Also love pregnancy and domestic fluff bc i love lil kiddos
no-no's: minors, noncon, degradation kink, bdsm, anal, toys...
i'll try to specify the TW as best as I can!!
-> WHATS NEW?! EASTER UPDATE
the spanish sacrifice OP81
When It Gets Too Much LN1 (requested by anon)
Pushin' it MV3 (requested by anon)
🕷 SPIDE-F1 (NEW series)
FLUFF 💭
SMUT 🔥
MDNI or I'm calling your parents!
ANGST 💥
SERIES 🏁 (4)
🕷 SPIDE-F1: OSCAR PIASTRI (fem!reader) NEW !!
🧬 CHRONONAUT - Across Time
💃🏻 SPEED & SALSEO - The Spanish Effect (spanish!fem!reader)
⏲ A NOT SO SIMPLE PLAN (L.N4/1 + drivers)
❄ CANDY CANE LANE (drivers x fem!reader) xmas edition
swear to god im not dead, ok? ik i've been MIA for some months now ig BUT I WAS AND I AM REALLY busy.
Had to write my bachelor's thesis (8.3/10 yay!) (if y'all wanna know what it's about, I'd be happy to answer)
i moved towns (to study)
Rn now I'm living with 2 other people in an apartment. I've finished med school, but I still have to study for a very important exam that all doctors have to take (this exam ranks all the candidates so they can choose their specialty).
i have clases M-Sat (so Sunday's my only free day, I love writing so each sunday ill make sure to post something)
Lots of love, L
p.s: this F1 season is so ass (lemme know what do u think about the latest f1 gossip - kim k + lewis, lando "cheating on" magui, maia and franco, max w redbull...)
🕷 READ BEFOREHAND: hi! i’m really excited to start this new series!!! i’ve watched the MCU movies and i love them, but don’t expect an exact copy since i’ll need to make some changes to adapt it to how i want to write the story.
He liked routines. Same seat. Same timetable. Same predictable, slightly boring life.
So naturally, the school decided to mess with all of that.
“Mate, I swear they changed the air in here” Lando said, walking through the entrance
“It’s literally the same building” Oscar replied.
“New semester, new classes,” Lando said, reading off his schedule with an offended look “This is a scam. I didn’t agree to this, Osc.”
Oscar skimmed his own. “…we’ve got physics together. And P.E too”
“Good. I need emotional support.” Lando said slinging an arm over Oscar’s shoulder.
“We always sit at the back.” Oscar moved, dropping his arm.
“Obviously.”
Oscar kept reading. Then paused.
“…and English.”
Lando looked up with hope. “Together?”
“Ugh…no.”
“Tragic.”
Oscar frowned slightly, scanning the halls.
You were by the lockers, leaning against them while two guys were talking to you. Or trying to. Oscar couldn’t hear what they were saying, but he saw how it went.
They spoke. You listened for a few seconds. Said something short.
One of them nodded awkwardly and left. The other followed.
Lando slowed slightly next to Oscar.
“Yeah, that’s not fair,” he said.
“What isn’t?” Oscar asked.
“That people just… fold like that.”
Lando glanced at you again. You were already on your phone like nothing had happened.
“She doesn’t even look like she’s trying,” Lando said.
Oscar looked briefly too. “Doesn’t seem like she needs to.”
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George Russell appeared in the hallway like he owned it.
“Piastri!” George said, falling into step beside them. “Same face as last year”
Oscar didn’t look at him. “Apparently.”
Lando laughed quietly.
George ignored him and looked ahead instead.
At you.
“Oh,” George said immediately, changing tone. “Hey.”
You looked up.
“Hi” you said with a flat tone.
George smiled, a hand near your locker. “We’ve got some classes together, right?”
“Maybe.”
George didn’t stop.
“We should—”
“I’ve got class, Russell” you said, already turning away.
And you just left.
George stayed there for a second like he expected something else to happen.
Nothing did.
Lando watched him. “She does that a lot, you know.”
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First period was Physics. Oscar liked Physics.
He and Lando sat at the back like always.
“Same seats again” Lando said, dropping into his chair and scanning for the gum he had left months ago under the table.
The teacher walked in.
“Small seating change this term.” Mr Webber announced
Lando groaned immediately resting his face on the desk. “I knew it.”
“Oscar Piastri, front row.”
Lando turned slowly. “That’s unlucky. Text me if it gets bad.”
Oscar stood up. “It’s fine. I’ll survive.”
“You say that now.”
Oscar walked forward. And stopped.
Because you were already there.
He sat down next to you.
You glanced over.
“You’re in this class?” you asked.
“Yeah,” Oscar said.
“Didn’t notice.”
“Most people don’t” he replied.
That made you pause for a second. “Sorry, didn't mean it like that.”
Oscar scanned the classroom for Lando, and when he found him, Lando was already looking at him with a cheeky grin. Oscar rolled his eyes and turned his attention back to the teacher.
About ten minutes later, Oscar was lost.
He stared at the page, then the board, then back.
“…what page are we on?” he asked quietly.
“Forty-two” you said without looking up.
He flipped to it but still didn’t make sense.
“…this doesn’t help” he muttered.
You finally looked over. “You missed the instructions.”
Oscar stared at the page. “Can you explain it?”
You hesitated, then pointed at the exercise.
“It’s just Maths. You don’t need to overthink every number.”
You explained the basics of integrals, what the teacher had just explained. He followed it after that.
“…okay,” he said after a moment. “That’s actually simple. Thanks.”
“Yeah.”
And that was it.
No more conversation.
At lunch, Lando was already waiting.
“So” Lando said immediately when Oscar sat down. “Front row report.”
“It’s just Maths.”
“You sat next to her.”
“Yeah.”
“You talked.”
“A bit.”
“You talked.”
“A bit.”
“You asked for her Instagram?”
“No, of course not!”
Lando stared. “You’ve sat next to her for a whole class and didn’t ask?”
“We were working.”
“That’s not an excuse.”
Oscar shrugged, unbothered. “I’ll find out eventually.”
Lando pointed at him. “No. Tomorrow. You’re asking.”
“I’m not asking.”
“You are.”
“I’m not.”
“You are.”
Oscar took a bite of his food, ignoring him.
“…we’ll see.”
Lando leaned back, satisfied. “This is going to be fun.”
Oscar shrugged and kept eating.
Across the cafeteria, George was talking again, with a group of younger students surrounding him like he was some kind of king, while he went on about how his parents had met with the city’s mayor about something Oscar couldn’t quite hear.
As he spoke something both Oscar and Lando were pretty sure was probably made up he kept throwing subtle glances your way, checking if you were watching or paying attention. He wasn’t getting any of it.
