Mario was a gentleman. Most of the time, Peach was appreciative of that fact, and could easily lose herself in the fantasy of a loyal and valiant hero who treated her with the upmost respect and courtesy. He saved her countless times from kidnappings and would continue with his day without complaint, as if it was an ordinary expectation. He never pressured her to do anything for him or made her feel like she wasn't doing enough. He gave her everything and asked for nothing in return.
What had started out as an endearing quality, however, had quickly become frustrating.
The two had been dating for months now, and the only reason that had begun was because Peach had become fed up with waiting for him to take a hint. They spent almost every day together, strolling in the park or shopping or simply spending time in each other's presence. She loved every second they had together. It was nice. It was wholesome. Sometimes, Peach thought, it was boring.
It almost seemed that Mario treated her with too much respect. They hadn't been intimate yet. They hardly ever even kissed, and each time they did it was because Peach initiated. The kiss was always brief and polite, like he was trying to be considerate about it—and again, she felt that perhaps he was just too considerate. Mario touched her like she was made of glass, like he was afraid she might break. His hands barely brushed her skin, and she was always left wanting more.
She spent her nights longing for him to touch her, to grab her with a passion she knew he possessed. She had seen him scale mountains with ease, punch his way through brick walls, and beat down enemies while hardly breaking a sweat. He was strong and sharp and so, so capable of taking whatever he wanted from her. She wanted to give it to him, whatever it was that he wanted.
He just… wouldn't take it.
One day, Peach had simply had enough. They'd spent the day tending to her gardens, which meant she had to endure standing idly by and watching him dig holes in the dirt. He had quickly grown hot from work, so he had rolled up his shirtsleeves and tossed aside his hat. They worked for hours, and he never seemed to tire. He'd just plant his shovel in the ground, wipe away the sweat that had beaded up on his forehead, and ask, "Where next, Principessa?"
She wanted him to take her right there, in the dirt.
Instead, she managed to quell the yearning that ached in her lower abdomen long enough for them to finish their work and head inside. She grabbed his hand, the dirt from his glove staining her own, and tugged him as gently as she could manage into her chambers. He followed dutifully.
Peach brought him to a sofa and sat him down, planting herself right beside him, close enough so their knees were touching. She tried not to be offended when he pulled his knee away.
Part of her wanted to just push him back onto the couch, climb on top of him, and take what she wanted. He would let her, because of course he would. He'd let her do anything to him. The problem was that's not what she wanted. Peach wanted Mario to push her back onto the couch, climb on top of her, and take what he wanted.
But Mario just sat beside her, a peaceful smile on his face while he waited for her to do something.
She was so frustrated she could scream.
Her hand snaked over to rest on his upper thigh, hoping to try just one last thing. She gave a gentle squeeze and leaned in slightly, giving him the opportunity to close the space if he wanted. His eyes glanced down at her lips briefly, and she thought she had him—finally, he would make the first real move.
A moment later, he glanced down further. "Oh!" He pulled his thigh away. "Don't get dirt on yourself; my clothes are filthy."
Peach sighed and pulled away, burying her face in her hands. This was pointless. Maybe he didn't even want her. Maybe she had been the one failing to pick up on the hints. A deep shame suddenly washed over her at the thought. How embarrassing, to be wanting him more than anything, while he just wanted her to leave him alone.
"Principessa?" Peach looked over to see Mario staring at her with a confused expression, his hand hovering by her shoulder—but not touching. Never touching.
"Are you not attracted to me?" she asked suddenly, turning again to face him. She needed to know, even if it hurt.
Mario looked stunned as he registered her question. "What?"
"You heard me," she said, not bothering to hide the hurt from her voice. She searched Mario's face for any indication, but just found confusion.
"Amore mio," Mario shook his head. "What are you talking about?"
"This," she said, gesturing to the large space he had put between them on the chair. "You don't even seem to want to be near me. You won't even touch me."
"Tutto quello che voglio è toccarti," he muttered in the language Peach still couldn't understand fully. He had a strange look in his eye, like there was a dark humor to what he was saying. Peach wanted to cry. Why was he being cruel all of a sudden?
