’m not letting you go tonight. You’re going to feel every single second of how much I’ve wanted you.“
His hands gathered the fabric of your top, lifting it over your head in one smooth, impatient motion and tossing it somewhere onto the floor.
When he looked down at you completely bare from the waist up, his dark eyes flared with an undisguised, dangerous hunger. He let out a low, dark groan, his chest heaving as he brought his body back down, pressing his bare, sculpted chest flat against yours.
The skin-on-skin contact was overwhelming. Your breath caught in your throat as his weight pinned you into the plush mattress, the contrast of his warm, solid strength against your soft body making your mind go completely blank.
Carlos caught your mouth again, but all gentleness was entirely gone. He kissed you with a deep, chaotic passion that stole the air straight out of your lungs. His tongue tangled with yours, taking, demanding, claiming every inch of your mouth while his hands roamed freely over your body. His large, warm palms slid down your ribs, over the flare of your hips, his calloused fingers squeezing your waist, pulling you so tightly flush against his hips that there wasn’t a single millimeter of air left between you.
You could feel every inch of his hard, heavy length pressing against your lower belly through the thin fabric of his towel, the rhythm of his hips shifting against yours sending a searing shockwave straight down your spine.
„Tell me you want this,“ Carlos growled into your mouth, his breath hot and ragged as his mouth dragged down to your jaw, his stubble grazing your sensitive skin. „Say it, hermosa. Tell me you’re mine.“
„I want you, Carlos,“ you gasped, your fingers tangling into his damp hair, tugging him closer, your hips rising naturally to meet his heavy, rhythmic press. „God, I’m yours… just kiss me.“
A dark, breathless laugh vibrated against your throat before he took your lips again, deeper and rougher than before.
His hand slid down your thigh, his fingers trailing a path of pure fire over your skin, hooking under your knees to part your legs wider, wrapping them tightly around his waist. The friction between your bodies exploded into absolute madness. Every time his hips rolled against yours, a soft, broken whimpering sound escaped your lips, and Carlos drank every single drop of it in, his own low Spanish groans echoing in the dark room.
„Eso es… así, reina,“ Carlos rasped, his voice dripping with dark praise, his lips brushing against your ear as his chest heaved against yours. „You feel so fucking good under me. So soft… so perfect…“
His fingers dug into your hip, holding you firmly in place as he set a agonizingly deep, steady rhythm, his body moving against yours with an effortless, possessive authority that made your toes curl into the dark sheets. You lost track of time, lost track of the house, lost track of every logical reason you had ever had to stay away from him.
There was only the heavy thud of his heart against your chest, the intoxicating scent of cedar and warm skin filling your nose, and the relentless, searing heat of his body overwhelming yours.
When his lips finally found yours again, the kiss was frantic, breathless, and intoxicatingly deep. You pulled him down as close as humanly possible, your hands tracing the smooth curve of his back, holding onto him like he was the only anchor in a storm.
As the quiet room filled with the sound of your frantic, overlapping breaths, Carlos buried his face in the crook of your neck, his fingers tightening in your hair, holding you close and safe in the dark long after the feverish heat finally began to settle into a deep, satisfying hum.
Until Carlos paused.
The frantic, heavy rhythm of his body slowed, coming to a sudden, deliberate halt. He pushed himself up onto his forearms, hovering right above you, his chest heaving as he fought for breath.
In the dim silver moonlight, his dark eyes searched your face with an intensity so sharp it made your breath catch in your throat. The raw, wild hunger was still burning in his gaze, but beneath it was something far deeper—a serious, unyielding care that grounded the entire room.
He reached up, his large, warm hand cupping the side of your face, his thumb gently wiping away a stray strand of hair clinging to your damp cheek.
„Wait,“ Carlos rasped softly, his voice gravelly, deep, and thick with restraint.
His muscles were rigid, every fiber of his body practically vibrating with the effort it took to hold himself back, but he didn’t move an inch closer. He looked straight into your eyes, making sure he had your full, undivided attention.
„Before we do this…“ Carlos whispered, his breath hot against your cheek as his thumb stroked your jaw. „Before we go all the way… I need to know you’re certain.“
Your heart did a sudden, heavy thud against your ribs. „Carlos…“
„No, listen to me, reina,“ he interrupted gently, his expression softening as he looked down at you. „Once we cross this line, there’s no going back. There’s no pretending tomorrow at breakfast that this didn’t happen. No slipping back into being ‚just family friends‘.“
He leaned down, pressing his forehead against yours, his dark eyes holding yours captive in the quiet space between you.
„I want you,“ Carlos murmured, his deep voice vibrating right against your chest. „Dios, you have no idea how much I want you. But I need to know this is what you really want. With me. No second thoughts, no regrets when the sun comes up. Are you completely sure?“
You held his gaze in the dim light, the last lingering doubts completely evaporating under the sincerity in his eyes.
