Faith2nyc

“Just what our customers like to hear,” he interjects. “Our devices run… on something.”

Carol sends an icy glare his way, to which he only smirks. “As I was saying,” she says, “testing shows that this bad boy can run a full twenty-six hours on the highest setting.”

“In a single charge?”

“Mhmm,” Carol confirms. “And believe me when I say that the battery isn’t even the best part. Because with eight different settings? Dear God, the things I could tell you-”

“I’m good,” he says before Carol can continue. “In fact, I’ll sign the production slip right now.”

“Years of running this business together and you choose to turn squeamish on me now?”

“Oh, I’m not squeamish at all,” he says. “But given how much lobotomies cost these days, I’d rather not have thoughts about my little cousin and our latest product flashing in my head.”

Carol rolls her eyes. “Well, if you don’t want to hear about my personal experiences with The Captain,” she says, pointing to their latest thrusting vibrator sitting on the coffee table, “you can always listen to the feedback from our focus group.”

“Does it include tales about seeing stars and discovering new galaxies?”

“Obviously,” Carols says. “We’re not called Cosmic Pleasures for nothing.”

He chuckles. “You always did have a crystal clear vision for this.”

Dissatisfied with the options and the quality of the toys in the market, Carol had started Cosmic Pleasures out of her garage in Brooklyn seven years ago. The name is a nod to her days as a former Air Force pilot, and while she’s poured her heart and soul into the company, she’s never been too enthused by the business end of it, preferring instead to focus on the more creative aspects. It was only serendipitous that he had finally left the Army just as she was gearing to expand, and while the private sector didn’t particularly appeal to him then, the idea of working with his cousin and nurturing a family-owned business certainly did.

Thinking back to when he would spend countless nights wondering how his life would pan out, he doesn’t think he could have ever envisioned his transition from soldier to CEO. Now that it’s become his reality, though, he can’t think of anything else he’d rather be doing. The combination of his business acumen, Carol’s endless pursuit of innovation as Creative Director, and the recent erotica boom across the globe that encouraged people to invite a third party in the bedroom – battery-operated or otherwise – made for lucrative business. Add to that Cosmic Pleasures’ extraordinary commitment to producing models only of the finest quality, it’s no wonder that their products are quickly becoming the industry’s gold standard.

It’s in that excellence that he and Carol take so much pride in. And if he has to put a finger on what it is that continues to open doors for their company, it’s that. It’s certainly what’s led to his meeting tonight with the owners of The Velvet Hex, the ritzy shop in Chelsea that sells luxury pleasure products at their storefront by day, before transforming into an ultra-exclusive BDSM club by night. Admittedly, the latter has never been his cup of tea, but he’s hardly one to judge what goes on between consenting adults. In any case, if such practices encourage people to experiment with more toys, then he’s only too glad to provide them with the best tools possible.

Carol rises from her spot on the couch, grabbing The Captain as she makes her way across his office and sets the toy down on his desk. “You should take this to your meeting with Agatha and Rio.”

“That’s still technically a prototype,” he says, waving off the idea. “Besides, they’ve already selected their SKUs. We’re only meeting to finalize their first shipment. Trust me, we’re way past the Show and Tell stage now.”

“Doesn’t mean they won’t appreciate a sneak peek of what’s in the pipeline,” Carol retorts. “They are attending the Love and Sex conference at The Elysium, aren’t they?”

“Agatha mentioned that they might drop by a few lectures in the afternoon,” he confirms. “But it is The Elysium, Care. I think I’d prefer not to brandish a 9-incher on their mahogany bar.”

“Then clearly, you don’t understand what that hotel is for,” Carol says before tossing the toy at him. “Just take it, will you? You never know if they’ll want to take it for a spin.”

“Not after you’ve tossed it around!”

“That’s what the anti-bacterial cleanser is for,” Carol says, picking up the sample bottle displayed on his desk before tossing that to him, too. He catches it mid-air, narrowing his eyes at Carol, only to earn a smirk in return. “Tell the ladies I said hello.”

As Carol strolls out of his office, he can only shake his head. It’s not that he’s embarrassed to take their products along with him. But when it comes to business, shock and awe has never been his style. Neither have stuffy, structured meetings where everyone types furiously away on their laptops. There’s a time and place for that, he knows, but where closing deals are concerned, he likes to keep things simple. Conversational. And he certainly didn’t need any props for that.