You were nearby, listening to someone else.
Lando watched for a second laughing. “She’s not really into any of it.”
Oscar glanced over. “Doesn’t seem like it.”
“Yeah,” Lando said. “Good for her, he's an asshole.”
Oscar didn’t answer.
He just went back to his food.
But he did look over once more before Lando changed the subject.
🕷 READ BEFOREHAND: hi! i’m really excited to start this new series!!! i’ve watched the MCU movies and i love them, but don’t expect an exact copy since i’ll need to make some changes to adapt it to how i want to write the story.
He liked routines. Same seat. Same timetable. Same predictable, slightly boring life.
So naturally, the school decided to mess with all of that.
“Mate, I swear they changed the air in here” Lando said, walking through the entrance
“It’s literally the same building” Oscar replied.
“New semester, new classes,” Lando said, reading off his schedule with an offended look “This is a scam. I didn’t agree to this, Osc.”
Oscar skimmed his own. “…we’ve got physics together. And P.E too”
“Good. I need emotional support.” Lando said slinging an arm over Oscar’s shoulder.
“We always sit at the back.” Oscar moved, dropping his arm.
“Obviously.”
Oscar kept reading. Then paused.
“…and English.”
Lando looked up with hope. “Together?”
“Ugh…no.”
“Tragic.”
Oscar frowned slightly, scanning the halls.
You were by the lockers, leaning against them while two guys were talking to you. Or trying to. Oscar couldn’t hear what they were saying, but he saw how it went.
They spoke. You listened for a few seconds. Said something short.
One of them nodded awkwardly and left. The other followed.
Lando slowed slightly next to Oscar.
“Yeah, that’s not fair,” he said.
“What isn’t?” Oscar asked.
“That people just… fold like that.”
Lando glanced at you again. You were already on your phone like nothing had happened.
“She doesn’t even look like she’s trying,” Lando said.
Oscar looked briefly too. “Doesn’t seem like she needs to.”
🕸🕷🕸🕷🕸🕷🕸🕷🕸🕷🕸🕷🕸🕷🕸🕷🕸🕷🕸🕷🕸🕷🕸🕷🕸🕷🕸🕷🕸🕷
George Russell appeared in the hallway like he owned it.
“Piastri!” George said, falling into step beside them. “Same face as last year”
Oscar didn’t look at him. “Apparently.”
Lando laughed quietly.
George ignored him and looked ahead instead.
At you.
“Oh,” George said immediately, changing tone. “Hey.”
You looked up.
“Hi” you said with a flat tone.
George smiled, a hand near your locker. “We’ve got some classes together, right?”
“Maybe.”
George didn’t stop.
“We should—”
“I’ve got class, Russell” you said, already turning away.
And you just left.
George stayed there for a second like he expected something else to happen.
Nothing did.
Lando watched him. “She does that a lot, you know.”
🕸🕷🕸🕷🕸🕷🕸🕷🕸🕷🕸🕷🕸🕷🕸🕷🕸🕷🕸🕷🕸🕷🕸🕷🕸🕷🕸🕷🕸🕷
First period was Physics. Oscar liked Physics.
He and Lando sat at the back like always.
“Same seats again” Lando said, dropping into his chair and scanning for the gum he had left months ago under the table.
The teacher walked in.
“Small seating change this term.” Mr Webber announced
Lando groaned immediately resting his face on the desk. “I knew it.”
“Oscar Piastri, front row.”
Lando turned slowly. “That’s unlucky. Text me if it gets bad.”
Oscar stood up. “It’s fine. I’ll survive.”
“You say that now.”
Oscar walked forward. And stopped.
Because you were already there.
He sat down next to you.
You glanced over.
“You’re in this class?” you asked.
“Yeah,” Oscar said.
“Didn’t notice.”
“Most people don’t” he replied.
That made you pause for a second. “Sorry, didn't mean it like that.”
Oscar scanned the classroom for Lando, and when he found him, Lando was already looking at him with a cheeky grin. Oscar rolled his eyes and turned his attention back to the teacher.
About ten minutes later, Oscar was lost.
He stared at the page, then the board, then back.
“…what page are we on?” he asked quietly.
“Forty-two” you said without looking up.
He flipped to it but still didn’t make sense.
“…this doesn’t help” he muttered.
You finally looked over. “You missed the instructions.”
Oscar stared at the page. “Can you explain it?”
You hesitated, then pointed at the exercise.
“It’s just Maths. You don’t need to overthink every number.”
You explained the basics of integrals, what the teacher had just explained. He followed it after that.
“…okay,” he said after a moment. “That’s actually simple. Thanks.”
“Yeah.”
And that was it.
No more conversation.
At lunch, Lando was already waiting.
“So” Lando said immediately when Oscar sat down. “Front row report.”
“It’s just Maths.”
“You sat next to her.”
“Yeah.”
“You talked.”
“A bit.”
“You talked.”
“A bit.”
“You asked for her Instagram?”
“No, of course not!”
Lando stared. “You’ve sat next to her for a whole class and didn’t ask?”
“We were working.”
“That’s not an excuse.”
Oscar shrugged, unbothered. “I’ll find out eventually.”
Lando pointed at him. “No. Tomorrow. You’re asking.”
“I’m not asking.”
“You are.”
“I’m not.”
“You are.”
Oscar took a bite of his food, ignoring him.
“…we’ll see.”
Lando leaned back, satisfied. “This is going to be fun.”
Oscar shrugged and kept eating.
Across the cafeteria, George was talking again, with a group of younger students surrounding him like he was some kind of king, while he went on about how his parents had met with the city’s mayor about something Oscar couldn’t quite hear.
As he spoke something both Oscar and Lando were pretty sure was probably made up he kept throwing subtle glances your way, checking if you were watching or paying attention. He wasn’t getting any of it.
You were nearby, listening to someone else.
Lando watched for a second laughing. “She’s not really into any of it.”
Oscar glanced over. “Doesn’t seem like it.”
“Yeah,” Lando said. “Good for her, he's an asshole.”
Oscar didn’t answer.
He just went back to his food.
But he did look over once more before Lando changed the subject.
Request from @sassytrailnymph - Could I request where lando is having protective sex with his girlfriend, and in the middle of having sex, he convinces his girlfriend to remove the condom and spills in her for the first time
Themes/warnings: Smut (protected then not - seriously though wrap it and keep it wrapped unless you're really trying then...good luck ig?)
Word count: 1.1k
Lando is big on protection when it comes to sex. But it's y/n who insisted on condoms and he thought it would just be till she was comfortable, but somehow 2 months into daily sex, usually more than once a day. Lando's putting more money into condoms than anything else right now.