„I’m completely sure, Carlos,“ you whispered softly, your fingers sliding up to tangle in the short hair at the back of his neck. „I want you.“
A breath he seemed to be holding for days escaped his lungs, a slow, gorgeous smile breaking through his serious expression.
„Good,“ Carlos murmured against your lips, kissing you with a sudden, overwhelming sweetness that quickly turned deep and possessive once more.
He shifted his weight, his large hands slipping down to untie his damp towel and toss it aside before helping you glide the rest of your clothes away. Hovering above you, his eyes dragged over every inch of your skin in the silver moonlight, filled with an open, undisguised admiration that made your skin flush with heat.
His touch became slow, deliberate, and dizzyingly thorough. Carlos reached down between your thighs, his fingers finding your sensitive center, parting you gently as he began a steady, agonizingly sweet touch that had you gasping against his mouth.
He didn’t rush. He kept his rhythm slow and deep, his thumb stroking expertly while he whispered low, gravelly praises into your ear—telling you how incredible you felt, how soft you were, and how long he’d envisioned having you right here in his bed. Every word, spoken in that deep, rough Spanish rasp, sent shivers straight down your spine, making your hips arch helplessly up into his hand.
When he felt you trembling, completely undone and breathless beneath him, Carlos paused.
He reached over to the nightstand, smoothly opening the small drawer and pulling out a small foil packet. In one fluid motion, he prepped himself, returning to settle between your thighs.
Carlos looked down into your eyes, his chest heaving, his dark gaze burning with an undeniable intensity. „Look at me, hermosa,“ he rasped softly, taking your hands and lacing his fingers securely through yours against the mattress.
Slowly, carefully, he pushed forward, sinking smoothly into your heat until he was completely enveloped inside you.
A sharp, breathless gasp tore from your throat, your knuckles turning white in his grip as your body stretched to take all of him in. Carlos froze, burying his face in the crook of your neck, his breathing heavy and ragged as he gave you a moment to adjust to the overwhelming fullness.
„Dios,“ he groaned against your skin, his voice thick with emotion. „You feel so good…“
Once you shifted against him, encouraging him with a subtle roll of your hips, Carlos began to move.
He established a deep, powerful rhythm, pulling back almost completely before driving smoothly all the way back in, setting a pace that was equal parts fierce and agonizingly reverent. The sound of your soft, breathless quiet cries filled the dark bedroom, mixed with the steady rustle of the sheets and the low, dark sounds of approval Carlos couldn’t hold back as he lost himself completely inside you.
Every thrust was deliberate, filling you so completely that your mind went entirely blank, leaving only the sensation of his heavy body pressed against yours, his heart hammering violently against your chest, and the undeniable truth that everything between you had permanently changed for the better.
Carlos looked almost ethereal above you—his broad, muscular frame illuminated by the faint silver moonlight, every sharp line of his back and shoulders flexed with absolute strain and control. The sight of him hovering over you, dark eyes locked onto yours with pure, unyielding intensity, was almost as overwhelming as the feeling of him inside you.
He moved with a deep, effortless power. His length filled you so completely, hitting a spot deep inside that sent violent, breathless shockwaves straight to your core every single time he drove back in.
„Look at you,“ Carlos rasped, his voice a dark, fractured growl as he watched your eyes roll back. „You're taking all of me so fucking well, reina...“
He shifted his weight slightly onto one arm, his free hand sliding down between your tangled bodies. His fingers found the small, sensitive bundle of nerves above where you were joined, his thumb applying a steady, agonizingly perfect pressure right as he set a faster, deeper rhythm.
The combination was absolute torture.
Your back arched sharply off the mattress, a breathless scream catching in your throat as the tension spiraled completely out of control. Carlos felt the sudden, tight ripples of your body wrapping around him, and it broke the last thread of his restraint.
„That's it... give it to me, hermosa,“ he groaned against your mouth, his thrusts becoming hard, fast, and relentless.
His thumb didn't stop, working you through the peak until you were crying out his name into the dark room. Watching you shatter beneath him sent Carlos over the edge seconds later—he buried his face into the crook of your neck, his entire body going rigid as he drove deep one last time, letting out a low, guttural groan that vibrated straight through your chest as he followed you over the edge.
The morning sun broke gently over the villa, casting long, golden geometric light across the hardwood floor of Carlos’s bedroom. The air was cool, carrying the fresh, salty breeze from the Mediterranean through the open balcony doors, whispering against the sheer white curtains.
Inside, the world was completely still.
You were asleep, half-buried in the mess of dark cotton sheets, your head resting comfortably on the broad, warm expanse of Carlos’s chest. One of his heavy, calloused arms was wrapped securely around your waist, holding you flush against him, while his chin rested softly against the crown of your hair. You were both stripped down to nothing beneath the thin linen coverlet, skin to skin, entangled in a peaceful, exhausted sprawl that felt entirely right.