He sets the items back on his desk, and as he stands, he reaches for the slate gray tie that’s slung on the back of his chair before looping it in a neat knot around his neck. Contrary to what Carol thinks, he is aware of The Elysium’s reputation. But just because the line between business and pleasure tends to blur within their art-deco walls, doesn’t mean that it’s not still regarded as a New York institution. As such, he wouldn’t be caught dead not dressing accordingly.

He's just thrown on his suit jacket when Carol suddenly slips back into his office. “I almost forgot,” she says, the playful expression on her face when she had first left replaced by a more serious one. “Don’t forget about your appointment tomorrow.”

This time, he’s the one that can’t resist rolling his eyes. “I know,” he grumbles. “You’ve only reminded me every single day this week.”

“This is important, Steve,” Carol says, her hands coming to rest on her hips. “It’s been two years.”

It’s not as though he needs another reminder of how long it’s been since his life had indelibly changed. That is, since his engagement had come to an abrupt end. But while his mind had recovered from that tragedy, he hasn’t had the same luck when it comes to the damn thing in his chest that to this day, still feels irretrievably broken – something Carol never misses the opportunity to point out. He sighs. “I know.”

Sex is top of mind for Natasha Romanoff.

Specifically, the hurried, dirty, can’t-wait-to-have-you kind. The type you have in the backseat of a town car or a nightclub bathroom where the possibility of getting caught leaves a tingle across your skin, causing your post-coital high to linger just that little bit longer.

But at the moment, as the salacious images flash in her mind, she can’t say that the sensation running through her is all that positive. In fact, as her client recounts her philandering husband’s transgressions, it’s only through years of practice that she’s able to school her face into a neutral expression as the disgust creeps into her veins.

In truth, it’s with every fiber of her being that she wants to tell her client to leave the man. She wants to shout it, empathically. Beg her to pack her bags, take their dogs, and go. Hell, at this point, she’ll settle for writing the words across her office walls in the brightest red paint she can find if that means it’ll open Sersi’s eyes to the situation. Only that would be doing her dear client a disservice, and she knows it. If Sersi is ever to kick this man to the curb once and for all, it needs to be a decision she comes to on her own terms.

“I keep dreaming about the chalet,” Sersi says with a sigh, referring to the large estate she and her husband own in Aspen. It’s where he had proposed to her, and it’s the same place she had caught him sleeping with his business associate just last week. “It has these glass windows that overlook the mountains. It’s absolutely magical in the daylight… It’s where we made love for the first time.” Sersi scoffs, wiping the fresh tears that roll down her cheeks with the back of her hand. “Back when I could stand Ikaris’ touch, anyway.”

She pulls a few tissues from the box on the console table before handing it to her client, watching as the woman who occupies this exact spot in her office nearly thrice a week pats away the evidence of her despair. It’s only when Sersi settles further back into the couch, looking up at the ceiling fan, that she continues to prod. “What exactly about this situation weighs on you the most, Sersi?” she asks softly. “Is it that he slept with someone else or that he slept with someone in a place you thought was sacred to both of you?” She lets her questions hang in the air between them, but when moments pass and they remain unanswered, she adds, “Or perhaps it’s something else entirely?”

Sersi remains frozen in silence before her, her hands curled into fists at her sides as if she’s channeling every ounce of strength she has to keep from spilling her deepest darkest fears. This part of her job is never pleasant, and as much as she wishes she could wipe away her clients’ pain, she knows that it’s her duty to guide them to the other side of it, towards healing – even if sometimes, that means forcing them to pry open a wound they’re desperately trying to keep closed.

“Sersi,” she repeats gently, waiting until the woman finally looks her way. “Do you fault yourself for his infidelity?”

“I don’t see how I can’t not,” Sersi says so quickly that she’s certain her patient has had more than this session to ponder the question. “Since the first time I caught him, the idea of having sex with him… I- I simply can’t bear it.”

“And that makes you at fault for him being unfaithful?”

“Doesn’t it?”

