A/N: This story is not set during any specific season. Peter and Olivia have been working together for a few years. I did take some liberties with a show-related detail or two.

I appreciate any reviews or PMs received and will respond if your messaging is turned on. I'd love to know what your favorite lines/moments were.

Disclaimer: I own any mistakes, but not the Fringe characters.


It was the second night of our stakeout. The dilapidated warehouse we were parked across from looked like it wouldn't be hospitable to a family of starving termites let alone a gang of criminals planning a delicate operation like ripping a hole in the universe. Yeah, I said rip a hole in the universe, and I didn't mean it as a metaphor either. In my line of work something like that is unfortunately all too commonplace.

I'm Olivia Dunham. Several years ago I became involved in a department called 'Fringe Division.' Long story short, and without the truly disgusting details: My team and I save the universe(s) from things like mercury filled shapeshifters, viruses that turn humans into snarling, drooling creatures of one kind or another, and computer programs capable of melting your brain.

My partner, Peter Bishop, sat beside me absentmindedly flicking the knob on the air conditioner vent up and down. After the 126th time —I was unconsciously keeping count thanks to my eidetic memory— I turned to him, "Please stop."

"Stop what?" he asked. Flick.

"That." I inclined my head in the direction of the air vent. Flick.

He met my eyes and I saw his lips curl upward just slightly. "This?" He made a show of dragging his finger down the wheel, somehow making an innocuous motion look overly dramatic. Fllliiiccckkk.

"Yes," I said curtly.

"Okay." He sighed loudly and laid his head back against his head rest as he dropped his hand to his lap.

"No sleeping either." I reminded him none-too-gently.

"Well, between last night's stakeout and last night's stake out you really can't blame me for being tired."

I rolled my eyes at his euphemism regarding our amorous activities once we were off duty.

'Civilian Consultant' is the term that the FBI attaches to Peter. I don't know that there's a fancy sounding title I can give to describe Peter's place in my life. They all seem too vague in the long-term but too specific in the short-term. The words partner, friend, confidant, occasional sex buddy are what springs to mind first. Admittedly, as of late, the 'occasional ' sex part has been slipping a little more into 'frequent' range.

Now, now. Don't judge. Our jobs are stressful and it's easy to find some well earned satisfaction in each other. And the man is good in bed. (Or the lab, or the old station wagon, or wherever happens to be the place we choose to slake our desires at the time.)

"Whatcha thinkin' about?" Peter interrupted my train of thought. "I bet it's how much you'd like to have your wicked way with me right now, isn't it?" he said, winking.

"Peter, quit flirting with me. We have a job to do."

"Ohhhh Dunham, if you think that was me flirting with you, you ain't seen nothing yet." He trailed one of his fingertips down the arm I had propped against the steering wheel.

I moved my arm away and cleared my throat hoping that he didn't notice how my skin had seemed to come to life at his touch, an interesting pattern of goose bumps breaking out on my flesh.

No such luck. "Cold?" he inquired.

He knew damn well I wasn't cold, the day had been a hot one, and the night had given way to a comfortable temperature. Besides, not more than 20 minutes ago while I was making conversation we discussed how pleasant the air was.

"No." Best to stick to one word answers at the moment, knowing that if he drew me into our usual bantering it would not help my plight.

"Hmm," he said in a noncommittal way but didn't press the matter further. Perhaps I was a little disappointed he didn't. Watching this warehouse with no action for the second night in a row was sort of like watching paint dry. Tedious. Not that I was particularly looking forward to duking it out with some scumbags who thought they were the second coming of Christ with the power to create and destroy at will. But, busting another baddie would be clipping one more link out of the chain that would lead us to Walternate and whoever else he might have helping him.

Astrid and Broyles had intel that this was the place where they were holed up, so here we sat. There'd been no movement near the windows or lights flickering on and off. We were nestled in some shadows cast by a tree that had grown too near a streetlight. It served our purposes that the power company had been lackadaisical in coming to trim the branches back.

"Music?" Peter asked as he reached towards the radio.