He can't help but want to remove that barrier.
He wants to feel her, he wants nothing between them and while it's never mattered to him before. For some reason the thought of filling her with his cum and watch it leak out of her.
That thought unlocks some sort of feral animal in him that's been dormant.
He can't help it.
And now he's rolling yet another condom down his length, lust-filled eyes gliding over to y/n where she's lying, swollen lips, hickeys across her chest. He's already got her in a heat.
Admittedly teasing her the whole dinner and whispering filth in her ear at every opportunity got her exactly as riled up as he was aiming for.
"Ready for me baby?" Lando asks already knowing the answer, he can see her dripping in a wet patch on the sheets.
He loves when she gets too needy to form words that are anything less than begging. Her whimper and positioning herself from kneeling on her knees to dropping back onto her back with her legs spread, a true offering of herself open to him.
"Oh baby." Lando chuckles moving over her, not wasting time with anymore foreplay. He slides into her with only the tightness of him not having been inside her in the past 12 hours enveloping him as a form of making it harder to fuck her.
Their moans fill the air and Lando pulls her towards himself, his thrusts getting deeper and harder. Y/n moans and whines at him, his name reverbing off the walls before he whispers more filth into her ear. Promises of wrecking her, making her scream, leaving a permanent mark in her.
He builds himself up just as much as she does.
"Baby, I want to feel you. Properly." Lando states making her look at him, eyes already teary from the stimulation. "Fuck. Baby, I need to feel you. Let me take it off. It'll feel so good. So so good."
Y/n whines bucking her hips into his, one hand moving from gripping the sheets to his bicep and for a moment he thinks that's her stopping him from daring to take it off.
"Please. I wanna feel you." Y/n whimpers, nails cutting into his skin. Her actions betraying her words.
"You'll love this, baby." Lando promises, leaning down, kissing her neck as he slips out of her.
"Lando." Y/n huffs from the loss as he reaches down almost grimacing from the speed he pulls the condom off and tosses it aside without thought. He'll pick it up later.
He takes a couple heavy breaths, excitement of this moment making the air prickle with electricity that makes her breath hitch before he slides back into her, and while he's aware that it's more about what he feels that what she feels. But y/n shudders at the feeling.
Y/n can feel more of him, the veins, every ridge of his dick no longer smoothed by latex brushing through her walls making her moan, bearing down to try and feel more of him.
"Fuck. You feel incredible, baby. How have I waited this long?" Lando grunts not feeling like any word describes how y/n feels wrapped around him. "You were made for me. This pussy was made for me."
Y/n twitches around him, her orgasm nearing more.
"You going to let me fill you up, baby? Going to let me make you mine once and for all? No going back after this." Lando states since he's pretty sure hitting it raw is an addiction.
It's like heroin, one hit and he's already hooked on the feeling. He'll chase this high for the rest of his life and he'll keep getting his hits every time she lets him feel her pussy around him.
Y/n's orgasm hits with no more warning than that first twitch, she yanks him down onto her legs wrapping around him like she can't get enough of him. Lando spills into her without any control.
He actually gets dizzy feeling like he's never came so hard or so much in his life.
"Lando?" Y/n whispers making Lando blink a time. "Are you with me?"
"I think I might've died in your pussy and gone to heaven." Lando croaks then frowning. "Did I pass out?"
"Yeah...a bit." Y/n laughs then gently pushing back his sweaty head, her own face glittering with her. "I'll take it as a compliment...Are you ok?"
"I'm fine. I think I might just put blood into you from how hard I came."
"That's ok." Y/n giggles before kissing him. "We can stay like this a bit longer."
"Baby, we can stay like this forever. I'll quit F1 for good if you let me live with you pussy like this around me."
"I think we might wither away and die if I do that. We have to eat...and I'll have to pee at some point-and so will you. Cumming inside is one thing, if you piss in me I'll chop your dick off." Y/n warns playfully, though he thinks that she'd fully follow through on it. Her giggling with his dick still inside her short circuits his head though and he has to hide his face in her neck, shuddering as pleasure ripples through him.
"Fuck, baby. Don't do that unless you really want to kill me." Lando groans rutting into her despite being soft at this point and feeling her leaking out around him. "I'm going to clean you up. I promise. Just give me a bit more time."
"Take as long as you need. I'm enjoying this."
"Good. Because I'm burning any condoms in the vicinity. Never fucking you any other way but raw from here forward." Lando declares earning a smile as y/n sucks in a breath and holds him close. "I think your pussy has just changed my life in a way I didn't know what possible."
"You're welcome. If I knew it'd be so easy I never would've have you wear a condom in the first place."
She would've but he's too spent to argue and now he's taken off the condom, he is just grateful they both enjoyed the experience. Though he might need to make sure he's ok. Passing out after sex might not be the best sign of something.
i would love to see Toto Wolff x Wife!TeamPrincipalFerrari!Reader, toto jealous over something and ending in smut if you cannn ;)
They Heard Everything
🐺 main masterlist | Enemies on Track, Lovers at Home
Toto Wolff x Wife!TeamPrincipalFerrari!Reader
Lewis and Charles apperance
Summary: What was supposed to be a calm Ferrari peace dinner for you, Lewis and Charles quickly turns into chaos: tension, wine, PlayStation wars, and an unexpected return of a very jealous Toto… who later makes it very clear in private exactly who you belong to.
Warnings: 18+, jealous!Toto, married couple, chaotic dinner vibes, Ferrari vs Mercedes banter, Lewis being a menace, Charles enabling him, domestic fluff + smut, oral sex (f receiving), vaginal sex (doggy style), rough sex (light), creampie, loud sex (they definitely heard that),
Word count: 6.4k
Weekends in Italy were supposed to feel peaceful.
That had been the dream, at least. Warm evenings. Long dinners. Olive trees whispering in the breeze. Children running through the house. Wine breathing on the table. A version of life that felt slower, softer, saner than the constant insanity of Formula 1.
And yet, somehow, even here, in your beautiful house tucked away in the Italian countryside, you still found yourself managing two world-class racing drivers like an exhausted but fashionable school principal.
“This is ridiculous,” you muttered, standing in the hallway with your arms crossed while Toto adjusted his jacket by the door.
He looked up. “What is ridiculous?”
“The fact that I am spending my Sunday night hosting a private peace summit for two grown men because they forgot that crashing into each other is generally bad for team morale.”
Toto’s mouth twitched, “You chose Ferrari.”
“I chose challenge,” you corrected.
“You chose chaos.”
