A Morning Thing
Rose awoke slowly, conscious of the luxurious feeling of being held in Peter’s arms. He was spooned behind her, his naked body in as much contact with hers as possible, and she sighed contentedly as she slowly closed her eyes. They’d both had a busy week, barely seeing each other in the mornings and evenings; the night before had been the first time they’d spent more than a half-hour in each other’s company in days, and they’d taken advantage of it, dining on takeaway before tumbling into bed. Peter had made love to her like he’d not seen her in years, and she’d fallen asleep, naked in his arms, feeling completely sated if not a little exhausted.
She stretched, arching her back and curling her toes, Peter tightening his hold on her in his sleep. She relaxed with a sigh, savouring the fact that they finally had a day off together, and could have a proper lie-in for the first time in absolute ages. She smiled, letting her eyes drift shut as she simply enjoyed being with her partner.
She could feel the rhythmic exhalation of his breath against her hair, and she allowed herself to be lulled by the sensation. She dozed lightly for a while, aware of the world but not really conscious of it, Peter’s arm a comforting weight against her stomach, his knees resting against the backs of her legs. She was just fully falling back asleep when she jerked, the sudden contraction of her muscles pulling her back to full wakefulness.
She felt Peter shift at her back, his hand moving slightly over her stomach, could feel him slowly hardening as he began to awake. She couldn’t resist shifting her hips just a bit, enjoying the press of his rigid flesh against her bum; she could feel her body respond, eager to join with Peter once more. She’d never grow tired of it, would always love the feel of him in her, stroking her, touching her.
He took a deep breath, moved slightly; she felt him tense, briefly, as he awoke fully, and she smiled even as she slid her hand forward to cover his.
“Good morning,” she whispered, squeezing his hand.
“Morning,” he replied gruffly, kissing her neck. His breath brushed lightly over her skin, and she felt her nipples tighten in response. She really was randy this morning; she wondered how he’d feel about a morning shag.
She pressed her hips backwards, into his erection, and felt his breath catch in response. His fingers splayed across her ribs, and he held her tightly to him. “May I be of service, Miss Tyler?” he asked, before placing another kiss on her neck.
She tilted her head, giving him better access, before replying, “Oh, I think perhaps you could, Mr. Carlisle.” Another wiggle of her hips, and she felt him lightly run his tongue over her skin.
“And how might I be of service, Miss Tyler?” he whispered before lightly nipping at the pulse point of her neck.
“Oh, I think you know,” she replied softly, rocking her hips back into him once more. His hand slid down her body, resting on her stomach; she felt warmth pooling below his hand, wanted him to go lower.
“Perhaps I need some guidance,” he growled, shifting. His lips played with her earlobe, working the soft flesh, before slowly sucking it into his mouth. She moaned in appreciation, and felt his other hand shift to reach further around her body.
“Do you?” Her voice was breathy, and she paused to bring it under control. “I want you to touch me here.” She grasped his newly-freed hand, slid it to her breast; he eagerly began to stroke the flesh, fingertips finding the bud of her nipple and lightly teasing it.
“And what else can I do?” he whispered, his tongue dancing lightly along the shell of her ear.
“This.” Her hands moved to the one he’d rested on her stomach; covering his right hand with hers, lacing their fingers together, she slowly slid his hand down towards the juncture of her thighs. She guided his fingers through the damp curls, mewling appreciatively as his fingers and hers found the wetness she knew was waiting. She felt Peter’s reaction against her bum, and slowly slid her hand from his.
As his fingers began to slide slowly, gently, through the folds of flesh, teasing her lightly, she reached above and behind her; she slid her fingers into Peter’s hair, straining to be able to run her hands through it. He moved, bringing his head forward; she turned, wanting desperately to kiss him.
As his hands worked at her, stroking between her legs, teasing her breast, she began to rock slowly against him; he continued to kiss her, his tongue doing all sorts of devilish things with her mouth, as he began to push his hips into hers.
He kissed a line from her lips to her jaw, resting at her ear; as he continued to dance his fingers through her slickness, he whispered, “Condom.”
She could see the drawer just in front of her, knew she could reach it, but she didn’t want to move, didn’t want him to stop what he was doing. She bucked back against him once more, and he growled, “Rose. Condom. Now.”
She reached forward, trying not to move; Peter slowly slid his hand from her, and she picked up her pace, hurriedly opening the drawer, reaching in, grabbing a pile of the foil packets. She dumped them on the bed, retrieving one with shaking hands, and felt Peter move to bring his hands to hers.
He propped himself on an elbow, looking over her shoulder as he took the packet from her and opened it; as he moved to put the condom on, she rolled towards him, only to be stopped cold by a look from him. “Where do you think you’re going?” he asked, pinning her with a look. He held her gaze as he rolled the condom on, making sure it was secure.
“I just wanted to...”
“We weren’t finished.” He moved to her, brought his lips down to hers even as his talented hands found their way back to where they had been before the interruption. She gave herself over to him, reaching awkwardly across her body to bury her hand in his hair, her other arm pinned by his as he rolled a nipple between his fingers. His right hand was once more between her legs, his fingers sliding through the flesh there; he paused, teasingly, at her opening, lightly dancing around it. She ached for him, and finally nipped at his lip.
