For 30+ Advance/Early chapters :p
atreon.com/ScoldeyJod
The world, for a time, consisted only of the soft rug on Diana's floor and the shifting, golden light of the late afternoon filtering through her single, large window. The frantic, celebratory fire of their lovemaking had subsided, leaving behind the warm, glowing embers of a deep and profound satisfaction. They lay on their sides, facing each other, a tangle of limbs on the surprisingly plush rug that had become their sanctuary. The air was thick with their scent—the musky, sweet aroma of sex, sweat, and the lingering, almost imperceptible coolness of the lube.
Peter was mesmerized. He watched the slow, even rise and fall of Diana's chest, the way the soft light caught the proud, full curve of her breast. His hand, which had been resting on her hip, began a slow, lazy exploration, a cartographer retracing a beloved map. His fingers traced the elegant, powerful line of her thigh, marveling at the dense, coiled strength just beneath the soft, warm skin. He moved higher, his hand cupping the firm, perfect globe of her ass, his thumb pressing into the subtle dimple at the top. He felt a soft, involuntary shiver run through her, a quiet testament to her sensitivity.
Her own hand was not idle. It rested on his stomach, her fingers a light, teasing presence. She explored him with a languid curiosity, her touch a stark contrast to the demanding passion of before. Her fingers traced the sharp line of his hip bones, then drifted lower, a ghost of a touch against the base of his already semi-aroused cock. He was a landscape she was committing to memory. She took him in her hand, her grip soft and warm, her thumb tracing lazy, maddening circles over the sensitive tip. It was not a gesture meant to bring him to a climax, but a slow, hypnotic act of possession, a quiet claiming in the afternoon light.
"You are a paradox," she murmured, her voice a low, sleepy purr. "So much strength, hidden in such a gentle form."
"Says the woman who can stop a bus," he whispered back, his own voice thick with a renewed wave of desire. He leaned forward, capturing her lips in a slow, deep kiss.
While he kissed her, his other hand began its own exploration. He moved from her ass, his fingers tracing the delicate crease where her thigh met her torso, and then lower, into the nest of soft, dark curls. She was still slick and swollen from their earlier passion, a testament to the profound effect they had on each other.
He slid one long, slick finger inside her, and a sharp, breathy gasp escaped her lips, her body arching into his touch. He didn't thrust or drive; he simply held his finger there, letting her body accustom itself to the feeling of him, before beginning a slow, deliberate, circling motion against her G-spot. He watched her face, saw her eyes flutter shut, her lips part in a silent moan. His other hand moved to her breast, his thumb and forefinger rolling her hard, pebbled nipple, creating a symphony of sensation that had her writhing against him.
"Peter," she breathed, the name a soft, desperate plea.
He added a second finger, stretching her, filling her more completely, and a low, guttural sound rumbled in her chest. She was a finely tuned instrument, and he was learning her song, each note, each chord, each beautiful, soaring crescendo. Her hips began to move in a slow, grinding rhythm against his hand, her own hand tightening its grip on his cock, their shared, mutual pleasure a closed, perfect circuit.
And then, a sound, shrill and violently out of place, shattered the sacred quiet of the room.
Bzzzt. Bzzzt. Bzzzt.
It was the vibration of Peter's phone, discarded in the pocket of his jeans on the floor a few feet away. The sound was a brutal, unwelcome intrusion from a world they had completely, blissfully forgotten.
They both froze, their bodies still intimately connected, the spell broken.
"Don't answer it," he groaned, his voice a raw, frustrated thing.
"It could be important," Diana whispered, her own voice thick with unshed pleasure. The walls of a dorm were thin; a constantly vibrating phone would eventually draw attention.
With a sigh that was a universe of reluctance, Peter untangled himself, crawling over to his jeans. He pulled out the phone. The screen lit up with a name that sent a jolt of pure, ice-cold panic straight through him: Aunt May.
"Oh, crap," he breathed, the last vestiges of his arousal evaporating in a wave of guilt and anxiety.
He looked at Diana, his eyes wide with a frantic, deer-in-the-headlights terror. She simply looked back at him, her expression shifting from languid passion to a quiet, steady understanding. She gave a small, almost imperceptible nod. Answer it.
He swiped the screen, trying to compose his voice, to sound casual, normal, and not at all like he was naked on the floor of his girlfriend's dorm room.
"Hey, May!" he said, his voice a full octave higher than usual. "What's up?"
"Peter? Oh, thank goodness!" Her voice was a flood of relief, tinged with a lingering, fragile hurt from their fight. "I was just... I was calling to see if you were okay. And to ask... how was the exam?"
"The exam!" he said, a little too loudly. "The exam was great! It was... it was good. Really good, actually." As he spoke, Diana shifted, her body moving with a silent, feline grace. She crawled over to him, a wicked, triumphant glint in her eyes. She leaned over him, her full, heavy breasts brushing against his chest, and pressed a soft, deliberate kiss to his shoulder. He bit back a gasp, his whole body tensing.
"Oh, that's wonderful, honey," May said, and he could hear the genuine warmth returning to her voice. "I knew you could do it. I'm so proud of you."
"Thanks, May," he said, his voice strained. Diana's hand was now tracing a slow, deliberate path down his stomach, her fingers dancing a dangerous, teasing line just above his groin.
"So, where are you now?" May asked, her tone conversational. "Are you on your way home?"
"Uh, no, not yet," he stammered, his mind a complete blank. Diana's fingers finally found their target, her touch a feather-light caress that made his breath hitch. "I'm... I'm at the library! With Diana. We're... we're just going over some notes. Decompressing after the test." The half-truth felt like a mountain of a lie.
"Oh," May said, and he could hear the complex mix of emotions in that single word—curiosity, a little sadness, but also a genuine attempt to understand. "Well, that's... that's good. You two work well together."
"Yeah," he breathed, as Diana's mouth replaced her hand, her lips a soft, warm brand against his skin, her tongue tracing a single, devastating line. "We really do."
"Okay, well, I won't keep you. Just... call me when you're on your way home? Please?"
"I will," he promised, the words a choked, desperate gasp. "I promise. Love you."
He ended the call and tossed the phone onto the floor. The real world was banished once more. He looked down at Diana, who was now looking up at him with a wicked, triumphant glint in her eyes.
"So," she purred, her voice a low, throaty thing. "Where were we?"
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