P.P. - Something Familiar

Ch. VI

Peter's clothed fingers teased your nipples as he continued to stimulate you. His tongue still lapped at your clit, making your eyes lose focus on the ceiling above you, "Parker," you moaned, "fuck, please," anger laced your desire. You were so deprived of contact. Not the contact you received, but how you were desperate to touch him. His hair curled in such a way that if you did not touch it, you felt as if you would regret it for the rest of your life. Knowing, or hoping, you would get another opportunity did not matter. You needed to feel his sweat-soaked locks at this moment.

"Be patient," he spoke against your sensitive nerves. Both of you have been keeping an eye on the clock, knowing that you still had around thirty minutes before you would be free of Peter's bondage. Struggling against your restraints, you prayed that your enhanced strength would spare an ounce of compassion and allow you to break away, "stay still," Peter's demand brought you back to reality as he entered your line of vision. He was leaving the bed now, which only made you disobey him, fighting to reach out to him. Your eyes practically begged him to finish what he had started, and little did you know Peter was only getting started.

Peter's back faced you, his clothed fingertips brushed against the fabric of his worn backpack, stopping his action as he heard you whine. Your desperation almost made him laugh. He had been intoxicated by Y/H/N for a year, but now that he had unmasked you, the facade faded and instead, you were the one under his control. Y/H/N's somewhat conceited and overbearing confidence was nowhere to be found, instead you were a timid and moaning mess, practically begging for his touch.

The webs around your wrist began to shift against your movements, the noise attracting Peter's attention. Peter's hand fell against the wall with force, making your eyes screw shut. Taking in a sharp breath, your lungs filled with air that was laced with his cologne and it made you weak. Or should you say, weaker than you already were, Peter Parker was turning you into a fucking mess. You were too embarrassed to meet Peter's gaze, feeling his breath against your cheek, "What did I say," he asked, his tone was almost sweet, but he did not fool you. You knew better, you knew that as long as he was in that suit, you were screwed. You felt as Peter's hands fell roughly on your hips, raising them, making you arch your back.

You melted against his touch, hips loose, as he twisted your body before bringing a flat hand to your ass. The spank allowed a whimper to pass through your lips as you finally opened your eyes, alarmed at Peter's sudden dominance.

Peter was leaning over you, one knee on your old mattress. His left hand was flat against the wall, his backpack separating his palm from the painted surface. He had stuck his bag to the wall with his webs, you were unsure if it was intentional or an action from his suddenly improvised foreplay.

"Are you going to be good for me,"

You nodded, locking eyes with him, the night concealing him as your apartment grew darker and darker. Peter's soft skin glowed from the candle lit room, allowing you to make out his features well enough to watch his jaw clench.

"What was that,"

"Yes,"

"Good girl,"

The hushed exchange made a chill travel up your spine, your nipples hardening. His low 'good girl' traveled straight to your core, striking something deep. You almost sigh out of relief. The praise he gives you satisfying something you did not know you needed. Peter must have noticed your sudden wave of bliss, since a smug smile crossed his lips before he met yours with a heated kiss. The room echoed with the sound of a zipper as Peter continued to kiss you: tongue and teeth, and hungrily.

Leaving your blushed lips, Peter found his way on the bed, sitting on the back of his heels. His thighs stretched the fabric of his suit as he sat before you and you savored every inch of his body. The slight movement of Peter's hand caught the candle light, or what sat in his hand. The warm flame reflected off of the foil of a condom.