There is just something so sexy about a man who can drive well... but don't get me started if he's a Formula One driver 😏
Now hear me out, y'all, Konig, but as a Formula One driver, and you're his pretty little grid girl
you see the vision right? let me EXPLAIN HEHE
You know how F1 drivers have really strong necks? cuz they need to tolerate the force of braking and the acceleration and stuff? Well, just imagine Konig with a thick neck, but because his build is just huge overall, it can go unnoticed.
But when you're sitting on his lap making out with him, and you put your pretty hands around his neck, digging your nails into his pale skin, you just kind of... realize how big he is compared to you.
and when he sees how your glossy eyes are looking him up and down, with a dumb look on your face, he damn well knows what you just realized, and you best believe his fragile and toxic ego is enjoying the scene. Your soft lips are parted, pupils are dilated, and your back is arching in just the right way, looking at him.
And his stamina? It never seems to run out
He has to sit behind the wheel for 2-3 hours, with the unbearable heat of the cockpit rising every second, and he needs to stay alert every second, every steer and brake of the car putting pressure on his muscles.
So, picture this: you've run out of breath, the muscles of your thighs are cramping, and your head is dizzy from the heat of his body against you, while he looks like he's barely done anything.
A thin layer of sweat is covering his body, and in between groans and filthy words, he does gasp for air, but it's nothing compared to you. Strands of hair are stuck to your forehead with sweat dripping down your face, and you're gasping for air like you're drowning, with your cheeks flushed red.
He gives you the most derogatory look, but he doesn't stop his thrusts. He almost... feels bad, but you wanted this, right? You followed him everywhere after the race like a lost puppy, even when he told you he wanted to drink alone in his hotel room, you immediately replied, "Who the hell celebrates a win alone?"
so maybe if he fucks you dumb you learn to leave him alone.
But you never seem to learn.
You show up after every single win, and he gets more brutal each time. You just don't seem to understand that he wants to be left alone, so he's gotta communicate it somehow.
And yet, when he's standing among the cheerful crowd after a win, his helmet in his hand and camera flashes lighting up his face, his icy blue eyes seem to be focused on one thing, in the distance.
It's you.
His eyes are focused on you, like you're going to disappear if he looks away. And you're wearing skimpy clothes that match his car. And you're cheering and celebrating for him.
He's won many times before, but good god, winning has never
(so... do we wanna hear more? heheh)
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