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Mary Jane resettled the bag’s strap across her shoulder before she hefted her suit cases off the baggage carousel, one at a time. She’d paid a pretty penny to have her heavy luggage on the same plane, but there had been a few things she wouldn’t have been able to live without if it got stuck on a separate flight. She checked her phone, clucking her tongue when she saw no new messages.
Maybe he had a late night, and it’s too early for him to wake up.
Six A.M. was too early for her, too. Then again, four A.M. was over eight hours ago for her. Especially since she’d been up since two to catch the flight home.
She adjusted the strap on her shoulder again, throwing her coat over her arm. One more check of her phone and she sighed, trudging her way out of the baggage claim and into the lobby.
She froze, her eyes settled on the man in the cheap plaid shirt holding up one of the columns, flicking through his phone, coffee in his other hand. She grinned, a sudden idea hitting her and she couldn’t resist it. Mary Jane headed straight for him. She hefted the suitcases, arms straining, to reduce the noise, and when she closed the distance to several feet she set her luggage on the floor, barely making sure they didn’t tip before she hopped into a short jog and threw herself at Peter.
Foiled by the Spidey-sens e! He had his phone and the cup of coffee down on a near by trashcan before she reached him. He caught her, staggering off balance for only a moment.
“MJ! Wh-Are you trying to knock me off my-”
She cut him off with a fierce kiss. One he eagerly returned, his arms enveloping her shoulders and waist. She pushed her tongue into his mouth, smiling at his soft croon. She hugged him, burying her nose into his neck so she could smell the aftershave and soap on his skin. He made himself smell nice for her, aw.
“Miss me, tiger?” she asked, breathless from her run and their heated kiss.
“Mm. You have no idea,” Peter set her down, turning to grab the cup and his phone. “Coffee?”
She took the cup, giving Peter another, shorter peck on the lips before she gulped at the nectar of the gods. “Oh heavenly.”
Peter chuckled. “Well, I know I wasn’t missed.” He slipped by her and headed for the suitcases she’d abandoned a short distance away.
She batted her lashes at him. “I thought you were happy with your hands.”
Peter choked and started coughing. “Not even close!” He grabbed the suitcases and rolled them behind him.
Mary Jane let him, since he hadn’t had the decency to let her know he was here. It also meant she got to enjoy the coffee a little longer. Good coffee, compared to what she’d gotten in Symkaria. “I love you,” she said, leaning her shoulder against Peter’s arm.
He grinned down at her, brown eyes twinkling. “I don’t know if that’s directed to me, or to the cup.”
“The cup,” she replied. “Definitely the cup.” She took another sip and walked backwards to give Peter a more thorough look over. “I’m actually surprised you’re here on time. Been practicing your punctuality.” She wondered if he’d even been to sleep yet, given the dark circles around his eyes. He also looked like he needed to eat more, his cheekbones stood out more, not much, but she noticed.
The flush that spread across his cheeks was so cute. She’d missed making him blush. “Well, having a sidekick is helpful with that.”
She tilted her head, and turned on her heel to walk close beside him. “I’ve heard. Do I get to meet the kid anytime soon?”
“Actually I think he’s ready to meet you. I was going to invite him to dinner, if you didn’t have any plans?”
“Dinner sounds great.” She took another pull at the cup, eyeing Peter out of the corner of her eye.
“Did you have any plans for breakfast?” he added, nonchalantly.
She slipped an arm through Peter’s, her breast pressing against the inside of his elbow. “Lunch for me, and nope.”
He jumped, a little, at the hand she coasted down his shoulder. “D-did you have something in mind to eat.”
“Mmhmm.” She leaned up to breath into his ear. “You.”
He froze in place, wide brown eyes staring ahead for a moment. Then he took a deep breath, muscles tensing under Mary Jane’s fingers. “Oh, that sounds delicious.”
The burning heat in his eyes sent an excited shiver down Mary Jane’s shoulders, and into the aching pit where she had missed him.
~*~*~*~*~
They didn’t make it to her bed. Mary Jane wondered if she should be grateful they at least made it to her couch.