“Not in the slightest,” she says, her tone firm. “The only person responsible for Ikaris’ actions is himself. You, on the other hand, have the power to hold him accountable for them. That being said, we still need to get to the why for you.” Sersi’s brows rise at her words, so she elaborates. “We’ve talked at length about the things he’s done, and for good reason. But you lost interest in having sex with him way before he started stepping out on your relationship. Why that is, we haven’t been able to uncover.” That is, after all, the onus behind Sersi seeking out her services to begin with. Helping people through their relationship tribulations and their aversion to intimacy is her specialty, and for reasons she can’t quite put her finger on, she’s never been more determined to help a patient overcome their issues than she is with Sersi now. “So, let’s dive into that.”

Later, as Sersi prepares to leave at the conclusion of their session, she finds herself smiling at her patient. Some days, making progress happens at the speed of light. But more often than not, it moves just as it has today – slowly, like water trickling into a bucket, drop by drop. Nevertheless, especially in her line of work, she’s learned that a step forward, regardless of how small, is still a step forward. In the end, all that matters is that she’s helped move the needle in the right direction, which is what she’s done with Sersi today.

She bids Sersi goodbye, and as the door of her office clicks shut, she makes her way to her desk to take a peek at her schedule for tomorrow. As she thumbs through her calendar, she finds a slew of bookings from her regulars and a new patient appointment sandwiched in between. It’s going to be another day that’s booked solid, and as much as she wishes she could use the next few hours to brace herself for another full day, the fact is that her evening isn’t looking any better either. She had committed to a speaking engagement at a conference for the American Therapists Association weeks ago, and tonight she's due to share her research on love and sex addiction. In recent years, she has become something of the leading expert in the matter, guiding afflicted patients towards a path of recovery. And while she had spoken at numerous conferences in the past, this one feels particularly special after being asked to present by Melina Vostokoff, the Chairman of the ATA who also happens to be her former mentor – a mentor who, she reckons, is a stickler for punctuality.

It's with that reminder that she stands, pulling open her bottom drawer to exchange her flats for the black, pointed toe stilettos she keeps in there for these occasions. As she rises to her full height, she grabs her phone from the stash of papers on her desk, slipping it into her purse before making a beeline for the full-length mirror by her door. Studying her reflection, she adjusts the collar of her blush silk blouse and smooths a hand down her pencil skirt before ultimately deciding to swipe another coat of gloss on her lips. Then, with a final once-over, she exits her office.

“Wow!” Billy, the practice’s young receptionist, remarks as she nears the front desk. His lips curl into a smirk. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you’re heading to The Elysium for a little sneaky link.”

“Sneaky link?” she says, shooting him a confused stare.

“A rendezvous, I mean.”

“Right,” she says with a chuckle. “One day, I’ll actually understand a word you’re saying. But today is not that day. Goodnight, Billy.”

“‘Night, Nat!”

As she turns to leave, she finds herself shaking her head at Billy’s antics. As if she, of all people, would have a rendezvous at The Elysium. It had been too long since she had a rendezvous of any kind, let alone one at a hotel infamous for being the city’s designated hookup spot. Her last relationship had ended six months ago, and while Bruce had turned out to be a lovely man, in the end, he had been a little too vanilla for her liking. No doubt, the suggestion of a quickie in a public powder room, even one as nice as The Elysium’s, would have left the Physicist reeling.

Even so, Bruce’s mundane proclivities were hardly what caused their relationship to fizzle out. The real problem was that even when she was wrapped up in his embrace, her mind was always with Reed. Reed is a professor at Columbia, and since they met during their freshman year at college, he has been her best friend, closest confidant… and the man she’s been deeply in love with for the last twelve years. All this time, even as that fact ate away at her, she had kept that bit of information to herself. And, to her credit, Reed had never noticed how much she longed to be the woman by his side. But who knew what and when they knew are all irrelevant, anyway. He’s happily married now, so the time to tell him? Well, that’s well and truly passed.

The irony isn’t lost on her. Here she is, one of the most sought-after sex and love therapists in New York City, helping scores of people through matters of the heart, and yet, when it comes to her own love life, she’s been left perpetually wanting a man she can never have. For months, she’s been doing her best to move on. From salsa dancing with her girlfriends every Thursday to brushing up on her Russian, she’s left no stone unturned in her mission to detoxify her heart from her feelings for Reed Richards. And while she’s never been a gym rat, the Pilates classes she’s signed up for are quickly growing on her, if only for the fact that the sheer concentration needed to keep her on the Reformer nearly makes her forget about the man she’s been pining over for well over a decade.

