At No Time || Bruno Mars

39

Peter arose leisurely, basking in the warmth of the bed before having to remove himself from the confines of the fleecy comforter. The smell of tangerines lingered along the sheets just as they were embedded in his clothes, his skin, and seemingly everything he owned, and the perpetrator of the aroma sat up in bed, her journal a top her knees as she scribbled within it.

"For once you actually beat me awake," Peter jested as he languidly erected. Trystan turned her eyes to him quickly, his sudden voice surprising her, and then smirked.

"I don't sleep in that long."

"Yeah, you do," Peter chuckled and leaned over her bare shoulder to kiss it before settling his chin on top of it. "Writing?" he asked as he scanned her curly scrawl. Through its disorderly pattern, he could not make out what it said exactly, but just as he expected, Trystan closed the journal before answering, "Just a little. Woke up thinking of some lyrics and thought I'd test them out."

"I thought we've been through this, Trys—you don't have to hide your writings from me." Peter gestured toward the hidden words. "I don't care how good or bad you think they are—whatever it is is worth reading."

Trystan shied as she responded, "I know you don't, but I just want them to be ready before anyone sees them, especially you. Just because you won't judge it doesn't mean I don't want you to see the best I have to offer. Most of these are just a bunch of messy thoughts anyway."

"Hey," Peter spoke easily when he saw she was internally berating herself. "It's because of those "messy thoughts" that masterpieces are created, alright?"

She glanced at him, then rolled her eyes and giggled. "Whatever you say, Bruno."

"Okay then." He kissed her cheek. "I'm gonna go take a shower, and when I come back, I want you to tell me all about your process. You may think it's chaotic, but sometimes you gotta go a little crazy to get the best result."

He left her with the thought, freeing himself from the blankets and heading to the bathroom. He grabbed a towel from the rack and twisted the shower's knob until steaming water propelled from the head. He stepped inside and his muscles relaxed as the water massaged his skin.

Feeling drenched enough, he reached for the bottle of soap, but a separate hand stopped him from doing so and he was suddenly turned around and being pushed back to the shower wall.

"I find it incredibly rude that you didn't invite me to take a shower with you," Trystan declared as she pressed her naked breasts against him.

Peter chuckled and snaked his arms around her waist. "I thought you were busy. Sorry."

Trystan looked him up and down deliberately. Pursing her lips, she caved, "I accept your apology."

Peter smiled and then kissed her deeply, never tiring of the feeling of her mouth. Her hands gently palmed the sides of his neck as the touch of his tongue against hers and his hands on her backside had her womanhood trembling.

His lips dropped to the crook of her neck and he went to touch her intimately, but she breathed, "Wait."

He pulled back to see what had stopped her, but she did not offer him a look of uncertainty. Instead, her eyes were full of eroticism, and her voice was laden with longing as she said, "It's my turn this time."

Peter was not sure of what she meant—they had done plenty to each other before. It was not until she kissed down his neck, passed his chest, and got onto her knees that he understood. Though he fantasized about it, he had never asked for her to do it. He did not want to rush her and had settled, blissfully so, with the alternatives. Nevertheless, his heart thudded with her sudden bolstering of spirit as she grabbed him into her hand and began to massage slowly.