Page 72 of Ship Wrecked

“Good night,sötnos.” A tired chuckle, and he ducked his head to kiss her nose. “Well, I’ll be damned. Itispretty sweet.”

“Your pronunciation sucks,” she muttered against his chest, in lieu of either panicking or crying, and he chuckled again.

They lay cuddling for several minutes, his hairy legs slightly scratchy against her own, their soft bellies pressed together, his cedar scent an ineffable comfort.

She was almost asleep when something occurred to her. “Peter?”

“Yep?” It took him a few moments to answer, and his voice was gravelly with exhaustion.

“Alex can never know we used the fic he sent as inspiration.”

If he did, only the gods above knew what he’d force on them next.

If there was such a thing as sleepy horror, Peter’s voice contained it. “Never. We’ll never tell him.” When he shuddered, the movement jostled her pleasantly. “He couldn’t handle that much power.”

She lifted a fist, and he bumped it to seal their vow. Afterward, his hand stroked down her spine and cupped her butt, apparently with the intention of staying there till morning.

“’Night,” he mumbled.

That hot, huge hand on her ass felt good. So good she squirmed a little, which meant she rubbed up against him, caressing his entire body with her own. Breasts over chest. Legs tangling with legs. Pussy sliding over hair-dusted skin.

That felt even better.

Jet lag was weird. A moment ago, she was exhausted and near sleep. But in Sweden, it was nine in the morning, and her body didn’t yet understand she’d left evergreens behind and removed to the land of palm trees and hot, unrelenting sunshine.

The time difference might explain how she could suddenly be wide awake and aching with arousal once more. It couldn’t, however, explain the growing press of Peter’s dick against her thigh.

With a happy little hum, she fisted his erection. Stroked up and down, tweaking the underside of the head in exactly the way that’d made him gasp earlier that night.

Now too, evidently.

She couldn’t resist. “Speaking of handling power...”

“Sweetheart...” Peter groaned, but he also closed his hand over hers and helped her squeeze harder, his hips starting a slow grind. “Have mercy. There’s another full day of interviews tomorrow. I’m tired, and unlike my nubile Swedish costar, I’m an old man.”

When she nipped him right over his heart, her teeth didn’t break his skin, but they’d sting. They’d leave a mark. “Myold man.”

He’d encouraged her to bite earlier, so she had. But not in that spot. Not until now. Her possessiveness didn’t bode well, and she knew it, but she was too turned on to care. Especially when that rumble in his chest vibrated through her so deliciously.

“Yeah.” A near-growl, firm and low. “Yours.”

Adjusting a little, he wedged his thigh between hers, pressing higher and harder, until he could nudge rhythmically up againsther clit. She closed her eyes, moaned, and tried to wriggle even closer. Gods above, shelovedthat powerful body of his.

After a few minutes riding his thigh, she was close to coming, and his dick throbbed in her hand, wet at the tip. They were both breathing hard, both sweaty once more.

“If you leave in the middle of the night this time, I swear to God I’ll find every fucking herring factory in Sweden and burn them to the fucking ground,” he said, then rolled her over and proceeded to prove he wasn’t so old or tired after all.

Interstitial

One Final Question

MarterForTheCause

Rating: Explicit

Fandoms: Gods of the Gates RPF

Relationship: Maria Ivarsson/Peter Reedton

---