But of all the activities she’s filled her days with, she finds that there’s nothing quite like throwing herself into her work to make her forget about her unrequited love. More than anything in the world, she loves her job, and helping people through their toughest times has always been her calling and deepest passion. She could think of no greater joy than guiding someone towards becoming a better, healthier version of themselves, which is why the idea of sharing her methods with her colleagues tonight has had her feeling exhilarated all day.

Fifteen minutes later, she’s walking through the revolving doors of The Elysium, taking in the posh surroundings as she makes her way towards the elevators. Soft jazz plays in the background, and to the far right, people congregate around the lobby’s massive, gleaming bar, laughing and enjoying their libations. Add to that the swanky ambiance that’s amplified by its tall white walls, dim lighting, and shining marble floors, she could easily see why this hotel has earned its reputation.

It’s as she’s waiting for the elevator that her eyes zero in on a man leaning casually against the bar, talking animatedly with the two women in his party. Quickly, she takes stock of his features – broad frame, chiseled jaw, sandy blonde hair, and a smile that couldn’t be described as anything other than captivating.

She isn’t certain if her gaze had lingered a little too long. Or, perhaps, maybe just the right amount of time. But as the man glances up, his gaze wandering seemingly across the vast expanse of the lobby, it’s as though his deliciously blue eyes lock with hers. At least, that’s what she tells herself as the elevator dings open and she steps inside, filing away the devilishly handsome man’s face as fodder for later. She’d find use for the image when she’s all alone in bed tonight, steeping in her fantasies, but first thing’s first – she had a group of therapists to wow.

“As you could probably tell from the gray and gold veining,” Natasha begins, looking at Ophelia as she traces the surface of the counter with a finger. “This is made entirely out of Calacatta imported from Italy. Now, obviously, this bar is intended for refreshments, but given that slabs like these are rare, I was thinking-”

“That it’d make a great backdrop for my products,” Ophelia finishes for her, and though her back is to him, he can tell from her tone that she’s clearly impressed.

“It could be a nice touch if your team is planning on taking some flat lays for your socials,” Natasha says. Her tone is cool and casual, but he catches the way the corner of her mouth quirks ever so slightly, her tell that she knows she’s on the right track. 

And she’s right. He doesn’t have to see Ophelia’s expression to know that the woman is already sold on the idea. She may not be aware of it, but what she’s currently experiencing is Natasha Romanoff in her element, and he’s observed enough of her meetings to know that it’s all but impossible to walk away from her, uncharmed, when she’s dialed in like this.

It’s as Natasha leads the way towards the center of the room, talking about the craftsmanship of the pair of chandeliers hanging from the ceiling that he brings a hand up to the side of his face, tapping on his earpiece. “Give me a floor run down.”

Sam’s response comes a second later. “Floor below is clear. As is the lobby.”

“And the construction site across the street?”

“I have eyes on it,” Clint pipes in. “Lots of workers, but no suspicious activity so far.”

“Copy that. Thank you, both.”

Some semblance of relief washes over him as he puts his mic back on mute. By all accounts, he knows that having two members of his team run surveillance during a routine client meeting is overkill. He’s lost count of the number of times he’s accompanied Natasha to site visits just like this one, and never once has he required backup. Nevertheless, as he thinks back to the events that have occurred since they returned home, the part of him that believes that it’s always better to be safe than sorry can’t help but roar loudly.

It was instant, the way he knew something was wrong when he and Natasha walked down the steps of the jet to be greeted by the stoic faces of his team. Sam was the first to speak, informing them both that out of an abundance of caution, they would be taking Natasha back to her suite at The Empire instead of her apartment. It was on the car ride over that the team had started to brief them, and while his gut began to sink as he listened to their theory that someone had been keeping tabs on Natasha’s apartment while they’d been abroad, it wasn’t until he was presented with the letters – letters that were similar to the ones Natasha’s father had shared with him when he’d first sought his services – that he felt his blood run cold.

Finding the culprit had become their team’s primary focus in the days that followed, the intensity with which they had treated the objective reminiscent only of his days running covert operations in the Army. With confirmation that Natasha’s initial stalker was still incarcerated, they had set out to ID another suspect, exhausting every avenue from the CCTV footage from her apartment to leveraging what contacts they had in law enforcement. His patience (and quite frankly, his sanity) was beginning to run thin when a week had passed and they had yet to find any concrete leads, the four walls of his office becoming unwantedly too familiar to him as he spent his nights obsessively poring over all the information the team could gather, trying to piece it all together. It’s the most time he’s spent at his desk, and while he normally hated being confined to a space, he found it difficult to peel himself away. It was one thing to protect Natasha from the unknown. That was always going to be a challenge. What he couldn’t stomach, however, was how he had let a horror from her past haunt her once more.