"It isn't funny," she complained, watching as the humor disappeared from his expression instantly. He studied her face. She was serious.
"I'm sorry," he said, and she could tell he meant it. He pulled off his soiled gloves and set them aside, then took her hands in his own. They were calloused and strong, and so much larger than her own that it made her breath stutter to think about. He could wrap his fist around her arm and there would be nothing she could do to pull it free. Instead, he held her hands as gently as he would hold a baby bird, rubbing his thumbs over her knuckles with care. "I never meant to make you feel this way."
"It just feels like you don't even want me like that," she whispered. Her eyes glanced down briefly in between his legs to get her point across, to where she'd spent countless hours imagining anything and everything. When she looked back up, he seemed to understand what she was implying. A faint blush spread across his cheeks, and he looked exasperated.
"Ti voglio così tanto che fa male," he said, smiling but keeping his amusement at bay. There was no humor in his voice, which had an almost sad tone to it. "Le cose che vorrei poterti fare..."
Peach pulled her hands free from his, and he let her go with ease. She sighed. "I don't know what you're saying," she said, though she knew he was already aware of that. Neither spoke for a long moment, and when Peach glanced back up at him, he looked gutted. She was sure she looked the same.
"You really believe this, don't you?" Guilt was etched across his features. She nodded, hugging herself around the middle. He still hadn't told her otherwise. She saw him place his hands on his thighs and squeeze slightly. "Peach," he started, his voice heavy, "of course, I want you like that. It's all I can think about some days."
"Then why don't you act like it?" Part of her still didn't believe him. Part of her was still worried that she was making a fool of herself.
"I'm not a teenager anymore," he laughed, "I have some self-control."
"But why control it at all?"
He looked confused at that. "Principessa, you're… a principessa."
"So?"
"Well, aren't there rules? I assumed I had to behave a certain way with you, and that wouldn't involve…" He blushed again and glanced away. "I just didn't think it was proper."
Proper? Her entire life had been controlled and molded by what was proper, by what things were and weren't allowed in her public life. But her private life, her relationships, were always her own. She would never let anyone take that from her. And now Mario didn't want to be intimate because he thought she needed decorum in the bedroom? She could scream.
But it also gave her an idea.
Peach turned in her seat, pulling one leg onto the sofa so she was facing Mario. She planted her hands in the space between them and leaned closer, pointedly ignoring the way he leaned away to keep a polite distance between their faces.
"What if there weren't any rules?" He still looked confused at her words. Peach reached up to remove his hat and put it aside. His eyes followed the movement closely. "What if you didn't have to be proper?" She placed a hand on his thigh, above where he was already gripping, and she could feel him tighten his own hold on himself. "What if I wasn't a princess?" She watched the muscles in his jaw move as he clenched his teeth. She felt like she almost had him.
"Principessa…"
"Peach," she corrected. She leaned closer, and this time he didn't lean away. The hand she had on his thigh edged upward by an inch, just shy of where she wanted it to be, and their faces were so close she could feel his sharp intake of breath. "What would you do to me if I wasn't a princess? If I was just Peach?"
"Ti farei venire finché non dimentichi come si respire," he whispered, his voice rough. She didn't chastise him for continuing to speak in a way she couldn't understand. Perhaps there were some things he wasn't ready to say to her.
"Show me," she replied, keeping her voice as quiet as his. "And don't hold back."
She could see it in his eyes, the moment it clicked with him what she wanted him to do. He swallowed thickly and searched her face. "Are you sure?"
"I'll tell you if I want you to stop," she promised. And it was true, she would. She trusted that he would stop in a heartbeat, before the words were even fully out of her mouth. She trusted him not to hurt her more than she trusted even herself. There wasn't anyone she felt safer with.