She’d finished the coffee before climbing into the cab Pete had hailed. It meant her hands were free and she couldn’t seem to keep them off him. It had been too long since she’d last seen him.
H e actually behaved much better than she had in the backseat of that taxi: his fingers light, tangling into her limp hair, his lips pressing softly over her face. His careful touch belied the ragged edge to his breathing, the tremble in his fingers, the growing heat of his skin. The bulge in his pants.
He grabbed her wrist after she’d run her hand over his crotch once. “Not here,” he g roaned; a plea in his voice.
She behaved for his sake and kept her hands above his belt, but his muscled thighs were fair game.
The taxi stopped in front her apartment building.
Peter broke away from her hands and mouth, and clambered out the door, going to the trunk to retrieve her bags.
Mary Jane felt sorry for him with the way he moved as if his pants were too tight. The cabbie’s knowing smirk made her suddenly self-conscious. She followed Peter out of the cab, all too aware of the way her clothes rubbed against her skin, her breasts, the heat between her legs.
“Sorry,” she said to the driver, face heated, tipping him out of embarrassment.
The smirk widened into a toothy grin. “No worries, kid. You guys were actually well behaved compared to some customers.”
The blush on her face took on a new tint as she imagined putting her self and Peter in that compromising of a position in the back seat of a cab. Her nipples tightened at the thought, pinching within her bra, but no, she’d never be able to look any city cabbie in the eye .
She beat a hasty retreat and joined Peter inside, where he was already making his way up the stairs to her apartment.
She slid her hand up his arm as they climbed, stroking her thumb on the inside of his elbow, and playing with the folded cuff of his sleeve. Peter’s breathing took on that ragged note again, and she knew it wasn’t from the climb. She pressed closer to his arm, so her clothed breast slid over his his skin. She kissed his shoulder, her fingers following the collar of his shirt and tangling in his hair. He leaned into her touch, and she took that as permission to wander her hands down his muscled back, palming his butt through the fabric of his jeans.
He paused on the stairs to kiss her, mumbling something about teasing.
She smiled, and her hand brushed the front of his jeans in reply to his complaint.
Sometime during the rest of their ascent, Peter forgot about his normal human facade, one of her suitcases dangled from his hand, while the other rested on his shoulder. This early on a Saturday morning, fortunately meant they didn’t find anyone else on the staircase. Mary Jane wouldn’t have known what they would say if they had found anyone. They stumbled up the stairs, lips locked, hands pulling at clothes. Mary Jane fumbled with her lock when they finally reached her apartment, hands shaking with anticipation, need.
Peter, hands amazingly steady in spite of the way he practically vibrated with anticipation , took her hand and slotted the key into the locks one after another. They fell through the door when she turned the knob, and Peter’s extraordinary sense of balance was the only thing that kept them off the floor.
Mary Jane scrambled away from him to toe her shoes off, and drop her bag and coat on the floor. Her shirt soon joined the pile on the floor.
Peter, having closed and locked the door, slid his arms around her.
He kissed her, hot and desperate. His hands skimmed up her side, tracing her ribs. He broke the kiss to lean away, his eyes flicking over bared shoulders and down her body, pupils dilated, eyes heated
She paused in unbuttoning his shirt, tempted to just pull since the buttons looked like they were about ready to fall off anyways. She reached up to stroke his cheek, prompting his eyes to raise to hers.
“You’ve lost weight.”
She arched an eyebrow at him. “Are you saying I was fat before?”
His hands hadn’t dropped from where they rested on her sides. His brows furrowed and he opened his mouth a few times.
He growled when she laughed and pulled her back in for another kiss, his tongue pushing against hers.
Mary Jane got the last few buttons undone and tugged the shirt off his shoulders, one arm at a time.
The white spider on Peter’s chest was cold against Mary Jane’s breasts. She broke away from the kiss this time, so she could lean away and watch her fingers trace the muscles revealed by his skin tight costume. She’d honestly missed the sight of him in the red and blue spandex, the play of white at his joints. She ran her thumb over the hardened surface of the spider legs down his side.