You opened your mouth to object, but he stepped closer before you could answer, his hands settling on your waist with irritating ease.
“You’ll survive,” he said.
“I know I’ll survive. I’m not worried about me.” You lifted an eyebrow. “I’m worried about Lewis deciding to provoke Charles for sport and Charles responding like an offended prince from Monaco.”
Toto gave you a deeply unimpressed look.
“So… exactly like every other week.”
You laughed despite yourself.
He leaned in and kissed you, slowly at first, then more deeply, more deliberately, one of those kisses that made it very difficult to remember what sentence you had just been saying.
When he finally pulled back, you blinked at him.
“Toto.”
“What?”
“You’re leaving for meetings to Brackley, not going to war.”
He smiled faintly, far too smug for your liking.
“I like to make an impression.”
“You’re impossible.”
“And you like me anyway.”
You snorted. “Debatable.”
“Liar.”
He kissed you again, shorter this time but just as warm, just as distracting, and when he stepped back there was that familiar look in his eyes — that mix of affection, amusement, and suspicion so unnecessary it almost became endearing.
“Be good and behave,” he said.
You stared at him. “Oh, for heaven’s sake.”
His expression remained perfectly serious. “I mean it.”
“Toto, Lewis and Charles are my drivers.”
“Yes,” he said dryly. “Very handsome, very charming drivers.”
You actually laughed then, reaching out to smack his backside lightly as he turned for the door.
“Maybe they are,” you said. “But I have a much more handsome and much more charming man at home.”
That did get him.
You saw it instantly, the little shift in his expression, the pleased arrogance, the infuriating male satisfaction.
“Also,” you added, “our children are here, and they already have plans to destroy Lewis and Charles on PlayStation.”
“Good,” Toto murmured. “As they should.”
He leaned down, kissed your forehead this time, softer, lingering.
“I love you, Liebling.”
Your face softened immediately. “I love you too.”
Then he was gone.
And you were left alone with the sound of the front door closing, the distant thundering footsteps of your twins upstairs, and the vague sense that the evening was about to become much more complicated than it had any right to be.
You were right. Of course you were right.
“Mama!”
Luca came flying down the stairs first, socks sliding over the polished floor, Luna right behind him with the expression of someone far too clever for eight years old.
“Uncle Lewis is really coming?” Luca asked, eyes wide.
“And Charles too?” Luna added, suspiciously calm.
“Yes,” you said. “And before either of you start planning crimes, remember that this dinner is for team business.”
The two of them looked at each other. That alone was worrying.
“We’re not planning crimes,” Luna said.
You narrowed your eyes. “That is exactly what someone planning crimes would say.”
Luca gasped in offense. “We’re just going to beat them.”
“At what?”
“Everything,” he said, as if the answer was obvious.
A car pulled into the driveway.
Luca practically vibrated, “That’s Lewis!”
He sprinted to the front door so fast that you barely had time to follow before it was already open and Lewis was stepping inside with a grin, sunglasses still on despite the fact that the sun had already begun to dip.
“Well,” Lewis said, opening his arms dramatically, “my favorite Ferrari household.”
“You say that like you haven’t defected from Mercedes to become everyone’s favorite uncle,” you replied.
He put a hand to his chest. “I contain multitudes.”
Luca launched himself at him. Luna followed with more dignity, but only slightly.
Lewis greeted them like a returning hero, which, to be fair, in their eyes he absolutely was.
“Do I smell victory?” he asked them.
“No,” Luna said coolly. “You smell dinner.”
Lewis looked at you, impressed. “That one is dangerous.”
“That one,” you said, pointing at her, “is absolutely her father’s child when it comes to dry sarcasm.”
“And the other?”
You watched Luca try to climb Lewis like a tree.
“Pure chaos. Just like me.”
Lewis laughed.
Then another car pulled in. And the mood shifted. Not badly. Just… noticeably.
Charles walked in a minute later looking elegant without trying, too pretty to be reasonable, and already slightly guarded the second he spotted Lewis standing in your hallway holding a child under each arm like trophies.
Lewis grinned immediately, “Ah,” he said. “The other half of our disaster.”
Charles gave him a flat look. “You say this as if you did not also crash.”
“I was invited first,” Lewis replied.
“That does not improve your case.”
You stepped in before either man could escalate into passive-aggressive Formula 1 foreplay.
“Good,” you said brightly. “You’re both here. Nobody is bleeding. Excellent start.”
Lewis snorted. Charles muttered something in French that was almost certainly unhelpful.
You smiled with all the menace of a woman who had run Ferrari strategy meetings and survived.
“Shoes off,” you said. “Wine later. Civilized behavior now.”
Lewis looked delighted. Charles, to his credit, looked mildly ashamed.
Progress.
Dinner started stiffly. Not awful. Not hostile. But definitely stiff.
Lewis sat to your left, Charles to your right, and for the first ten minutes you genuinely felt like you were mediating a summit between two countries with nuclear capabilities.
The twins, unfortunately, sensed tension the way sharks sensed blood.
“So,” Luca said with great innocence, while reaching for more bread, “which one of you crashed first?”
You closed your eyes briefly. Lewis nearly choked on his wine.
Charles looked betrayed. “That is not a question for dinner.”
“Why not?” Luna asked. “It already happened.”
Lewis set down his glass, grinning despite himself. “Honestly? I like her style.”
“Of course you do,” Charles said.
You stepped in quickly. “The point of tonight is not to rewatch the accident frame by frame.”
Lewis nodded solemnly. “That will happen later, then.”
Charles looked at him. “You are unbelievable.”
“No,” Lewis said, reaching for the bottle, “I’m very believable. You just don’t like what I say.”
And somehow, absurdly, that was the thing that started to thaw it. Not because the tension vanished. But because once they began bickering properly, it stopped sounding resentful and started sounding familiar.
Sharp remarks became teasing ones. Complaints turned into mock outrage. Charles accused Lewis of treating racing like street theatre. Lewis accused Charles of taking every wheel-to-wheel battle like a personal betrayal written by Shakespeare.
You sat there, sipping wine, watching the air gradually clear. By dessert they were arguing over sim settings. By coffee they were debating overtaking etiquette.
By the time the plates had been cleared, Lewis was sprawled back in his chair like he lived there, while Charles had relaxed enough to stop looking like a beautifully dressed hostage.
You leaned back and folded your arms.
“There,” you said. “See? Nobody died. We used our words. Ferrari remains intact.”
Lewis raised a finger. “Emotionally debatable.”
Charles pointed at him. “This is why she invited us privately. Because you do not know how to behave in public.”
“I behave perfectly in public.”
