Stiles is shy, okay? She blames it on growing up in a household with just her Dad – doors were always firmly closed, personal boundaries were respected right up the wazoo, because neither of them wanted that kind of awkwardness between them. But it does mean that she’s not exactly comfortable with anyone seeing her naked. Or semi-naked. Or without her flannel shirt. Whatever. The point is, the only people who have seen her even partly undressed in the last ten years have been medical professionals, and that’s how she likes it. Besides, who would even want to see her? She’s kinda skinny, her legs are long and gangly, and she’s pretty sure one of her boobs is bigger than the other, not that there’s really a lot of either of them.
So when she starts dating Peter, and a month into their relationship he slips a hand up her shirt while they’re making out, as if he’s going to slide her tee up over her head, she freezes. Peter removes his hand immediately. “Problem, sweetheart?” he asks, hands safely back over top of the fabric. ”Your heart’s going a mile a minute.”
Stiles swallows, not sure how to put this. “I, um. I don’t like anyone to see me naked.” She cringes at how prudish that sounds.
Peter raises an eyebrow, and Stiles is on tenterhooks waiting for his response. After a moment though, he simply says, “That’s entirely your choice, sweetheart. Just so we’re clear though, does that mean sex is off the table as well? I don’t want to pressure you.” It’s not the reaction she was expecting, but Peter surprises her at every turn, it seems.
“What? No, sex is on the table, definitely. Well, not on the table, preferably on the bed, but yes, yes to all the sex,” Stiles babbles, because she really does want to sleep with him, if she can just figure out how to do it without him actually undressing her.
“ So you don’t mind if we keep doing this?” he purrs, leaning in for another kiss.
Stiles kisses him back in reply, wrapping her hands around the back of his head to hold him in place, because he really is a magnificent kisser. They get lost like that for a while, and the next time Peter slides a hand under her shirt he makes no move to take her clothes off, but instead slips a hand inside the cup of her bra and rubs the pad of his thumb back and forth over her nipple, making her weak at the knees at the featherlight contact. “Oh god,” she moans, and Peter smirks.
“I’ve been called a lot of things, sweetheart,” he teases. “I suppose I could add god to the list.” Stiles would answer back, but Peter chooses that moment to pinch her nipple lightly, a tiny sting that sends a spark of arousal rushing through her, makes her back arch almost against her will. “Oh, you’re so sensitive there, sweetheart. I love that.”
“Uh huh. Do it again,” she demands breathlessly. Peter makes an amused sound, and does as she asks. It’s so good, his hands warm and strong as he fondles her, and Stiles can feel herself getting wet as Peter’s fingers play and tease and tug at her breasts, sending flashes of what feels like an electric current down her body, making her moan shamelessly. It’s further than they’ve gone before, and Stiles would be embarrassed if she wasn’t so turned on right now. She wonders briefly what Peter must think of her, ready to come just from her tits being played with, needy and shameless. She’s grinding against him where she’s straddling his lap now, and she whines when he takes his hands away and settles them on her hips, stilling her.
But he’s only stopped so he can ask, “Stiles, do you want me to take you to bed?”
She wants to say yes so damned badly right now, but she needs to make sure he really gets it. “Can you do it without looking at me?” She blushes, but she asks anyway, because the thought of Peter seeing her, honestly, makes her blood run cold.
“My shy little flower,” he murmurs. “Of course. We’ll keep the lights off, get under the covers, if that makes you more comfortable,” and a surge of relief sweep through Stiles, followed by an unreasonable amount of affection. Peter’s not mocking her. He understands, and he doesn’t seem to care.
“Then yes, bed please.” Peter smirks and picks her up from where they’re sitting, and she thinks she’ll never quite get over the way he can do that, the sheer unbridled power that he hides beneath the flirting and the pet names. If he wanted to, she knows, Peter could break her. It’s a heady thought, and she’s not sure of it terrifies her or thrills her. Maybe both.
