A Storm Thing (1/1)
Title: A Storm Thing
Rating: M
Characters: Rose Tyler, Peter Carlisle
Disclaimer: Characters from Blackpool and Doctor Who are the property of BBC, and are used with the greatest of love and respect; no profit is intended from the writing or sharing of this story.
Summary: Rose and Peter find themselves in the middle of a heat wave.
Notes: This is another one of those stories which, to some degree, came out of my most recent vacation--ginamak and I had been talking about Italy and Pompeii and so on. It was also inspired by EGT’s recent adventures in a true-blue Florida thunderstorm (mercy, how I miss those!); she sort of liveblogged it via e-mail, with the end result that she, chicklet73, and I all decided to write storm stories. The story is one chapter-but I think there are other stories to be written around it, for reasons that *should* become obvious by paragraph three. :)
Many thanks to both earlgreytea68 and chicklet73 for their beta of this last night, after I plunked it in their inboxes mid-afternoon yesterday. And I *strongly* encourage you to read both EGT ("Storm") and C73's (" Oncoming Storm") takes on the storm idea.
A Storm Thing
Rose collapsed on the chair under the pergola, hoping the shade would offer some form of respite from the sweltering heat the Amalfi Coast was experiencing. The bougainvillea remained resolutely still, betraying no hint of breeze, and she sighed in resignation.
The heat had to break at some point; even the locals were muttering about it now, looking to the heavens for the storm that would return the climate to its normally breezy, balmy state. From her position on the chaise lounge, she could look over the still blue waters of the Gulf of Salerno to where the horizon would be if a white haze hadn’t settled; she squinted, wondering if it was her imagination or if there really were clouds building miles offshore.
Peter padded out, bending over to brush a kiss across her damp hair, before settling himself on the chair next to hers. He’d not been keen about the vacation when it was thrust upon them-an all-expenses-paid fifth anniversary gift from her parents-but during their weeks in Italy he’d slowly unwound, accepting the idea of relaxation, of not working to a set schedule and simply being. The sun had brought out his freckles and added streaks of reddish blonde to his chestnut hair, and he’d taken to faffing about the villa in nothing more than a pair of shorts on most days. The line of worry between his eyebrows had gone, replaced by a light tan; and he smiled more often than not.
“Have to make sure to thank your parents again for this,” he said, his hand finding hers and clasping it between their chairs.
She turned her head, looking to see if he was being serious or sarcastic. He glanced over to her, and added, “I’m quite serious. Heat be damned-and I do wish it would be-it’s been a lovely holiday.”
“Y’think?”
“I do.” He squeezed her hand, and then turned his attention to the panorama in front of them. The villa-a small house, really, with a lovely back garden and walls protecting it from the outside world-was on one of the many low cliffs above the sea, guaranteeing them an unrestricted view of the sea as well as privacy from the zanzare. They’d grown used to the flights of stairs leading down to the water; and Rose had noticed that Peter’s legs had become even more toned as the result of their strolls not only to the small beach, but also to the ancient village a few kilometers away. When it was hot, of course, they used the small Vespa or even the miniscule car, which had been provided with the holiday hire; but when the weather was cooler they’d made a habit of walking to town for supper or gelato.
“Still can’t believe Mum and Dad did this…”
He laughed. “I suppose it was the only way they thought we’d ever go on holiday.”
“They’re probably right.” Rose laughed, and then reached up to wipe away the sweat trickling down from her temple. “Coulda booked it for us in December, though, not August.”
“We couldn’t have gone swimming in December,” Peter replied. “And we’d both have gone mad by then, I think.”
“Yeah.” Rose squinted her eyes again, looking to where she thought the horizon might be.
“You up for a swim?”
“Mmm.” It was part of their routine-waking up, having breakfast, getting ready for the day and then going for a swim in the crystal clear water lapping below the villa. From there, it would be a walk into town (on cooler days), or a climb up to the villa for a light lunch and then a nap.
“You’ll feel better…”
“True; but that requires getting up and moving, and it’s so hot.”
“C’mon, up you get.” Peter released her hand, moving to stand in one fluid motion. He gazed down at her with amusement, a sheen of sweat covering his skin and causing his hair to stick to his forehead. “Just a quick dip, you and I and the sea…no locals to bother us…”
“Can you promise that?” The beach was, theoretically, private-but on more than one occasion they’d come across a family or couple who’d unapologetically made it their home for the day.