I shrugged. "Okay."

He picked a classic rock station and kept the volume low. His foot tapped to the beat as the drums pounded out their rhythm. Even though I had admonished him earlier I wasn't really worried about whether he was paying attention to our reason for being there. His genius mind could multi-task in ways that I never dreamed possible and he may've looked distracted on the outside but I knew inside he was alert and vigilant.

I watched as his hand joined in with the tapping. His thumb and ring finger taking over for cymbal crashes and high hat tics. Something deep within my body involuntarily stirred as I thought about his hands. They were so capable, talented at many things. He could handle sensitive chemicals that were volatile enough breathing wrong could cause them to explode, yet on more than one occasion the sheer strength in them had saved my hide. They could calm down a panicked Walter with just a light touch and reassuring squeeze, (Which was basically the same as handling volatile chemicals.) then turn around and instill fear in a suspect with a menacing grip that promised more than verbal threats could. His hands could pull melodies from the old piano in the lab that were so beautiful it brought tears to my eyes or they could make such a racket with his incessant fiddling that it gave me a headache. Mostly though, his hands could move over my body with ease and grace; make me feel things that I thought I never would again and perhaps some things I'd never felt at all with anyone.

My stomach rumbled loudly and easily overpowered the soft hum of the radio. "Did you eat today, Olivia?"

"Um," I thought about it. Did I?

"You told me when I left this morning that you were, otherwise I would've stayed and made you something," Peter said in an accusing tone.

"I did eat," I replied indignantly. "I had a turkey sandwich earlier."

He didn't look like he believed me and at that moment my stomach roared fiercely as if a jungle cat was in there. Peter gave me one of his exasperated looks. "Well, you can thank Walter next time you see him because before I left he gave me a snack-pack." He turned to rummage in the back. He grabbed a small cooler that was snuggled on the floorboard behind him. Great, knowing Walter it would be chock full of Red Vines and melted Root Beer Floats. Or it could just as likely be blueberry pancakes. Nothing would surprise me.

"I didn't even see you put that back there."

"Probably because you were on the phone when I got in."

Ah, yes. Broyles was giving me some last minute details he thought might be important. Peter popped open the top of the cooler and I was pleasantly surprised to see neat bundles of snack sized veggies. There were some crackers and cheese in there too. As Peter extracted everything from the cooler a note fluttered out from amongst the parcels. It settled softly between us near the gear shift.

Peter picked it up and read it out loud: Dear Son, I hope you and Agent Dunham enjoy the food. Your father, Dr. Walter Bishop. The laugh lines by his blue eyes appeared as he smiled to himself. It was a completely opposite reaction than he would've had when I had first met him. P.S., he continued, Don't forget about those erogenous zones we talked about. "Oh jeez," Peter said as he put his hand on his forehead. We'd both been around Walter too long to even be embarrassed any more about his father's ruminations.

"So," I said, "You were discussing erogenous zones with your father? Not my erogenous zones, I hope." (Although part of me hoped it wasn't someone else's either.)

Peter laughed as he folded up the note and stuck it in his pocket. "No, neither of those things. It's more like Walter was talking to hear himself speak and I happened to be in the general vicinity so he decided I would make a perfect captive audience. Except I was a captured audience. He wouldn't let me leave the room until he was done."

"And did you learn anything new?"

"Wanna hop in the backseat and find out?" He waggled his eyebrows at me suggestively. Then more seriously, "Dunham, you wound me. Are you saying my skills are not up to par?"

"Oh, simmer down, Casanova." I reached over and snagged some crackers with cheese. "I'm not complaining."

Out of the corner of my eye I saw Peter puff out his chest with masculine satisfaction. We polished off the crackers and cheese in relative quiet, except for the crunching.

Peter's a ladies man. It's just a fact. His easy smile, good looks and sense of humor can charm a woman into bed faster than Cesar Millan could calm down a pissed off Chihuahua. Since I dragged him back to Boston several years ago he always kept his conquests on the down low but I knew he had no problems getting women.