True to his word, Peter keeps the lights off, doesn’t make any move to undress her, lets her shimmy out of her jeans and panties under the blankets and keep her t shirt on. Yet despite that, or perhaps because of it, he manages to make it good for her, better than she expected. He opens her carefully with his fingers, teasing her clit, spreading the wetness there, finding out what she likes and stroking her softly till she gasps out, “Please!” and then sliding into her in one smooth movement, filling her completely. Stiles lets out a satisfied groan, a truly filthy sound, and Peter takes it as the permission it is, fucking her deep and solid. She was close even before he got his cock in her, and when he leans down and bites and tugs at her nipple through the soft cotton of her t shirt, mouth hot and wet against her, that’s all it takes for her to come around him with a cry. Stiles feels her cunt clench and flutter around his length as he continues to fuck her through her orgasm, and it feels like nothing she’s ever experienced. Even as his thrusts speed up, he leans in and kisses the side of her neck murmuring how she’s his good girl, so perfect, before stilling suddenly, a shudder rippling through his body as he fills the condom. Later, Stiles will smile at the thought that he even had a condom tucked in his pocket, that he came prepared, obviously wanted this with her, planned for it. For now though, she lays there in a haze of sleepy satisfaction while he pants against her neck, spent.
It’s later, when he’s lying next to her, that Peter says, “Is there anything else, sweetheart? That you don’t want?”
Stiles knows immediately what he’s talking about. “I don’t think so? I just don’t like being naked in front of people.”
Peter pulls her closer, hands tracing over her tee. “Shame, I’m sure you’re gorgeous under there.” Stiles thinks maybe she’s misjudged him after all, that he’s going to press the point, but he continues, “I’ll just have to use my imagination. And sometimes, the hint of a thing can be more tantalizing than having it on full display, don’t you think darling?” His fingers pluck at her nipple as he speaks, and he chuckles at the tiny squeak Stiles lets out.
And after that, they don’t discuss it again, and it’s not a problem. They have sex, lots and lots of sex, so much sex, and it’s so good. Stiles never gets naked and Peter never asks her to. She sits in his lap and rides him while she wears a shirt, lets him mount her from behind, (which she thought would make her feel used but in fact makes her feel claimed and wanted and is hotter than the sun), gets fucked into as she lays on her side with a leg hitched up, all under the cover of darkness, and she loves it, loves all of it.
Peter loves it too, judging by how eagerly and often he invites her into his bed.
Peter really is perfect. He’s sexy and smart, sarcastic and protective. He’s older than Stiels to be sure, but that just means he’s experienced. He treats Stiles like a goddess, wooing her and doing everything he can to make her happy. Derek accused him of being smitten, once. Peter just kissed the back of Stiles’s hand, saying, “Do you blame me, when Stiles is perfection itself?” Stiles dragged him into a heated kiss, to a chorus of groans of the rest of the pack, and took him home and rode him hard. What can she say? Being worshipped turns her on, and Peter does it so beautifully.
Peter also respects the limits she’s put in place. It’s been two months since they started sleeping together, and Stiles thinks maybe she wouldn’t mind if Peter caught a flash of what’s between her thighs, or a glimpse of nipple. She’d leave the bedside lamp on, if he asked. But Peter doesn’t ask, every inch the gentleman. And perhaps it’s that fact that makes Stiles bold.
It’s Peter’s birthday next week, and Stiles decides that her gift is going to be something special. She knows he watches her, wants to see, to know what she’s hiding, and she’s going to show him. It’s outside her comfort zone, sure. But when she thinks of a future together, it doesn’t include them fumbling around in the dark.
Stiles prepares carefully for Peter’s birthday dinner, does her hair and makeup, wears a pretty dress and heels. When Peter sees her, he looks her up and down appreciatively. “You look delectable, sweetheart.”
Stiles can’t help but preen at the compliment. She looks good and she knows it, but it’s still nice to hear it. “Well, I’m out with such a handsome man. I wouldn’t want to fall short of your standards.”
“Impossible, darling, You’re incandescent tonight,” Peter purrs. He places a hand on the small of her back and reels her in for a kiss, and he kisses her with such passion and conviction that when they pull apart, Stiles is moments away from throwing their dinner plans out the window and taking him home to bed then and there. But Peter links arms with her and guides her into the restaurant, and the moment’s gone. The slow, simmering arousal that the kiss ignited in her gut stays, though.