Outside the bedroom door, heavy, hurried footsteps suddenly echoed down the hallway, followed by loud, overlapping whispers.
„I’m telling you, he said he wanted to do the seven-thirty swim before the boat leaves for Palma,“ Ana’s voice carried softly through the wood, accompanied by a quick, impatient knock. „Carlos! Get up, you lazy head!“
Before either of you could react, the door handle clicked and swung wide open.
„Carlos, come on, Caco says the water is—“ Ana cut herself off instantly, her sentence dying right in her throat.
Caco, who was right on her heels holding two rolled-up beach towels, practically walked straight into her back when she froze in the doorway.
„What are you stopping for—“ Caco started, peering over her shoulder, only for his jaw to drop instantly.
The room fell into an electric, dead silence.
Carlos’s dark eyes snapped open first. He didn’t panic, and he certainly didn’t try to scramble away. Instead, his natural protective instincts kicked in smoothly—his arm tightened around your waist, pulling the linen sheet up over your shoulders to cover you completely, shielding your bare back with his broad frame as you blinked awake, disoriented and half-asleep in the bright morning light.
Carlos looked up at his sister and cousin, his dark hair a messy, rumpled disaster, a deep, sleep-heavy raspy sigh leaving his chest.
„Do you two know what a door knock is for?“ Carlos grumbled, his low morning voice rough and thick with gravel.
Ana blinked once. Twice. Then, a massive, unashamed grin spread across her face, her eyes dancing with absolute delight as she looked from Carlos’s defensive posture to your small, flush-faced form buried safely against his chest.
Caco let out a loud, breathless laugh, shaking his head as he tossed a beach towel casually over his shoulder.
„Well,“ Caco drawled, a smirk playing on his lips as he gave Carlos a knowing, victorious look. „It’s about damn time.“
„Seriously,“ Ana chimed in, leaning against the doorframe, zero embarrassment in her voice as she folded her arms. „We’ve been watching you two tip-toe around each other for three days like an agonizing soap opera. We were about to call an intervention.“
„Out,“ Carlos ordered, though a faint, reluctant twitch of a smile tugged at the corner of his lips. He pressed a quiet, reassuring kiss to the top of your head as you hid your red face against his neck. „Get out of my room.“
„We’re going, we’re going,“ Caco chuckled, reaching out to grab the brass doorknob to pull it shut. „Take your time, man. But breakfast is in twenty minutes… and you owe me fifty euros for winning the bet.“
„Caco, shut up!“ Ana laughed, shoving her cousin backward into the hallway before glancing back at the two of you one last time with a warm, affectionate wink. „See you guys downstairs!“
The heavy oak door clicked shut, sealing the quiet sanctuary of the bedroom once again.
In the silence that followed, you buried your face straight into the warm crook of Carlos’s neck, a muffled, breathless laugh bubbling out of you. „I am never going downstairs. Ever.“
Carlos let out a deep, rumbling chest laugh, his arm tightening around you as he rolled onto his side, bringing you with him until you were completely tangled together again beneath the covers.
„Let them talk, hermosa,“ Carlos murmured softly against your lips, his big brown eyes warm, clear, and thoroughly contented in the morning light as he kissed you long, slow, and sweet. „They’re completely right anyway.“
End.
a/n: hoped u liked this! Let me know what u think in the comments!
summary: Four strict rules were written to protect your heart and keep your friendship intact. Neither of you realized that signing a contract with Lando Norris was only the beginning of breaking every single one.
warning: 18+, angst, pining, heavy sexual tension, extreme overthinking, swearing, FWB contract setup, praise, eventual smut.
word count: 2.7k
authors note: hey guys! here is chapter two where the tension finally snaps and they establish the rules for their FWB arrangement before heading into the bedroom! hope you enjoy <3
let me know what you think in the comments!
masterlist
chapter 1
The glow of your phone illuminated the dark ceiling of your bedroom for what felt like the hundredth time.
Lando: Come over? Flat’s quiet.
You stared at the four short words, your chest tightening around a familiar, nervous knot.
Three days had passed since the club. Three agonizing days since he had pinned you against that mirrored pillar in the VIP section, his hands bruising your waist, his hips grinding into yours while his mouth hovered millimeters from your skin. You had spent the last seventy-two hours convincing yourself that it was just a fluke—a drunk, chaotic mistake fueled by club bass and a few too many gin and tonics.
He was Lando Norris. He lived in a world of high-speed glamour, surrounded by models, influencers, and an endless queue of stunning women everywhere he went. He had thousands of opportunities to hook up with whoever he wanted. He didn't need you for that.
He just wants to hang out, you told yourself firmly, sitting up and kicking off your blankets. He's bored. He wants a chill, normal evening with his best friend to reset before the summer break ends. Don't go over there making it weird.