“No, but perhaps if we’re down there soon enough, we’ll scare any interlopers away.” He reached down, taking Rose’s hands, gently tugging upwards.
“Alright, alright.” She sat up, then stood, rocking up on the balls of her feet to brush a kiss across Peter’s lips. “Let’s go for a swim.”
They brought fresh water and fruit with them, placing their refreshments under the sun umbrella planted firmly in the sand. It was a few degrees cooler by the water, and they spent an enjoyable few hours swimming, or dozing on the chairs provided for their comfort by the owners of the villa.
The air had been still and heavy for so long that Rose didn’t really register, at first, that it was a puff of breeze - not Peter's breath - blowing across her cheek. “Peter,” she said drowsily, cracking open an eye and expecting to find him leaning over her, a small smile on his lips. He wasn’t there-was actually down in the water, floating on his back-and she sat up. She felt the sweat against her scalp cool as another puff of wind passed over the small beach, and she leaned forward, peering up at the sky.
The white haze was still there-but towering over it were storm clouds, white and grey billowing out and up as the long-hoped-for storm made its way to the coast.
“Peter!”
He continued to float, his eyes closed blissfully and his ears under water. She stood, walking to the shore, glancing up again at the clouds wending their way to the coast. Peter heard her splash into the water, raised his head and looked to her questioningly as he found his footing in the chest-deep water. “Come to join me?”
“Look!” She pointed above and behind him, causing him to turn; and then he looked back to her, his eyebrows raised.
“That’s a welcome sight,” he said, moving to where she stood, the water lapping against her waist. He slid a hand around her back, pulling her to him, and leaned in for a kiss. “We, my wife, may have to spend our afternoon indoors.”
“Oh,” she replied, her answer cut off by a kiss from her husband.
He’d become openly demonstrative with her, during their time in Italy, noting the fact that the locals weren’t shy at all about displaying affection, and realizing that it delighted Rose to no end. She still smiled when he did it in town, pulling her to him for a long kiss; it was different from how he was at home, and it was something she hoped he’d not stop doing when they returned to London. It would no doubt scandalize much of society, as well as several of the papers, but she didn’t much care about that-and highly doubted Peter would, either.
He slowly ended their kiss, brushing his lips lightly across hers before pulling back. “You want to go back, Rose?” His fingers stroked her cheek, his brown eyes several shades lighter than normal in the brilliant sunlight; and she noticed the water glistening on the ends of his lashes as he looked at her.
“Yeah,” she replied, her mouth suddenly dry.
He gave her a lazy smile, leaning in for another kiss instead.
This kiss was broken by the arrival of a fat raindrop, landing with a smack against her shoulder, causing her to jump. The storm was moving far faster than either of them had expected; that or they’d spent far more time kissing in the water than she’d thought.
“Time to go,” she observed, glancing up to the cloud now obscuring the sun. The wind began to pant, puffs of breeze arriving more regularly, and with a bit more intensity; and as they walked out of the water, over to the towels waiting for them on their chairs, she felt the temperature drop.
A low rumble of thunder was audible, echoing around them in the small bay created by the cliffs and hills, and Peter glanced up to give the storm a stern look.
“I think, Mrs. Carlisle, that we’d best leg it.” He grinned at her, taking her hand as the heavens above them opened up in a deluge of water.
They giggled as they ran up the stairs, the rain falling so hard and so fast that puddles formed on the risers; small rivers of water were splashing down the rocks, and the smell of cool rain hitting a hot surface filled the air. A bright flash filled the sky as Peter opened the latch on the garden gate, followed in rapid succession by the sharp crack of thunder; and Rose felt the temperature drop another degree or two as they splashed their way across the garden to the pergola. She snatched at the book Peter had left sitting out, bringing it with her as she ran through the French doors they’d left open during their swim.
Peter glanced ruefully at the book, taking it from her with a shake of his head. “We should have left a book sitting out days ago-seems that’s all that was needed to get it to rain.” He looked around him, and finally set the book on the tile floor just inside the door.