One night though, after we'd slept together a few times, we had gone out drinking and we were both in an early stage of drunkenness (we rarely ever get completely sloshed, the amount of alcohol that would be required to render us both shit-faced would clean out a bar's entire top shelf supply) when we made a pact that if we were going to be clichéd friends-with-benefits we wouldn't get our benefits anywhere else. My point being, he knew his 'skills' were well above par, or well below par for those that prefer a golf analogy. It still made me feel good that he seemed to be happy to know that I was satisfied.

We split a bottle of water, having decided to forego the endless cups of coffee route that was our standard M.O. when doing a stakeout. For the reasons that it was entirely too warm for coffee and a lack of bathroom facilities. Peter could relieve himself in an alley against a building but me, not-so-much. I've never been good at that whole peeing outside thing. Shy bladder, not wanting to drip urine down my leg, whatever, it's just not for me. And dashing into public restrooms has not boded well for me in the past.

Some time went by and Peter fiddled some more with the radio. He was scanning for a Jazz station when the door to the warehouse opened. We both instinctively scooted lower in our seats.

A short guy came out first. He was wearing a t-shirt and a Red Sox cap turned around backwards. He held the door open behind him and another man joined him outside. This one was taller, with black hair and jeans frayed at the cuffs. They didn't look like diabolical henchmen in a plot to destroy the universe, but then again, not everyone can be blessed with David Robert Jones' good looks either. Sox reached into his pants pocket and pulled out what looked like a pack of cigarettes. He offered one to Cuffs who declined.

They glanced in our direction quickly but didn't appear to have noticed us because Sox was now gesturing at something in the other direction with his cigarette hand. This created interesting swirls of smoke as he spoke.

Peter and I just sat still and watched. Sox inhaled deeply and then turned his head our way to exhale. This time his gaze locked on our SUV. "Uh-oh," Peter said under his breath.

"I don't think he saw us," I whispered back to him. Then Sox tapped Cuffs' arm and pointed in our direction. "Shit, he did see us," I corrected my earlier statement. They started walking slowly toward the car.

I had a couple options here: I could jump out, identify myself, and arrest them. That could lead to some unpleasant results such as them calling the rest of their goons for back up and all holy hell breaking loose; or them taking off running in which case we'd have to give chase. My other choice was to sit quietly and hope they would just walk past us.

Peter's voice interjected a third situation that hadn't crossed my mind. (Can't say I'm surprised that it crossed his though.) "Kiss me," he said urgently.

"Not now, Peter." How irritating, I'm trying to think of a way out of this and he's thinking about sex.

"Seriously, Liv. They'll think we're some random couple making out in a car on a side street."

Oh. Oh. I get it now. He leaned over the center console and brought his left hand to my face. He used his right hand to tuck my hair behind my ear which enabled me keep an eye on our two visitors. His lips touched mine in an initiation that I'd become familiar with. He pushed forward a little so our faces were closer together, while at the same time sliding the hand he had on my face around to the back of my neck. I turned my head a little to avoid a nose collision and also help keep Peep and Tom in my line of vision. Peter kissed me fully on the mouth before detouring to my cheek. "Can you try to pretend you're into it a little more?" He whispered hotly against my ear, "it feels like I'm kissing a statue." He slicked his tongue across the shell of my ear.

Really? Really? I mean, I was a little busy trying to keep us from getting killed, but fine. If he wanted me into it, I'd be into it. I ran one of my hands over his shoulder and pulled him towards me as I let out an exaggerated moan. "Ohhh." And then for more effect a long "Ahhhhh."

Peter chuckled as he worked his way up my neck and back to my ear again. "Mmmmm, that's better." he groaned quietly, but the noise he made hadn't sounded put-on and it sent shivers down my spine. He pulled away from me and strands of my hair stuck to his stubble. I reached out to caress his face, while at the same time disentangling my hair. I glanced into his eyes for a moment, long enough to see that he really was enjoying this.