The breakthrough they’d been desperately searching for finally arrived a few days later when a forensic analyst from the NYPD was able to confirm a handwriting match from a previous case. “I was never going to harm her,” he recalls the suspect, Sonny Burch, saying with that distinct drawl of his as he watched the authorities interrogate him from behind the one-way glass at the precinct. “I just wanted to know that if I wanted to, I could,” Burch added, unable to conceal his sickening joy. “And now I do.”

Burch was far from the criminal mastermind he’d been picturing, the man’s gel-stiffened combover that gleamed under the fluorescent lights making him look more like a caricature of a villain than anything else. And though the pursuit of infamy may have been Burch’s only objective, it made no difference to him. Physically harming Natasha may allegedly not have been in his plans, but in sending her those letters, Burch had drudged up one of the worst experiences of her life, and that was enough for him to want to see him behind bars.

He wants to say that knowing Burch has been apprehended helped him sleep better at night, but that would only be a half truth. Perhaps justice had been served. But if there’s anything the incident had highlighted even deeper for him, it’s that danger continues to lurk, and now, more than ever, it’s clear that he needs to keep his eyes open.

“Was there anything else you’d like to see Ms. Sarkissian?”

Loki’s question breaks him out of his reverie, and he blinks to see the trio of them walking towards the front of the room. Silently, he follows, finding his post close to the elevator when they pause just a few feet away.

“No, I think I’ve seen everything I needed to see,” Ophelia says, a pleased smile forming on her lips. “I look forward to Viper Cosmetics inaugurating Red Guardian’s newest space in the Spring.”

Natasha shares a glance with Loki before beaming back at her. “As do we.”

“Wonderful,” Ophelia says, adjusting her purse on her wrist. “And again, I do apologize for having to make a hasty exit, but I have to run to my next appointment. That being said, I’ll have my team contact yours to discuss getting a contract together.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Loki says, offering his arm out to her. “Allow me to escort you downstairs?”

“Please,” Ophelia says, linking arms with Loki, who begins to lead her towards the elevator.

He takes a step forward to get the button when he catches Loki gesturing for him to stop, and with a nod of acknowledgement, he unmutes his mic instead. “Client is on their way down.”

The elevator dings just as he hears Sam’s affirmative in his ear, confirming that he’s already stationed at the lobby. Loki and Ophelia step inside, the latter sending another smile at Natasha, who’s come to stand next to him. “It was a pleasure meeting you, Natasha.”

“You too, Ophelia,” Natasha says as the doors begin to slide closed. They wait for the hum of the elevator as it begins to descend, and it’s as the numbers on the panel above start to decrease that Natasha turns to him, eyes expectant. “So, what do you think?”

He shrugs. “She’s demurer than I expected,” he says. “Compared to her online presence, at least. But as far being a threat goes… what?”

“I meant about the deal,” she says, and though she looks away, he catches the way her expression falls. 

“Oh,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck. “Well, you have her ready to draw up a contract after your first meeting. As far as I’m concerned, that’s a home run.”

“Yeah,” she says. “Yeah, I guess it is.”

“Her company is going to be a great addition to your client list,” he adds, taking note of her less than enthusiastic response. “I’m sure the board will be thrilled.”

When she looks back at him, the smile she flashes his way doesn’t quite reach her eyes. “Would be nice to get them off my back for a few days, wouldn’t it?”

His brows furrow in concern as she turns away from him to walk to the credenza where she’d set her belongings at the beginning of the meeting. It would be easy to ascribe her sudden forlornness on her being worried about the board watching her every move. But that’s a perpetual worry for her as long as she’s in this job, and he knows that for the most part, it’s something she’s incredibly adept at coping with. Whatever it is that’s weighing on her now, it certainly has nothing to do with work.

“Natasha,” he says, coming up behind her as she slips her tablet back into her purse. His hands fall to her shoulders when she doesn’t respond, and he frowns when he feels how stiff they are. “Tell me what you need.” He slides his hands down her arms, nearly breathing a sigh of relief when she leans back against him, melting into his touch. “If you’re tired, I can ask Daisy to book an appointment with your masseuse.”