“You wore a knitted bucket hat to the paddock.”
“That was fashion.”
“That was a cry for help.”
You laughed so hard you nearly spilled your drink.
And just like that, the evening stretched. It turned out that when two Formula 1 drivers were no longer actively annoyed enough to pretend they despised each other, they became deeply competitive in every other possible context.
Especially when challenged by eight-year-old twins.
“Absolutely not,” Charles said, staring at the controller in disbelief. “This is unfair.”
Lewis was laughing so hard he could barely breathe.
Luca was bouncing on the sofa. “You lost!”
“I did not lose,” Charles protested. “The car glitched.”
“No,” Luna said calmly from the armchair, “you are just old.”
Lewis wheezed. “You cannot let children call you old,” he managed, barely coherent. “You’re twenty-eight.”
Charles pointed accusingly at him. “They learned this from you.”
“They learned excellence from me.”
“They learned disrespect from you.”
You stood in the doorway holding glass of water and watched the entire spectacle with the quiet, exhausted affection of someone who had accepted long ago that this was now somehow your life.
Ferrari peace talks had devolved into Lewis arguing with children over virtual racing lines while Charles defended his honor against a girl half his height.
Honestly?
It was going better than expected.
Eventually, mercifully, the twins were herded upstairs, bathed, negotiated with, read to, threatened lightly with consequences if they tried to sneak back down, and finally put to bed.
When you came back downstairs, Lewis and Charles were already outside on the terrace, each holding a glass of wine.
The night was warm, the air soft, the lights from the garden casting golden shadows over the stone.
You stepped out with your own glass and sat down across from them.
“You can stay, by the way,” you said. “Both of you. It’s late.”
Lewis immediately grinned. “See? Hospitality. Class. Vision.”
Charles lifted his glass. “Grazie.”
Lewis looked around theatrically. “Also, Toto is not here, so no one will complain about two Ferrari drivers contaminating the property.”
You laughed. “Oh, he’d definitely complain.”
“Exactly,” Lewis said. “That is why tonight is special.”
Charles leaned back, far more relaxed than when he had arrived. “I have to admit… this helped.”
You softened at once. “Good.”
He glanced at Lewis, then at you. “It was stupid. The whole thing. We both know that.”
Lewis nodded, more serious now. “Yeah. It was.”
The quiet that followed wasn’t uncomfortable. Just honest. And that was the point of tonight, after all. To clear the air. To remind them they were a team. To make room for irritation without letting it poison everything else.
You smiled faintly and lifted your glass, “To fewer crashes.”
Lewis lifted his own. “To better radio messages.”
Charles sighed. “To Lewis learning basic restraint.”
Lewis opened his mouth to answer...
And then the terrace doors opened behind you.
You turned. And there he was.
Toto.
Still in his jacket, looking like a man who had fought an airport and lost patience with civilization entirely.
For one brief second, nobody said anything.
Then you blinked, “Toto?”
He stood in the doorway with the kind of expression that could only be described as deeply, profoundly unamused.
“There were problems with the flight,” he said flatly. “I waited at the airport for two hours only to be told I leave tomorrow morning instead.”
You stared at him. “Why didn’t you call?”
His jaw tightened just slightly. “I assumed you were busy.”
There was something in the way he said it that made Lewis’s face light up instantly with wicked delight.
Because yes. There you all were. Late at night. On the terrace. Wine in hand. You in the middle. Lewis and Charles looking completely at home.
Toto’s gaze moved from you to Lewis to Charles and back again.
“I see,” he said, in the driest tone imaginable, “the dinner went well.”
Lewis actually barked a laugh.
“Oh, oh,” he said, setting his glass down. “Toto, don’t be jealous. Boss had to discipline us.”
Charles, to your absolute horror, looked like he was trying not to laugh too.
Toto remained motionless, “I am not jealous.”
Lewis grinned wider. “That is exactly what a jealous man says.”
“Toto,” you said, already laughing, “please.”
He stepped out onto the terrace, slowly removing his jacket with the stiff dignity of a man determined not to cause a scene while absolutely causing one anyway.
“The children?” he asked.
“Asleep,” you said.
“And these two are still here.”
Charles finally lost the battle and looked down, smiling into his glass.
Lewis, on the other hand, was having the time of his life.
“Yes,” he said cheerfully. “We thought we’d move in. Great wine, beautiful terrace, excellent company, emotionally intelligent management—”
“You already left Mercedes,” Toto cut in. “You cannot also steal my house.”
You covered your mouth, trying not to laugh.
Lewis placed a hand over his heart. “Your house? Wow. Listen to him. So possessive.”
Toto gave him a look of such cool Austrian irritation that it only made Lewis enjoy himself more.
Charles finally spoke, very mild, very dangerous, “To be fair, we were invited.”
Toto turned to him. “I am aware.”
“By your wife,” Lewis added helpfully.
“I am also aware of that.”
You stood up before this could spiral into a full midnight disaster.
“All right,” you said, pointing a warning finger at all three of them. “Enough. Nobody is fighting on my terrace. Not after I spent an entire evening fixing Ferrari.”
Lewis leaned back in his chair like a man watching premium entertainment.
“You should hear yourself,” he said. “You sound exactly like a tired headmistress.”
“She does,” Charles agreed.
Toto looked at you then, and despite the jealousy and the annoyance and the absurdity of the situation, something in his expression softened. Just a little. You saw it immediately.
You walked over to him, took his hand, and squeezed.
“They stayed because the dinner worked,” you said softly. “Not because I’m secretly collecting drivers.”
Lewis coughed into his drink.
Charles made a suspicious choking sound that was almost definitely laughter.
Toto looked over your head at both of them.
“That was not helpful,” he said.
“Neither was showing up like a barbarian husband returning from war,” Lewis replied.
At that, you fully laughed, the kind that made your shoulders shake. Even Charles gave up and laughed too.
Toto looked at all three of you with the expression of a man questioning every life choice that had led him here.
Then he exhaled through his nose and muttered, “Unbelievable.”
You stepped closer and kissed his cheek. “Come sit down,” you said. “You can glower properly with a glass of wine.”
He looked at you. Then at Lewis. Then at Charles.
Then back at you. “…One glass.”
Lewis lifted the bottle immediately. “That’s the spirit.”
“No,” Toto said, sitting down beside you at last, one arm settling firmly around the back of your chair. “This is surveillance.”
Lewis nearly fell over laughing. Charles hid his grin behind his glass.
Toto’s arm remained stretched along the back of your chair in that deceptively casual way of his, which in reality meant exactly one thing: territorial Austrian behavior in progress.