By this time the two men were near the front fender of our car and looking on in interest. I leaned some of my body weight on Peter so it looked like I was sitting in his lap and kissed him. I nibbled on his lower lip and sucked at it softly before swiping my tongue over it. His lips parted and my tongue slid inside his mouth. It met his and twisted languidly with it. Heat pooled low in my belly and I tried my best to ignore it. Now was not the time to think about what a great kisser Peter Bishop was. But he so was. He never rushed, he didn't try to take control, he let me kiss him back. Some guys like to ram their tongue down your throat like they're looking for something they lost. Not Peter. As if he could hear my thoughts Peter ceased his movements and allowed me to explore his mouth before bringing his tongue back into play. I felt the heat of his hand as he splayed it over my rib cage and massaged his way to my lower back to nudge me a little closer. I groaned again and this time it wasn't fake.

"Yeah, see I told you. It's just some people getting it on out here." I snuck a look back at the men. Sox had been the speaker.

Cuffs said, "Maybe we could hang around out here for awhile."

"Dude, you really need to get laid."

"No shit, Sherlock," Cuffs grumbled as they started walking away.

As I watched their progress, Peter went to work on my neck, placing open mouthed kisses in a line towards the collar of my shirt. He pulled me fully into his lap to reach me better. The top I had chosen to wear tonight I selected for comfort and it was a short sleeve soft cotton button down. Peter started working on the uppermost button. I felt it pop open and his lips seared a kiss in its wake. I saw Sox toss his cigarette down and ground it out with his toe. The words "C'mon, we gotta get back to work," drifted over to me and he reached for the door.

I felt another button pop. And another kiss, this one had some tongue included. "What are they doing now?" Peter asked, working on yet another button. His words whispered against my bra.

"They're ..." I paused. It looked like Cuffs had dropped down to one knee. What the hell? Then, I realized. "He's tying his fucking shoe. And staring this way."

I felt a rumble of wry laughter through Peter's chest. "Stalling, hoping to see more."

Peter shifted me on his lap and I made contact with his erection. Peter inhaled deeply and attacked the last of my buttons with renewed vigor. As the sides of my shirt parted I felt his warm palm spread out over my stomach. I gasped, even though I was trying so hard to not be distracted.

Peter pulled my head back to his and kissed me again. I heard the warehouse door clang shut, signaling the end of the bystanders' watch. A quick glance confirmed this and since it didn't seem like we were in immediate danger of getting dead any longer I took a moment to finally give my full attention to what we were doing.

I moved from merely sitting on Peter's lap to straddling him. He groaned appreciatively as I settled myself so my pelvis was directly over the bulge in his jeans. With his hands on my ass he ground me down on himself as he mouthed my nipple through my bra. I had my hands in his hair and my lower lip between my teeth. My cop senses were screaming at me we needed to stop what we were doing but my usually dormant feminine side was holding the reins and not ready to give them up just yet. A few more minutes, that's all, I thought. Peter's facial hair tickled my chest as he inched my bra cup down to kiss the top of my breast.

I lowered my head to suck on the side of Peter's neck, stopping for a moment to inhale the scent of him there. He smelled of heat, and male, and Peter. I sunk my teeth into his skin and felt him pull me down on him again. His hand was sliding up the inside of my thigh when I heard it: the sound of my phone vibrating on the driver's side of the car. I disengaged myself from Peter enough to reach over to grab the phone. I gave him a small smile at the dissatisfied noise he made as I backed off.

It was Astrid. "Dunham," I defaulted to formal because I wasn't quite thinking straight and I was still trying to catch my breath. I could feel Peter's equally rapid puffs against me.

"Olivia, hey. I've got some bad news." Peter watched my face as I listened. Since I wasn't motioning frantically he assumed Walter hadn't blown anything up. "The intel we got was wrong. That warehouse you've been staking out doesn't have anything to do with the men we're looking for. So you and Peter can wrap it up."

"Oh, alright," I said, a little dumbfounded.

"You okay? You sound out of breath."

My eyes flicked to Peter. "Uh, no. I'm fine. Thanks for letting us know."

