It’s a game you play while you’re in work, working Sanchez up, seeing how many of his buttons you could push before he gets to breaking point. It always starts with a light brush, the rustle of your clothing against his as you ‘accidently’ slip past him in a doorway. It amps up from there, your hand resting on his lower back for the briefest of moments, your t-shirt tucked just a little bit tighter. He watches you like a predator when you loosen your ponytail, letting your hair fall across your shoulders. His dark eyes burn into yours as you shake it loose because you know how much he loves to run his hands through it.
When you suggest practicing your grapples, you see the way his jaw clenches. He practically shoves Street out of the way, telling you, you need a man with a little more experience, someone who won’t take it easy on you. Sanchez is a wily fuck but you’re a scrappy bitch, it makes for a good workout.
It turns into foreplay within minutes, the two of you in this proximity, grinding, thrusting, forced up against each other, you aren’t ashamed to say it turns you on. You can tell it turns him on to from the way he hisses in your ear as his cock presses against your ass.
“You wanna give it to me that bad huh?” You murmur as his forearm tightens around your throat.
“Sweetheart, you have no idea…”
You knock the wind right out of him with an elbow to the solar plexus.
“You’re getting old baby.” You tease as his grasp on you slips. “Slowing down.”
It’s like a red rag to a bull.
You find yourself flat on your back, the oxygen rushing out of your lungs as you stare up at the ceiling. Sanchez hand fastens on your wrists, pinning them above your head before he grips your jaw so that he can look into your eyes. His hips rut against yours and you can feel his dick, hard and ready pressing against your core.
“You’re gonna pay for that.” He tells you, his hand slipping down to your throat, fingertips squeezing just a little. You moan like a whore and his lips twitch up into the sinful smile as you arch up against him.
“Sweetheart.” He murmurs, his lips brushing over yours. “I’m going absolutely to ruin you.”
So Sanchez is out (head of aerodynamics). That’s what you get for making an understeery car with no front (kidding, but not that much) and building a rearwing that flaps around like a flag.
I’m wondering if they’ll bring Simone Resta back (he’s now in Haas) and hoping whoever gets in Ferrari will listen to the drivers’ desires (please make a pointed car with a strong front for Charles, thank you).
I’m fine with sacrificing this year while cleaning up the team if it means in the next few years we will have a team made of trusted people that will know how to build a car. (I’m not saying Sanchez wasn’t good, but is not acceptable after spending 8 months on this year’s car to have it underperform this much… and also the fucking rear wing… just embarrassing)
Firstly thank you so much for prompting for Sanchez, I adore writing him and I don’t get enough of a chance.
It’s at the LAPD charity auction that Sanchez realises just how out of his league you really are. He comes to these things to get a little facetime with the brass, you do it because you actually give a shit about the charity that’s being supported. It unnerves him how freely you give, not just your money, but your time as well. He doesn’t understand how someone so selfless can be with someone so selfish. He thinks you’ll wake up one morning and realise you’ve made a terrible mistake, that you’ll pack your shit and leave.
The thought of that terrifies him more than he’ll never admit. He’s gone all in on this thing with you, despite what he tells you.
As far as you’re aware, it’s just a casual thing between colleagues but Sanchez, he’s falling in love. He’s thinking about you in the shower, making sure you’re fed before he sends you out to work. The other night he picked you up at the community centre because it was in a shitty neighbourhood and he’d heard you were having car trouble.
Those aren’t the actions of a man, whose simply fucking a woman. They’re proof of just how much he cares.
It’s near the end of the night he manages to get a little one on one time with you. He discreetly wraps his arm around your waist as you drift past the pillar he’s leaning against, drawing you to him. It’s sheltered here, shadowed, nobody would even know you were here as long as you keep quiet. He’s got a couple of ideas of what you could be doing with that mouth instead.
“You drive me crazy, you know that?” He whispers against your skin as his fingertips delve underneath your dress. “Absolutely fucking crazy.”
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