Cropped out - an Oscar Piastri x OC fic

Chapter 32- Sweet Dreams

Oscar:
My hands slide against her skin, the softness of it making it feel like I'm touching fresh linen, the kind you get on bedding in expensive hotels. A small breathy moan reaches my ears as my hands glide lower, skimming her thighs. Oh how I've wanted this. I lower my face, my lips greeting her inner thigh and I smile against her skin when I feel her hand tighten in my hair. I leave a trail of kisses up her thigh, fueled by the small noises she makes, leaving small marks on her precious skin.

"Oscar" she breathes, writhing under the weight of my hands, "Please."

The vulnerability in her voice, the complete and utter willingness to give herself to me makes me smile further into her skin as I tighten my hold on her hips, tight enough that it's probably going to leave a mark. But the small moan that leaves her lips makes it worth it.

"Tell me what you want, Ana." I say, bringing my face up her body, lips gliding over her skin. I pepper more light kisses up her sternum and between her breasts, focusing on her neck and jaw as I wait for her answer. "Tell me what to do."

She moves her head to the side, giving me more access to her throat, goosebumps erupting on her skin as I lap at that sensitive spot near her ear. God, the way she reacts to me.

"I need you Oscar." She pulls my face up to hers and brushes her lips over mine.

There's a breath between us and I wait for her to close the distance, to give me that all consuming kiss.

She brushes her finger over my lip slowly, watching the way it moves under it. Her eyes meet mine again and I barely register the words as she says "wake up."

—
My heart is hammering as I launch up in my bed, sweat coating the back of my neck. The only thing I can hear in my room is my heavy breathing, erratic as if I'd just gone on a run, or woken up from a nightmare.

Fucking hell. When is this going to stop? I sigh out a big breath as I run my hands through my hair and down my face, trying to calm myself down. I reach for my phone, tapping the screen to see that it's 4:32 am. Great.

I've had this...dream nearly every day since Cyprus. Which means I've dreamt of Eliana at least 12 times. If that isn't a problem, then I don't know what is. Sometimes it's the same dream, and sometimes it's...god, sometimes I do things to her I couldn't even fathom. It's making me scared to even look at her. Scared that I might actually want to do those things. But I don't, because she clearly isn't ready after that night on the beach in Cyprus. And I have to respect that. But god, these dreams aren't helping.

I lean my head back against my headboard, staring into the darkness above me. It's pitch black but I don't feel like turning any lights on. At least in the dark I can still see her face, the outline of her body. I'm so done for.

I take another heavy breath and reach for my phone again. I know I'm not going to be able to sleep for a while, so I go onto instagram. My hands know what I'm looking for before my brain does, and before I know it I'm on Eliana's instagram page. It's not stalking if we've...kissed before. For fuck sake, we've slept in the same bed. It's not weird.

I go to her recent post, one I've visited about 50 times since she's posted it. Okay, maybe it is a little weird. It still shocks me that she posted me. Yes, you can't really tell it's me, but she still posted me. Me! Each image brings a pang of longing, a reminder of the distance that had grown between us since the holiday in Cyprus and we haven't really talked much since arriving in Austria, I don't know if it's because she's avoiding me or if we genuinely haven't crossed paths.

Looking back at her instagram I see that she's also posted that little tattoo on her ass. She dragged me to a tattoo shop when we got back to London because she was convinced that we would get matching ones. We didn't, but she said that if I wasn't getting one then I had to be there for her when she did. Which I obliged to, but that was before I realised she was getting it done on her ass. The concentration to not stare at her as she got it done was deep, especially when she squeezed my hand from the pain and when she practically shoved it in my face to ask how it looked. Who knew a little red starfish could suit someone so much. I want to run my tongue along it- No. I need to actually shut up.