"No problem. I'm gonna hang out with Walter at the lab for awhile and I'll drop him at the house when we're done. You and Peter should go get something to eat. Walter said he only gave you some snacks."

"We are kind of hungry ..." I trailed off and Peter's eyes flamed informing me that he wanted something, but it wasn't food.

"'Kay, talk to you later." Astrid disconnected.

"So wrong warehouse." Peter made it a statement, not a question.


"Too bad," Peter said and I watched every movement of his lips while the words came out.

"Yeah, too bad." I raised my eyes to his and we were on each other in an instant. Somehow I managed to scramble into the back seat and he followed. I bumped my knee on the damn cooler, but didn't even care. Peter was half flung over the back of the seat searching for the release that would fold the seat down so it was all cargo area. I was pulling at his belt buckle and kissing him with a frenzy.

He must have found the lever because the seat collapsed behind him and he sprawled out flat on his back. I landed with an Ooomph on his chest. He stripped my shirt off me and then his own t-shirt off himself. He unclasped my bra causing my breasts to spill out into his hands. I sighed as he rolled one of my nipples between his fingers. Goddamn, the things he did to me felt good, and I knew from experience it would only get better from here.

I had finally managed to fumble his belt open, along with the button on his jeans. I was more careful unzipping him because I could feel how hard he was straining against the metal. Even with the material of his boxers between the teeth and his skin I didn't want to take any chances. After I worked the zipper as far down as I could get it I palmed Peter's thick cock through his shorts. His happy grunt turned into something resembling a growl as I applied pressure.

I felt his mouth replace his questing fingers around my nipple. I gasped at the sensation of his tongue laving across me while also sucking me in. With one hand he fondled my opposite breast while the other hand worked its way towards my pants. I arched my back up in the air a little bit to give him some more space to maneuver and felt the snap give way to his tug. He bypassed my underwear and slid his hand directly into my trimmed curls. His fingertips slipped easily through my folds, gliding over my clit and then lower. "Oh Christ, I love how you get so wet." Peter said as he skimmed his fingers over my opening. His voice was husky, as though it required effort for him to speak.

This was another thing that made sex with Peter so good. The talking. With other men before when they tried the 'dirty talk' routine it always made me want to laugh. With Peter it was different. It added another element to our physical coupling that drove my desire higher than I thought possible. It wasn't even so much what he said, it was how and when he said it. I had the urge to kiss him again so I wiggled close enough to reach him. Our mouths met and his tongue began to work a steady rhythm in my mouth as his finger began doing the same thing lower down inside me, with his thumb applying pressure to my clit.

I slipped my hand inside his boxers so I could get some skin on skin contact. As I grasped him he bucked up into my hand as best he could in the position we were in.

After a little bit I broke our kiss and straddled him again, crouching low enough over him that my breasts dragged against his chest as I started to move down. I kissed him under his chin and scraped my teeth on his collarbone on the way by. With my tongue, I traced a nonsensical pattern through his sparse chest hair to one of his nipples. I nuzzled it with my nose before closing my mouth over it and barely biting down. This time Peter's hips snapped so strongly it raised my body up as well. "Fuck!" Peter nearly shouted and it reverberated around the interior of the car for a moment.

I had an attack of the FED again when I realized that here we were, parked out on the street, both in various states of undress, in the back of my government issued SUV with me about to go down on Peter. I glanced up from where I had been placing open-mouthed kisses on his stomach near his navel. "Peter ..."

"Yeah?" he answered on an exhale of breath as he met my eyes.

"What do we do if they come back?"

"Who? Mutt and Jeff?" He shrugged and gave me a half smile. "I dunno, let 'em watch? Poor guy sounded like he wasn't getting any on his own."

I paused as I tried to think of an appropriate comeback. Aw, screw it, I thought and returned my attention to his midsection.

"Ahh," he breathed out and I heard him lay his head back down.