Arming yourself with that fragile, protective wall of denial, you threw on a casual outfit, grabbed your keys, and made the short trip to his flat.
When you unlocked his front door, you expected to find him lying on the couch in a baggy hoodie, controller in hand, throwing a casual "Hey, love" over his shoulder. You expected cool, easy, platonic normalcy.
You didn't expect the heavy, suffocating stillness that greeted you the moment you stepped into his bedroom.
Lando was leaning back against the edge of his bed, looking so utterly, devastatingly hot that your breath caught clean in your throat, instantly shattering every single lie you had told yourself on the drive over.
He was wearing a dark, short-sleeved camp-collar shirt, completely unbuttoned at his collarbone to expose a broad swath of warm skin and the subtle cord necklace resting flat against his throat. His messy, dark brown curls tumbles down over his forehead, still slightly damp and full of texture. He had his hands folded loosely together in front of him, a stack of colorful woven bracelets wrapped around his wrist, trailing down to those long, broad fingers you knew far too well.
He looked up as you walked in. A faint, lopsided smirk tugged at the corner of his lips, a subtle dimple indenting his cheek, but his pale blue-green eyes were heavy-lidded, dark, and utterly locked onto you with a quiet, unshielded focus.
The air in the room instantly turned into lead.
Every single one of your senses flared to maximum alert. You became painfully, hyper-aware of every detail of his physical presence:
The soft, golden ambient light of the room traced the sharp angle of his jawline, catching the light dusting of scruff along his chin. His lips were slightly parted, full and warm, looking ridiculously kissable under the dim lamps.
Those dark, unruly curls were completely unstyled, tumbling over his brow in a way that practically begged for your fingers to be buried in them.
The dark shirt hugged the broad sweep of his shoulders, the fabric clinging to his biceps before draping open over his chest. Even sitting relaxed, you could see the lean, corded muscle of his forearms, dark veins tracing down toward his wrists.
God, he is so bloody handsome, your brain spiraled frantically, your pulse thudding wildly in your ears. Why is he looking at me like that? Why does he look like a sin sitting there?
"Hey," Lando murmured. His voice wasn't his usual loud, energetic banter; it was a low, quiet, gravelly hum that vibrated straight down your spine and settled low in your stomach.
"Hey," you managed to whisper, standing frozen near the foot of his bed, holding your bag like a shield.
He didn't move to grab a controller. He didn't offer you a drink. He just sat there, his pale eyes slowly scanning your face, taking in your flushed cheeks and the nervous way your fingers were gripping your bag. The faint smirk on his lips deepened just a fraction, possessive and patient, as if he knew the exact chaotic storm raging inside your head.
The tension from three nights ago hadn't disappeared at all. It had been sitting in his apartment, quietly coiling tight, waiting for you to walk through the door.
You were standing three feet away from a man who could have anyone in the world, yet the way he was staring at you made it feel like you were the only person existing in his entire universe—and it terrified you to your absolute core.
The silence stretched between you, so thick and heavy you could practically hear the steady, frantic thudding of your own heart against your ribs.
Lando didn't break eye contact. He unclasped his hands slowly, his bracelets clinking softly in the quiet room, and patted the mattress beside him. "Sit down. You look like you're about to run out the door."
"I'm fine standing," you said, your voice tighter than you intended.
A quiet, frustrated sigh slipped past his lips. In one fluid motion, Lando pushed himself off the edge of the bed. He didn't rush, but the sheer physical presence of him moving toward you made your breath hitch. He closed the three feet between you in two long strides, stopping so close you could smell the faint, clean scent of his shower gel mixed with the warm heat radiating off his skin.
He reached out, his long, broad fingers wrapping gently around the strap of your bag. He didn't yank it; he just held it, his knuckles brushing against yours, sending a sharp spark of static straight up your arm.
"Drop the bag," Lando murmured, his voice dropping into that rough, low register that went straight to your knees. "You're holding it like armor."
"Lando—"
"Drop it," he repeated softly, his pale blue eyes burning into yours with a fierce, unshielded intensity.
Your fingers loosened, and the leather strap slipped away. Lando caught the bag effortlessly and tossed it onto the armchair behind him without ever breaking eye contact.
Now there was nothing between you.
The air in the room felt electric, dangerously charged. You could see the subtle rise and fall of his chest under his unbuttoned dark shirt, the slight pulse beating at the base of his throat near his cord necklace. You swallowed hard, your mind racing, trying frantically to find an exit ramp before you completely lost your mind.
"We need to talk about three nights ago," you blurted out, the words tumbling past your lips before your brain could filter them.
Lando’s jaw tightened, a subtle muscle twitching beneath his scruff. "What about it?"
"We can't keep doing this," you whispered, looking up into his dark, heavy-lidded eyes. "The way you held me at the club... the way you're looking at me right now. It's messed up, Lando. We're friends. You're my best friend."