Then she slid her hands down the ridged planes of his abs, pressing her fingers into the hard muscles.
Peter hissed, and a glance through her hair showed his eyes following her hand’s path down.
Mary Jane grinned and stuck her hand into the waist of his pants, spandex sliding over her wrist from the suit hidden under his jeans. She pressed past his briefs, his skin soft like velvet under her finger tips and wrapped her hand around the hard, fleshy member she wanted so badly inside her.
Peter groaned, pushing into her hand with a few thrusts. His head dropped to her shoulder, hot mouth sucking at her skin. Peter fumbled at her bra, but the contraption of the hooks defeated his trembling fingers. He tugged the shoulders of her bra down instead, to pull her breasts free from their cups. So he could cover her breasts with kisses, fingering her stiff nipples.
She rubbed her palm over his aroused flesh, thumbing the moist tip, just to feel the burst of his gasp against her skin.
She ached for him, though, and her hands weren’t where she wanted him to be. She pulled his pants down, jeans, spandex and briefs all in one go.
They parted, but only so that he could kick his shoes and pants off. Only so she could peel the remainders of her own slacks down her legs, and take off the bra that had confounded him so badly.
She’d just tossed the bra in their pile of clothes when he wrapped his arms around her again and picked her bodily up by a firm grip under her butt. His mouth found hers again, panting against her lips with the same need she felt in the moist pit of her own desire. She wrapped her legs around his waist, feeling his prodding length against her skin. So close.
He stumbled over and laid her on the couch, teasing her entrance with his fingers. He took her nipple between gentle teeth and then laved his tongue over the low curve of her breast.
She chanted his name, legs tight around his hips, sliding her toes around whatever bits of him they could reach. “Don’t hold back,” she murmured when he lifted his head.
He kissed her again, one hand playing with her breast. “If I...” his mouth moved to her ear, “...right now...” his teeth grazed her neck, “I’ll explode immediately.”
Her nails bit into his shoulders and she rocked her hips against him. “There’s always round two.”
He groaned, stroking one of his hands up her thigh.
“Or three,” she continued, drawing his hips down to her with gentle pressure
Peter pressed in, gasping and tense.
“Or four.”
She had him with that, or before that probably.
His hips jerked into motion, his hard cock sliding wetly inside of her.
Mary Jane joined the tidal wave of desire that wrapped them in its em brace.
His back swelled beneath her hands, and he crested that wave of desire before she’d even gotten her feet wet. He pumped inside her, pulsing, trembling, brows spasming. It really hadn’t lasted a minute.
His head dropped next to hers on the couch, his breath haggard, a light sheen of sweat on his face. His brown eyes slid close.
Mary Jane hummed, not willing to let him see her disappointment. “You weren’t kidding.”
His eyes didn’t open, but his mouth turned down into a pout.
She still ached for more, and couldn’t keep her hands to herself. “Should I be glad we got up here instead of you finding an alley somewhere behind a dumpster.”
He made a sound of disgust, eyes still closed, though. “Roof.”
She giggled into his shoulder at that, idly tracing the cords of muscles that rippled with aftershocks along his back.
She’d missed this in Symkaria. His heavy weight pressing her into the couch, his bony hips digging into her thighs. She loved the feel of him in her arms, his warm breath on her cheek. She’d missed it during their nine months apart, though she was glad for the break from his over zealous protectiveness. She hadn’t been lying when she told Peter that she’d never stopped wanting him to stay nights at her apartment.
Fingers touched her cheek and she leaned into the hand that came to rest against her face. Peter slid closer to nibble at her lips. “Penny for your thoughts?”
Mary Jane hummed again, sliding her hand down his side. She hadn’t meant to tickle, but he grabbed her wrist and pushed it down to the couch.
“Overstimulated?” she asked, though she couldn’t keep the grin from her face.
Peter gave her a languorous smirk. “Yeah, well. Someone couldn’t keep her hands to herself in the cab, or the stairs, or the airport.”
She wiggled under him, pressing her fingers into the hard muscles of his shoulders and back. “I missed you.”
He finally opened his gentle, brown eyes and drew towards her for a kiss.
