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The garage was a hollowed-out shell after the frenzy of the race. The last of the mechanics had scattered, leaving behind the skeletons of cars and the heavy silence of post-race reckoning. Max found Charles by his driver’s room, still in his race suit, the top half tied around his waist, a bottle of water held loosely in one hand.
“What the hell was that, Charles?” The words came out flat, a cold blade.
Charles turned. “What was what, Max? It was a racing incident. You left the door open.”
“A racing incident.” Max took a step forward, the space between them shrinking to nothing. “You turned in on me like I was a ghost. Like my car wasn’t there. I was ahead. You knew I was there. You fucking knew.”
“I was alongside.” Charles’s chin lifted. “It was my corner. You squeezed me.”
“You crashed me out. P5. From a potential win to P5 because you decided to be a hero in a closing corner.” Max’s voice dropped, a low, dangerous rumble. He crowded Charles backward, past the open door of the driver’s room, into the small space. A single chair, a table, a bag. He kicked the door shut with his heel. The lock clicked.
Charles’s back hit the wall near the ensuite shower cubicle. “It is racing, Max. Sometimes it happens. Do not be a baby about it.”
“A baby.” Max’s hand shot out to grip Charles’s jaw, fingers digging into the bone. He forced his head up. “You think this is me being a baby?”
Charles’s breath hitched. “Max… we can talk about this.”
“We are done talking.” Max’s other hand went to the waistband of Charles’s fireproof undershorts and the suit bunched there. He yanked, the material strong but giving way under his force. He pushed everything down Charles’s thighs in one rough move, trapping his legs. The cool air of the room hit Charles’s skin.
“Max, wait—not here—”
“Here.” Max affirmed. His eyes were glacial blue, fixed on Charles’s face. “Right here. Because you need to remember who you belong to when you are on that track with me.”
Charles was exposed from the waist down, beautiful and already trembling. His cock, half-hard from the adrenaline and the conflict, lay against his thigh. And below it, the soft, pink folds of his pussy, already glistening with a betraying wetness. Max knew that body. He had worshiped it, fucked it senseless, made it sing. Now he would punish it.
“You are wet.” Max said, his voice thick with contempt. “Already. For this.”
“No,” Charles whispered, but it was a lie, and they both knew it.
Max dropped to his knees. The hard floor bit into his bones. He didn’t care. He pushed Charles’s thighs apart wider, his grip bruising. He leaned in and blew a hot breath over the delicate skin of Charles’s inner thighs, then his pussy. Charles jerked. “Max, please…”
“Please what?” Max looked up, his gaze searing. “Please stop? Or please more?”
He didn’t wait for an answer. He licked a broad, crude stripe from Charles’s perineum up through his folds, gathering the slickness. Charles cried out, a sharp, choked sound. Max did it again, slower, circling the tight furl of his hole before focusing on his clit. He sucked the little bud into his mouth, hard, using his teeth just enough to make Charles gasp and buck.
His hands held Charles’s hips pinned to the wall. He ate him out with a focused intensity to dominate, to overwhelm. His tongue stabbed into his cunt, fucking him with it, tasting the unique, musky-sweet flavor of him.
Charles’s hands flew to Max’s hair to fist in the blonde strands, holding on.
“You taste like mistake,” Max growled against his skin, lapping at the flood of arousal. “You taste like my lost podium.”
He stood up suddenly, leaving Charles gasping and shuddering. Max unbuckled his own trousers, freeing his cock. It was fully erect, thick and heavy, the tip already wet. He pressed it against Charles’s stomach, leaving a damp smear. “Look at you. A mess for me. Even after you wreck my race.”
Then his hand moved. Two fingers, rough and unyielding, pressed against Charles’s other entrance, the tight, virgin-like pucker of his asshole. There was no lubricant, no preparation beyond the spit from Max’s mouth.
“Max, no—not there—dry—” Charles’s eyes flew wide with real panic.
“Yes there,” Max hissed. “You took something from me. I take this.”
He pushed. The first knuckle breached, dry and agonizingly tight. Charles screamed, a raw, tearing sound, his body arching away from the wall, only to be forced back by Max’s solid weight. Max worked his finger in, a brutal, twisting invasion. It was too tight, too dry. He felt the ring of muscle fight him, then tear. A hot, slick resistance gave way. When he pulled his finger out, the tips were smeared with bright red.
“You bleed for me,” Max said, showing Charles the blood. “A little reminder. Inside you.”