She’s distracted throughout dinner, and Peter notices. “Are you all right, darling?”
“Just thinking about your birthday present,” she says, not untruthfully.
“You mean this isn’t it?” Peter holds up the boxed set of Downton Abbey DVDs – he has a secret weakness for period dramas, one that Stiles shares.
“Nope. There’s something else, but you can’t have it till we get home.”
Peter eyes her speculatively, and the damned man always could read her like a book. “Stiles,” he says, his voice low and seductive, a weapon and a delight all at once. “What are you planning, exactly? Care to share, sweetling?”
And gods, Stiles is tempted to tell him, to see the expression on his face, but then she thinks of how he’ll look when she shows him instead, and that steels her determination. “Nope. Not till we get home.”
Peter’s hand is in the air in seconds. “Check please!”
Stiles can’t help but smirk at Peter’s eagerness – it’s a heady feeling, being wanted like this. She pays the bill, ignoring his protests, and she drives back to his place in her jeep. He beats her there, and is waiting on the porch, keys in hand. He pulls her in for a kiss on the doorstep, and they make out like teenagers, until Peter pulls back. “If we don’t stop, I’m afraid your father will have to arrest me for public indecency,” he murmurs against Stiles’ neck.
“We’re not doing anything indecent,” she says with a laugh.
“Not yet, but we will be if you keep teasing me.” Peter draws her hand down so she can feel where he’s hard. “Shall we move this inside?”
“Mhmm. And I can give you your gift.” Stiles takes slow, deep breaths, keeping her heartrate steady, not wanting to tip Peter off that anything’s different. He picks her up and carries her over the threshold, showing off his strength, she knows. Not that she minds - feeling the solid muscles move under her palms as she runs her hands down Peter’s biceps is the sweetest kind of tease, makes her want to touch him more. He takes her to the couch lays her down, and starts kissing her again. Stiles leans into the kisses greedily, then when their mouths finally part she tilts her head so Peter can nuzzle and kiss down her neck. He does, making tiny growls and sounds of want. He’s always had a thing for her throat. She tugs gently at his hair, and when he lifts his head, she says, “So, would you like your surprise?”
“Hmmm. Does it mean I have to stop this?” Peter asks, going back to kissing her throat. Wolves, honestly.
“Actually, no. It doesn’t. Come with me?” Stiles’s heart is in her throat as she leads Peter into the bedroom. Suddenly, she finds she’s not nervous anymore. Peter acts like she’s the most desirable creature alive. He calls her good and perfect and delectable and precious. He won’t judge her. She hopes not, anyway. She turns on the bedside lamp.
“Stiles?” Peter’s eyes flick from her face to the lamp and back again, searching.
Stiles steps right up next to him, settles her hands on his hips, and pulls him close. She whispers, “I want you to undress me. And then, when I’m naked, I want you to take me to bed, and do something you want to do, something we’ve never done before. And I want you to do it all with the light on.”
Peter’s jaw drops. Stiles always thought that was just a figure of speech, but no, Peter’s mouth literally falls open in shock and surprise. “Oh, sweetheart. Are you sure?” There’s a hopefulness to his tone that makes Stiles even more glad that she decided to do this.
“I’m sure. Happy birthday, sexywolf.”
Peter’s expression goes from hopeful to hungry in the blink of an eye. His hands trace over her back, coming to rest on her ass, holding her against himself. He slides them a little lower, settles them on the back of her thighs, trapping her against him. Does it count as being trapped if you want to be there? she wonders idly. “Stiles,” Peter’s breath is hot against her ear. “How, exactly, am I meant to get you out of this damned dress?”
Stiles laughs softly, and guides Peters’ fingers to the concealed zipper that runs up the side. He grasps the zipper and inches it down, ever so slowly, until finally he reaches the end of the zip. Stiles takes a step back, reaches down, grabs the hem of the dress, and tugs it up over her head, dropping the fabric to the floor.
