Title: the heave and the hue of the woman on fire (2/5)
Author: A.j.
Spoilers: General Iron Man mythology and that Pepper Potts exists.
Notes: Huge thanks to besyd and 4persephone for the beta work. This is, for all intents and purposes, Five Places Tony and Pepper Never Had Sex. AU to the movieverse... maybe. smirks
2. Back of the limo.
Tony knows exactly three things about the woman in his lap. She's a natural redhead, she has a dirtier mouth than he does, and she could easily win a kegel marathon. All in all, he's pretty turned on.
Which is convenient given that he's balls-deep inside her, working like a race-horse to keep up.
"Fuck..." he's hissing because she's doing a figure-eight with her hips and just clamping down when she hits the center twist.
"Mmm, that's what we're doing," she hums in his ear and does the dirtiest thing he's ever imagined with her teeth and tongue and the cartilage on his lobe. Pushing through the hot, shivery feeling that's just shot straight down his body, he makes an executive decision that as soon as he's got her on her back on the other bench seat, he's going to attempt that exact thing on her clit. Until his tongue gives out. Or she dies. Y'know. Whichever.
His hands feel huge on her slim hips, wrapped around them and, up until this point, steadying more than guiding. It's rare that he finds a partner this experienced or this enthusiastic, and he's been mostly enjoying the ride. But really, where's the fun in the toy if you don't actually play with it?
He follows the next twist of her hips with his own, bracing against the floor and pushing up until they're suspended over the seat. It's not a position that he can maintain indefinitely, but it's enough for deeper penetration and her eyes roll back in her head a little as he grinds up and pulls her forward, hard, onto his pubic bone.
Her moan is high and reedy, and when she opens those big blue, heavily dilated eyes, they're full of wonder and naughtiness.
"That's right," he grunts and adapts her hip twist.
"You are a clever boy," she gasps and runs a hand down his side, across his flank, and back to his ass. She's got easy access now, and it's with no surprise that he feels her rubbing behind his balls, nails gentle, and fuck.
"You are evil."
She just smirks down at him, neck arched and graceful in the passing street lights outside. "All the boys say that."
He met her at the party. Tony's a little fuzzy on which party as it was the third or sixth of the evening - and the fourth or tenth whiskey - but she'd been at the party. All long legs and graceful lines, she'd exuded class in ways his strung-out mind couldn't really process outside of a slight gibbering; someone out of another age, he'd thought fancifully. Okay, no, he'd thought she'd had an amazing pair of legs and he's pretty sure that the first thing he said to her was "Those shoes would look amazing digging in to the backs of my thighs."
Luckily for him and his dick, she'd taken one long, slow, incredibly lusty, head-to-toe scan and agreed with him.
At least, he's pretty sure she did. After all, he's currently sucking on the curve of her neck and playing the role of pornographic bouncy castle. Still, he is pretty high and a few curves past 'drunk', so.
She's back to moaning over him and raking his chest up and down with those nails. His thighs are burning and he can't actually touch her because that would mean losing all mobility in his hips - that's it, he's so installing a sex swing in the back of the limo tomorrow - but good, fucking Christ, she's squeezing his dick like a fucking milking machine and she hasn't even come yet.
"Where did you even come from, and-" he grunts, lowering himself back to the seat so he can touch those breasts that are just in front of him. "Can I keep you?"
She giggles at him and braces her hands against his shoulders before doing another figure eight and clench that leaves him seeing stars and groping for her clit. "You couldn't keep up with me," she purrs before biting his shoulder.
Goddamn, she might even be right because he's making noises that he hasn't heard out of his own mouth since he was twenty and spent three rather interesting weeks in a brothel in Venice.
Damn, that had been fun. He needs to remember to schedule another one of those trips sometime in the near future.
"Fuck," he hisses, doing his level best to run through the first ninety decimals in Pi. He can do this because it's suddenly become a competition and if there's one thing he knows down to his bones, it's that he can't go down without a fight.
With a grunt, a bit of forward momentum, and a controlled shove, she's off him and on the other bench seat, spread out like a debauched present, open and flushed with her dress scrunched around her waist and dear god, attempting to do the splits.
"Mmm," she works her lips over her teeth and in the minimal lighting of the limo, her eyes are almost black.
Of course he goes face-first into her pussy. Like there's anything else he can do.
She even tastes expensive.
"Oh, yeah..." She has to have one leg braced somewhere because only one thigh is smashed up against his head and he can still hear her moaning and panting. A hand in his hair shows him where to go and he's more than happy to take direction.
Right, then left, then up, then back off the clit.
She shudders and squeaks in the cutest way when he uses his fingers to hold her open and just breathes on her.