“Ah, well.” Rose peered out the doors, amazed at the ferocity of the storm. Rain fell hard enough to obscure the view past the pergola; and she was startled by another flash of brilliant white, followed by the boom of thunder. “’s amazing,” she said, turning to Peter.
“Aye.” He, too, was peering out the doors; but after he answered he turned to her, his eyes once again dark. He didn’t say anything, simply closed the distance between them before leaning down to brush his nose along her cheek.
She let out a sigh, her hands slipping over his shoulders as his arms wrapped around her. He began to drift kisses across her jaw, still not speaking; the only sound that of the rain and the thunder. Rose tilted her head back as he kissed her neck, his hands moving to her hips as he continued to kiss down her sternum, between her breasts. Her fingers slid into his hair and she gently tugged upwards, wanting to kiss him.
He reached up, wrapping his hands around her wrists, delicately pulling her hands away before releasing them; and then he began to dance his tongue across her skin, one hand moving the wet cloth of her bikini out of the way as he began to tease her breast.
She gasped, arching as his tongue flicked across her nipple, as his mouth covered it and pulled gently. The air was cold against the dampness as he then moved, repeating the actions with her other breast as his hands reached around her for the tie of her top. Rose arched, reaching behind her, untying the string around her neck, and her bathing suit top fell away as Peter succeeded in untying the string behind her back.
His hands cupped her breasts, his thumbs rubbing against the hard nipples as he returned to kissing her skin, now focusing his attention on her shoulders. Rose returned her hands to his hair, encouraging him to go higher, to kiss her properly; and he finally relented, straightening.
He hovered maddeningly, however, his lips mere centimeters away from hers as his hands continued to work; and then he leaned in, kissing her as though he’d not seen her in months, his hands shifting to grab her bum and pull him flush against her. His skin was warm against her chest, and she could feel the hardness of his erection pressing into her stomach; and as the storm continued to rage outside, she slid her hands under his swim suit, cupping his bum and holding him against her.
He began murmuring to her in Gaelic as he once again began to explore her skin with his lips, his breath hot as he moved down, a trail of kisses and words marking the path to the line of her bikini bottoms. He knelt before her, his hands still holding her bum; and Rose slid her fingers through his hair once more as he paused, gazing up at her.
He said nothing, simply looped his fingers under her suit and tugged it down; and as she stepped out of it he moved forward, guiding a leg over his shoulder, trusting to her balance. She wobbled slightly, her hands flying to his head; and then she groaned as his tongue darted out, tasting her.
The thunder was growing fainter, although it continued to pour down rain, as he teased and tormented her with his tongue and fingers, bringing her close to climax but always easing off before her release, driving her nearly insane.
“Peter,” she gasped the third time he did it, causing him to drop his shoulder, letting her foot slide back to the ground as he pulled back and looked up at her.
“You bastard,” she panted, her hand still in his hair.
He gave her a self-satisfied smirk, and then slowly licked his lips; as he stood, he danced his tongue across his fingers. “Yes,” he whispered, leaning in, kissing her.
Her hands had drifted to his hips again, and she wasted no time in working her fingers under the waist of his bathing suit, removing the sodden garment from him as he refused to break their kiss. As he stepped out of it, leaving it in a damp puddle on the tile, he wrapped an arm around her and walked her backwards. The thunder had ended now, and the only sound was that of the rain falling steadily outside.
She felt something against the back of her legs; as she stopped, Peter broke the kiss, looking around her before turning them. Rose leaned in to kiss him again; he instead pulled back, holding her gaze as he sank down into the dining chair. It had no arms, and Rose spared a moment to wonder how long Peter had been planning to seduce her into the very situation they were now in.
“Clever bastard,” she said, smiling slightly, straddling his lap and lowering herself onto his thighs.
“Oh yes,” he said, his voice low and lilting. He leaned forward to kiss her; she rocked back, dodging his kiss.
“It’s time for you to pay,” she murmured, her hand sliding between them and wrapping around his erection. She stroked upwards, once, sharply, eliciting a hiss from Peter; his gaze was locked on her as she then lowered her hand, slowly, twisting her wrist slightly. Peter shifted, bringing his hands to cup her breasts; she released him, moved her hands to grab his wrists in an echo of what he’d done to her earlier. Moving them away from her, she guided his arms to dangle at his sides. “You can look, but not touch. If you touch, I stop.”