His demeanor turned in an instant, like a switch had been flicked. He looked at her hungrily—like he was starving. He finally released the vice grip he had on his own thighs, putting one hand around the back of her neck and pulling her to him, closing the small gap that had still existed between the two. He didn't even hesitate before pressing his tongue forward, and she opened her mouth to let him in, marveling at the taste of him—her first taste of him. He'd never explored anything beyond a chaste kiss here and there.
The kiss was slow and methodical, his tongue sliding over hers carefully, like he was savoring each second. He was still being gentle, and she huffed, frustrated. This was still too controlled.
Peach slid her hand along his thigh further, finally pressing her palm over his groin where she could feel him hardening under her touch. He groaned into her mouth, and she swallowed the sound as it sent a yearning ache between her legs.
He seemed to take the hint. Without breaking the kiss, Mario stood from the sofa, scooping her up along with him like she weighed nothing at all. She wrapped her arms around his neck and pushed her tongue deeper into his mouth, pressing him to fight back against her. He did, and she was amazing he could keep up while maintaining a smooth stride as he carried her across the room.
She was dropped unceremoniously onto her bed, and she barely had time to push herself up on her elbows before she saw Mario disappear under her skirt. Her underwear was pulled down and off her legs, and he tossed them clear across the room. For a split second, she felt warm breath against her core, before suddenly she was enveloped with wet heat.
She threw her head back against the bed, and the sound that left her lips was certainly not fit for a princess. He moved against her with enthusiasm, his tongue lapping across her folds before dipping inside of her and gathering enough wetness to slide back up with ease. His lips found her clit and locked around it, sucking lightly while he swirled his tongue around the sensitive nub.
Peach would be embarrassed about being so close already if this wasn't everything she had dreamed of, everything she had spent long, lonely nights imagining while she touched herself and wished it was Mario's hands in place of her own.
He doubled down on his efforts between her legs, tongue pressing harder against her clit as he circled it. She could feel a pressure growing in her gut, her muscles tensing as she got closer. She wanted to grab him and pull him closer, but he was hidden under her dress. That left her hands to claw at the bed, tangling in the sheets and nearly ripping through the fabric with her nails. "Mario," she managed to choke out before her thighs clamped tightly against the sides of his head, holding him firmly in place while she shuddered through an orgasm. He rode through it with her, tongue only letting up when she shivered against him, overstimulated.
Mario emerged from under her dress with his mouth hanging loosely open, looking out of breath and disheveled. He wiped wetness from his chin using his sleeve.
Peach didn't have time to come down from the high of her orgasm before Mario was yanking her forward into a sitting position. He reached around her to the back of her dress, feeling for the clasps. He clumsily undid the first two then, thinking better of it, grasped the fabric in his fists and pulled. The buttons ripped apart, scattering loudly across the floor as the dress was torn open. Her heart leapt into her throat at the reminder of his strength.
The dress was off her in seconds, tossed to the side of the room in a heap. She kicked off her heels, and suddenly she was completely exposed to him while he stood at the foot of the bed, watching her like she was prey. She fought the urge to close her legs self-consciously, keeping them open and feeling the cool air against herself.
She watched with rapt attention as Mario undressed himself, kicking off his boots and unclasping his overalls to slide them off his legs. He had a long scar down the side of his calf, and she wondered where he had gotten it—wondered if it was from one of her many rescues, and the thought sparked a feeling of guilt in her chest. He did so much for her.
His shirt came off in one quick motion, revealing a thatch of dark chest hair that trailed down along a soft belly, disappearing beneath the waistband of his boxers. He pulled those off next, and his cock sprang free. The length seemed average, if not a little short, but Peach wanted to salivate at the thickness, imagining how it would feel to stretch around it. She bit her lip at the thought, clenching around nothing.
Mario dove forward and wrapped an arm around Peach, dragging her to the head of the bed. He laid his body against hers, pinning her down and kissing her again. She could taste herself on his tongue. His mouth moved with hers, and she was breathless as his chest held her down, his cock pressing into her stomach. She felt it twitch, and he muffled her moans with his tongue as he ground his hips against her, sliding his dick across her skin for friction.