I felt his skin twitch under my lips as I edged closer to the waist band of his boxers. I folded them down enough that his hip bones were completely exposed. To me, they are one of the sexiest parts of Peter's body and I always try to give them some special attention. Using the tip of my tongue I traced over his left one and then, much like I had with his collarbone, I scraped my teeth across it. As I was doing that I worked his boxers gently over his erection and freed it. I felt the velvet soft skin as his head bobbed up and nudged my throat. His jeans were already hanging half off his feet so they only required a little pull to remove them the rest of the way.

By this time, my breasts were about even with his upper thighs and I could feel his coarse leg hair against my nipples. I looked up towards him and saw that he was looking down at me. He gave me a lazy grin, although the fire in his eyes betrayed any semblance he had of apathy.

I smiled back at him and continued to hold his gaze as I licked his shaft from base to head. I held him in one hand as I swirled my tongue over his tip, lapping up the bit of pre-come that glistened there. Then I enveloped the head of him in my mouth. He broke eye contact with me, letting out a hiss as his head dropped back. I slid him back out of my mouth, using my tongue to heighten the sensation even more. I took him in again, further this time, and held him for a moment before beginning a leisurely up and down rhythm. I felt him rest one hand on my head, winding his fingers through my hair, and the other one grabbed my free hand so he could squeeze it in time to my movements. The hand in my hair never applied pressure or tried to guide me in any way, he just lightly moved his fingertips against my scalp.

I could feel him getting more tense as I continued, then there was the telltale tug on my hand to let me know he was getting to the fail-safe point. I made one last pass, taking him as deep as I could go before slowly sliding him out of my mouth. I kissed his inner thigh and took a minute to breathe. I cupped his heavy testicles in my hand and rolled them gently in my palm before working my way back up his body.

When I got near enough he sat up and palmed my face, drawing me to him. "Your mouth is amazing," he said before kissing me deeply. He moved over me and told me to lay back. I bunched our discarded clothes into a makeshift pillow to put under my head.

He worked his way down my body, reacquainting himself with my breasts on his journey, his facial hair leaving delicious stings behind as he moved along. He kneeled between my legs and pulled my pants down. After he dragged them off he laid them over to the side. He grabbed one of my feet and massaged the side and the top of my foot before wrapping his warm hand around my toes. Peter is a toucher. He likes to make sure he has, in some fashion, made contact with me everywhere he could on my body during our sessions. The best part about it was he was doing it as much for himself as for me.

He lifted my foot towards him and kissed the instep. I giggled, I couldn't help it. Peter tossed me one of his 1000 watt smiles and bent his head to make his way up my leg with wet, nibbling kisses. He trailed his hand up the other leg so it wouldn't feel left out. As he passed my knee he settled himself down in between my legs with one hand on the back of my thigh and the other arm circling around the outside of my opposite leg to grab my inner thigh on that side. My panties were still on and I could tell they were soaked through.

With the hand he had under the back of my thigh he spread my legs open wider. I felt him run his tongue along the crease at the junction of my leg and pelvic area, right against the panty line there. He turned his head and sank his teeth into the fleshy spot of my inner thigh before sucking my skin in hard enough to leave me with a mark. I didn't mind, it was a small price to pay.

His fingers traced over me through my underwear. He brushed his fingertips upwards toward my clit and I felt him move in closer. He was near enough that I could feel his warm breath puffing through the thin cloth that separated us. I moved my hips more towards the source of the warmth. Suddenly, I felt the unmistakable heat of his tongue as he lapped at me through my underwear. It was frustrating how close he was but there was still that barrier between us. I heard him inhale deeply, then felt him hum against me in satisfaction. My body was starting to throb, demanding more direct attention from him.

Finally, I felt some actual contact from him as he hooked his index finger through the inside crotch of my panties. He ran it down the entire length of material, keeping the back of his index finger against me so his knuckle skimmed me from my clit to the bottom of my entrance. "Peter," I moaned his name, "please." Upon hearing my plea he pulled the crotch of my underwear to the side, exposing that entire region. I thrust my hips towards him in invitation.

I cried out loudly and had to muffle myself when his tongue snaked its way through my folds. He tried again but I could tell he wasn't getting the angle he (or I) wanted. I felt him tugging my underwear down. Because of the position he was in I had to roll on my side and do some strange kicking motions with my leg to help him, but we got them off.