He nodded slightly, and when she wrapped her hand around him again his jaw dropped slightly. She could feel his thighs flexing as she slowly stroked him, as she leaned forward to place kisses along his shoulders, his jaw, his cheeks-but never his lips. At some point he grabbed the bottom of the chair, fighting to keep from touching her; and when he dropped his head back, his mouth open, his eyes closed, she made her move. Shifting quickly, she guided him to her, slid onto him; and when he tilted his head forward, she leaned in to kiss him properly, her tongue sliding past his lips to stroke against the roof of his mouth.
He arched into her, a groan coming from low in his throat; she rotated her hips, grinding against him, and felt him shiver beneath her. He pulled back, gasping.
“Please,” he murmured, his voice full of tension. His hands had moved to her hips, and his fingers were pressing into her as she moved against him.
She leaned in, kissing him once more, increasing her pace as she rocked against him. Peter slid his hands to the small of her back, holding her against him as he bucked up into her, his orgasm spilling into her as he shook. Rose slipped a hand between them, her fingers finding her clit, and it was a matter of seconds before she followed Peter, her body almost slamming against his as she rode out her orgasm.
Peter gentled the kiss as her orgasm waned, his hands now stroking her back; and Rose slowly became aware once more of the world around them. The gentle patter of rain was still audible, and the air was decidedly chillier; the weather had finally broken, the stifling heat of the past days washed away.
“’m tired,” she murmured against Peter’s lips, her arms draped over his shoulders and her hands clasped behind his neck.
“Aye,” he replied, his voice still gravelly. He surprised her, tightening his hold on her as he shifted and stood, causing her to let out a squeak of surprise. In response he placed a quick kiss against the corner of her lips, then waited for her to slide her legs down so she could stand. “Let’s to bed, mo gradh.”
He took her hand, leading her to the cool dark of their room, away from the rainy day and their damp clothes. She fell asleep curled into Peter’s warmth, lulled by the sounds of the rain and Peter’s even breathing.
~ fin ~
Rating: M
Characters: Rose Tyler, Peter Carlisle
Disclaimer: Characters from Blackpool and Doctor Who are the property of BBC, and are used with the greatest of love and respect; no profit is intended from the writing or sharing of this story.
Summary: Rose and Peter find themselves in the middle of a heat wave.
Notes: This is another one of those stories which, to some degree, came out of my most recent vacation--ginamak and I had been talking about Italy and Pompeii and so on. It was also inspired by EGT’s recent adventures in a true-blue Florida thunderstorm (mercy, how I miss those!); she sort of liveblogged it via e-mail, with the end result that she, chicklet73, and I all decided to write storm stories. The story is one chapter-but I think there are other stories to be written around it, for reasons that *should* become obvious by paragraph three. :)
Many thanks to both earlgreytea68 and chicklet73 for their beta of this last night, after I plunked it in their inboxes mid-afternoon yesterday. And I *strongly* encourage you to read both EGT ("Storm") and C73's (" Oncoming Storm") takes on the storm idea.
A Storm Thing
Rose collapsed on the chair under the pergola, hoping the shade would offer some form of respite from the sweltering heat the Amalfi Coast was experiencing. The bougainvillea remained resolutely still, betraying no hint of breeze, and she sighed in resignation.
The heat had to break at some point; even the locals were muttering about it now, looking to the heavens for the storm that would return the climate to its normally breezy, balmy state. From her position on the chaise lounge, she could look over the still blue waters of the Gulf of Salerno to where the horizon would be if a white haze hadn’t settled; she squinted, wondering if it was her imagination or if there really were clouds building miles offshore.
Peter padded out, bending over to brush a kiss across her damp hair, before settling himself on the chair next to hers. He’d not been keen about the vacation when it was thrust upon them-an all-expenses-paid fifth anniversary gift from her parents-but during their weeks in Italy he’d slowly unwound, accepting the idea of relaxation, of not working to a set schedule and simply being. The sun had brought out his freckles and added streaks of reddish blonde to his chestnut hair, and he’d taken to faffing about the villa in nothing more than a pair of shorts on most days. The line of worry between his eyebrows had gone, replaced by a light tan; and he smiled more often than not.