You took a sip of wine to hide your smile.
Lewis, unfortunately, noticed everything. He leaned back in his chair, looking entirely too pleased with himself, glass dangling lazily from his fingers.
“You know,” he said, glancing at you with that bright, innocent expression that never meant anything good, “I have to say— this evening was very impressive.”
You already knew this tone. You did not like this tone.
Charles, apparently, knew it too, because he lowered his glass slightly and looked at Lewis with the resigned expression of a man watching someone toss a lit match into a dry forest.
Toto turned his head just enough to look at Lewis.
“Dangerous start.”
Lewis ignored him beautifully.
“No, but really,” he went on, nodding toward you, “she handled everything perfectly. Calm, smart, diplomatic, firm when needed. Honestly? Exceptional leadership.”
You felt the warmth rise to your face just slightly and waved a hand.
“Oh, please—”
“No, no,” Lewis said, cutting you off. “I mean it. Charles and I came here still mildly annoyed with each other, and now look at us.”
Charles lifted one shoulder. “We are at least no longer considering murder.”
“That,” Lewis said solemnly, “is growth.”
You laughed.
Toto gave a slow nod, swirling his wine with far too much composure.
“Well,” he said, voice dry, “that is good. Ferrari finally has a competent team principal.”
You turned to look at him. There it was. That soft look. That little curve of his mouth as his eyes found yours again, warm and proud and quietly affectionate beneath all the sarcasm.
Your expression softened instantly. But then, because Lewis had apparently woken up today and chosen chaos with intent, he added, far too casually, “And on top of that, she’s beautiful.”
He winked at you.
You closed your eyes for one single second.
Oh no.
Beside you, Toto went very still. Not dramatically. That would have been easier.
No, Toto went still in the way powerful men did when they were pretending not to react while reacting very much.
Charles made a faint choking sound into his glass, which might have been laughter desperately fighting for survival.
You slowly lowered your wine.
Lewis, having sensed blood in the water, smiled wider.
“I’m just saying,” he continued, as if this were an ordinary and reasonable observation to make to your husband, “intelligent, competent, beautiful… Ferrari is really thriving.”
Toto turned his head and looked at him with terrifying politeness. “Lewis.”
“Yes?”
“Do you enjoy making poor decisions late at night, or is this a special occasion?”
Charles laughed into his hand. You pressed your lips together.
Lewis, monstrous man that he was, only leaned back farther and grinned. “I’m complimenting your wife.”
“I noticed.”
“And agreeing that she’s brilliant.”
“I also noticed.”
“And—”
Toto raised an eyebrow.
Lewis paused just enough to make it worse, “—very easy to talk to.”
You muttered into your glass, “For the love of God.”
Charles finally gave up and openly laughed.
Toto looked at him next. “You too?”
Charles held up one hand innocently. “No, no. I am merely an observer. I am learning.”
“Terrible habits,” Toto said flatly.
Lewis put a hand to his chest. “You wound me.”
“You survive.”
“Oh, I survive very well.” Lewis took another sip, then looked at you with theatrical sincerity. “You know, after all those years working with Toto, I can really appreciate the difference. Your management style is so much more— how do I put this—”
You stared at him.
He smiled sweetly, “Emotionally mature.”
That did it. Charles nearly dropped his glass laughing. You turned your face away entirely because if Toto saw your expression, you were finished.
Toto, meanwhile, remained silent for three dangerous seconds.
Then, “Interesting,” he said calmly. “And yet you won most of your championships under my emotionally immature management.”
Lewis pointed at him at once, “Ah, but see, that is because I had resilience.”
You made a strangled noise that was definitely not a laugh.
Toto looked at you. “You find this funny?”
You met his gaze over the rim of your glass, visibly failing to look innocent.
“A little.”
“A little,” he repeated, offended in the most elegant possible way.
Lewis lifted his glass toward you. “See? She’s honest too. Another quality.”
Toto gave a slow nod. “Yes. And she has exceptionally poor taste in dinner guests.”
That finally made you laugh outright.
“Oh, now he’s sulking,” Lewis said.
“I am not sulking.”
Charles, still visibly amused, murmured, “This is absolutely sulking.”
Toto turned to him. “You are in my house.”
Charles looked around the terrace. “This feels less like a threat and more like a geographic fact.”
Lewis slapped the table once, delighted.
You were almost crying with laughter now, shoulders shaking, wine forgotten in your hand.
Toto looked at you and, despite himself, that stubborn line of irritation around his mouth softened immediately. Because he could never hold the pose when you looked this happy.
You saw it happen. So did Lewis. Which meant, naturally, that he pounced.
“There,” Lewis said, pointing at Toto. “That. That face.”
Toto frowned. “What face?”
“That one,” Lewis said. “The one where you try to be terrifying but your wife smiles at you and suddenly you look like a man who would build her a small country if she asked.”
You covered your face with one hand.
Charles made a soft, scandalized sound of agreement. “Actually… yes.”
Toto blinked once, as if deeply offended by the idea. “I would not build her a country.”
Lewis tilted his head.
“No?”
Toto’s arm slid down from the back of your chair to settle around your waist, firm and instinctive. “I would buy her one.”
The silence lasted for half a second. Then Lewis burst out laughing so loudly that somewhere upstairs you were almost certain one of the twins turned in bed.
Charles bent forward, shaking with laughter into his glass.
You just stared at your husband.
“Toto.”
He looked at you, perfectly composed again. “What?”
“You are impossible.”
“And yet,” he said, the corner of his mouth lifting as he glanced at Lewis, “apparently still preferable.”
Lewis sighed dramatically. “Ah yes. The curse of being handsome, talented, and still somehow not the husband.”
“Tragic,” Toto said.
“Cruel, really.”
Charles, now fully enjoying himself, added, “Life is full of injustice.”
You pointed at all three of them.
“No. Absolutely not. I refuse to be trapped here while three grown men turn into theatre students after midnight.”
Lewis sat back, smiling. “You invited us.”
“I invited two Ferrari drivers,” you said. “I did not consent to this level of nonsense.”
“Same thing,” Charles murmured.
You set your glass down with a tiny click and stood up. That got everyone’s attention immediately.
“All right,” you said, in the tone that had ended more meetings, arguments, and strategy disputes than anyone in Formula 1 cared to count, “that is enough. I have had one successful reconciliation dinner, one airport-returning jealous husband, three glasses of wine, and approximately six years taken off my life by this conversation.”
Lewis was still smiling. “So… one more bottle?”
“No.”
Charles, to his credit, looked instantly obedient. “Understood.”
Lewis looked wounded. “You like him more right now.”
