Chapter 11: Mirror Play
The door clicked open, and Peter slipped back into the room. Rachel was lying on her back on the crisp, starched sheets, the cinnamon-scented air doing nothing to cut the heavier, muskier smells that now clung to her skin. She watched him cross the floor, still naked, moving with that infuriating, easy grace. Even soft, he was impressive, a fact he seemed utterly aware of as he came to stand by the bed.
“Rest period’s over,” he announced, his voice a low rumble. He lay down on his back beside her, the mattress dipping under his weight. He took himself in one hand, idly. “Clean it up.”
Rachel blinked. “What?”
“It’s a mess. You made it a mess.” He gestured with his other hand. “All that’s you and me. Clean it.”
She’d never done this.Not with Finn. It was a line that had never even occurred to her to cross, something from a movie, not her polite, predictable life. But looking at Peter, at the commanding stillness in his eyes, she wanted to. The wanting was a physical ache, separate from the throbbing between her legs. She slid down between his thighs, the wood floor cool on her knees.
She grasped him with both hands. He was still wet, slick with her and with him, the scent potent and intimate. She hesitated for only a second before leaning in.
The taste was salt and iron and something uniquely Peter. She licked, tentatively at first, then with a growing, focused intensity. Her tongue traced the vein along the underside, swept over the head, collected the mingled fluids with a thoroughness that surprised her. A low, appreciative groan vibrated from his chest, and under her ministrations, she felt him change. The flesh thickened, grew heavy and full in her hands, rising back to its formidable shape.
“Good,” he said, the word a breath. “Now, get on. Back to me.”
She climbed onto the bed, positioning herself over him, her back to his chest. He guided himself, holding his erection steady. That’s when she saw it—the large, ornate mirror mounted on the wardrobe directly opposite. She’d been too frantic against it earlier to really see. Now, it framed them perfectly.
“Oh, god,” she whispered.
“Look at it,” Peter said, his hands on her hips. “Watch.”
She couldn’t look away. In the glass, she saw a wild-haired woman with dark, desperate eyes. She saw the powerful line of Peter’s torso beneath her, his hands spanning her hips. And she saw the obscene, beautiful alignment as she lowered herself. The broad head of him nudged against her, already slick from her mouth. She gasped, “Ah—”, as she sank down an inch.
The stretch was incredible, a deep, filling burn. She was loose from before, but he still felt enormous, splitting her open anew. “Fuck,” she hissed, watching in the mirror as she impaled herself further. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”
Each slow, downward slide was a revelation in the glass. Her body swallowing him. The way her lips strained and clung to his shaft. When she was fully seated, breathless, she saw it—a perfect, flushed ring of her flesh gripping the base of him.
“Finn ever let you take control like this?” Peter murmured into her hair, his voice casual, conversational. “Or does he just do his thing and fall asleep?”
“Shut up,” Rachel moaned, but she began to move, rising up until just the tip remained inside, then sinking back down with a choked cry.“Oh! Right there.”
“Yeah? That the spot?” He chuckled, his abdomen flexing under her. “Bet he doesn’t hit it like that. Bet he doesn’t fill you up so you can feel it for days.”
She rode him faster, her muscles coiling, her nails digging into her own thighs. The pleasure was a cresting wave, and the mirror showed her every shameful, glorious second of it—the bounce of her breasts, the sheer wanton need on her face. “I’m—I’m gonna—!”
Her orgasm ripped through her, a silent scream shaping her mouth in the reflection. Her body clamped around him, shuddering violently.
As she pulsed around him, panting, Peter’s hands tightened. “My turn,” he said, and took over.
He thrust up into her, his pace relentless, grinding her against him. The overstimulation was agony and ecstasy.“Ah! AH! Peter, stop, too much—!”
“Too much?” he grunted, driving up harder. “Feels like just enough. Sounds like just enough.” He pistoned into her, the slapping sound obscenely loud. “C’mon, again. For me. Let’s see it.”
And horrifyingly, her body obeyed. The coiling tension returned, sharper this time, spurred by his words and his ruthless rhythm. She sobbed, her cries punctuating each thrust. “Uh! Uh! Yes!”
Suddenly, he lifted her, his hands cupping her buttocks, his cock still buried deep inside her. He stood in one fluid motion, her legs wrapping around his waist out of instinct. He carried her the few steps to the mirror, holding her there, her feet off the ground.
“Look,” he commanded, his breath hot on her neck.
She looked. She saw herself suspended, a doll in his arms. She saw the brutal, efficient way he was using her body, sliding her up and down his length. Her own face was a mask of shattered pleasure.
“See that?” he growled, nipping her ear. “That’s not my brother’s girl. That’s mine. Just a little toy for my cock, yeah?”
The degradation should have shattered her. Instead, it unlocked something deeper, darker. She came again, a sharp, crying release that made her toes curl.“Ah! God! PETERRR!”
Her cry triggered his. With a final, driving thrust, he held her down, pulsing inside her. She watched, hypnotized, as he slowly pulled out. In the mirror, she saw the proof spill from her, a white trickle tracing down her inner thigh before dripping, one fat drop after another, onto the polished floorboards below.