Lando let out a low, breathless laugh that sounded entirely devoid of humor. He stepped even closer, his broad frame towering over you until the tips of his shoes were almost touching yours. He raised his hands, resting them flat on the wall right behind your head, trapping you in his space without actually touching you.
"You think I don't fucking know that?" he rasped, his voice thick with a raw, agonizing frustration that caught you completely off guard. "You think I've slept a single hour in the last three days? I've been losing my mind in this flat, staring at the ceiling, thinking about how your waist felt in my hands."
Your heart did a violent, terrifying leap in your chest. He hasn't slept either?
"Lando, if we cross this line..." You shook your head, fighting the overwhelming urge to lean forward and press your forehead against his chest. "If we kiss... if we make this personal... it ruins everything. We lose the friendship. We can't go back after that."
Lando stared down at you, his breathing heavy and ragged, his pale eyes searching your face with a fierce, calculating focus. The hyper-analytical driver in him was working at full speed, weighing the risks, measuring the sheer, unyielding hunger between you against the terror of losing you completely.
"Then we don't kiss," Lando said abruptly.
You blinked, taken aback. "What?"
"No kissing," Lando rasped, the words tumbling out fast, urgent, and heavy. He lowered one hand from the wall, his thumb lightly grazing the sharp line of your jaw, his touch impossibly gentle despite the storm in his eyes. "We don't do romance. We don't do dates, we don't do sweet talking, and we never, ever kiss. You keep your lips to yourself, and I keep mine to myself."
Your throat went completely dry. "Are you serious?"
"Dead fucking serious," Lando growled, his dark blue eyes darkening into pure, unadulterated intent. "I want you. I've wanted you for months, and I know for a fact you want me too. We're both going insane trying to pretend we don't. So we fix it. Purely physical. Friends with benefits—nothing more, nothing less."
Friends with benefits.
The words echoed in the quiet room, sounding like both a lifeline and a dangerous, trapdoor arrangement. Your mind spiraled—he was offering you everything you had physically craved for months, wrapped in a neat, clinical package that promised to protect your friendship. He didn't want a relationship. He just wanted to get this electric, agonizing tension out of his system.
It’s just physical for him, your brain reminded you, a faint, bitter ache touching your chest even as your pulse hammered in anticipation. He’s just being pragmatic. But at least this way, I don't have to walk away.
"No kissing," you repeated quietly, looking up into his face, searching for any sign of hesitation. "Strictly FWB. The second it gets weird, we stop."
Lando’s jaw set, a sudden, dark smirk tugging at the corner of his lips as he realized he’d won. The heavy, agonized tension in his shoulders instantly melted into a dark, confident authority.
Lando pulled you toward the kitchen island, his grip on your wrist firm, warm, and entirely unyielding. He pulled out one of the high marble stools, placing his hands on your waist to guide you onto it before grabbing the pad and a black pen, sliding them right between your hands.
He didn't back away. Lando leaned his broad frame over the marble right beside you, resting his weight on his forearms. The dark camp-collar shirt draped open, exposing the warm skin of his collarbone and the cord necklace resting flat against his throat. He was so close that every time he exhaled, the heat of his breath brushed against the bare skin of your neck.
"If we're writing a contract," Lando rasped, his voice dropping into that low, gravelly hum as his pale blue eyes tracked the movement of your fingers around the pen, "let's write it properly. What's next?"
Your hands trembled slightly as you clicked the pen. You stared at the crisp white paper, desperately trying to ignore the way his broad shoulder pressed against yours, the scent of his shower gel intoxicating and completely overwhelming.
The Terms of Engagement
Rule 1: No Kissing
"No mouth-to-mouth," you wrote in neat, deliberate print. "Strictly no romantic kissing."
Lando let out a quiet, breathless huff, his gaze flicking from the paper up to your lips. "Still think that one's harsh, love," he murmured, a lopsided smirk tugging at his mouth, deepening the tiny dimple in his cheek. "But I signed off on it. What else?"
Rule 2: The Instant Termination Clause
You cleared your throat, forcing your voice to sound clinical despite the frantic thudding of your heart.
"If either of us wants out, it ends. Immediately. No questions asked, no guilt trips, and no weird lingering drama."
Lando’s teasing smirk softened, replacing itself with a quiet, surprisingly serious focus. He watched your hand trace the words on the pad.
"Agreed," Lando said softly, his long, broad fingers reaching out to lightly trail over the back of your hand. "If you want to stop next week, tomorrow, or in five minutes, we stop. No hard feelings. We stay friends."
Friends, your brain repeated bitterly. Right. Because that's all this is to him.
Rule 3: The Exclusivity / Serious Dating Rule
"If either of us starts seeing someone else seriously," you continued, writing the words down with sharp pressure, "or if real feelings for someone else come into play, this whole thing dies on the spot."
Lando stayed completely still beside you. His pale eyes scanned the line carefully.