A low growl emits from Peter's chest. She doesn’t even think he knows he’s doing it, his eyes fixed on the satin and lace that she’s sheathed in. “Oh, sweetheart.” Peter extends a hand and slides it over the fabric of the deep blue satin camisole that she’s wearing, down and down and around over the ass of the matching French knickers. “Did you do this for me, darling?” His hands continue to roam over her body, not settling anywhere, sliding over the cobalt satin and bunching it between his fingers, and the swish of the satin moving against Stiles’s skin is both tantalising and arousing.
Stiles lets out the tiniest sigh of relief at his reaction. “I thought you’d like it.”
“I adore it,” he breathes out reverently. “I adore you. Can I…?” He hooks a finger under the thin strap of the cami, an eyebrow raised in question, and that’s one of the things she loves about Peter. She nods wordlessly. Peter doesn’t hesitate to slip the strap of the camisole and matching bra down off her shoulder, but he doesn’t go further than that.
Instead, he kisses and licks his way along her collarbone, letting out a series of soft, drawn out groans as he does so. A hand snakes up under the fabric at her back, and he unclasps her bra and expertly removes it somehow without disturbing the top layer of fabric. Then his hands move to the front and he cups her breasts for just a moment, feeling the weight of them.
Stiles squirms in anticipation and goes to remove the camisole, but Peter stills her hand. “There’s no hurry, darling. I intend to savour this.” He continues to kiss and lick along the exposed skin of her shoulder while he fondles her breasts and Stiles closes her eyes and loses herself to it. Peter’s right – they’ll get there.
Soon enough Peter’s walking her backwards towards the bed, guiding her to lay down. He kneels between her spread legs, stripping his own shirt off. Stiles ogles him shamelessly – Peter’s muscled and tan, and his abs ripple enticingly. He takes hold of the hem of her camisole – it really is a gorgeous thing, deep blue with lace edging, feminine and flattering. It had reminded her of Peter’s eyes, that’s why she bought it. “I want to see you, sweetheart.”
Stiles nods, and stretches her arms up over her head as an indication that he should go ahead. Peter eases the satin over her head, and his breath catches for just a moment before he murmurs, “Beautiful,” almost to himself. Then he hooks his thumbs in the waistband of the satin knickers, pausing for just a second before slowly, slowly, sliding the elastic down. Stiles raises her hips so he can get the scrap of fabric down over them, and then Peter’s tugging the tiny garment off her and dropping it on the floor beside the bed as he drinks in the sight of her.
Stiles resists the sudden urge to splay her hands out and cover herself, instead letting him look his fill. Peter stares, lips parted slightly, and Stiles hears his breathing speed up. “You’re perfect,” he says simply, before lowering his mouth to her breast and blowing gently across her nipple. Stiles moans in response and arches up into the feel of hot breath against her skin.
Peter peppers tiny kisses across her skin, around her breasts and down to her soft belly, and Stiles ignores the tiny voice that tells her stomach’s not flat enough, and instead focuses on the way Peter’s making appreciative noise as he kisses her skin tenderly. He raises his head, and slightly breathless, he asks, “Stiles? You said you wanted to do something we’ve never done before?”
“Mhmm. Did you have something in mind?” Of course he does, she can tell by the predatory gleam in his eye, and a frisson of excitement runs through her at the thought of Peter being allowed to do whatever he wants. She trusts him enough to know that whatever he chooses, it’ll be something they both enjoy, he’ll make sure of it.
“I want to taste you, sweetheart.” Just for a second, Stiles thinks he wants to bite her. But then he lowers his head, kisses the top of her pubic bone, and she realizes what he really means. He confirms it for her, saying, “I want to open you up on my tongue, darling. May I?” Peter holds her gaze she asks, his face a picture of want.
Stiles can’t fathom it, why he’d want that, and for a moment she’s embarrassed at even the thought of it. “ I should - I need to shower,” she protests, knowing she must be sweaty and damp.
Peter shakes his head. “I want to know the taste of you, sweetheart, not the taste of ‘Mango Coconut Sensation’, or whatever body wash you plan to drown yourself in.” And then he leans in and slowly licks a broad, wet stripe, his tongue dragging over the soft folds of her cunt, and any thoughts Stiles might have had fly right out of her head.