“Have to make sure to thank your parents again for this,” he said, his hand finding hers and clasping it between their chairs.
She turned her head, looking to see if he was being serious or sarcastic. He glanced over to her, and added, “I’m quite serious. Heat be damned-and I do wish it would be-it’s been a lovely holiday.”
“Y’think?”
“I do.” He squeezed her hand, and then turned his attention to the panorama in front of them. The villa-a small house, really, with a lovely back garden and walls protecting it from the outside world-was on one of the many low cliffs above the sea, guaranteeing them an unrestricted view of the sea as well as privacy from the zanzare. They’d grown used to the flights of stairs leading down to the water; and Rose had noticed that Peter’s legs had become even more toned as the result of their strolls not only to the small beach, but also to the ancient village a few kilometers away. When it was hot, of course, they used the small Vespa or even the miniscule car, which had been provided with the holiday hire; but when the weather was cooler they’d made a habit of walking to town for supper or gelato.
“Still can’t believe Mum and Dad did this…”
He laughed. “I suppose it was the only way they thought we’d ever go on holiday.”
“They’re probably right.” Rose laughed, and then reached up to wipe away the sweat trickling down from her temple. “Coulda booked it for us in December, though, not August.”
“We couldn’t have gone swimming in December,” Peter replied. “And we’d both have gone mad by then, I think.”
“Yeah.” Rose squinted her eyes again, looking to where she thought the horizon might be.
“You up for a swim?”
“Mmm.” It was part of their routine-waking up, having breakfast, getting ready for the day and then going for a swim in the crystal clear water lapping below the villa. From there, it would be a walk into town (on cooler days), or a climb up to the villa for a light lunch and then a nap.
“You’ll feel better…”
“True; but that requires getting up and moving, and it’s so hot.”
“C’mon, up you get.” Peter released her hand, moving to stand in one fluid motion. He gazed down at her with amusement, a sheen of sweat covering his skin and causing his hair to stick to his forehead. “Just a quick dip, you and I and the sea…no locals to bother us…”
“Can you promise that?” The beach was, theoretically, private-but on more than one occasion they’d come across a family or couple who’d unapologetically made it their home for the day.
“No, but perhaps if we’re down there soon enough, we’ll scare any interlopers away.” He reached down, taking Rose’s hands, gently tugging upwards.
“Alright, alright.” She sat up, then stood, rocking up on the balls of her feet to brush a kiss across Peter’s lips. “Let’s go for a swim.”
They brought fresh water and fruit with them, placing their refreshments under the sun umbrella planted firmly in the sand. It was a few degrees cooler by the water, and they spent an enjoyable few hours swimming, or dozing on the chairs provided for their comfort by the owners of the villa.
The air had been still and heavy for so long that Rose didn’t really register, at first, that it was a puff of breeze - not Peter's breath - blowing across her cheek. “Peter,” she said drowsily, cracking open an eye and expecting to find him leaning over her, a small smile on his lips. He wasn’t there-was actually down in the water, floating on his back-and she sat up. She felt the sweat against her scalp cool as another puff of wind passed over the small beach, and she leaned forward, peering up at the sky.
The white haze was still there-but towering over it were storm clouds, white and grey billowing out and up as the long-hoped-for storm made its way to the coast.
“Peter!”
He continued to float, his eyes closed blissfully and his ears under water. She stood, walking to the shore, glancing up again at the clouds wending their way to the coast. Peter heard her splash into the water, raised his head and looked to her questioningly as he found his footing in the chest-deep water. “Come to join me?”
“Look!” She pointed above and behind him, causing him to turn; and then he looked back to her, his eyebrows raised.
“That’s a welcome sight,” he said, moving to where she stood, the water lapping against her waist. He slid a hand around her back, pulling her to him, and leaned in for a kiss. “We, my wife, may have to spend our afternoon indoors.”
“Oh,” she replied, her answer cut off by a kiss from her husband.
