Gwen's key scratched at the lock, her hands trembling with a nervous energy that had nothing to do with the cool night air still clinging to them from the Palisades. Before the key could turn, Peter's hand closed over hers, stilling it. The silence of the empty house loomed behind the door. In the dim glow of the porch light, his eyes were dark, intense, fixed on her. He didn't say a word. He simply took the key from her fingers, turned it with a soft click, and pushed the door open.
They tumbled into the dark foyer, the door swinging shut behind them with a final thud. The only light spilled from the small lamp she'd left on in the hallway, casting long, dancing shadows. They were against the wall before her bag even hit the floor. His hands were on her waist, pulling her into him, and her back met the cool plaster. His mouth found hers, and any remaining thought evaporated.
The first kiss was hungry, a release of the tension that had simmered between them all evening—through the shared ice cream, the quiet talk, the breathtaking view. It was all heat and pent-up want. But as her hands came up to clutch at the front of his shirt, fisting the soft cotton, the kiss changed. It deepened, slowed, turning from frantic to deeply sensual. His lips moved with a deliberate, exploring pressure, his tongue tracing the seam of her lips until she sighed and opened for him. The taste of him—mint from his gum, the fading sweetness of caramel—flooded her senses. His tongue slid against hers, not demanding, but savoring, a slow, wet glide that made her knees buckle. Her own tongue met his, tentatively at first, then with more confidence, mirroring the slow, intimate rhythm he set.
Peter: God, Gwen.
He murmured the words against her mouth, his voice a rough, warm vibration she felt in her chest. One of his hands slid up from her waist, fingers tangling in the hair at the nape of her neck, tilting her head back just so. His thumb stroked a slow, maddening circle on the sensitive skin behind her ear. His other hand remained firm on her hip, holding her pinned gently between his body and the wall.
Gwen: Shut up.
She breathed the words into his mouth, no real command in them, just a breathless sound that dissolved into another kiss. This one was deeper, wetter. Her free hand, the one not clinging to his shirt, came up to cup the side of his face, her thumb stroking the line of his jaw, feeling the faint scratch of stubble. They broke apart, gasping for air, foreheads pressed together.
Gwen: Been thinking about this all night, too.
She didn't wait for a response. She pulled him back down, her kiss now fiercer, more claiming. Her tongue delved into his mouth, and he met her with a low groan, his hands sliding down to grip her thighs, hiking her up effortlessly. Her legs wrapped around his waist on instinct, locking at the ankles. He carried her like she weighed nothing, his steps sure even in the near-dark as he moved them away from the wall.
They didn't make it far. Halfway up the stairs, her back met another wall with a soft thump. He braced her there, his mouth leaving hers to blaze a hot, open-mouthed trail down the side of her neck. His teeth grazed the cord of muscle, and she gasped, her head falling back against the plaster.
Peter: Fuck, you taste good.
His breath was hot against her skin. He nipped at the spot just below her ear, and a full-body shiver wracked her.
Gwen: Pete…
It was a moan, a plea, her fingers knotting in his hair. Her body arched against his, seeking friction, heat. The hard, unmistakable ridge of his erection pressed against the apex of her thighs, even through their clothes, and she rolled her hips against it with a desperate little grind. He hissed, his grip on her thighs tightening.
Peter: Bed.
It was more a growled agreement than a question. He took the remaining stairs two at a time, shouldering open the door to his bedroom. The familiar, clean scent of him—laundry soap, ozone, Peter—enveloped her as he laid her down gently in the center of his bed. He followed her down, bracing his weight on his elbows above her, but she hooked her legs around him again and pulled, bringing his full weight down upon her. The breath left her lungs in a happy rush. This was real. He was here. And he was kissing her like he was trying to memorize the feel of her.
Her hands were everywhere. They slid under the hem of his shirt, pushing it up, her palms skating over the hard, warm planes of his stomach. The defined ridges of his abs clenched under her touch. He was… sculpted. The serum, the constant training, the superhuman strength—it had all carved him into something breathtaking. She dragged her nails lightly over his skin, and he broke the kiss with a sharp intake of breath. His eyes were focused on her breasts, abs and thighs
Gwen: Like what you see?
She teased, her voice husky. He laughed, the sound dark and promising against her throat where he'd begun to suck another mark.
Peter: You have no idea.