She lets out a whine, and Peter chuckles. “I take it that’s a yes?” Stiles can’t speak, only managing to nod. “Excellent. Strap in, sweetheart, you’re in for a wild ride, “ Peter warns her, and she can hear the smirk in his voice.
Peter moves down the bed a little, and Stiles notes dimly that he’s still wearing his dress pants. He makes no move to remove them though, instead settling on his elbows and lowering his mouth onto her. At first it’s just soft little kitten licks, getting her used to the sensation, light and tender and teasing. But then Peter starts to work her over in earnest, the tip of his tongue pressing in slightly, making Stiles shudder and moan. “Mmmm, you taste divine, always knew you would,” Peter breathes against her skin. “I’ve wanted to do this to you for so long.”
A part of Stiles thrills at the idea of Peter fantasising about her this way, and her hips buck up into his mouth. Peter chuckles, and settles his mouth against her clit, suckling ever so gently. Peter flicks the tip of his tongue back and forth across the nub, and it sends a shockwave through her whole body. She moans brokenly as she squirms in his grip, not knowing if she’s trying to get away or if she’s chasing more, unable to process the intense sensations. Peter lifts his mouth away for just a moment, and Stiles hears herself whimper.
“Oh darling, you like that? We’re just getting started,” Peter tells her, grinning. “I’m going to eat you out until you beg.” He looks every inch the predator right then, feral and dangerous, and Stiles thinks she shouldn’t find it as arousing as she does, but something about seeing the wolf side of Peter, when normally he’s so careful with her, so controlled, makes her want him even more.
She feels herself getting wet just from the thought of it, and throws caution to the wind. “Do it,” she whispers.
“You’re going to come on my tongue for me, baby.” Stiles nods and makes a breathless sound of want. Peter doesn’t hesitate. He buries his face in her cunt, stubble grazing the skin of Stiles’s thighs as he licks and sucks at her clit, then presses her legs open wide and drives his tongue inside her, sliding it in and out rhythmically. Stiles melts against the bed, helpless under the onslaught, every nerve ending on fire as Peter moans against her flesh, the vibrations travelling to her very core.
He doesn’t hold back, sliding his thumbs inside her and spreading her wide so he can get better access to the soft, moist flesh, and Stiles should be dripping wet with how turned on she is right now, but Peter chases every drop of her release, consuming her like a starving man at a banquet.
The noise he makes are obscene,slurping and moaning and suckling, and Stiles thinks she should probably be embarrassed, but she doesn’t have the energy to spare, every part of her focused on the wave of pleasure that’s building inside her right now. Every muscles tenses as Peter teases her clit, she’s teetering on the edge and he knows, because of course he does. He’s laughing softly as he pulls away, the bastard. “Ask me nicely, Stiles.”
Stiles’s hand press at the back of Peter’s head, trying to get him to put his mouth back where she needs it. “Please, Peter, please!” He goes easily, settling his hands across her belly, holding her down as he teases her with sweeps of his tongue across the top of her clit until she can’t stand it, begging for more, whimpering.
He growls against her skin, and then sets his teeth around her clit and tugs gently, and that’s enough to make her whole body seize as she comes harder than she has in her life, sobbing with the intensity of it. She shudders and shakes her way through her climax, her cunt clenching and desperate and empty, and Peter’s there, sliding two fingers inside of her, making soothing noises and filling her, pressing soft kisses to the skin of her belly. “So perfect, sweetheart,” he whispers against her skin as she shivers and twitches under his touch until finally, she’s still.
Stiles lets out a gusty breath, wrung out and boneless, unable to move. Peter’s fingers continue to tease her until she lays a hand on Peter’s wrist in a wordless plea. He stops immediately, fingers still nestled inside her. “Sensitive, sweetheart?” Stiles can only whimper in response.
He draws his fingers out slowly, and then he’s moving up the bed, kissing her tenderly. Stiles can taste herself, can see the slickness on Peter’s chin where he’s feasted without restraint. Peter doesn’t seem to care about the mess though, and Stiles can feel that he’s hard through the fabric of his dress pants. The kisses turn heated, and Peter grinds against her. “I’m going to fuck you baby, and I’m going to watch while I do it, see how good my cock looks sliding into you,” Peter croons.
