For 30+ Advance/Early chapters :p
atreon.com/ScoldeyJod
The world came back to Peter in pieces. The first was the scent—a musky, salty, and uniquely feminine aroma that was purely Diana, mingled with the smell of their sweat. It was the most intoxicating thing he'd ever smelled. The second was the weight of her leg draped over his, a possessive, comforting anchor in the chaotic aftermath of his senses. The third was the sound of her heart, a steady, powerful thump-thump against his ear, slowing from a frantic gallop to a calm, strong rhythm.
He lay there, boneless and slick with sweat, his mind a blissful, static-filled blank. For the first time in what felt like a lifetime, the constant, anxious buzz of his thoughts was gone, replaced by a profound, humming quiet.
Slowly, carefully, not wanting to break the spell, he shifted his weight, rolling onto his side to face her. He propped his head up on his hand, just looking at her. Her face was flushed, her lips swollen and slightly parted. Her dark hair was a wild halo around her head on his pillow. Her eyes were closed, but a small, serene smile played on her lips. She looked... peaceful. It was a word he never would have associated with the intense, ever-watchful woman from down the hall.
He reached out, his hand trembling slightly, and gently brushed a stray strand of hair from her cheek. Her skin was impossibly soft.
Her eyes fluttered open, deep blue and hazy with satisfaction. She looked at him, and the smile on her lips widened.
"The system," she whispered, her voice a low, gravelly purr, "appears to be functional."
Peter let out a shaky laugh, a sound of pure relief. "Functional? Di, that was... I don't even have words."
"Words are not required for this," she murmured, her hand coming up to rest on his chest, her fingers tracing the faint outline of his ribs. Her touch was light, but it sent a fresh jolt of electricity through his exhausted body. "The data is... compelling."
"Data, huh?" he teased, his own hand moving down to rest on the gentle curve of her hip. "Is that what we're calling it?"
"It is an observation," she said, though the logic in her tone was undermined by the clear pleasure in her eyes. "You are very... thorough... in your practical application."
He leaned in and kissed her, softly this time. There was no desperate hunger, no pent-up tension. It was a kiss of pure, simple affection, a shared acknowledgment of the cataclysmic event that had just passed between them. It was, in its own way, more intimate than everything that had come before.
As he explored the soft planes of her body, his hand drifting down over the firm muscle of her stomach, he felt her tense slightly. He paused, looking at her with a questioning gaze.
"You have scars," he said softly, his thumb gently tracing one of the thin, silvery lines on her abdomen.
"I have lived a... complicated life," she replied, her voice quiet.
"I'm not complaining," he assured her, pressing a soft kiss to the scar. "I think they're beautiful."
He saw something flicker in her eyes then—a deep, profound vulnerability that made his chest ache. He realized, with a jolt, that he was likely one of the very few people who had ever seen her like this: unguarded, unclothed, and completely open. The thought was both humbling and terrifying.
The quiet intimacy, the shared vulnerability, began to stir something new in him. The frantic need from before was gone, replaced by a slower, deeper, and somehow more potent desire. It wasn't just about release anymore. It was about her.
He lowered his head, his lips tracing a path down her body, over her navel, lower still. She let out a sharp, surprised gasp as his mouth found the soft curls at the apex of her thighs.
"Peter," she breathed, her voice a mix of shock and pleasure, her hands instantly tangling in his hair.
He didn't answer. He just parted her gently and took her into his mouth. The taste of her was a revelation—a sweet, musky flavor that was the essence of her pleasure. He explored her with his tongue, learning the feel of her, the way she responded to his touch. He felt the muscles in her thighs tremble and tighten, heard her breathy moans turn into small, desperate cries. He loved the sounds she made, the way she completely surrendered to the feeling.
She was close. He could feel it in the way her hips began to move, a frantic, unconscious rhythm against his mouth. He increased his own rhythm, his tongue and fingers working in concert until her body went rigid, a choked cry tearing from her throat as a violent, shuddering orgasm rocked through her.
She lay panting, her hands still fisted in his hair, her body trembling in the aftershocks. When he moved back up to kiss her, she pulled him to her with a surprising strength, her mouth devouring his. The taste of her own pleasure on his lips seemed to drive her wild.
"Now," she commanded, her voice a ragged whisper as she rolled them over, pushing him onto his back and straddling his hips. "Again."
He was more than ready, his erection hard and aching for her. She guided him inside, taking him deep with a long, slow sigh of pure satisfaction. This time was different. It was slower, more deliberate. She set the pace, her hips rocking in a deep, grinding rhythm that was designed for pure pleasure. He watched, completely mesmerized, as her full, perfect breasts bounced with each powerful movement, her nipples dark and hard. He reached up, his hands cupping their weight, his thumbs teasing the sensitive peaks, and she moaned, her head falling back, her long hair cascading down her back.
They moved together, a perfect, fluid rhythm. There was no frantic energy now. Just a deep, shared pleasure that built and built, their eyes locked on each other. He saw every flicker of pleasure on her face, felt every clench of her muscles around him.
The climax, when it came, was not a violent explosion but a deep, cresting wave that they rode together, their bodies moving in perfect sync, their voices crying out in a shared chorus of release.
Afterwards, they didn't separate. She collapsed onto his chest, her head tucked under his chin, her leg still hooked over his. He wrapped his arms around her, holding her close, his fingers idly tracing patterns on the smooth skin of her back. The room was quiet, the only sound their soft, even breathing.
He had no idea what the rules were anymore. He didn't know if this was a one-time thing or the start of something new. But as he drifted off to sleep, with the impossible weight and warmth of the most incredible woman he'd ever met in his arms, he found that for the first time in his life, he didn't care. For now, this was more than enough.
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