VIPER || Oscar Piastri

Chapter 125

[POV: Andreanna Saunterre]

My hair was still damp from the shower, dripping down the back of my t-shirt, and my skin was stinging slightly, probably due to the force at which I scrubbed at it. Burger grease is no joke. It seeps in. Lingers. Like no matter how hard you try, you'll forever smell like caramelised onions and beef fat and cheese.

I picked up my phone from the kitchen counter when it buzzed.

It was Lando. He'd sent a photo — blurry, but clearly my dad beside him in some nightclub, pint glasses raised, grins wide enough to split their faces. Lando looked elated, as would be expected considering he'd been going on and on for years about how he wanted to 'experience Mr Saunterre out on the town.'

I always said there wasn't anything special about it. That my dad's 'out on the town' was going to bed at ten with a mug of Horlicks.

But he looked wasted, and weirdly younger, and one of them seemed to be holding what looked suspiciously like my oven mitt.

A second text came underneath it.

Lando: ur dads a legend
Lando: also he says i can stay in ur room tn

Christ alive.

That's just brilliant. My dad (who KICKED ME OUT of MY OWN HOUSE an hour prior) having the night of his life while I still smelled vaguely of onions.

I rolled my eyes, typed out you're dead to me, and jabbed send.

I was still muttering to myself about oven mitt theft when I felt arms snake around my waist.

"What's so funny?"

Oscar's chest fit against my back, the weight of him forcing me just slightly against the counter's edge.

"Nothing," I muttered, "We're not talking about it."

His chin nudged against my shoulder, nosy. "Is that —wait. Is that an oven mitt?"

I closed my eyes. "We're not talking about it."

"It is an oven mitt. Why is your dad in a club holding an oven mitt?"

"Oscar." I groaned, and he didn't ask about oven mitts again, knowing not to push on.

My fingers loosened around my phone when he nudged it out of my hand and set it down somewhere I couldn't see.

He then slid one palm slowly across my stomach.

I glanced at him, trying to appear unimpressed. "Real subtle, Handsy."

His mouth trailed lower, near my ear now, his voice dropping. "I don't mean it to be," his fingers flexed, digging into my sides just enough to make me sway back into him, "I've wanted you for five whole days. My subtlety filter's gone. Really, I—" he laughed, "I don't know what I'm gonna do when you're back there full-time."

My laugh came out nervous and uneven; Both because he was kissing my neck and because of the implication he made.

That we'd still—

That this would still be happening.

He pulled me back against him again, harder this time, the shape of his body against mine impossible to ignore. My breath caught. I didn't turn — just let my head tilt to the side, exposing more skin, eyes closing.

"You're that impatient?"

"Mhm." he said simply, like it wasn't even up for debate.

I could hear his heart beating through his chest; quick and insistent on me feeling it.