Disclaimer: I don't own them but I can borrow them right? : 3
Please Note! We're headed into M category stuff her Peeps; so if that's not your thing and you somehow found yourself on this story by mistake you should back out now! The rest of you? On we Go! xD
Chapter Two
"Girls do not throw themselves at me left and right." Peter scoffed.
"and In my experience Virgins have no idea what they're doing and it's not worth it. They can't even give a decent blowjob."
Peter could have smacked himself were they really having this conversation? She'd probably kill him tomorrow morning.
Olivia went very still.
"Never have I ever had any Complaints."
Peter froze.
When you work with the impossible everyday you think you're seen it all, that nothing can surprise you and then suddenly it hits you out of left field, POW it clocks you at 100 miles an hour and your world is spinning and in that instant you know that this is it; and you can never go back to the way you used to be.
With the rush of air leaving his lungs Peter realizes that this is that moment.
Bam. Pow. Whack. His world is spinning, tilting threatening to fall off its axis, Tumble out of control.
"No Way." The words make it past his lips he thinks; he's not sure his brain's neurons are still stuttering; still flummoxed and completely wrapped up in trying to digest the words she just said.
Not possible….not possible….
Any second now that serious expression is going to slide off her face, he knows. She's going to grin or laugh outright; tossing her head back and having a great laugh with him because she's finally thrown him for a loop and she must know it.
She must be joking because if she's not…Peter's brain slams to a halt again. Total mental shutdown.
She was sleeping with John…and that other agent from out of town…wasn't she?
Peter acutely remembers the slick coating of jealously that overtook him every time he thought she'd found her way into another man's bed….was it possible…? A part of him that very probably might be suicidal has to know.
"You were sleeping with John." It's not a question, but she rebukes it anyway.
"We were intimate, yes, but I wasn't 'sleeping' with him as your defining it."
"No way." 180 IQ and she's reduced him to two word sentences in his shock.
Part of him registers that she doesn't flinch when she says John's name. The rest of him is so tied in knots he can barely process when she sets her beer on the coffee table and slides from the armchair to cross the room. When she slinks closer to grab his own beer taking a pull from it before setting it on the table beside her own. Peter continues to lie back against the couch watching her in utter disbelief unable to wrap his head around the puzzle she's just handed him.
It was like someone had just told him Gravity didn't exist.
It's when she kneels beside the couch and reaches for his belt buckle that Peter is prompted to action, though not the bravado he would have thought if he had imagined this scenario himself; and imagine it he had; just not like this. God never in his wildest dreams did he ever imagine what she was implying...
Scooting up to an almost sitting position against the couch, elbows still propped behind him Peter continues to watch her face completely transfixed.
He tried to speak as she unzipped his jeans, and pulled them open displaying a patch of skin beneath.
"What are you Doing?"
His voice is rough and scratchy; heavy and thick like his tongue which should be saying something more; should be questioning this; stopping this instead he feels her hands against his skin, reach for him and his eyes slam closed against the sensation of her palm against his flesh, dipping inside his jeans to find him already swollen and hard straining against the fabric that confines him.
"I thought that was pretty obvious Peter," Olivia meets his gaze and Peter's sure he must be dreaming this. Surely their game ended hours ago and he's passed out on Olivia's couch and dreaming this and he needs to wake up before he embarrasses himself.
When she pulls him from his jeans and uses her other hand to shift his pants farther down his hips, gently stroking the length of him against her palm Peter's head falls back and he thinks he may have groaned he's not so sure with the alcohol, and the dreaming, and Jesus Christ if this is a dream it's the most vivid one he's ever experienced.
Peter thrusts up into her hand as she pumps across his flesh with just the right amount of pressure. Bringing her other hand to cup his balls, gently lifting them and working them between her fingers as he falls back onto the cushions unable to fight the waves of sinful pleasure his Partner's hand is working from his body.
She plays his body like a musical instrument, to a tune that they both seem to privately know, and he gasps and moans to it, fisting his hands in the couch to keep from grabbing her and ripping her clothes off.
"Olivia…" He calls to her desperately just as he feels a different kind of heat envelope him and this time he arches of the couch unable to stop himself feeling the heat of her mouth close around him, her tongue trailing over the same path her fingers had just taken.
He bucks as she drops down over him; still gently massaging the rest of him while her other now free hand grips his hip in a possessive manner, like she's afraid he's going to try to get away.
How anyone could want to get away from that mouth though Peter has no earthly idea.
He's died and gone to heaven. When her mouth leaves him for a moment he's certain that she's done, that she's finished her demonstration and he would have to admit (if he could properly form words let alone sentences) that she's right. But she doesn't leave him, she rises up to straddle his legs on the couch and Dips her head to take him in again from this new angle as he watches now transfixed and unable to look away.
He's found perfection buried in his partners mouth as she lowers herself over him again taking him all the way in to the base and he can feel her throat working him as her tongue slides across him again as she raises up and it's too much; too fast and still it's not enough…
Peter finds his fingers grasping at her. Reaching to fist and tangle in her hair as she takes him in once more, to a symphony of her name on his tongue, unconsciously helping her find the rhythm that he so desperately needs.
Following his silent instruction Olivia takes him in and works him with her hands and throat following his fingers as the bunch and tangle in her hair as Peter thrashes and moans beneath her, he's so close, so close….
"Olivia, back off!" He tries to warn her but she just sinks onto him again and he can feel her closing her throat around him once more and then she does something he does not expect at all.
She purrs around him as she caresses him and the vibrations against his skin it's more than he can take and he's suddenly pumping into her throat recklessly and calling her name as he empties himself into her over and over as the world spins around him and almost fades to black and he thinks that maybe in his distraction he might have forgotten how to breathe.
When He's done he lays there in shock as Olivia works him up and down once more riding the last few aftershocks with him making him jump and groan before she lets him slide from her mouth.
Peter stares at her as she meets his gaze, still straddled over his legs. He wants to freeze time and memorize the way she looks right now, forever. With her dark hooded eyes, and tousled hair; her swollen pink lips and flushed cheeks. The way her chest heaves as she breaths and her tank top gaps just so as he gets the perfect view between the valley of her breasts.
"livia…" words still seem to fail him but she smiles at him anyway, and if he thought the view was good before it's fucking to die for now.
"I Win." Peter's head falls back against the couch cushions at her words as a low chuckle escapes him.
"You Win, Sweetheart."
To be Continued…