Charles was sobbing, tears streaking his beautiful face. The pain was sharp and bright, but beneath it, a horrifying, shameful current of arousal still pulsed. His pussy dripped onto the floor.
Max turned his attention there. He brought his blood-smeared hand to Charles’s cunt, rubbing his own blood and Charles’s slick together over the swollen lips. Then he drew his hand back and brought it down in a sharp, open-palmed slap right against Charles’s pussy.
The sound was wet, loud. Charles shrieked. The pain was immediate, a sting that radiated through his core. But with it came a violent, uncontrollable rush.
“You see?” Max said, his voice almost a purr now. He slapped the pussy again, watching it redden, watching another, smaller gush follow. “Your body knows. It knows it deserves this. It comes for me even when I hurt it.”
He didn’t let Charles recover. He lined up his cock, the broad head pushing against the soaked, abused entrance of Charles’s pussy. “This is what you really want. This is what that little stunt on track was for. To get my attention. To get this.”
He thrust in, one punishing drive that buried him to the hilt. Charles’s cunt was impossibly tight and hot and wet, clenching around him in spasms of pain and residual pleasure. Max groaned, the sensation immense. He pulled out almost all the way and slammed back in
He bit Charles’s shoulder, right through the thin material of his undershirt, teeth sinking into the muscle. Charles wailed. “Next time,” Max snarled into his skin, punctuating each word with a driving thrust, “you try a move like that… this is your penalty. You understand? This cunt is mine. This ass is mine.”
He fucked him like that, against the wall, Charles’s legs trapped by his clothing, his body jolting with every powerful snap of Max’s hips. Max reached between them, his fingers finding Charles’s swollen, sensitive clit. He rubbed it in rough, fast circles, the pressure brutal. “Come again,” he ordered. “I did not say you could stop coming.”
Charles was babbling, a mix of French, English, pleas and curses. His body, treacherous and eager, obeyed. Another orgasm ripped through him, pulsing contraction that squeezed Max’s cock like a vise.
Max grunted, his rhythm faltering for a second before he drove harder.
He pulled out suddenly, turning Charles around to face the wall. He pushed his torso down, bending him over, and pulled his hips back. He spat onto his hand, slicking his cock and Charles’s torn, tender hole. “You get both,” he muttered. “You lose me a trophy, you get both holes filled.”
He pushed into Charles’s ass this time. The breach was easier now, lubricated by spit and the earlier violation, but still exquisitely tight, a burning, full feeling that made Charles sob into the wall. Max fucked his ass with the same relentless pace, one hand braced on Charles’s back, the other snaking around to his front to torment his clit again, to roughly pinch and pull at his nipples through the fabric of his shirt.
“You are so tight here,” Max groaned, his own control fraying. “So good. You take my cock so well, even when you are a brat on the track.”
He alternated, pulling out of his ass and shoving back into his dripping cunt, then back again, keeping Charles unbalanced, overstimulated, every nerve ending screaming. He leaned over Charles’s back, capturing his mouth in a deep, biting kiss. He could taste salt and tears. His tongue invaded, claiming. “My beautiful, stupid Charles,” he breathed into the kiss. “My reckless, perfect driver. Mine.”
He stood up straight, his hands gripping Charles’s hips hard enough to leave marks. He pulled Charles back onto his cock with every thrust, the slap of skin echoing in the small room. He spanked him, hard, on the ass cheek, watching the skin redden under his palm. “Such a good girl for me now. Taking your punishment.”
The degradation, the ownership in the words, mixed with the relentless physical stimulation, pushed Charles over another edge. He came again, a shuddering orgasm that left him limp, held up only by Max’s grip and the pressure against the wall.
Max felt his own climax coiling, a tight heat in his gut. He pulled Charles upright, his back to Max’s chest. He wrapped one arm around Charles’s chest, holding him close, and the other under his thigh, hiking his leg up to open him wider. He fucked up into Charles’s cunt from this angle, deeper, the tip of his cock battering against the very end of him.
“You feel that?” Max rasped in his ear. “That is me. In your womb. Marking it. Putting my claim so deep inside you nothing can wash it out.” He punctuated the words with upward drives. Charles was a boneless, over-sensitized weight in his arms, whimpering with each impact.
Max’s orgasm hit him like a tidal wave. He buried himself as deep as he could go, his cock pulsing, flooding Charles’s cunt with his release. He held himself there, grinding, as he emptied every drop.
For a long moment, the only sounds were their ragged breaths. Max slowly let Charles’s leg down, but kept him pinned against the wall, his softening cock still sheathed inside the warm, used clutch of his body.