Now he had unrestricted access to my most intimate space and he took full advantage. He spread me with the thumb and forefinger of one hand while he angled my hips into a better spot with the other. This time when he put his mouth on me I wasn't fast enough to squelch the moan that escaped. My world narrowed down to him and what he was doing between my legs. He alternated teasing my clitoris against his tongue with sucking my lips into his mouth.

He slid his tongue inside me and I squirmed with the pleasure of it. Then he replaced that with his finger as he got back to work licking my clit. He flattened his tongue out so he could get the most coverage. I sank my fingers into his hair but I have no idea if I gave him the same courtesy of not pushing suggestively on his head. I was too far gone, I just needed to touch him. My orgasm was fast approaching, the tremors making their way through my nerve endings to converge where he was focusing. His finger probed me in the same pattern as his tongue did. He stopped for a moment and called my name. I looked at him and his dark eyes burned into mine. "I want to feel you come," he said in a low voice before dropping his mouth back down. It was both a statement and a plea. His words sunk into me and then exploded in my head and through my body. I came hard, thrashing against him, muttering something that might have been his name or a curse or maybe both. He eased off but stayed where he was until I shuddered to completion.

Peter gave me one last slow lick before placing a kiss right above my pubic hair. He moved up over me, holding some of his weight on his arms while still allowing me to feel the heaviness of his body as he pressed into me. Our skin was damp with sweat from our exertions, and saliva and other things. I felt the hot throb of his cock along my inner thigh. I was still trying to get my ragged breathing under control when he tucked his chin in the curve of my shoulder. "Olivia, you taste so fucking good." he whispered in a rasp that lightly buzzed my ear.

Peter captured me in a scorching kiss that had me tasting myself on his tongue. I wanted him to have as much pleasure as I'd just experienced and I reached between us to take him in hand. I slid his tip through my wetness, whispering "Feel what you do to me." (Two can play the dirty talk game.) He made a noise low in his throat and breathed out hard. I arched my back up and guided him towards my entrance. He pushed forward, sliding inside me with a satisfying fullness. I could feel the muscles in his lower back bunching under my hands while he tried to give me time to adjust. I didn't need it though, so I dug my fingers into his ass and pulled him into me a little more. "I'm ready, Peter."

"Thank God for that," he said as he started to thrust. I wrapped my legs around his hips and let him set the pace, enjoying the sensations as he drove himself in and out of me. He reached behind his back and unhooked one of my legs to bring it along side of him and push my knee up. He grunted in approval at the change in angle and that it gave him room to bow his head to suck on one of my nipples.

Peter always likes it when I come twice, even though it doesn't happen every time. The way I was feeling, he was going to be pleased. I started getting into the motions with him, trying to match his thrusts, both of us moaning when I succeeded. "Fuck, Olivia ... so hot," he panted.

I was driven to another level of passion when I felt his fingers on my clit. A few strokes against me was all it took and I was a goner. I dug my nails into his skin as the wave broke over me. The ripple effect triggered Peter's orgasm as well and he finished with several uneven thrusts and another profanity.

He collapsed beside me, our hips still together and our limbs entangled. Both of us struggled to catch our breath in the humid atmosphere of the car. All I could smell was us, in one form or another, our scents mingling into a unique bouquet. Peter gazed at me, his eyes now the color of the sky on a spring day. He palmed my jaw line and rested his thumb over my lips before tracing the bottom one. Leaning down, he kissed me. It was moments like this that made me wonder if there was another title I'd like to assign to Peter Bishop. I kissed him back hoping that as always he would intuit the things I wasn't able to put into words, at least not yet.

We regained a normal breathing pattern and moved apart regretfully until he slipped out of me. We retrieved our clothes and more or less got everything back on straight. We stretched a little and made our way back to the front of the vehicle. Peter had a huge grin on his face and I could feel a matching one on mine. I know we were both thinking the same thing: Best. Stakeout. Ever.