His mouth moved lower, jaw scraping deliciously over her collarbone before his tongue dipped into the hollow there. Her hands roamed over the powerful muscles of his back, feeling every shift and flex as he moved over her. She slid them lower, over the taut curve of his ass, and squeezed, pulling him harder against her. He groaned into the skin of her chest.
His hands were just as busy. One slid up her thigh, pushing the hem of her dress higher and higher until his fingers brushed against the lace edge of her panties. He paused, his touch feather-light, questioning.
Gwen: Yes.
She breathed the word, arching into his touch. That was all the permission he needed. His fingers slipped under the lace, and his touch was sure, not hesitant. He found her wet, swollen heat, and a groan tore from his throat.
Peter: Jesus, Gwen.
He circled her clit with a slow, torturous pressure, and she cried out, her hips bucking off the bed.
Gwen: More. Please.
He didn't make her ask twice. He shifted, pushing the straps of her dress off her shoulders. The fabric gave way, pooling around her waist. His eyes, dark and hungry, drank in the sight of her bared to him. For a moment, he just looked, his gaze so intense it felt like a physical caress.
Peter: You're so beautiful.
The reverence in his voice made her heart ache. Then he lowered his head, and his mouth was on her breast. Not just a kiss, but a slow, wet, consuming suckle. He took the peak deep, his tongue swirling around the hardened nipple, his teeth grazing it with just enough pressure to make her see stars. The sensation was so intense, so directly wired to her core, that a broken sob escaped her.
Gwen: Ah! Pete—right there!
He hummed in approval, the vibration shooting straight through her. He switched his attention to her other breast, lavishing it with the same devoted attention, his hand continuing its clever, maddening work between her legs. She was panting, writhing, a litany of pleas and curses falling from her lips. She'd never been touched like this, never felt so utterly possessed and worshipped at the same time.
Gwen: Don't stop, please, god, don't stop…
He didn't. His mouth was relentless, suckling, nipping, licking. His fingers slid inside her, curling in a way that made her back bow off the mattress. The coil of pleasure tightened, unbearable, imminent.
Gwen: I'm gonna—Pete, I'm—
Peter: Let go, Gwen. Come for me.
His whispered command against her damp skin was her undoing. The orgasm ripped through her, violent and shocking in its intensity. She screamed, her body convulsing around his fingers, waves of pure, white-hot pleasure crashing over her until she was boneless and trembling.
He gentled his touch, kissing his way back up her shuddering body until his lips found hers again. She could taste herself on his tongue, salty and sweet, and the intimacy of it made her blush even in the aftermath.
Gwen: Your turn.
She whispered, pushing weakly at his shoulders. He rolled onto his back, his chest rising and falling rapidly. Her hands, which moments before had felt like jelly, found new purpose. She fumbled with his belt, the button of his jeans, the zipper. He helped her, shoving the denim and his boxers down over his hips.
And then she saw him. Really saw him. Her breath caught. He was… magnificent. Thick, long, veined, the head flushed a dark red and already glistening. He was fully, impressively erect around 9 inches. A flicker of pure, primal awe and a thread of nervousness shot through her. She wrapped her hand around him, her fingers not quite meeting. He was hot, silken steel, and he pulsed in her grip.
Peter: Gwen… you don't have to…
Peter started, his voice thick.
Gwen: I want to.
She said it with more conviction than she felt. Meeting his gaze, she saw no pressure, only a warm, patient heat. Swallowing, she lowered her head. Her first touch was her tongue, a tentative lick across the broad head. He tasted clean, musky, uniquely male. He hissed, his stomach muscles clenching.
Encouraged, she took the head into her mouth, sucking gently. His hand came up to stroke her hair, not guiding, just resting there.
Peter: Oh, fuck… that's so good.
His encouragement was her anchor. She relaxed her jaw, letting him slide deeper. To her surprise, her body accommodated him easily—a combination of newfound flexibility and a lack of gag reflex she hadn't known she possessed. She took him deeper, until her nose brushed the thatch of dark hair at his base. The groan that tore from him was raw, ragged.
Peter: Holy—Gwen, how are you—ah! So deep, baby, just like that.
She found a rhythm, bobbing her head, using her hand on the base he couldn't reach. She experimented, swirling her tongue, sucking harder, humming softly. He was vocal, his praises and groans a filthy, beautiful soundtrack. She felt powerful, desirable, in control of his pleasure.
