For 30+ Advance/Early chapters :p
atreon.com/ScoldeyJod
The word "yes" was a detonation. The kiss that followed wasn't a confirmation; it was the fallout, a wave of heat and pressure that vaporized the last of their restraint. Peter's hands slid from her face to her back, fingers splaying wide as he pulled her flush against him, needing to feel the solid, living proof of her. He felt the firm muscle of her back, the elegant curve of her spine. She was real. This was real.
He deepened the kiss, his tongue tracing the seam of her lips, a silent question she answered by opening for him with a soft, breathy sigh. Her taste was intoxicating, a mix of the cool night air and a unique, clean sweetness that was all her own. Her hands were no longer just gripping his shirt; they were a storm. One tangled in the hair at the nape of his neck, a fist of gentle possession, while the other roamed his back, her fingers pressing into the muscles with a strength that was both thrilling and terrifying.
The need for air was a betrayal, forcing them apart. They stood in the center of his messy room, foreheads pressed together, chests heaving in a frantic, shared rhythm.
"So," he whispered, his voice a ragged mess. "The... uh... the system. What's rule number one?"
A slow, wicked smile spread across Diana's lips. It was a look he'd never seen on her before—predatory, confident, and utterly devastating. "Rule number one," she murmured, her voice a low, husky purr that vibrated through him, "is that we stop talking."
Her mouth was on his again, claiming him. As she kissed him, she began to walk him backwards, her steps sure and deliberate, while his were clumsy and stumbling. He didn't know where they were going until the back of his knees hit the edge of his bed, and he fell backward onto the mattress.
Diana followed him down, her body covering his. She braced herself on her hands, her long, dark hair falling like a curtain around them, creating a world that consisted only of their tangled breaths and the fire in her eyes. The weight of her was a revelation.
"Is this part of the arrangement?" he asked, his voice barely a whisper, his hands coming up to rest on the taut curve of her waist.
"It is a practical application of our agreed-upon principles," she replied, her serious tone completely at odds with her smoldering gaze. She leaned down and kissed the corner of his mouth, then his jaw, then the sensitive skin just below his ear, her lips soft and warm, sending a wildfire across his skin. He groaned, his head falling back into the pillow.
The need to touch her, to feel her skin against his, became an unbearable, primal ache. His hands went to the hem of her t-shirt, hesitating for a fraction of a second. She saw the question in his eyes and gave a small, almost imperceptible nod.
He pulled the shirt over her head, and his breath hitched in a raw gasp. She wasn't wearing a bra. Her breasts were full and perfectly shaped, spilling from her ribcage, the nipples a deep, rosy pink, already hard and pebbled in the cool air of his room. A faint, almost invisible tracery of silvery scars crisscrossed her toned abdomen. They weren't blemishes; they were history, the marks of a warrior. A goddess. And she was in his bed.
"You are… perfect," he whispered, the word feeling clumsy and small.
With a surge of boldness, he leaned up and took a nipple into his mouth. The sound she made—a sharp, strangled gasp of pure pleasure—was like a drug. Her back arched violently off the bed, her hands tangling in his hair, holding him to her. He suckled and teased, his tongue tracing circles, driving her mad while his hands roamed, exploring the strong curves of her body, the dip of her waist, the powerful flare of her hips.
Suddenly, she pushed him back, a surprising strength in her arms. "My turn," she breathed, a command, not a suggestion. She tugged his own shirt off, her cool hands tracing the lean muscles of his chest. He felt a self-conscious flush rise in his cheeks, but the look in her eyes was one of pure, unadulterated hunger. She saw him, and she wanted him.
She knelt on the bed, her eyes tracing a path down his body before locking with his. "There is another aspect of the system we have not discussed," she said, her voice a low thrum. Before he could ask, she leaned forward and unfastened his jeans with a deft, practiced motion. He watched, mesmerized, as she peeled them down his legs, revealing his straining erection, slick with pre-cum.
Her hair brushed against his inner thigh as she lowered her head. The first touch of her warm, wet mouth was a lightning strike. Peter's back arched, his fingers digging into the sheets, his eyes squeezing shut as a raw, helpless sound was torn from his throat. She was incredible. Her movements were confident, knowing, her tongue and lips working a magic that was both divine and wonderfully profane. He was completely at her mercy, lost in a rising tide of pure sensation that was pulling him closer and closer to the edge.
"Diana," he gasped, his voice tight, strained. "Di, I'm... I'm close."
She lifted her head, her lips slick and swollen, her blue eyes dark with passion. "Not yet," she commanded softly.
She moved back up his body, straddling his hips. The rest of their clothes became an intolerable burden, shed with a frantic, mutual urgency until there was nothing left between them. Just skin on skin, heat on heat.
He moved between her parted thighs, her slick heat a welcoming invitation. He paused at her entrance, looking down at her. Her face was flushed, her lips parted, her breasts rising and falling with each ragged breath. He entered her slowly, and a long, shuddering moan escaped her lips, her eyes fluttering shut as she took him in. She was impossibly warm and tight, her inner muscles clenching around him in a welcome that nearly sent him over the edge.
He began to move, a slow, deliberate rhythm. With every deep thrust, he watched, mesmerized, as her perfect breasts bounced in a hypnotic, perfect rhythm. She met his rhythm, her hips rising to meet his, her legs wrapping around his waist, pulling him deeper. The pace quickened, becoming a frantic, desperate dance of friction and heat. The sounds that filled the room were of slick skin, ragged breaths, and her voice, a low, guttural moan, repeating his name like a prayer.
"Peter," she cried out, her nails digging into his back as he drove into her.
He felt the pleasure building, a tidal wave inside him. Seeing her like this, so completely undone, so lost to him, was what finally broke him.
"Diana!" he cried out her name as the release shattered through him, a white-hot torrent that blanked his vision and left him shaking and boneless. A moment later, he felt her body tense and clench around him, a deep, powerful cry tearing from her throat as her own climax seized her in a series of violent, exquisite shudders.
He collapsed on top of her, his forehead resting on her shoulder, their slick bodies tangled together. He had no idea what came next. All he knew was the feeling of her skin against his, the weight of her leg thrown over his, and the profound, earth-shattering certainty that the rules of their system had just been fundamentally, irrevocably rewritten.
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