She heard her words echoed by him in the hungry way his hands explored every inch of her body. In the way his mouth tasted her skin. In the hard length that prodded her thigh.
She heard the words in the way his eyes drank her in, as though he hadn’t already memorized every plane on her face.
She heard the words in his every action, but he said them anyway.
“I missed you, too.”
She blinked away the silly tears from her eyes and opened herself to him again, no less desperate than the first time as he slipped inside her. She pressed into his rocking body, arms locked tight around his shoulders, thighs clenching in time with his thrusts.
Peter panted against her shoulder, her neck, mouth never still against her skin, teeth or tongue darting in for a nip.
She threaded her fingers through his thick hair, breathing in his ear to make him shiver, tongue exploring the juncture of sensitive skin just under his jaw.
She rode the wave of desire with him, the ache within her belly and chest soothed by his passion. She moaned encouragement when he crested that wave again, spilling into her with jerks and shudders and helpless gasps. She’d gotten wet with him, sweaty hair sticking to her face, but her own wave had ebbed as his had crashed. She pressed her lips to his trembling shoulder, her fingers still buried in his mass of hair.
Peter kissed her, hard; she knew it to be an apology that he hadn’t lasted nearly long enough for her. She accepted the kiss, her tongue darting out to twine with his before the last shudder eked the strength from even his superhuman body.
She held him over her, rather than let him roll off; wanting the feel of his prone body over hers, the clammy, sweaty skin beneath her hands.
Besides, he’d have rolled right off the couch if she hadn’t stopped him. What kind of girlfriend would she be to have let that happen?
“Shoot,” she muttered with a sudden thought.
“Hmm?”
“Meant to use a condom.”
He grunted, cracking one eye open. “Worried?”
She couldn’t keep her hands still, though she waited patiently for him to recover. “Not really. I have… pills for after. But do you want your sidekick sitting in your cum?”
He laughed, a breathy, tired sound. “Don’t tell him?”
She tapped his back, a light rebuke. “That’s horrible to your sidekick, Pete.”
He grunted again in a complete non-answer, but only because his breathing evened out.
Mary Jane’s rolled her eyes and wiggled a little, to shift his bony hips off her thighs, and give herself a bit of space to breathe easier. She couldn’t stretch out too much, her couch too short even for her, and she knew his feet stuck out like stout branches over the arm.
The flight had tired her out, but she couldn’t sleep with Peter so close and need still tightening her nipples. She couldn’t keep her hands off him, either, but she kept her contact to just her finger tips running up his arms, caressing his neck, idly playing with locks of his hair.
Peter had always been able to fall asleep anywhere, nearly anytime. She knew he didn’t get enough sleep between work and Spider-man-ing. She loved his sleeping face, the tight lines from his constant concerns smoothed away. She stroked her thumb over his lower lip, wanting to take it between her teeth.
She should shower, and eat. Did she even have anything in the apartment that was good? She’d left in such a hurry, and she’d offered the apartment (and food in it) to Pete some time ago. Mr. Spidey-Metabolism could easily have cleaned out her fridge and pantry.
His lips pursed and he kissed her thumb. He blinked at her and furrowed his brows. “Sorry, was I-”
“Drooling in your sleep?”
He shot up, wiping at his mouth.
She laughed and slid from underneath him. “I’m going to go freshen up. What are we doing for lunch? Or breakfast or whatever ”
“Still hungry?”
She could practically hear the eyebrow waggle he tacked onto that.
Mary Jane kissed his shoulder, her hand coasting down his abs to bury her fingers in the stiff hairs over his crotch. “Maybe later?
“Tease,” he said with a playful growl in his throat.
Thwip.
Mary Jane broke into another giggle when Peter brushed the webbing off her panties and handed them to her. “I am so glad those didn’t go off in the middle of things.”
She pulled her panties up, wiggling her hips for Peter’s benefit. She laughed, but couldn’t dodge the hands that swept in to cup her butt. He didn’t hold her, and she knew he could have, if he’d wanted.
