For 30+ Advance/Early chapters :p
atreon.com/ScoldeyJod
They lay in the wreck of the magnificent hotel bed, a tangle of limbs and rumpled, high-thread-count sheets. The afternoon sun streamed through the massive window, painting a warm, golden stripe across their bodies. The air was thick with the scent of their lovemaking—a wild, musky, and profoundly intimate perfume.
Peter was tracing the faint, silvery lines of a scar on Diana's abdomen, his touch a gentle, reverent thing. Her head was pillowed on his chest, her fingers idly drawing circles over the fading bruises on his ribs. The silence between them wasn't empty; it was a space of deep, humming contentment.
"So," he murmured into her hair, a wide, goofy grin on his face. "For future reference, on a scale of one to ten, how would you rate the... uh... structural integrity of our morning?"
She lifted her head, her blue eyes sparkling with a mischievous, satisfied light. "The data suggests," she said, her voice a low, teasing purr, "that all previous benchmarks for satisfaction have been rendered obsolete." She leaned in and captured his lips in a slow, deep kiss that tasted of her own release, a kiss of pure, possessive victory.
When she pulled back, he looked at her, a new, adventurous glint in his eye. "You know," he said, a slight blush creeping up his neck. "I was reading this article... for a, uh, kinesiology paper... and it was talking about different applications of strength and flexibility. And there was this one... position. They called it 'The Lotus'."
Diana's eyebrow arched in curiosity. "A flower?"
"It's... complicated," he admitted, his blush deepening. "It's a seated position. We'd be facing each other, my legs crossed, and you'd be... well, you'd be on top, your legs wrapped around me. It's supposed to be less about... speed... and more about a deep, slow connection. A complete symbiosis. But it's tricky. It takes a lot of balance and core strength."
The challenge in his words was an irresistible lure to the warrior in her. She rose from the bed in one fluid, powerful motion, a naked goddess in the afternoon sun. "Then we shall solve this equation," she declared, a confident, playful smile on her lips. "Show me the geometry of this 'Lotus'."
What followed was five minutes of the most awkward, hilarious, and endearing fumbling of Peter's life. He sat cross-legged on the bed, and she attempted to lower herself onto him, their limbs tangling, their balance completely off. They collapsed twice in a heap of laughter, their bodies slick with a thin sheen of sweat.
"The principles of this are unsound!" she laughed, her voice a rich, melodic sound that filled the room.
"No, wait, I got it!" he said, bracing himself. "Try again. Slower."
This time, they moved in sync. She lowered herself onto his lap, her movements deliberate and graceful. He felt the hot, wet velvet of her entrance as she took him in, a slow, perfect seating. Her legs wrapped around his torso, her ankles locking behind his back. His own arms went around her, and she settled her full weight against him. They were a single, seated entity, chest to chest, their hearts beating a frantic, perfect rhythm against each other. They were face to face, so close their breaths mingled.
"Oh," she breathed, her eyes wide with a new kind of wonder. "I understand."
He began to move, a slow, deep, rocking motion, and the sensation was unlike anything they had experienced. Every subtle shift of his hips was a profound, internal caress. He could see every flicker of pleasure in her eyes, feel every hitched breath against his lips. There was no escaping this intimacy; they were a closed circuit of pure sensation. He reached up, his hands cupping her breasts, his thumbs teasing her nipples, and he watched as her pupils dilated, as her head fell back with a low, guttural moan. It was a slow, exquisite burn, a shared, meditative journey to a climax that was not a frantic explosion, but a deep, cresting wave that they rode together, their bodies locked in a perfect, geometric union.
Later, after a long, sated silence, a new, more primal energy began to stir. The slow, intimate burn of the Lotus had been replaced by a familiar, fiery ache.
"Again," he growled, his voice a low, hungry thing.
He had her on her hands and knees at the edge of the massive bed, her magnificent, powerful form silhouetted against the breathtaking panorama of the city skyline. He knelt behind her, his hands gripping the sharp, elegant points of her hips. The view was a masterpiece of divine architecture, from the strong column of her back to the perfect, round globes of her ass.
He entered her from behind with a single, powerful thrust, and a raw, animal cry was torn from her throat. This was not the tender dance of before. This was a raw, percussive claiming. He drove into her with a deep, punishing rhythm, the slap of their slick bodies a wild, primal drumbeat in the quiet luxury of the room. He watched, mesmerized, as her full breasts swayed with each powerful impact. He leaned forward, his mouth finding the sensitive nape of her neck, his teeth grazing her skin as he felt her begin to climax, her inner muscles clenching around him in a series of violent, exquisite spasms that shattered his own control.
When they could finally move again, Peter's stomach let out a loud, insistent growl.
"The warrior requires fuel," Diana laughed, her voice a weak, satisfied purr.
"The birthday boy requires cake," he corrected. He got up, a new sense of purpose in his step, and returned from the small kitchenette with a square, white box. Inside was a small, elegant chocolate cake with a single, unlit candle.
They sat cross-legged on the bed, completely naked, the cake box between them. He lit the candle with a hotel match, and the tiny flame danced in the dimming light of the room.
"Happy birthday to me," he whispered.
She leaned forward and kissed him softly. "Happy birthday, my Peter," she murmured. Then, she blew out the candle.
He cut two messy slices with a hotel knife. He took a bite of his, the rich, dark chocolate a decadent explosion on his tongue. Then, he looked at Diana, a wicked, playful glint in his eye. He dipped his finger into the thick, dark frosting.
"What are you doing?" she asked, her curiosity piqued.
"Dessert," he said simply.
He reached out and, with a slow, deliberate motion, spread a thick stripe of the cool, sweet frosting from the valley between her breasts, down over the full curve of her left breast, and circled the hard, pebbled peak of her nipple. She shivered, the contrast of the cool sugar against her warm skin a delicious shock.
He knelt before her, his hands holding her steady. He started at the top, his tongue lapping up the sweet, dark trail. She tasted of chocolate and her own unique, musky saltiness, a combination so intoxicating it made his head spin. When he finally reached her nipple, he took the frosted peak into his mouth, his tongue swirling, suckling until the last of the sweetness was gone, leaving only the hard, aching point of her desire. He looked up at her. Her eyes were closed, her head thrown back, a single, perfect moan escaping her lips.
He grinned. This, he thought, as he leaned in to start on the other one, was definitely the best birthday protocol ever.
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