“I do.”
“Unfair.”
“You started this.”
“Worth it,” he said at once.
Toto muttered, “That is the problem.”
You folded your arms, “Time to sleep. Both of you.”
Lewis looked at Charles. “We’ve been dismissed.”
Charles stood, smoothing down his shirt with princely calm. “Honestly, fair.”
You pointed toward the hallway. “Guest rooms. No late-night scheming. No opening old race replays. No trying to steal food from my kitchen at two in the morning.”
Lewis raised a hand. “That last one feels targeted.”
“It is.”
Charles nodded politely to you, then looked at Toto. “Good night.”
Toto gave him a brief nod. “Good night.”
Lewis stood too, stretching like a cat and looking entirely too cheerful for a man who had spent the last twenty minutes provoking an Austrian billionaire for sport.
“Sleep well, Toto,” he said brightly. “Try not to dream of emotionally mature leadership.”
Toto stared at him.
You grabbed Lewis lightly by the sleeve and steered him toward the hallway before your husband decided that murder, in fact, remained an option.
“Move,” you said.
Lewis laughed all the way to the stairs, Charles beside him still shaking his head with quiet amusement.
At the foot of the staircase, Lewis turned once more and called softly, “Good night, boss!”
You narrowed your eyes. “Go to bed.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Charles disappeared first.
Lewis followed a second later, still grinning like the human embodiment of bad ideas.
And then, finally, silence. Real silence.
You exhaled.
Behind you, Toto rose from his chair. Slowly.
You turned.
He was watching the hallway with the expression of a man who had survived battle and was now reevaluating his friendships.
“Well,” you said lightly, stepping toward him, “that went well.”
He looked down at you, “Did it?”
You smiled, slipping your hands up his chest.
“No one fought. Charles and Lewis stopped sulking. The children adore them. The house is still standing. I’d call that a success.”
Toto’s hands found your waist at once.
“Yes,” he said. “And my reward for this success was listening to Lewis call my wife emotionally mature and beautiful while sitting on my terrace drinking my wine.”
You bit back a laugh.
“When you say it like that, it does sound a little dramatic.”
“A little?”
You rose onto your toes and kissed the corner of his mouth, “You were jealous.”
“I was observant.”
“You were jealous.”
He looked at you for a long second.
Then his hands tightened slightly on your waist, “…A little.”
You smiled in triumph, “Thought so.”
He sighed, but there was no real annoyance left in him now, only that familiar warmth, that helpless softness he reserved for you when no one else was looking.
“Come,” he murmured, brushing his thumb over your side. “Before one of them comes back for more wine and I decide friendship has limits.”
You laughed softly and let him guide you inside.
The terrace doors closed behind you with a soft click, and for a brief moment the house was quiet again, wrapped in warm darkness and the last fading hush of the evening.
You barely made it halfway down the corridor before Toto’s hand caught your wrist.
You turned, and he pulled you straight into him.
The kiss landed hard, immediate, full of everything he had been holding back since he had stepped onto that terrace and found you sitting there between Lewis and Charles with a glass of wine in your hand and that calm, composed smile of yours that always undid him a little faster than he would ever admit.
“Toto—” you murmured against his mouth, half breathless already, half laughing.
He didn’t answer right away. He just kissed you again. Deeper this time. Slower. Like he was making a point.
By the time you reached your bedroom, your pulse was already unsteady, your fingers curled into the front of his shirt, his hand firm at your waist as he pushed the door shut behind the two of you.
The sound of the lock sliding into place felt louder than it should have.
You looked up at him. There was something almost unfair in the way he watched you then—tie slightly loosened, hair not quite in place anymore, eyes dark with that familiar mixture of jealousy, love, and a kind of raw devotion he never managed to hide from you when the rest of the world finally fell away.
And then suddenly you were moving again.
He pulled you in, one arm around your waist, the other sliding up your back, and before you could even form a proper protest, he lifted you in one smooth motion like it was nothing at all.
You let out a startled little gasp, your hands flying to his shoulders.
“Toto— what are you doing?”
He pressed you gently but firmly against the wall beside the bedroom door, his body close, one thigh between yours, his face only inches from yours now.
“Proving a point,” he murmured.
His mouth brushed your jaw. Then your cheek. Then back to your lips.
Your breath caught, “What point?”
He leaned back just enough to look at you, one hand steady at your hip, the other cradling the back of your neck like something precious and entirely his.
“That you belong with me.”
The words should have sounded arrogant. And maybe from anyone else, they would have.
But from him, here, now, with his forehead resting briefly against yours and his breathing just as uneven as your own, they sounded less like a claim and more like a truth he felt all the way down to his bones.
You softened instantly. “Toto…”
His thumb brushed over your cheek.
“I know Lewis was teasing,” he said quietly. “I know Charles was just enjoying the show. I know all of it.”
You searched his face. “But?”
His mouth curved faintly, though there was still something vulnerable under it now.
“But I came home and found my wife looking beautiful in our house, laughing with two very charming Ferrari drivers, and I disliked it on principle.”
A laugh escaped you before you could stop it.
“On principle?”
“Yes.”
“That was the most ridiculous thing I’d ever heard.”
“I am aware.”
You smiled, your hands sliding up into his hair.
“And dramatic.”
“I am Austrian,” he said, as if that explained everything.
It did, unfortunately, explain quite a lot.
You kissed him then — slowly this time, with no laughter left in it, just warmth and affection and something deeper, something softer that always lived beneath the banter with the two of you.
When you pulled back, you rested your forehead against his.
“For the record,” you whispered, “I do belong with you.”
He closed his eyes for a second at that. Not because he was surprised. Because he felt it. The full weight of it.
When he looked at you again, all the sharpness in him had melted into something achingly tender.
“You are very bad for my peace of mind,” he murmured.
You grinned. “And yet you keep me.”
“Always.”
There was no teasing in that one. Just certainty.
And then, everything shifted again.
His hands slid down, firm, confident, grabbing your hips and then lower, your breath caught as his grip tightened on your ass and in one smooth motion he lifted you again, carrying you toward the bed like it was the most natural thing in the world.
“Toto—” you gasped softly as he laid you down, your body sinking into the mattress. But he didn’t give you time to think.
He was already over you, already pulling at your clothes, his touch urgent now, less patient, like something in him had finally snapped.
“Toto…” you whispered again, breath uneven, your fingers catching his wrist for just a second. “Not now… they are right behind the wall…”
He leaned down and kissed you — hard, deep, stealing the rest of your protest before it could fully form.
When he pulled back, his lips brushed yours as he murmured low, “Let them hear.”
Your heart skipped.