"Fair," he rasped, his voice thick and rough. He shifted closer, his chest almost brushing your shoulder as he looked down at you. "So if I find out you're going on dates with some bloke, I pull the plug. And vice versa."
"Vice versa," you echoed, swallowing down the sudden, painful lump in your throat. You knew he had a long history of casual flings—the shadowy paddock rumors, the Miami and Ibiza stories. The thought of him walking away the second a stunning model caught his eye made your chest ache, but writing it down was the only armor you had left.
Rule 4: Absolute Comfort & Safety
"And the most important one," you said, turning your head to lock eyes with him. "If anyone gets uncomfortable—at any point, during anything—everything stops instantly. Zero hesitation."
Lando didn't even hesitate. His expression hardened into something fierce, protective, and intensely focused.
"That's not even a rule, love, that's a given," Lando growled softly, reaching out to gently cup the side of your jaw, his broad thumb caressing your cheekbone with a warmth that sent a shiver straight down your spine. "If you give me a look, a word, or a shift in body language that says you're not 100% into it, I'm out. You know I'd never push you."
He looked at you with such genuine, unshielded care that it felt like a physical blow.
Signing the Contract
You stared down at the four rules neatly written on the pad. It looked so organized. So logical. A perfect shield designed to keep your heart from breaking while giving you access to the one man you had been starving for across eight excruciating months.
================================================== ARRANGEMENT TERMS ================================================== 1. Strictly No Kissing. 2. Immediate Termination upon request (No drama). 3. Immediate Termination if either dates seriously. 4. Total Veto Power: Instant stop if uncomfortable. ==================================================
"Satisfied?" Lando asked gently into the quiet room.
He took the pen from your fingers, his calloused skin brushing yours, and scrawled his messy, distinctive signature at the bottom of the page without a second thought. He set the pen down with a quiet click and slid the paper to the side.
"There," Lando whispered, his voice dropping an octave into a dark, heavy register that made your knees turn to water. "Signed and sealed."
His large hands came down on your hips, his broad fingers digging gently into your waist as he guided you off the stool and straight into his space. You looked up, catching the raw, heavy-lidded hunger burning in his pale blue eyes—a look so intense it made you forget how to breathe.
He’s so bloody handsome, your mind spiraled desperately, taking in the corded muscle of his arms, his messy curls, and the steady, heavy rise and fall of his chest. He’s an expert at this. He knows exactly how to make me melt... but I signed the rules. I'm protected.
"You good?" Lando murmured, his thumb rubbing a slow, re-assuring circle against your hipbone as he searched your face one last time.
"I'm good," you whispered.
Lando's jaw clenched, a dark, possessive smirk finally returning to his lips. "Good girl. Now come to my room."
summary: A high-gravity night out in Monte Carlo finally snaps the tension between you and Lando Norris. After months of subtle touches and suffocating proximity, an excessively drunk, razor-close moment at a club that may lead back to his apartment.
warning: 18+, little angst, pining, heavy sexual tension, intoxication/drinking, extreme overthinking, explicit dirty thoughts, non-action cowardice, eventual smut, (fwb)
word count: 2.3k
authors note: hey guys! this is actually my first ever fanfic so please don't judge me too harshly haha. english isn't my first language but i really tried my best with this one yk! hope you all enjoy reading it as much as i enjoyed writing it <3
masterlist
chapter two
You were staring at his face, and it was taking every ounce of your sanity not to reach out and pull him down by his throat.
Lando was leaning back against the plush leather banquette of the VIP section, looking like an absolute sin in a fitted black polo that hugged his broad shoulders and left his throat exposed. He had those messy, dark brown curls bouncing slightly as he tilted his head, a faint, lopsided smirk tugging at his lips, deep dimples indenting his cheeks, and those pale blue green eyes flashing under the low club lights. He looked relaxed—a little flushed from the alcohol, a little smug, completely oblivious to the fact that looking at him was making your skin burn from the inside out.
God, you wanted him. It wasn’t just a crush; it was an agonizing, filth-tinged hunger that had been rotting in your gut for eight months. Every time you looked at his mouth—the full lower lip, the slight stubble along his jaw, the scruff on his chin—your brain ran through ruthless, agonizing scenarios. You wanted to know what those lips felt like bruised against yours. You wanted to feel the weight of his body pinning you into a mattress, those broad shoulders slick with sweat, his hands bruising your hips while he wrecked you until neither of you could remember your own names.
Instead, you were sitting three inches away from him, acting like you were just his cool, unbothered friend.