She grabbed towels and showered the travel grime off her skin, cleaning up their more recent activities. When she came out of the bathroom, towels wrapped around her body and hair, she found Peter, in his ridiculous S pider- man briefs, cleaning the couch where they’d had sex.
“Sandwiches are on the counter.” He paused, glancing up at her surprised face. “Unless you wanted to go out.”
“No. Sandwiches are fine. I’m just surprised there’s anything still good here.”
Peter shifted uncomfortably, hand gesturing. “Yeah, well. I picked up a few things yesterday, since you were coming home today. Seemed only right, since I kinda cleaned your fridge out. And if the Kid comes over for dinner, there needed to be … you know, dinner for us.”
She headed for the kitchen, pausing by the couch to kiss his hair. “That was sweet of you.”
As promised, a plate of sandwiches, simple things with cheese, lettuce, ham and tomato, but Mary Jane loved them anyways. She checked and found a few had mustard on them, and left those for Peter.
He joined her, leaning against the sink, next to her.
“So...” he said, his voice hesitant.
She turned to face him, eyebrows lifted, mouth full of sandwich.
He took a deep breath, but didn’t lift his eyes from his apparently engrossing sandwich. “I know you said that you had it handled and that I shouldn’t worry.”
Mary Jane grinned, though she didn’t know where he was going with this, or what he was talking about. “But worry is your default mode.”
Peter made a small uncertain sound, and shrugged. He cleared his throat and continued like she hadn’t interrupted. “Pills? I thought you were on that shot?”
Mary Jane took a bite of her sandwich to hide her shock. When they got back together, and she’d told him she’d had it handled, he’d dropped the subject. She wondered if this was some remnant of when Felicia tricked him into thinking she’d had his kid. “Well,” she said in a measured tone. He wouldn’t react well to her reasoning one way or another, but no need start off angry. “That lasts only so long. Going to Symkaria was so sudden, I didn’t have a chance to refresh it. So I picked up the pills.”
His frown deepened, eyes narrowed at her. “But, why would you need those… ?”
She tried a grin. “Jealous?” Don’t you trust me?
He flinched, dropping his eyes, and the smile on his lips was so forced, she could tell . “I know you like men in uniform.” It wasn’t quite as jokey as she would like to hear.
“I prefer spandex, honestly.”
He snorted, but the smile relaxed into something more real. .
She started explaining before he could say anything else. “Pete, I was headed to what I was hearing to be a… really bad situation. I was just being cautious. That’s all.”
The color drained from Peter’s face, and she realized it hadn’t even occurred to him.
“Nothing happened,” she was quick to assuer, “ I swear. Don’t you dare go all protective, now . I’m fine.”
He didn’t relax, but at least he pulled his fingers out of the holes he’d made in his sandwich. “Nothing, right?”
“Right. Most action I got was late night texts with my boyfriend while he ran around the roofs, sporting a woody and getting off by kicking criminals in the face.”
She finished the last of her sandwich, and brushed her fingers off against her towel.
She stepped into Peter’s space. “We good?”
He was on his second sandwich. “Of course. I trust you, you know. “
She pushed h is sandwich away from the bite he was about to take, and reached up to lick a speck of mustard and crumbs from the corner of his mouth. “I know. I missed you.”
The arm not involved with his sandwich snaked around her waist. “I missed you, too. So much.” He pulled her close and kissed her, mustard and ham on his breath.
She ran her hand down his chest. “I’m going to go lay down for a bit. Will you still be here?”
“I’ll be in, just a moment.”
“Save me a sandwich for later.” She stepped away, running an appreciative eye down his (mostly) naked frame. Then she left him to finish his sandwich (she doubted any besides the one she’d asked for would be left by the time he was done; the man could eat).
Mary Jane grabbed the pile of clothes on the floor and one of the suitcases on her way to her bedroom. She shoved her clothes into the empty hamper, and his clothes she folded and lay on the end of her bed. Then she moved it to the dresser so she could lay down. She really was tired. The suitcase would wait.