Peter: I'm close… Gwen, I'm gonna—
She didn't pull away. She took him deeper, urging him on with the suction of her mouth and a gentle squeeze of his balls. His release was sudden, hot, flooding her mouth with his bitter-salty essence. She swallowed, determined, milking him through every last pulse until he collapsed back onto the bed, utterly spent.
He pulled her up gently, kissing her deeply, tasting himself on her tongue. The kiss was lazy, sated.
Peter: You're incredible.
He breathed into her mouth. Before she could reply, he was moving, flipping their positions with easy strength so she was nestled beneath him. His mouth began a slow, deliberate journey down her body again, kissing every inch of skin he'd previously worshipped.
Peter: My turn again.
He murmured against her stomach. He hooked his fingers in the waistband of her panties and the bunched-up dress and pulled them both off in one smooth motion. Now she was completely bare to him. He settled between her thighs, his gaze hot and focused on her most intimate place. She felt exposed, vulnerable, but the look in his eyes was pure reverence.
Peter: Beautiful.
He breathed, before lowering his head. His tongue, broad and warm, laved a slow, wet stripe from her entrance all the way up to her clit. She jolted, a cry tearing from her throat.
Gwen: Peter!
He didn't pause. He feasted on her with a single-minded focus that stole her breath. His tongue circled her clit, flicked it, then plunged inside her, fucking her with slow, deep strokes before returning to the swollen bud. One hand pinned her hip to the bed; the other slid under her, fingers finding her entrance and sliding in alongside his tongue. The dual sensation—the wet, rough heat of his mouth and the curling pressure of his fingers—was too much. She came again, faster this time, a sharp, bright climax that left her sobbing his name into the quiet room.
He kissed his way back up her trembling body, his lips and chin glistening. He settled over her, his hard length nudging against her soaked folds. The earlier nerves were gone, replaced by a deep, aching need.
Gwen: Now. I want you. Inside me.
She whispered, guiding him to her entrance. He hesitated, searching her face.
Peter: You're sure? We can—
Gwen: Now, Peter.
The command in her voice brooked no argument. He nodded, his expression solemn. He kissed her, soft and deep, as he began to push forward. The initial stretch was intense, a sharp, burning pressure as her body yielded to his considerable size. She gasped, her nails biting into his shoulders. He stilled immediately, buried to the hilt, his body trembling with the effort of holding back.
Peter: Shh, I've got you. Breathe, Gwen. Just breathe.
He whispered the words against her lips, kissing away the tear that escaped the corner of her eye. He didn't move, just held her, letting her body adjust, murmuring soft, nonsense words of comfort until the sting began to fade, replaced by a feeling of incredible, overwhelming fullness.
Gwen: Move.
She pleaded, her voice ragged. He obeyed, withdrawing slowly before pushing back in with the same careful control. The friction was exquisite. The pain was gone, leaving only a deep, building pleasure. With each slow thrust, he seemed to discover new depths within her.
Peter: Gwen… you feel… fuck…
He was beyond words. His rhythm steadied, deepened. The bed began to creak in time with their movement. The sound of skin meeting skin, their mingled gasps and moans, filled the room. She met him thrust for thrust, her legs wrapping high around his waist, pulling him deeper, taking all of him. The world narrowed to the place where they were joined, to the sweat-slick slide of their bodies, to the look of utter rapture on his face above her.
The coil wound tight again, faster, hotter than before. She could feel him swelling within her, his control fraying.
Gwen: Peter… I'm close… so close…
Peter: Come with me, Gwen.
He grunted, his thrusts becoming harder, more desperate, each one driving her higher. She shattered, her climax a blinding, all-consuming wave that ripped a scream from her throat. The convulsive clenching of her inner muscles around him was his undoing. With a ragged shout of her name, he followed her over, his release pumping into her in hot, endless pulses.
He collapsed atop her, his weight a welcome anchor in the swirling aftermath. For long minutes, there was only the sound of their ragged breathing slowing, and the frantic beating of their hearts synchronizing. He shifted just enough to slide out of her, rolling to his side and pulling her tightly against him. He pressed a kiss to her sweat-damp temple.
Peter: You okay?
His voice was hoarse, tender.
Gwen, nestled into his chest
Gwen:yes...yes I am ready for round 2?
She said cheekily Peter let out a chuckle
Peter: sure