„You’re slacking,“ Lando said, his voice dropping into that quiet, gravelly register that went straight to your thighs. He leaned in close, his lips hovering an inch from the shell of your ear to cut through the heavy sub-bass. The heat radiating off his skin was suffocating. „I’m two gin and tonics ahead of you.“
You swallowed down the sudden dryness in your throat, forcing your eyes up from his collarbone to his face. „Some of us actually like to pace ourselves, Norris. Not everything is a timed lap.“
He chuckled, the low vibration touching your shoulder where his arm was slouched lazily over the back of the couch. His knuckles lightly grazed the bare skin of your upper arm. A tiny, innocent touch—and it sent a electric jolt straight to your core.
Clutch his shirt. Drag him down. Bite his lip until he stops fucking teasing.
„Pacing is boring,“ he muttered, his blue eyes dropping down to your lips. He stared at your mouth for three excruciating seconds—long enough for you to feel your pulse thumping violently between your legs—before his gaze snapped back up to your eyes, dark and dilated. „Aggressive strategy gets results.“
„Is that right?“ you breathed out, your voice far softer than you meant it to be.
„Always works for me.“ He flashed another one of those devastating, dimpled smiles, his throat working as he swallowed. But there was a raw, restless edge behind his eyes tonight. He was drunk, he was stressed from the championship pressure, and he was standing right on the precipice of something dangerous.
You wanted to push him over the edge so badly it made your stomach ache. You wanted to slide your hands up the inside of his black polo, feel the warmth of his stomach, drag your nails up his chest, and force him to drop the boyish smirk and look at you like he was starving. You wanted him inside you so badly your body physically ached with the denial.
„Come on,“ Lando said, standing up suddenly. The sudden absence of his body heat felt like a slap. He extended a long, vein-drawn hand down to you, his fingers open, his knuckles dusted with tiny freckles. „Let’s dance. Stop sitting there overthinking.“
„Lando, it’s packed,“ you said, trying to anchor yourself to reality.
„So?“ He stepped closer, towering over you, his blue eyes locked onto yours with a heavy, magnetic pull. „You scared, love?“
Love. The casual endearment felt like a knife twisting in your chest.
You took his hand. The moment your palm hit his, his fingers wrapped tight around yours, firm and hot. He dragged you out toward the edge of the floor, cutting through the shadows near a mirrored pillar where the strobe lights barely reached.
When he stopped, he didn’t let go. He tugged your hand, pulling you straight into his space until your chest was practically pressed against his black polo. You could feel the hard, steady rhythm of his heart beating against your palms as you instinctively placed them against his chest.
„Better?“ he asked, leaning down until his forehead almost brushed yours. His eyes were dark, heavy-lidded, searching your face with an intensity that took your breath away.
„You’re very pushy tonight,“ you whispered, your fingers twitching against the soft fabric over his chest, desperately fighting the urge to grip his curls and pull his head down.
„Maybe I’m tired of waiting,“ he muttered, his voice barely audible over the bass.
Before you could process the words, Lando shifted his leg, stepping between yours to brace himself against the crowd. The movement brought his hips flush against yours.
A sharp, electric gasp tore from your throat. You could feel the heat of him, the hard line of his thigh pressed between yours, the heavy, undeniable tension radiating off his entire body. Your mind went completely filthy—imagining his hands gripping your waist, lifting you up, pinning you against the cool glass of his apartment window while he took everything he’d been holding back for months.
Lando leaned down further, his mouth brushing the sensitive skin just below your ear. „You smell insane,“ he rasped, his warm breath sending a wave of violent shivers down your spine. „Been driving me out of my fucking mind all night.“
„Lando…“ you warned, but your hips unconsciously leaned a fraction closer into his, begging for the contact.
He pulled back just enough to look at you, his thumb sliding up to tilt your chin up. His eyes were wide, burning with a raw, agonizing hunger that mirrored your own. He stared at your mouth, his jaw clenching, his breathing heavy and ragged.
He wanted you. You could feel it in the brutal grip of his hand on your waist, in the way his chest heaved against yours. He wanted to ruin you just as badly as you wanted to let him.
Do it, you thought frantically, your heart hammering against your ribs. Just fucking kiss me. Ruin it. Destroy the friendship. Just give me tonight.
His gaze flicked up to your eyes. The hyper-analytical racing driver in him kicked back in—you saw the micro-tightening around his eyes, the hesitation, the agonizing overthinking as he calculated the risk. He was terrified. Terrified that if he took what he wanted right now, he would lose the only person who kept him grounded.
With a heavy, ragged exhale that brushed warm against your lips, Lando pressed his forehead firmly against yours, denying both of you the apex.
His fingers stayed tangled tight in the hair at the nape of your neck, holding you close, his chest rising and falling heavily against yours in the dark corner of the club.
„We’re leaving,“ Lando rasped, his voice rough and thick with alcohol and pure, suffocating frustration. „Right now. Before I completely lose my mind.“
His fingers stayed tangled tight in the hair at the nape of your neck, holding you close, his chest rising and falling heavily against yours in the dark corner of the club.