Peach gasped for air when he let up, only to choke out another moan when Mario kissed down the length of her jaw, dipping down to suck on her throat. She felt him focus his efforts on the junction between her neck and shoulder, sucking hard, and she knew it would leave a mark in an area that wouldn't be covered by her dress. He wanted to leave a mark where everyone could see. Peach would have to walk around with the evidence clear as day, and everyone would know what he had done to her. The thought sent a pulse of arousal to her core.
When he was satisfied, he pulled his lips off her throat with a wet pop and continued kissing down her body, pausing to swirl his tongue around each of her nipples, eliciting a soft mewl that Peach tried to hide behind her hand. His kisses trailed down her stomach before veering off to one side. He pushed her legs apart and kissed the insides of each of her thighs before abruptly stopping.
Peach waited a moment for his mouth to find her center again, and when nothing happened, she propped herself up on her elbows to peer down between her legs. When he saw that he had her attention, Mario moved his mouth over to the inside of her left thigh. With deliberate care, he opened his mouth and rested his teeth on her thigh, and at the same time brought one hand to rest at her aching pussy.
She almost asked him what he was doing when he suddenly clamped his teeth down while pressing two of his fingers inside of her. The dual pain and pleasure made her cry out, and she reached down to thread her fingers into his hair. It was soft, but a little grimy from the sweat and dirt from earlier, and it drove her crazy. She tightened her hold, pulling his hair a little, and he bit down harder in response. He wasn't breaking skin, but she could feel that it would leave a bruise. Another mark to let her know what he did to her.
He finally released her thigh from his jaw and pressed a gentle kiss over the sore mark, then focused on pumping his fingers in and out of her. They were thick and rough, so different from her own when she tried to simulate what it might feel like to have him here between her legs. She could feel herself dripping down his fingers, could see how wet his knuckles were getting from her arousal, and it just made her want more. He added a third finger, and she clenched around him tightly.
"Please," she whined, trying to tug him up by his hair. He followed her pull willingly, his fingers slipping out from inside of her and leaving her feeling empty. She brought him close so they were face to face, and while he held himself a few inches above her body, she could feel the tip of his cock resting above her hip, a bead of precum wet against her skin. She writhed beneath him a little, repeating herself desperately. "Please."
"Please what?" Mario asked, his voice deceptively innocent. Peach tried to reach down to grab his dick to make her point, but he intercepted. In one quick movement, he had both her hands pinned above her head with one of his own. His free hand came to rest on her face, his thumb brushing over her cheek—a gentle touch, a hint of his kind nature coming through what was otherwise a rough experience. "Tell me what you want, Peach," he said.
She knew that he would give her anything she asked for at that moment. She wanted him to take, not to ask, but she also knew that's not who he was. Peach had told him to do whatever he wanted to her, and Mario had done nothing but give her pleasure, ignoring his own needs. He would never ask for anything from her. He was such a gentleman.
"Please, fuck me," she said quietly.
The hands above her head were released. Mario's hand found her hip, and he held it tightly while he used his other hand to line himself up at her entrance. With one last look at her, as if to make sure she wanted him to continue, he pushed himself inside of her.
Peach was right—he was thick, and his cock stretched her almost painfully as he entered. She gasped, but quickly changed the sound into a moan to hide her discomfort. If he knew he hurt her, even a little, he would stop, and she wasn't sure she could handle that. She wanted this more than anything. She wanted him to stay inside her forever.
As he bottomed out, Mario leaned down to press his body against hers. At this angle, his face was buried in the base of her neck, and she felt him press a soft kiss to the hollow in her throat. She had never felt so full, had never been able to make herself feel like this alone. He stayed still for a moment to let her adjust before he started to move.
His thrusts were shallow at first, and she appreciated the opportunity to let herself get used to him. When she felt like she was ready for more and he hadn't changed his pace at all, she tightened herself around him, earning a low groan against her throat.