He nuzzled the sweaty hair at Charles’s temple. The anger was gone, burned away, replaced by a possessive warmth. He licked a stripe up Charles’s neck. “You are okay,” he said, his voice low and different now.
Charles made a broken sound. “I hate you.”
“No, you don’t.” Max gently pulled out. A mixture of their fluids dripped down Charles’s thighs.
Max turned him around. Charles’s face was ravaged, tear-stained, beautiful. Max kissed him, softly this time. “You love me. And you will not take my line again.”
Charles leaned his forehead against Max’s shoulder, exhausted. “It was my corner.”
Max’s hand came up to cradle the back of his head. “It is our corner. And you yield. To me. On track and off it. Understood?”
Charles was silent for a beat. Then he nodded, a small movement against Max’s skin.
“Good.” Max helped him step out of the tangled clothings and pulled Charles into his lap.
Charles curled into him, his body still trembling with aftershocks. Max stroked his back. “You are the most beautiful thing I have ever seen,” he murmured, his lips against Charles’s hair. “And the most infuriating.”
“Your driving style is aggressive,” Charles mumbled.
“My everything is aggressive.” Max’s hand drifted down, cupping Charles’s sore pussy “You like it.”
Charles didn’t deny it. He shifted, a slow, deliberate grind against Max’s palm. “I am still sore.”
“I know.” Max kissed his neck. “But you are still wet for me again. Already.” He could feel the damp heat.
He shifted them, laying Charles back on the cool surface of the table. He spread his legs, he knelt again, but this time his mouth was gentle. He licked at the swollen, sensitive flesh, soothing the stinging skin, lapping up the fresh arousal that Charles’s body, ever traitorous, produced. He suckled his clit with a gentle, persistent pressure until Charles was writhing again, his hands back in Max’s hair, this time guiding, pleading.
Max slid two fingers inside his cunt, feeling his own release still inside, feeling the soft, hot walls clutch at him. He curled his fingers, searching for that spot he knew so well. When he found it, Charles arched off the table with a sharp cry. Max worked him with his fingers and mouth, bringing him to a fourth, then a fifth climax, each one softer than the last, until Charles was a trembling, oversensitive mess, begging him to stop with weak pushes at his head.
Max finally relented, crawling up his body. He was hard again. He nudged at Charles’s entrance. “One more,” he said, not a question. “A sweet one. For me.”
Charles nodded, his eyes glazed. Max slid in, the glide easy now, slick with spit and come and Charles’s endless wetness. He made love to him then, slow and deep, their faces inches apart. He kissed him, swallowing his soft moans. He played with his nipples, rolling them between his fingers.
He whispered to him in Dutch, then in English. “My perfect boy. My champion. My Charles. All mine. This sweet cunt is mine. You give everything to me.”
He came inside him again, a slow, pulsing release. Charles followed, a dry orgasm that was more a full-body shudder than a climax.
Max stayed buried deep, letting the last few twitches of his cock milk the very last drop into Charles's well-used cunt. He didn't move, his weight a solid, claiming pressure. He kissed the side of Charles's mouth, his jaw, the sweat-damp hollow of his throat.
"So good," he murmured, the words a hot puff against Charles's skin. "You take it all. Every drop. You keep it inside you."
He finally pulled out, a slow, deliberate drag that made Charles whimper at the sensitivity. Max looked down between Charles's spread legs. His own come, mixed with Charles's slick, seeped out of the reddened, puffy opening. It was a lewd, beautiful sight. Max dipped two fingers into the mess and gathered it, then brought his fingers to Charles's lips. "Taste it," he said, his voice low. "Taste us."
Charles, pliant and ruined, opened his mouth without hesitation. His tongue swirled around Max's fingers, cleaning them, swallowing the bitter-salty evidence of their joining. His green eyes, hazy with pleasure and exhaustion, stayed locked on Max's blue ones.
"Good boy," Max whispered. He leaned down and kissed him, deep and searching, tasting himself on Charles's tongue. He then moved down Charles's body again, his mouth tracing a path over his sternum, his stomach. He didn't go back to his cunt immediately. Instead, he pushed Charles's thighs wider, further, until his ass was fully exposed. Max lowered his face to the crease between his ass cheek and thigh, nuzzling, then licking a broad stripe over his perineum and the tight, sore ring of muscle he'd violated earlier.
Charles jerked. "Max… it's sore."
