▄▄ ˗ˏˋ 𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐍 𝐈 𝐅𝐈𝐑𝐒𝐓 𝐒𝐀𝐖 𝐘𝐎𝐔 'ˎ˗ ──
IN WHICH , ── ˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚
after Spider-man almost breaks
into her window, Amala has to
balance her two new lives: the
life where she knows him and the
life where she falls for Peter Parker . .
▄▄ *+...
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CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT; the first building blocks of chaos!
"DO YOU NOT TRUST ME?" Peter whispers in her ear, the night and the stars in his voice.
Beneath his gaze, Amala writhes. Her body is charring under toffee eyes and she finds herself melting into the sheets.
"I do," she breaths out. "I do."
Peter hums close to her ear. "Then why are you so tense, Amala?"
Her body shivers despite how hot she feels. Her core burns like the flame of a thousand suns but when he opens his mouth, it freezes over.
"You make me nervous." She confesses softly, her hands clutching the duvet like it's her last lifeline.
Soft, gloved hands come to tangle in her hair, gliding smoothly into her curls. They dance at the base of her neck, then brush up under her jaw, before they settle at her lips. A single finger taps once and Amala's mouth parts. The gloved finger traces the pattern of her Cupid's bow, leaving a bundle of nerves in its wake.
"I make you nervous?" Peter pries, voice dripping with honey.
Amala can barely keep her thoughts steady, let alone form an answer.
She tries to say "yes" but she suspects a hum comes out instead.
In the place of a reply, all she hears is a soft chuckle before gentle lips touch the base of her collarbone.
"Oh, God," she murmurs, body alight with desire.
Peter starts kissing her softly, kindly. He takes his time, letting his lips drag against every inch of Amala's skin; top to bottom, right to left.
She lets out a shaky sigh.
In a desperate attempt at grounding herself, Amala grasps Peter's arm and sinks her fingers into the material of his suit.
"Off," she commands desperately. "Suit. Off."
Feather-light lips detach from her skin and form a smile. "Okay,"
He rises from the bed, taking that bite of cold air with him.
Peter presses a button on his chest and the entire suit deflates. It almost slides off of him, ending up as a mess of colored fabric at his feet.
Amala's heart riots.
Peter looks at her and for a moment, everything around them goes quiet.
Any trace of desire dulls in Amala's mind; now is not the time for it.
They share a look of pure adoration. It's such a foreign feeling, to care this much. To yearn for someone this much. What does this say about them? What are they? What title can they occupy when they share looks the way the stars and the sky gaze at each other?