She splayed herself across her mattress. Mmm, her bed was so comfortable after the crappy hotels and cots in Symkaria. She had missed her pillow. Missed her room. Missed her apartment. She closed her eyes, and the city noise faded into the background until she only really heard the inhales and exhales of her breath.
Light footsteps tread into the bedroom, and a body settled onto the mattress next to her. Peter gently moved her arm so he could stretch out beside her.
She could feel him leaning over her, but it didn’t warrant the need to come out of her doze, not even when his finger ran down the edge of the towel she still wore, and up to her hair bundled in another towel. Not even when he leaned over to mouth at her shoulder, teeth scraping lightly over her skin. Though she couldn’t help the soft hum that burst from her throat.
“Do you want to sleep?” Peter murmured in her ear.
She wiggled closer to him, still wrapped in the light veil between sleep and waking.
His hand gravitated to her rear, where he massaged gentle circles on an ache in her back she hadn’t even realized had been there. He nuzzled into the crook of her neck his voice a warm whisper that washed over her skin and hair. “That’s not an answer.”
So she wiggled her rear under his hand. Hummed at his hissed intake of air as he shifted closer to rub against her.
Hummed at the fingers that drifted under the bottom of edge of her towel to the pooling heat between her legs.
Peter pulled her out of the veil with the simple slide of his fingers inside of her.
She sucked in her breath, and watched him out of the corner of her eye.
Peter’s focus remained on the hand between her legs, or maybe he was just watching her helpless writhing from his attentions.
She gasped into her pillow as he found that spot within her, and she couldn’t help but to push against his hand.
Air hissed between his teeth again and Peter dropped hot kisses down her shoulder blade, pressing his hips closer to her. His fingers never stopped their teasing twitches and twists, sliding in and out of her. “You’re already wet, is that my answer?”
“Just took a shower,” she told him, but she couldn’t wipe the smile that curved her lips up. She couldn’t help but to bend her knee a little and give him free access. Desire wrapped its greedy tendril around her heart, writhing with the gentle thrusts of his fingers.
Peter chuckled, and nipped at her ear. “You promised a round four, you gonna make it for round three?”
She grumbled playfully, or at least she tried to, it turned into a desperate whimper when another finger joined the two he’d already had within her. She couldn’t keep still as he played with another spot that left her gasping into the pillow.
Hot lips pressed into her cheeks and the corner of her mouth. Then Peter left her bereft of his touch, even his hand pulled away from the her moist pit of desire.
She didn’t have to miss him long; the mattress dipped and bounced as he knelt on the bed next to her to tug at her towel and pull it from her body. She didn’t have time to shiver from the chill of the apartment as he lay over her, his hands pulled at her skin, the one slick with her fluids. She lifted her head to receive his heated kiss, sucking on his tongue and lower lip.
Mary Jane wiggled under him, trying to encourage the hard length pressed against her back to go somewhere more useful, like the wet point between her legs.
His humor faded in the ragged edge to his breath, the eager twitches in his muscles. The hungry glint that burned in his eyes.
Still wrapped in their battle of tongues, teeth and lips, Mary Jane lifted her hand and cupped Peter’s jaw, sliding her fingers down his neck and back up to press against the soft flesh of his cheek.
One of his hands swept around to grope her breast, and pinch her nipple between tender fingers.
Then he pulled away, leaving her bereft, again, just long enough to grab her hips and lift her up to her knees. When she went to push up to her hands, Peter stopped her with gentle, but insistent pressure between her shoulder blades.
“Pete?” she asked, trying to twist her head to see.
Pete didn’t answer, not with words. He ran his lips up her thigh, and along her side. Then his tongue along the line of her back. His thumb pressed against her in one area, and then his tongue pressed in below that.
She muffled her cry into her pillow, wrapping her arms around it to draw it closer. She writhed under Peter’s ministrations, her legs spread for him to do as he pleased. She didn’t even care that he pressed a finger into no man’s land, it only drew out another soft cry from her throat.
“Pete,” she breathed. She wanted to to grab at him, or reach for the leg she thought might be somewhere nearby, but she couldn’t uncurl her fingers from the soft fabric of her pillow. “Pete,” she whimpered, again.