Stiles nods her consent, and Peter wastes no time shucking off his trousers, and then there’s just acres of naked flesh as he lays on top of Stiles, bracketing her beneath his body and kissing her, pressing their bodies together. Stiles lets out a gasp at the foreign sensation, before pulling Peter closer and kissing him back. It’s so different, the warmth and the intimacy, the rub of Peter’s leg hair against the tender flesh of her thighs, and she loves it immediately, wonders why she was ever shy about this.
Peter lets out a low rumble. “Gods, you’re gorgeous like this. I may have to kidnap you, keep you as my slave.”
“Is it kidnapping if I go willingly?” Stiles teases, because honestly, right now staying here naked sounds like something she could get behind, real life be damned.
Peter chuckles lowly in her ear. “Maybe we’ll take a weekend, play that game. Would you do that for me baby? Let me strip you bare and debauch you for days, be my plaything?”
Stiles gets goose bumps just thinking about it, and Peter catches her shiver. “You like that idea, sweetheart?”
“Oh fuck yes,” is out before Stiles even thinks about it. Peter groans, low and drawn out, and buries his face against the side of her neck, sucking a bruise there. The scrape of his teeth pulls a squeak out of Stiles, and Peter’s smirking when he pulls away.
“Now lay back for me like a good girl, and let me get inside that perfect little snatch of yours,” Peter commands, a hint of steel in his voice. Peter’s always been soft and sweet when they’re in bed, and Stiles hasn’t ever seen this side of him, demanding and assertive but oh, she likes it.
She hurries to obey, and soon enough Peter’s rolled on a condom and is kneeling between her legs, dragging her up so she’s settled with her legs spread around him and her thighs resting on top of his. True to his word, he watches intently as he sinks into her. Stiles is stretched out wide, naked and exposed to his gaze, and she can’t help the blush that spreads when she takes in the way he’s looking at her, drinking in the sight.
Peter fucks her long and slow, his hands roaming over her body, thumbs brushing against her nipples and dipping into her navel, and he doesn’t take his eyes off her, not for a second. Stiles can feel her own arousal starting to build again from the delicious friction as Peter fucks her and fills her perfectly, and soon she’s rocking her hips, trying to get Peter to move more, go faster, anything. He pulls out briefly, but it’s only so he can turn her over and slide into her from behind, hands firm on her hips as he holds her steady and ruts into her. Stiles moans, wanton and needy, and Peter takes the hint and fucks her harder. It’s perfect.
Peter leans forwards a slips a hand beneath her, rubbing his fingers over her clit. “Going to come again for me, be my good girl?” he asks, and it's an order, not a suggestion. Stiles can only whine as she feels herself clench and quiver around him in response to the words. Her body’s wound as tightly as a watch spring, and she knows she’s seconds away from coming. When Peter bites down lightly on the curve of her neck, it’s the end of her. She bucks and moans and cries out as waves of pleasure course through her body, and her orgasm triggers Peter’s own. He grunts, driving into her one last time and holding her still, pumping his release inside her.
Stiles feels the throb of it, the heat, feels Peter’s breath hot on her neck. She collapses against the bed, drained and exhausted, but feeling warm and satisfied as her body floods with endorphins. Peter’s body is plastered against her back, and he’s heavy, but she doesn’t really want him to move, not yet.
They don’t speak, content to lay there in a puddle of satisfaction. Peter pulls out and moves a little so he’s not crushing her but his body is still draped across her back, a warm, comforting presence. Eventually though, Stiles nudges him. “So. Tell me more about this weekend.”
Peter’s breath catches.
“We’d discuss it of course, set limits,” he says carefully.
“Of course,” Stiles agrees. She waits a beat before adding, “I could borrow a set of handcuffs from the station.”
Stiles laughs delightedly when Peter growls against her throat, pins her down, and fucks her again without warning, fast and filthy and desperate.
She guesses he likes that idea.
He’s not the only one.