"And if you have a minute, why don't we go talk about it somewhere only we know?"
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Maya Beaulieu, born and raised in Montreal, has heard the stories about Lance Stroll, the boy who grew up down the street of where she lived. All the reason to stay...
Tigger warning: Mature content incoming 🤭 If that wasn't clear just yet hihi
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The door to Lance's hotel room swings open, and we're both eager to get inside. Lance slams the door shut and immediately walks over to me, crashing his lips against mine.
I pull him closer to my body, and Lance lifts me up, locking my legs around his torso, walking to the bed and sitting down. My legs straddle him, our lips dance together, and our tongues lightly intertwine.
My hand wanders from Lance's arm to his chest, feeling the heat radiating from his body, as well as his growing arousal beneath my ass.
He breaks the kiss, his lips trailing down my neck. I tilt my head back, giving him better access, relishing the sensations that run through my body. His lips move lower, nipping at my collarbone, sending sparks of pleasure coursing through my veins.
I let out a soft moan, my hands finding their way to Lance's hair, tangling in the soft strands as I arch my back, wanting more of his touch. It's been a while since Lance and I had been this intimate since we had been craving each other this much.
Lance smirks lightly, while still kissing my skin, teasingly tracing the outline of my curves, his fingers tracing the invisible line around my collarbone I teased him with earlier. His hands slide over my tights, resting on my hips as he starts grinding pushing them forwards and backwards.
I gasp, throwing my head back again as I feel his bulge running over my panties, closing my eyes in pleasure, "Lance," I moan softly, my hands starting to open the buttons of his blouse.
"Mm, always so impatient for me, aren't you?" Lance grins, his hands cupping my cheeks as he claims my mouth to be his, grinding his hips up again and again.
I continue to unbutton Lance's blouse, my fingers trembling with anticipation as I peel the fabric away, my hands glide over his smooth skin, feeling the contours of his muscles beneath my fingertips.
"Impatient for you?" I whisper against his lips, "Always."
Lance's lips trail down my jawline, and onto my collarbone, leaving a trail of soft, wet kisses along the way. I moan softly, my fingers gripping his hair, gently tugging the strands, urging him to continue.
His fingers slide up my sides, rolling up my dress and tracing my curves. He grabs the hem of my dress, and I immediately pull up both my arms, making it easier for him to toss it over my head on the ground.
His fingers find the clasp of my bra, and with ease, he unfastens it, freeing my breasts. Lance's lips closed around one of my nipples, sucking gently. Pleasure shoots through me, and I bite my lip to stifle a moan.
"Come on, baby," Lance murmurs against the valley between my breasts. "I want to hear you. We are here all by ourselves."
His fingers trail down my abdomen, running over the fabric of my panties, teasingly grazing the edge of my aching core. I writhe against him, desperate for more, as he continues to kiss and suckle my breasts, alternating between them with torturous slowness.