He murmured against her source of torment, the words lost and muffled against her flesh. He kept up the attentions until her nipples tightened and pinched where the y pressed into the sheets.
Peter’s name became a constant, plea and she shivered where she lay.
He stopped the torment (finally), got to his knees, and thrust his rigid shaft as deep as he could.
She gulped and shuddered, spreading her knees just a little farther apart.
Peter filled her and pressed deep, his thrusts gentle and controlled as they always were.
He moved too slow and gentle for the tidal wave that wanted to rush toward her. “Harder, please. Faster.”
She could practically feel his contemplation and the weight of his eyes on the back of her head. Torture because he went from a careful caress, to a snails crawl within her. She wanted to scream at him to move.
Finally he bent over her and told her, voice rough. “Tell me if I hurt you.”
He pressed kisses to her shoulder, and slid an arm around her to run his hand over her chest, squeezing each breast in turn. Then he straightened and grabbed her hips, to hold her steady against the increasing tempo of his thrusts.
She panted into the pillow, focused on the slide of building pressure. The pleasure that mixed with pain as he went a little too deep. The press of his fingers as they tightened. Mary Jane winced into the pillow, but arched her back as one of his hands danced over her rear
The tidal wave swelled over her head with the dip of his head and the roll of his shoulders. It rushed in hear ears with his soft grunts and gasps, with the groans and soft cries that burst out of her throat. She clenched her fists in her bedsheets, sitting up on her elbows, her face still buried in her pillow. Tears pricked at the corners of her eyes, and she almost told him to stop as the pleasured pain morphed into more pain than pleasure.
Then he hit the right spot and she gasped a desperate “There!”
He eased back into a slow slide, though he pressed in deep to find the spot again. Peter curled over her, to breath her name into her ear, his hands running over her shoulder and body, though his hips never stopped their inexorable press against her.
He pressed in when she gasped a whimper, both hands on her hips, fingers clenching into her skin.
The tidal wave washed over her, a wave of heat and release of the pressure that had clenched inside her since she’d gotten on the plane nearly nine hours ago. She clenched around him, and her muscles trembled with aftershocks from her orgasm.
Peter, however, wasn’t done. He curled over her, curled his hands over her fists and went into motion once more. His cheek pressed against hers, his hard muscles pressed into the line of her back. He panted into her shoulder, grunting in time with the slap of his hips against her backside.
He tensed and groaned out a long breath, his hands squeezed a little too hard and he shuddered against her. He draped himself over her, but only for a moment before he rolled off her.
He always thought he was too heavy for her. She couldn’t get him to accept that she didn’t mind. She blinked an eye open to glance at him. She wondered if she framed it against that over protective nature of his. Maybe that would help him understand. She might have to try that. Later. When she wasn’t wrapped in a cocoon of somnolence.
She stretched her legs back out across the bed, and tugged the towel off her hair and tossed it onto the floor. She rolled onto her side so she could look at the rigid lines on his body. She watched as he pulled a condom off his flaccid penis and chucked it into the trash next to her bed.
“Really?” she laughed.
“Well, maybe I didn’t want to make a mess after you’d taken a shower?” he replied, grin on his face, though he blinked at the ceiling.
She slid closer so she could lay her head on his chest, and listen to the rhythmic beat of his heart. The smell of aftershave and soap had faded into sweat and sex. Not unpleasant by any means, and more Peter than the aftershave and soap. At least the sweat was. Especially after he’d been swinging around the city in his suit. The sex tended to get added only around her, which was her own personal source of pleasure.
His breathing evened out again and she tilted her head up to see that yes he had fallen asleep again. She snickere to herself , snuggled closer to him and slid back under the veil of waking and sleeping.
She felt him shift against her, curl his arm around her. The fingers of his other hand stroked her face.
“Welcome home, MJ,” he murmured, his voice a low rumble against the ear on his chest. His breathing slowed again, his heart, too fast for normal people, a steady, slow rhythm to her perception.
Her lips curled into a smile, and she lay her hand so her fingers sat against the one that rested on his chest.
She sank into his embrace and slept, so happy to be home.