“Stop teasing me, Carlisle,” she growled; he obliged, sliding two fingers into her even as he resumed kissing her.
She loved how he made her feel, wanted more of it; but, more than that, she wanted him buried in her, joined intimately to her as the two of them found release. She pulled back, opened her eyes; he met her gaze, his brown eyes black in the light.
“I want you, Peter,” she whispered, holding his gaze.
He lightly brushed his lips against hers before gently rolling her away from him and moving to lie behind her once more. She was surprised, had hoped to see him as he rocked against her; but she was willing to try whatever he wanted, if it made him happy. He shifted his hips, guiding his erection between her legs; she moved to try to help him out, and felt his hand move to rest against her thigh. “You’re fine,” he whispered against her temple, and she felt the dampness between her legs grow.
She could feel the head of his erection at her opening now, felt her heartbeat increase in anticipation; he shifted his hips, and slid into her.
She gasped at the feeling, even as his fingers delved once more between her legs, dancing around her clitoris. With his other hand he resumed teasing her breasts, his thumb playing with her hardened nipple as he slowly slid out of her.
She arched her back, not wanting the contact to end, and he thrust forward; she let out a deep, throaty moan, and felt him kiss the corner of her jaw.
He set up a steady rhythm, pushing into her as she would rock back against him; his hands continued to play with her, to pinch or rub against her breast, to dance lightly through her curls and her folds even as he drove into her. She felt her orgasm begin to build, the tension coiling within her, and Peter began to whisper to her, interspersing his words with nips of the teeth and flicks of the tongue. As the spiral tightened, he began to pound into her, harder, faster, his left hand now splayed across her stomach, holding her against him as he drove into her. He was panting in her ear, and the sensation and sound of him growing closer to his own orgasm only served to push her further.
“Rose...come for me...” he whispered against her ear, his finger teasing her clit in time with his thrusts. His words pushed her over the brink, sent her keening into ecstasy; the rhythmic pounding of him against her, into her, drew the sensation out until she thought she might faint from it.
She came back to earth, could feel how much harder Peter had grown in response to her orgasm even as his pace grew more frantic. She turned her head, saw Peter above her, biting his lip as he concentrated. She reached up, pulled him down to her; as she kissed his cheek, she whispered, “Peter. I want you to come.” After a few more frantic thrusts he arched into her, driving as far as he could as he emptied himself into the latex of the condom. She pushed back against him, the sensation nearly driving her to another orgasm, and she revelled in the feeling of being shagged by Peter first thing in the morning.
He collapsed against her, still buried inside her even as he wrapped her in his arms. She clenched her muscles around him, was rewarded with a nip of her shoulder, and she grinned.
“Good morning, Peter.”
“Good morning, Rose.”
She stretched, arching her back and curling her toes, Peter tightening his hold on her in his sleep. She relaxed with a sigh, savouring the fact that they finally had a day off together, and could have a proper lie-in for the first time in absolute ages. She smiled, letting her eyes drift shut as she simply enjoyed being with her partner.
She could feel the rhythmic exhalation of his breath against her hair, and she allowed herself to be lulled by the sensation. She dozed lightly for a while, aware of the world but not really conscious of it, Peter’s arm a comforting weight against her stomach, his knees resting against the backs of her legs. She was just fully falling back asleep when she jerked, the sudden contraction of her muscles pulling her back to full wakefulness.
She felt Peter shift at her back, his hand moving slightly over her stomach, could feel him slowly hardening as he began to awake. She couldn’t resist shifting her hips just a bit, enjoying the press of his rigid flesh against her bum; she could feel her body respond, eager to join with Peter once more. She’d never grow tired of it, would always love the feel of him in her, stroking her, touching her.
He took a deep breath, moved slightly; she felt him tense, briefly, as he awoke fully, and she smiled even as she slid her hand forward to cover his.
“Good morning,” she whispered, squeezing his hand.
“Morning,” he replied gruffly, kissing her neck. His breath brushed lightly over her skin, and she felt her nipples tighten in response. She really was randy this morning; she wondered how he’d feel about a morning shag.
She pressed her hips backwards, into his erection, and felt his breath catch in response. His fingers splayed across her ribs, and he held her tightly to him. “May I be of service, Miss Tyler?” he asked, before placing another kiss on her neck.
She tilted her head, giving him better access, before replying, “Oh, I think perhaps you could, Mr. Carlisle.” Another wiggle of her hips, and she felt him lightly run his tongue over her skin.
“And how might I be of service, Miss Tyler?” he whispered before lightly nipping at the pulse point of her neck.
“Oh, I think you know,” she replied softly, rocking her hips back into him once more. His hand slid down her body, resting on her stomach; she felt warmth pooling below his hand, wanted him to go lower.
“Perhaps I need some guidance,” he growled, shifting. His lips played with her earlobe, working the soft flesh, before slowly sucking it into his mouth. She moaned in appreciation, and felt his other hand shift to reach further around her body.