Mario pulled away from her, using one arm to hold himself up above her and grabbing her hip with his other. He pounded into her faster, the brutal change in pace making her breath catch in her throat. She ran her hands up his chest, marveling at the feeling of his hair under her palms. She found another scar, a small slice just under his left clavicle, and she brushed her fingers over it. Another souvenir from saving her? She hoped not, but the possibility of it still made her feel a pang of remorse.
He seemed to sense that he was losing her to her own thoughts. Mario brought his hand down from her hip to rest between them, his thumb finding her clit with ease. He rubbed small circles against it in time with his thrusts.
She grabbed him by the back of his neck and pulled him closer for a kiss. He obliged happily, though he had to hike her thighs up higher to kiss her and fuck her at the same time. The new angle made him hit a bundle of nerves inside of her, and Peach moaned into his mouth.
"Mario…" she breathed, feeling herself getting closer. His pace faltered slightly, and she could tell he was close, too. He evened out his thrusts and focused on his thumb on her clit. Of course, he would make sure she came first. Her heart ached for him.
Her orgasm built slowly, and if it hadn't felt like the most incredible wave of pleasure washing over her entire body, she would have felt bad for taking so long. It crashed into her suddenly, and her entire body clenched, muscles contracting around his cock where it continued to thrust into her. He took his thumb off her clit, hand returning to her hip where he gripped her so tightly, she would probably have a bruise. His thrusts grew erratic again.
"Wh… where?" he panted, brow furrowed with concentration. Peach's brain felt fuzzy as she came down from her orgasm, and it took a moment for her to register what he was asking. He wanted to know where to cum. He wanted to know if he should pull out.
"Anywhere you want," she said, placing a hand on his cheek. She wanted to give that to him, if he wouldn't take anything else from her. She could give him that permission.
He grunted, like he was trying so hard not to cum at just the thought of finishing inside of her. "Are you sure?" he asked breathlessly, and she wanted to commend him on his control. Instead, she smiled and tightened herself around him.
"I'm sure," she said.
That was all he needed. Mario's hips stuttered, and he buried himself as deep inside her as he could reach as the rest of his body pressed against her, like he couldn't possibly get close enough. A low sound came from the back of his throat, almost like a growl, and he muffled it by pressing his face tighter against her neck. He twitched inside of her as he came, a warmth filling her up as she felt him shoot ropes of cum. She held him until he was spent, and his body relaxed where he lay on top of her.
They stayed like that for a long moment, with Peach running her hands up and down Mario's back while he caught his breath. She could feel his heart through his chest where he lay against hers, and she waited for it to calm down from its frantic beating. When it slowed to a steady beat and his breathing went back to normal, her hands stilled on his back. She almost believed he had fallen asleep when he suddenly pushed himself up on his elbows. With a soft smile, he pressed a kiss to her forehead and stood up, leaving for the bathroom.
When he returned, he was holding a wet rag and a glass of water. He set the water aside and sat beside Peach on the bed. The cloth was warm and soothing where he wiped it against her skin, cleaning off sweat and spit, pressing it gently over the inside of her thigh where a rapidly growing bruise was encircled by teeth marks. He helped her clean away the cum that had started to dribble out of her, and part of her felt embarrassed at his intimate actions while the other part was so touched, she almost felt like crying.
He set the rag aside and brought over the glass, helping her to sit up against the headboard so she could drink. Her hands were shaky, but he kept his hand on the glass to keep it steady for her. When she finished, he set the empty glass on the nightstand.
The two of them settled into bed under the covers, turning on their sides to face one another. Mario reached out and pressed his palm to her cheek, and she nuzzled her face into it.
"I love you," she whispered, and she heard his breath hitch.
"La mia principessa," he said quietly. His thumb brushed across her face. "I love you, too."
She moved forward to cuddle into him, sighing contentedly when she felt his arms wrapped protectively around her body. Her hand ran over the hair on his chest, finger automatically finding the small scar again, and she resolved to ask him someday where it was from. She closed her eyes and flattened her hand out, feeling the beating of his heart against her palm.
He gave her everything, and never asked for anything in return, though she would give him the world if he wanted it. She didn't think she'd ever felt more cared for in her life.