“I am in my house,” he added quietly, voice rougher now, darker, “with my wife.”
His hand slid over your stomach as if to emphasize every word.
“They are guests.”
Before you could answer, before you could even decide whether to argue or laugh or give in, he was already moving again.
His lips trailed down your body, slow at first, then more deliberate, more focused.
You inhaled sharply when he kissed your stomach, your body reacting instantly, instinctively, as one of his hands pushed your underwear down your thighs while the other found your breast, warm, steady, his thumb brushing over your nipple just enough to make you shiver.
“Oh God… Toto…” you breathed out, your voice already softer, weaker, giving in despite yourself.
Because that was the truth. It was always the truth. His touch did this to you. Always.
You felt the last piece of fabric slip away and suddenly you were exposed, vulnerable in a way that only ever felt safe with him.
Your hands moved on their own, fingers tangling in his hair as he lowered himself further, his breath warm against your skin, then he started slowly teasing your pussy and clit.
At first you tried to stay quiet. You really did.
Your lips pressed together, your breathing uneven, every sound caught somewhere in your throat as you clung to that last bit of control.
But it was pointless. Because Toto knew you.
He knew exactly how you reacted. Where to touch. How to move. When to be slower. When to press harder. Every motion deliberate. Every shift calculated to pull you deeper into it.
Your grip tightened in his hair, your body already responding before your mind could catch up, your back arching slightly as a soft sound escaped you despite your efforts.
You tried to stop it.
You failed. Because he didn’t rush. He didn’t need to.
He took his time — building, breaking, drawing it out just enough that you started to forget where you were, who might hear, what you had even been trying to hold back in the first place.
And slowly, inevitably, you lost yourself in it.
Just when you felt yourself getting close, right there, right on the edge... Toto suddenly stopped.
A frustrated, breathless sound escaped your lips, your body still tense, still aching for him, every nerve ending lit up and waiting.
And instead of giving you what you needed, he leaned in and pressed slow, deliberate kisses along the inside of your thighs.
Your breath stuttered instantly.
You looked down at him, and there it was. That look. Dark. Hungry. Knowing exactly what he was doing to you.
He smiled, slow, predatory, completely in control.
“Turn over,” he murmured.
Your mind protested immediately.
Oh no… no, no—
But your body? Your body reacted before you could think.
A soft, needy sound slipped from your lips as you moved, turning onto your stomach, your breath uneven, your heart racing.
And without even realizing it, you arched. Your hips lifted, pressing back toward him, inviting him, offering yourself without hesitation.
You heard him shift behind you. Felt the mattress dip. Felt him closer.
And then, he was inside you. One deep, powerful thrust that stole the air from your lungs, a broken sound tearing from your throat as your entire body reacted at once.
You didn’t think anymore. You couldn’t. Everything faded except him, the way his cock filled you, the way he moved, the way every inch of him felt impossibly deep, overwhelming, consuming.
This position — he knew. He knew exactly what it did to you. How it made everything sharper. Stronger. How every movement hit deeper, more intense, impossible to ignore.
Your sounds grew louder, slipping past any control you had tried to keep, each thrust pulling another reaction from you, your body giving in completely.
His hand gripped your hip, firm, possessive, fingers pressing into your skin, holding you steady while the other slid between your legs, finding your clit instantly. Exactly where you needed him.
Your whole body jolted.
A gasp, then a softer moan, your grip on the sheets tightening as the sensation built again — faster this time, stronger, overwhelming.
Your breathing broke apart, your body tightening, reacting before your mind could catch up.
Behind you, Toto felt it. Of course he did. He always knew.
His movements became faster, deeper, more urgent, chasing that same edge with you, his breath rough, uneven, close to your ear now.
“That’s it, Liebling…”
Your name for him slipped from your lips, broken, breathless.
“Don’t—” you tried, but it fell apart immediately.
“Come for me,” he murmured, voice low, commanding, sending a shiver straight through you.
A pause, just enough to make it worse.
“I want to feel it.”
That was it. The last thread snapped.
The tension inside you broke all at once, your body tightening, arching, a louder, uncontrollable sound escaping you as everything hit at once, strong. Overwhelming.
“oh God, Toto— yes… yes—”
Your voice broke, rising without control as the orgasm crashed through you, your whole body trembling with the force of it.
Your pussy pulsed around his cock, your body reacting without restraint, completely lost in the sensation.
And he followed you immediately. You felt it, in the way his grip tightened, in the way he pressed deeper, closer, like he needed to be fully there, fully inside you as he let go too.
His forehead dropped against your shoulder, his breath rough, uneven, his control slipping completely for those few seconds.
He leaned down, his teeth grazing your shoulder in a sharp, instinctive bite, his voice low, almost growled, “Mine.”
And then, everything slowed.
The intensity faded into something softer, heavier, your bodies still pressed together as your breathing gradually steadied.
You both collapsed onto the bed, warm, flushed, completely spent.
You could feel his heartbeat against your back — fast, strong, still racing. Yours matched it.
For a moment, neither of you moved. Just breathing. Just existing in the aftermath of it.
A soft, breathless laugh escaped you. “Oh my God, Toto… what was that?”
He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he pressed a slow, gentle kiss to the place he had just marked, softer now, almost tender. Then another kiss.
And finally, quieter, “That…” he murmured, his voice still low but no longer rough,
“…was me reminding you how much I love you.”
You smiled softly at his words, still catching your breath, your body warm and heavy beneath him.
“You did that on purpose,” you murmured, voice quiet but amused. “I’m sure Lewis and Charles heard everything.”
You huffed out a small laugh. “My voice could wake the dead… and there is a reason the kids’ rooms are on the other side of the house.”
Toto didn’t stop. His lips were still at your neck, slow, unhurried, brushing soft kisses along your skin that sent small shivers down your spine, completely different now—gentle, grounding, almost lazy.
His hand drifted over your stomach, warm and steady, fingers tracing absent patterns as if he needed to keep touching you just to remind himself you were still there.
For a moment, he didn’t answer.
Then, quietly, “Well,” he murmured against your skin, “they knew what they were signing up for when they decided to stay the night.”
You let out a soft laugh, turning your head slightly to look at him.
“Tomorrow morning is going to be awkward.”
He hummed, unconcerned, pressing another kiss just below your ear.
“Good,” he said simply.
You blinked. “Good?”
“Maybe they will disappear before breakfast.”
That made you laugh properly then, the sound light, unrestrained, your hand coming up to brush through his hair.
“You are impossible.”
He lifted his head just enough to look at you, that familiar, quiet confidence back in his eye, but softer now, warmer.