You waited. You stopped breathing, every single nerve ending firing at absolute maximum, expecting the collision, expecting his mouth to finally crash into yours and burn down whatever cowardly boundary was left between you.
He didn’t do it.
Lando let out a long, shuddering breath against your lips, his jaw tight enough to snap, before he slowly dragged his forehead back off yours. He didn’t pull away—he was too chicken shit to take the leap, but too terrified to let you go. Instead, his hand slid down from the back of your neck to rest heavily on your shoulder, his fingers digging into your skin through your top as if anchoring himself.
„Another song,“ he muttered, his voice gravelly and thick, refusing to meet your eyes directly as he shifted his weight. „Just… stay here for another song.“
He was running away from it right in front of you. The coward. You wanted to scream at him, wanted to grab his polo, yank him down, and force his mouth onto yours just to prove how easy it would be. You wanted to call him out for the way his hands were shaking, for the way he was looking everywhere except at your lips, but the bitter, agonizing reality hit you just as fast: you were just as terrified as he was. You were too much of a coward to bridge those last two inches yourself.
So you let him off the hook.
„Fine,“ you whispered, the word tasting like defeat on your tongue. „One more song, Norris.“
Lando’s eyes flicked back to yours, a sudden wave of relief mixing with that dark, unsatisfied hunger in his gaze. He didn’t step back. He pulled you right back into him, his hands sliding down to wrap firmly around your waist, locking you flush against his hips.
The heavy, hypnotic bass swelled around you, a dark, pulsing wave that swallowed the rest of the room. You slid your arms up over his broad shoulders, your fingers instantly tangling into the soft, messy curls at the back of his head. You felt him catch his breath—a sharp, sudden inhale—when your nails lightly scraped against his scalp.
„Fuck’s sake,“ he breathed out, his forehead dropping back down to rest against the side of your neck, right where your pulse was hammering like a trapped bird.
He didn’t kiss you. He just danced.
It was agonized, slow, and devastatingly close. Every subtle sway of his hips rubbed him directly against you, a ruthless, teasing pressure that made your knees feel hollow. His breath was hot and damp against the sensitive skin beneath your ear, sending constant, violent shivers straight down your spine and settling low in your stomach.
Just do something, your mind screamed, your hands gripping his curls tighter, pulling his head a fraction deeper into your crook. Bite me. Mark me. Kiss me. Stop acting like we’re just friends.
„You’re holding on really tight,“ Lando murmured against your skin, his voice laced with a faint, intoxicating hint of a smirk—though he didn’t pull back an inch. His hands shifted on your waist, his thumbs pressing firmly into the dip above your hips, dragging you so close there wasn’t a single whisper of air between your bodies.
„You’re the one who won’t let go,“ you countered, your voice tight, trembling with pure, unadulterated frustration.
Lando let out a low, breathy laugh that vibrated directly against your collarbone. „Yeah,“ he admitted softly, his voice dropping into a quiet, raw confession that shattered whatever defenses you had left. „Yeah, I know.“
He slowly dragged his face up from your neck, his lips grazing the skin along your jawline without ever actually touching your mouth. When his eyes met yours, those pale blue irises were completely blown out, dark and heavy with a sickening amount of unspoken desire. His thumb smoothed over your hipbone, tracing the line of your clothes, his breath brushing warm against your parted lips.
He was right there. His mouth was so close you could taste the faint, sweet edge of his drink. All it would take was one push, one tilt of your chin. But the sheer weight of what would happen after—the panic, the ruin, the inevitable morning after where everything changed—kept both of you frozen.
So you stayed there in the dark. Lando’s large hands locked onto your waist, your fingers buried in his hair, moving together in a torturous, agonizing rhythm while the track blared on, both of you pretending that this physical torture was somehow safer than a kiss.
The song finally bled into a heavy, lingering fade, leaving only the dull roar of the crowd in your ears. Neither of you said a word. The sheer, suffocating weight of what almost happened hung between you, thick and terrifying, snapping the illusion back into reality.
Lando pulled back first, his hands dropping from your waist like he’d been burned. He cleared his throat, running a hand through his damp, ruined curls, unable to hold your gaze for more than a second.
„I’m… yeah. We should head back home,“ he mumbled, his voice thick, stumbling slightly as he stepped away from you into the shadowy crowd.
„Yeah. Me too,“ you managed to choke out, your legs feeling like lead as the cold air of the club rushed in to fill the space where his body had just been.
Twenty minutes later, you were standing alone on the third-floor landing of your apartment building, your hands shaking as you jammed the brass key into the lock. Across the bay, high up in his penthouse complex, Lando was doing the exact same thing—drunk, dizzy, and agonizingly untouched.
You shoved your front door open and walked into the dark, cold quiet of your flat, throwing your bag onto the table. No kiss. No reckless surrender. Just two cowards, lying in their own separate beds a mile apart, staring at the ceiling with burning skin and minds full of dirty, unfulfilled promises.
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