For 30+ Advance/Early chapters :p
atreon.com/ScoldeyJod
The first thing Peter became aware of was the light. A soft, grey morning light was filtering through his blinds, painting dusty stripes across his cluttered room. The second was the warmth. A profound, living warmth was pressed against his entire left side, a weight in his arms that was both foreign and felt completely, impossibly right.
He opened his eyes slowly. Diana was still asleep, her head pillowed on his bicep, one arm thrown across his chest. Her face, so often a mask of serene composure, was completely relaxed in sleep, her lips slightly parted, her long, dark lashes resting on her cheeks. Her hair was a glorious mess, spread across his pillow. She looked young. Vulnerable. He had a sudden, fierce urge to protect this version of her from the entire world.
The memories of the previous night came rushing back in a dizzying, explicit montage: the taste of her, the sound of her cries, the incredible feeling of her body moving with his. A fresh wave of heat pooled in his gut, and he felt himself growing hard against the soft curve of her hip. This was insane. This was his life now.
He lay there for what felt like an hour, terrified to move, not wanting to break the spell. He just watched her breathe, committing the moment to memory. The great Parker Luck had finally, it seemed, taken a turn for the spectacular.
A soft sound, a little sigh, escaped her lips, and her eyes fluttered open. For a moment, they were unfocused, hazy with sleep. Then they found his, and a jolt of awareness passed between them. He saw a flash of surprise, then a flicker of uncertainty, and finally, a slow, warm smile that made his heart feel like it was going to beat its way out of his chest.
"Good morning," she whispered, her voice a husky, sleep-roughened purr.
"Morning," he whispered back, his voice equally rough. "Did you... sleep okay?" Smooth, Parker. Real smooth.
Her smile widened. "I slept very well. Your mattress is surprisingly comfortable." She shifted, snuggling closer, and the feeling of her naked body pressing against his sent a fresh jolt of electricity through him. "And your presence is... acceptable."
He chuckled, a low, happy sound. "Only acceptable?"
"We are still in the data collection phase," she teased, her eyes glinting with a mischievous light he was coming to adore.
He leaned in then, unable to resist. The kiss was nothing like the frantic, hungry kisses of the night before. It was slow, soft, and impossibly tender. It was a kiss of shared secrets and morning breath, a kiss that tasted of sleep and satisfaction. It was, in its own quiet way, the most intimate thing they had done yet. When they broke apart, the unspoken truth hung in the air between them: this was no longer just a system.
A shaft of brighter sunlight cut through the window, and reality began to intrude.
"I should probably..." Diana started, her tone reluctant.
"...get back to your room before anyone sees you," Peter finished for her, an equal amount of reluctance in his voice. "Yeah. The 'walk of shame' protocol."
She raised an eyebrow. "I feel no shame, Peter. Only a profound sense of... satisfaction." She pressed a quick, firm kiss to his lips, then gracefully untangled herself from him and the sheets.
Peter watched, completely mesmerized, as she stood and gathered her discarded clothes. The morning light caught the powerful, elegant lines of her body—the strong curve of her back, the swell of her hips, the warrior's physique that was so at odds with her student persona. He was hopelessly, irrevocably captivated.
Dressed in her pajamas from the night before, she came back to the bed and leaned down, giving him one last, lingering kiss. "I will see you later," she whispered against his mouth.
"Count on it," he replied.
She slipped out of his room as silently as she had entered, the soft click of the door sealing their secret. Peter fell back against the pillows with a groan, a wide, goofy grin plastered across his face. He felt like he'd just won the lottery, the Olympics, and a lifetime supply of wheatcakes all at once.
Diana closed the door to her own room, leaning back against it as her heart hammered in her chest. Her room was a stark contrast to Peter's beautiful chaos. It was neat, orderly, and serene. Her books were stacked perfectly, her bed was made—or would have been, had she slept in it.
She walked to the bathroom and looked at her reflection in the mirror. She looked different. Her lips were swollen, her hair was a mess, and there was a faint red mark on her neck where Peter's stubble had chafed her skin. But it was her eyes that were the most changed. They held a new light, a warmth that hadn't been there before.
This was a complication. A glorious, thrilling, terrifying complication. The arrangement had been a logical solution to a physical problem. But the tenderness of their morning-after kiss, the protective look in his eyes when he'd thought she was still asleep, the ache in her chest when she'd had to leave his bed... none of that was logical. It was feeling. It was emotion. It was the messy, unpredictable world of mortal connection that her mother had warned her about.
She took a long, hot shower, the water sluicing over skin that was still sensitive and tingling from Peter's touch. She could still feel his hands on her, his mouth on her breast, the incredible, perfect friction of his body inside hers. A deep, primal ache settled low in her belly. She wanted him again. Already.
This was not part of the plan.
An hour later, showered and dressed for the day, Peter was walking down the hall when the door to 4J opened. Diana stepped out, her hair damp, dressed in a simple pair of jeans and a university sweatshirt. She looked like any other student on her way to class. She looked like the most beautiful woman he had ever seen.
Their eyes met, and a silent, secret current passed between them.
"Morning," he said, his voice casual, but a wide grin betrayed him.
"Good morning," she replied, and the small, secret smile she gave him in return sent a fresh wave of warmth through his chest.
They walked to the elevator together, the space between them no longer a chasm of tension, but a comfortable, humming bubble of shared intimacy. This was their new normal. And as the elevator doors closed, sealing them in their own private world, Peter knew, with a certainty that settled deep in his bones, that he was going to do everything in his power to make sure this new normal lasted for a very, very long time.
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