If The Stars Could Reach Us - Lance Stroll

𝐄𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭

❝ Iᴛ ᴀʟᴡᴀʏs ᴇɴᴅs ᴛʜᴇ sᴀᴍᴇ﹐ ᴡʜᴇɴ ɪᴛ ᴡᴀs ᴍᴇ ᴀɴᴅ ʏᴏᴜ﹐ ʙᴜᴛ ᴇᴠᴇʀʏ ᴛɪᴍᴇ I ᴍᴇᴇᴛ sᴏᴍᴇʙᴏᴅʏ ɴᴇᴡ﹐ ɪᴛ's ʟɪᴋᴇ ᴅᴇ́ᴊᴀ̀ ᴠᴜ ❞

・・・・・・・・ ō͡≡o˞̶

𝓜𝓪𝔂𝓪'𝓼 𝓹𝓸𝓿

I try to ignore Lance as much as possible during dinner and talk to as many other sponsors as I can. My body stiffens when I feel his hand on my knee, and I immediately turn my head to him.

"Are you done ignoring me?" He asks, tilting his head a bit.

"I was not ign–" My sentence is cut short as he squeezes my thigh.

"Are you sure about that?"

"Lance, I have more sponsors to talk to. I am sorry you felt ignored."

He snickers before he leans into my ear, "You know what you can't ignore? The fact that I've been wanting to rip that dress off you ever since I arrived and saw you wearing it. Does Chris know it is my dress?"

He is testing me; I know he is. And two can definitely play the game he is trying to play.

"Oh, he knows," I say nonchalantly, grab Lance's hand, and pull it from my leg up the table. My eyes meet those of Christopher. I smile at him, and I receive a smile back.

Lance's hand slides beneath the tablecloth, sliding over my thigh, inside my dress, and close to my panties, teasing his way up.

My eyes widen as I look at him; I try to grab his hand to pull it off me, but he shakes his head as a devilish smile appears on his lips, "Are you going to be a good girl and keep quiet?"

I nod, not trusting the volume of my voice now.

"Good," He whispers, applying pressure while rubbing over my panties. "You don't want your new boy toy to know what we're up to, huh?"

"La–" I bite my lip to stifle a moan.

"You better stay quiet, princess."

"Asshole," I hiss between gritted teeth.

Lance's lips maintain a devilish smirk as he moves the fabric of my panties aside, his fingers slipping between my slick folds, "Princess," He clicks his tongue. "You're so wet. Is that all for me?"

I shift in my seat, allowing Lance better access, and my thigh presses against his hand. He takes advantage of the situation, his fingers slipping further, seeking out my throbbing clit.

I grip the edge of the table, my knuckles turning white as I struggle to maintain a semblance of composure, "Lance–"

"Keep it together," He whispers, his fingers expertly manipulating my desire. "We don't want to attract too much attention."

If there is a moment that I hate Lance, it is right now. I hate him for testing the power he has over me, for seeking the limits and pushing all my buttons at once. And I absolutely want to scold myself for folding so damn quickly.

Unable to contain myself any longer, I reach for my wine glass. Lance smirks at my reaction, his touch becoming more insistent, his fingers tracing tantalizing patterns against my core. A stifled gasp escapes my lips, and I quickly take a sip of my wine to disguise the sound.

Lance applies the right amount of pressure that has me biting back a moan. My cheeks flush with heat, and my body is aching for release– but knowing Lance, he will have me begging for that first.