He’d become openly demonstrative with her, during their time in Italy, noting the fact that the locals weren’t shy at all about displaying affection, and realizing that it delighted Rose to no end. She still smiled when he did it in town, pulling her to him for a long kiss; it was different from how he was at home, and it was something she hoped he’d not stop doing when they returned to London. It would no doubt scandalize much of society, as well as several of the papers, but she didn’t much care about that-and highly doubted Peter would, either.
He slowly ended their kiss, brushing his lips lightly across hers before pulling back. “You want to go back, Rose?” His fingers stroked her cheek, his brown eyes several shades lighter than normal in the brilliant sunlight; and she noticed the water glistening on the ends of his lashes as he looked at her.
“Yeah,” she replied, her mouth suddenly dry.
He gave her a lazy smile, leaning in for another kiss instead.
This kiss was broken by the arrival of a fat raindrop, landing with a smack against her shoulder, causing her to jump. The storm was moving far faster than either of them had expected; that or they’d spent far more time kissing in the water than she’d thought.
“Time to go,” she observed, glancing up to the cloud now obscuring the sun. The wind began to pant, puffs of breeze arriving more regularly, and with a bit more intensity; and as they walked out of the water, over to the towels waiting for them on their chairs, she felt the temperature drop.
A low rumble of thunder was audible, echoing around them in the small bay created by the cliffs and hills, and Peter glanced up to give the storm a stern look.
“I think, Mrs. Carlisle, that we’d best leg it.” He grinned at her, taking her hand as the heavens above them opened up in a deluge of water.
They giggled as they ran up the stairs, the rain falling so hard and so fast that puddles formed on the risers; small rivers of water were splashing down the rocks, and the smell of cool rain hitting a hot surface filled the air. A bright flash filled the sky as Peter opened the latch on the garden gate, followed in rapid succession by the sharp crack of thunder; and Rose felt the temperature drop another degree or two as they splashed their way across the garden to the pergola. She snatched at the book Peter had left sitting out, bringing it with her as she ran through the French doors they’d left open during their swim.
Peter glanced ruefully at the book, taking it from her with a shake of his head. “We should have left a book sitting out days ago-seems that’s all that was needed to get it to rain.” He looked around him, and finally set the book on the tile floor just inside the door.
“Ah, well.” Rose peered out the doors, amazed at the ferocity of the storm. Rain fell hard enough to obscure the view past the pergola; and she was startled by another flash of brilliant white, followed by the boom of thunder. “’s amazing,” she said, turning to Peter.
“Aye.” He, too, was peering out the doors; but after he answered he turned to her, his eyes once again dark. He didn’t say anything, simply closed the distance between them before leaning down to brush his nose along her cheek.
She let out a sigh, her hands slipping over his shoulders as his arms wrapped around her. He began to drift kisses across her jaw, still not speaking; the only sound that of the rain and the thunder. Rose tilted her head back as he kissed her neck, his hands moving to her hips as he continued to kiss down her sternum, between her breasts. Her fingers slid into his hair and she gently tugged upwards, wanting to kiss him.
He reached up, wrapping his hands around her wrists, delicately pulling her hands away before releasing them; and then he began to dance his tongue across her skin, one hand moving the wet cloth of her bikini out of the way as he began to tease her breast.
She gasped, arching as his tongue flicked across her nipple, as his mouth covered it and pulled gently. The air was cold against the dampness as he then moved, repeating the actions with her other breast as his hands reached around her for the tie of her top. Rose arched, reaching behind her, untying the string around her neck, and her bathing suit top fell away as Peter succeeded in untying the string behind her back.
His hands cupped her breasts, his thumbs rubbing against the hard nipples as he returned to kissing her skin, now focusing his attention on her shoulders. Rose returned her hands to his hair, encouraging him to go higher, to kiss her properly; and he finally relented, straightening.
He hovered maddeningly, however, his lips mere centimeters away from hers as his hands continued to work; and then he leaned in, kissing her as though he’d not seen her in months, his hands shifting to grab her bum and pull him flush against her. His skin was warm against her chest, and she could feel the hardness of his erection pressing into her stomach; and as the storm continued to rage outside, she slid her hands under his swim suit, cupping his bum and holding him against her.
He began murmuring to her in Gaelic as he once again began to explore her skin with his lips, his breath hot as he moved down, a trail of kisses and words marking the path to the line of her bikini bottoms. He knelt before her, his hands still holding her bum; and Rose slid her fingers through his hair once more as he paused, gazing up at her.