"I know," Max said, his voice muffled against his skin. "Let me kiss it better." His tongue was insistent, wet and warm, circling the clenching entrance. He pushed the tip inside, just a little, a soft, probing intrusion so different from the brutal finger from before. Charles moaned, a confused sound of pain and shocking pleasure. Max held his hips down and ate his ass with a slow, lascivious thoroughness, licking and sucking until the muscle relaxed under his ministrations and Charles was pushing back against his face, little broken pleas falling from his lips.
Max pulled back, his chin glistening. "You like that? My tongue in your ass after my cock was in your cunt?"
"Yes," Charles breathed, beyond shame.
"Tell me."
"I like it. I like your tongue there."
Max gave the furled skin one last, wet kiss before sliding back up Charles's body. He was hard again, impressively so. He guided his cock back to Charles's entrance, which was slick and loose and welcoming. He pushed in with one smooth, deep stroke, seating himself fully. Charles wrapped his legs around Max's waist, his heels digging into the small of Max's back.
This time, Max didn't move immediately. He just stayed there, embedded, looking down at Charles's face. He brushed the damp brown hair from his forehead.
"You are mine, Charles Leclerc," he said, the words simple and absolute. "Every part. Your driving. Your temper. Your tears. This perfect cunt. All of it. Mine."
Charles reached up, his hand cupping Max's cheek. His thumb stroked the high bone. "Yours," he echoed, voice raw.
Then Max moved with a possessive leisure, making sure Charles felt every inch, every ridge, every pulse. He leaned down, capturing a brown nipple between his lips. He sucked it into his mouth, rolling the pebbled flesh with his tongue, then grazing it lightly with his teeth. Charles gasped, his back arching. Max switched to the other nipple, giving it the same devoted, torturous attention, his hand coming up to pinch and roll the first one between his fingers.
He shifted then, sitting back on his heels, pulling Charles into his lap so Charles was straddling him, impaled. Charles cried out at the change in angle, the new, profound depth.
"Ride me," Max ordered, his hands on Charles's hips. "Show me how much you love my cock inside you."
Charles, his body weak but willing, placed his hands on Max's shoulders for balance. He began to move, a slow, sinuous roll of his hips, up and down, taking Max so deep it stole his breath. Max watched, transfixed, as Charles pleasured himself on his dick, his head thrown back, his throat a long, beautiful line. Max's hands moved to his ass, kneading the firm globes, spreading them, watching his own cock disappear over and over into that slick, stretched hole.
"Look at you," Max groaned. "You are fucking yourself on me like you were born for it. You were, weren't you? Born to take my cock."
"Yes," Charles moaned, his movements becoming more urgent, less controlled. "Only yours. Always yours."
Max could feel the familiar tightening in his balls, the heat coiling. He took control again, flipping Charles onto his hands and knees on the cool table. He draped himself over Charles's back, fucking him from behind, one hand snaking around to his front to rub frantic circles on his swollen clit.
"Come with me," he demanded, his voice harsh with need. "Now, Charles. Fill my hand with your come. Soak my cock. Do it."
The combined assault—the deep, punishing thrusts, the ruthless stimulation on his clit, the filthy, loving words—was too much. Charles shattered. A gush of fluid, another intense, squirting orgasm, splashed over Max's fingers and dripped onto the floor. The violent clenching of his cunt triggered Max's own release. He drove in as deep as he could, his hips stuttering, and roared as he emptied himself for the third time, painting Charles's insides with his seed.
They collapsed together on the table, a tangled, sweaty, spent heap of limbs. Max kept his arms locked around Charles, his face buried in the crook of his neck, his softening cock still nestled inside the warm, pulsing clutch of his body. They lay there for a long time, just breathing.
Eventually, Max carefully pulled out and gathered Charles into his arms, carrying him to the small sink in the corner. He wet a cloth with warm water and cleaned them both with a tenderness. He patted Charles's sore pussy dry with a soft towel, kissing the reddened skin of his inner thighs.
He dressed them both again, his movements methodical and gentle. He zipped Charles's race suit, his fingers brushing his jaw. Charles leaned into the touch, his eyes soft.
Max looked at him, this beautiful, infuriating man who owned every piece of his soul. He framed Charles's face with his hands. "Oysters," he stated.
A small, tired, genuine smile touched Charles's lips. "And champagne."
Max kissed him, a slow, sealing promise. "Anything you want, liefje. Everything you want." He kept one arm firmly around Charles's shoulders as he opened the door to the empty, quiet paddock night. The air was cool. Charles leaned heavily against him.
Max stopped just outside, turning Charles to face him under the stark garage lighting. He traced the faint bruise on his shoulder with his thumb. "You are never driving away from me again."