“Do you?” Her voice was breathy, and she paused to bring it under control. “I want you to touch me here.” She grasped his newly-freed hand, slid it to her breast; he eagerly began to stroke the flesh, fingertips finding the bud of her nipple and lightly teasing it.
“And what else can I do?” he whispered, his tongue dancing lightly along the shell of her ear.
“This.” Her hands moved to the one he’d rested on her stomach; covering his right hand with hers, lacing their fingers together, she slowly slid his hand down towards the juncture of her thighs. She guided his fingers through the damp curls, mewling appreciatively as his fingers and hers found the wetness she knew was waiting. She felt Peter’s reaction against her bum, and slowly slid her hand from his.
As his fingers began to slide slowly, gently, through the folds of flesh, teasing her lightly, she reached above and behind her; she slid her fingers into Peter’s hair, straining to be able to run her hands through it. He moved, bringing his head forward; she turned, wanting desperately to kiss him.
As his hands worked at her, stroking between her legs, teasing her breast, she began to rock slowly against him; he continued to kiss her, his tongue doing all sorts of devilish things with her mouth, as he began to push his hips into hers.
He kissed a line from her lips to her jaw, resting at her ear; as he continued to dance his fingers through her slickness, he whispered, “Condom.”
She could see the drawer just in front of her, knew she could reach it, but she didn’t want to move, didn’t want him to stop what he was doing. She bucked back against him once more, and he growled, “Rose. Condom. Now.”
She reached forward, trying not to move; Peter slowly slid his hand from her, and she picked up her pace, hurriedly opening the drawer, reaching in, grabbing a pile of the foil packets. She dumped them on the bed, retrieving one with shaking hands, and felt Peter move to bring his hands to hers.
He propped himself on an elbow, looking over her shoulder as he took the packet from her and opened it; as he moved to put the condom on, she rolled towards him, only to be stopped cold by a look from him. “Where do you think you’re going?” he asked, pinning her with a look. He held her gaze as he rolled the condom on, making sure it was secure.
“I just wanted to...”
“We weren’t finished.” He moved to her, brought his lips down to hers even as his talented hands found their way back to where they had been before the interruption. She gave herself over to him, reaching awkwardly across her body to bury her hand in his hair, her other arm pinned by his as he rolled a nipple between his fingers. His right hand was once more between her legs, his fingers sliding through the flesh there; he paused, teasingly, at her opening, lightly dancing around it. She ached for him, and finally nipped at his lip.
“Stop teasing me, Carlisle,” she growled; he obliged, sliding two fingers into her even as he resumed kissing her.
She loved how he made her feel, wanted more of it; but, more than that, she wanted him buried in her, joined intimately to her as the two of them found release. She pulled back, opened her eyes; he met her gaze, his brown eyes black in the light.
“I want you, Peter,” she whispered, holding his gaze.
He lightly brushed his lips against hers before gently rolling her away from him and moving to lie behind her once more. She was surprised, had hoped to see him as he rocked against her; but she was willing to try whatever he wanted, if it made him happy. He shifted his hips, guiding his erection between her legs; she moved to try to help him out, and felt his hand move to rest against her thigh. “You’re fine,” he whispered against her temple, and she felt the dampness between her legs grow.
She could feel the head of his erection at her opening now, felt her heartbeat increase in anticipation; he shifted his hips, and slid into her.
She gasped at the feeling, even as his fingers delved once more between her legs, dancing around her clitoris. With his other hand he resumed teasing her breasts, his thumb playing with her hardened nipple as he slowly slid out of her.
She arched her back, not wanting the contact to end, and he thrust forward; she let out a deep, throaty moan, and felt him kiss the corner of her jaw.
He set up a steady rhythm, pushing into her as she would rock back against him; his hands continued to play with her, to pinch or rub against her breast, to dance lightly through her curls and her folds even as he drove into her. She felt her orgasm begin to build, the tension coiling within her, and Peter began to whisper to her, interspersing his words with nips of the teeth and flicks of the tongue. As the spiral tightened, he began to pound into her, harder, faster, his left hand now splayed across her stomach, holding her against him as he drove into her. He was panting in her ear, and the sensation and sound of him growing closer to his own orgasm only served to push her further.
“Rose...come for me...” he whispered against her ear, his finger teasing her clit in time with his thrusts. His words pushed her over the brink, sent her keening into ecstasy; the rhythmic pounding of him against her, into her, drew the sensation out until she thought she might faint from it.
She came back to earth, could feel how much harder Peter had grown in response to her orgasm even as his pace grew more frantic. She turned her head, saw Peter above her, biting his lip as he concentrated. She reached up, pulled him down to her; as she kissed his cheek, she whispered, “Peter. I want you to come.” After a few more frantic thrusts he arched into her, driving as far as he could as he emptied himself into the latex of the condom. She pushed back against him, the sensation nearly driving her to another orgasm, and she revelled in the feeling of being shagged by Peter first thing in the morning.
He collapsed against her, still buried inside her even as he wrapped her in his arms. She clenched her muscles around him, was rewarded with a nip of her shoulder, and she grinned.
“Good morning, Peter.”
“Good morning, Rose.”