He said nothing, simply looped his fingers under her suit and tugged it down; and as she stepped out of it he moved forward, guiding a leg over his shoulder, trusting to her balance. She wobbled slightly, her hands flying to his head; and then she groaned as his tongue darted out, tasting her.
The thunder was growing fainter, although it continued to pour down rain, as he teased and tormented her with his tongue and fingers, bringing her close to climax but always easing off before her release, driving her nearly insane.
“Peter,” she gasped the third time he did it, causing him to drop his shoulder, letting her foot slide back to the ground as he pulled back and looked up at her.
“You bastard,” she panted, her hand still in his hair.
He gave her a self-satisfied smirk, and then slowly licked his lips; as he stood, he danced his tongue across his fingers. “Yes,” he whispered, leaning in, kissing her.
Her hands had drifted to his hips again, and she wasted no time in working her fingers under the waist of his bathing suit, removing the sodden garment from him as he refused to break their kiss. As he stepped out of it, leaving it in a damp puddle on the tile, he wrapped an arm around her and walked her backwards. The thunder had ended now, and the only sound was that of the rain falling steadily outside.
She felt something against the back of her legs; as she stopped, Peter broke the kiss, looking around her before turning them. Rose leaned in to kiss him again; he instead pulled back, holding her gaze as he sank down into the dining chair. It had no arms, and Rose spared a moment to wonder how long Peter had been planning to seduce her into the very situation they were now in.
“Clever bastard,” she said, smiling slightly, straddling his lap and lowering herself onto his thighs.
“Oh yes,” he said, his voice low and lilting. He leaned forward to kiss her; she rocked back, dodging his kiss.
“It’s time for you to pay,” she murmured, her hand sliding between them and wrapping around his erection. She stroked upwards, once, sharply, eliciting a hiss from Peter; his gaze was locked on her as she then lowered her hand, slowly, twisting her wrist slightly. Peter shifted, bringing his hands to cup her breasts; she released him, moved her hands to grab his wrists in an echo of what he’d done to her earlier. Moving them away from her, she guided his arms to dangle at his sides. “You can look, but not touch. If you touch, I stop.”
He nodded slightly, and when she wrapped her hand around him again his jaw dropped slightly. She could feel his thighs flexing as she slowly stroked him, as she leaned forward to place kisses along his shoulders, his jaw, his cheeks-but never his lips. At some point he grabbed the bottom of the chair, fighting to keep from touching her; and when he dropped his head back, his mouth open, his eyes closed, she made her move. Shifting quickly, she guided him to her, slid onto him; and when he tilted his head forward, she leaned in to kiss him properly, her tongue sliding past his lips to stroke against the roof of his mouth.
He arched into her, a groan coming from low in his throat; she rotated her hips, grinding against him, and felt him shiver beneath her. He pulled back, gasping.
“Please,” he murmured, his voice full of tension. His hands had moved to her hips, and his fingers were pressing into her as she moved against him.
She leaned in, kissing him once more, increasing her pace as she rocked against him. Peter slid his hands to the small of her back, holding her against him as he bucked up into her, his orgasm spilling into her as he shook. Rose slipped a hand between them, her fingers finding her clit, and it was a matter of seconds before she followed Peter, her body almost slamming against his as she rode out her orgasm.
Peter gentled the kiss as her orgasm waned, his hands now stroking her back; and Rose slowly became aware once more of the world around them. The gentle patter of rain was still audible, and the air was decidedly chillier; the weather had finally broken, the stifling heat of the past days washed away.
“’m tired,” she murmured against Peter’s lips, her arms draped over his shoulders and her hands clasped behind his neck.
“Aye,” he replied, his voice still gravelly. He surprised her, tightening his hold on her as he shifted and stood, causing her to let out a squeak of surprise. In response he placed a quick kiss against the corner of her lips, then waited for her to slide her legs down so she could stand. “Let’s to bed, mo gradh.”
He took her hand, leading her to the cool dark of their room, away from the rainy day and their damp clothes. She fell asleep curled into Peter’s warmth, lulled by the sounds of the rain and Peter’s even breathing.
~ fin ~