He stays down there, lips and tongue and fingers alternating and learning how to make her squeal and sigh and pull him tighter with the one leg thrown over his shoulder. It's only when the hand in his hair's tugs sharpen and start to hurt that he's crawling back up over her, knees on the floor and braced to push back inside.
"Hi, there, stranger." She's flushed from the roots of her hair down to the tips of her breasts, glowing with sweat and lust; the picture-perfect wet dream with her hair spread out behind her, and that damn fucking leg is thrown over his hip and she's rocking against him again.
"Hi... god, are you superhuman or something? Because those were some pretty choice moves right there."
She laughs and leans up to lick some of her own wetness off the side of his jaw, and then they're kissing again, and fucking Christ the things she can do with her tongue.
It's a testament to that tongue and her evil powers of distraction that he only notices she's got him back inside her when he hits bottom. They break the kiss and moan at nearly the same moment, but she's the one who brings her hand down, hard, on his ass and clenches with those goddamn kegels, again.
"Ride 'em, cowboy. Let's see what you got." Her smirk is glorious and he kind of wants to eat her face because damn. Damn.
So he does.
Deep, shallow, slow, fast. He kind of loses track of time for awhile because when he's finally groaning and coming with her nails in his back and her heels pressed firmly into the backs of his thighs - he's so going to have marks, and fuck it, he was totally right about those damn shoes, even if he can't actually see them - it could have been an hour or five minutes.
The most surprising part? He's actually tired.
"God," he gasps and slumps back, quickly remembering to hold onto the condom because that's just bad sex etiquette otherwise. He blinks at her, watching as she stretches and shifts, unabashedly naked.
And she still hasn't come. She'd won. If it could actually be called winning, all told.
"How the hell..?" He manages to pant, watching fascinated, as she runs a thumb over her bare lips, checking for puffiness. Well, that's what he's assuming. She could just be doing something weird and mysteriously female.
"Honey, I'm a girl who can only come once in an eight-hour period, and a really cute waiter took care of me before you even showed up." She's smirking and running a hand through those red waves to straighten or tousle or whatever weird magic women can do with fingers and a pin to get everything just so. Hell, she doesn't even have a mirror.
"So this was what..? Just to fuck?"
She stretches, her dress still mostly off, and leans over to kiss him. God help him, it curls his toes, and when he finally pulls back, his fingers are back inside of her and it's only because he needs at least another ten minutes to recover that he isn't hard as a rock.
"Don't fish for compliments when you know how good you are, Tony." She bites his lower lip, hard and pulls his hand out and away with a little moan before then settles back and reaches for her purse. "It's crude."
"Okay. But if I couldn't do anything for you-"
She rolls her eyes and pins him with a look that makes him want to blush. Blush. "You did plenty for me. I just didn't come. That didn't mean I didn't have a good time."
He blinks. "All right. Are you sure?"
She just laughs and pulls the straps of her dress up over her shoulders, straightening the top as much as she can, and just like that he can't see her breasts anymore. He pouts.
"Don't get dressed on my account. We can always go back to my house and try for round two."
"I don't think so. We're here." She smirks and reaches over to scratch through his goatee. It's a strange sensation but not all together unpleasant. It's also, probably, the most intimate thing she's done to him. Which. He shakes his head and lets the thought go.
"We could always try and cheat biology? Push the envelope?" It slips out before he can shut his mouth. It's not the words that bother him, but the hopeful tone. This interlude doesn't exactly mean anything - yet - but he likes this woman. Likes her lust and her body and the teasing that's coming now.
Her eyes go soft for a second and it's a striking change from what's come before. She's a knockout, for sure, but with that look... He notices the freckles then. A light dusting across the bridge of her nose and her cheeks. His breath catches a little, and he doesn't know why.
She just shakes her head, kisses him hard, and pops the back door.
He makes no move to cover up. Luckily, the landscape visible outside the door is residential and quiet, otherwise someone would have gotten a really interesting show. Apparently, they'd been on their way to a specific somewhere - he hadn't really noticed what she'd told Happy when they'd slid into the back earlier - and now they're here. She hops out quickly, pushing her skirt down as she exits.
"Don't call me," she throws over her shoulder, straightening a strap of her dress and shaking out her skirt with a wiggle of those fucking amazing hips. Honest to god, he almost whimpers. "I'll call you."
Then she turns, just enough to look over that shoulder and smirks. "Maybe."
The car door slams and he's left, destroyed, on the back seat.
"Fuck." His voice vicious and amazed and about seventy other things in the empty limo. "I need to marry that woman."
It takes him a whole fifteen minutes to remember he hadn't even asked for her name.