She hums at the thought. “Tell her to call my bodyguard while she’s at it,” she mutters. “Tell him I miss him.”  

His hands still at her words. “Hey,” he says, gently turning her so their eyes can meet, only to find the emotion in hers difficult to pin down. “I’ve been right here.”

“Physically, maybe…” She pauses, sinking her teeth into her bottom lip – the way she always does when she’s hesitant. A beat passes before she sighs. “But Steve, ever since the letters-”

“Nat,” he interjects, “I-”

“I know you’re just doing your job,” she concedes with a nod. “But then there’s your job, and then there’s… you and me.” She shakes her head. “I just worry that maybe it’s beginning to be too much.”

“What? Natasha, no,” he says firmly. “That’s not it. Not in the slightest.”

“Then why have you been keeping your distance from me?” she says, giving up any pretense of hiding her frustration now.

It’s then that he sees it – the hurt in her eyes that’s clear as day. The anguish that’s been lingering from the moment they got back home, he realizes, flashing every single time he’s left her in the care of someone else to go and dive right back into the case. He had mistaken it for fear of the situation, and in his determination to never see that emotion on her face ever again, it seems he’s only made it worse.

“I didn’t mean to,” he says, his eyes turning downcast as a curse slips from his lips. “But you having to see those letters again? Having to relive…” He shakes his head, refusing to even voice the words. “I guess I stayed away because I’ve been feeling so ashamed.”

“Ashamed?” she repeats, only to cup his face in her hand when he nods. “None of that was your fault, Steve.”

“I failed you,” he says, swallowing the lump that’s formed in his throat.

“No, you didn’t.”

With a shake of his head, he pulls away from her. “It happened under my watch-”

“And it’s under your watch that it got resolved,” she insists, sighing when he doesn’t look quite convinced. “Hey, listen to me. I won’t downplay the fact that the world’s a dangerous place, Steve. We both know that. But when the facts tell us that this time around, the danger is just a lunatic looking for some fame? We need to leave it at that and count putting him away as a win.” She steps closer to him, imploring him to meet her gaze. “Otherwise, we’re just living life afraid, and I don’t want that… And I know you don’t, either.”

His eyes fall shut at that, huffing out a breath that’s long and winded. Despite his never ending list of worries, he knows that she’s right. While he couldn’t stand the idea of any kind of harm coming to her, protecting her has always been about making her feel safe enough to live her life the way she wants to. It was never about keeping her in a gilded cage or making her privy to and fearful of all the dangers that lie ahead – something his actions had inadvertently done in the weeks since this all unfolded.

Fuck.

“I’m sorry, Nat,” he says, and for the first time in weeks, he allows himself to give into his urge to pull her into his arms. She goes willingly, burrowing her head in his chest as he wraps his arms around her. He drops a kiss to the crown of her head, breathing in the scent of her shampoo. “If something happened to you...”

She pulls away just enough to look up at him. “You would never let anything happen to me.”

Her words take him back to the very first time she had uttered them to him, her hand in his as she sat in the bathtub that night after they’d finally given into their desire for one another. He recalls the certainty in her eyes then, certainty that’s only somehow been fortified as she stares at him now, even after everything that’s occurred. “You said you trusted me… Did you mean that?” 

“I mean every word I tell you,” she says solemnly, then in the same breath, she allows mischief to flicker in her expression. “Well, almost every word.” He arches a brow at that, and as she rests her palms flat on his chest, she juts her lower lip out in a playful pout. “I said you would never let anything happen to me, but seems you have no problem letting me miss you.”

He scoffs, amusement pulling his lips up into a smile. “A demented sociopath was running amuck and that’s what you were worried about?” Her shoulders lift in a nonchalant shrug, prompting him to chuckle. “Your mind, Miss Romanoff, is always in the gutter.”

“Weeks, Rogers,” she whispers, pulling him closer by his tie and looking up at him from underneath the fan of her darkened lashes. “I’ve been missing you for weeks.”  

A quip makes its way to the tip of his tongue, but before he can say it, he’s interrupted by Sam’s voice in his ear. “There’s a pileup on the BQE, Cap. Barnes will be late for his shift, but I’ll fill in until he makes it out.”

Natasha stiffens in his hold, confirmation that with their proximity, she heard Sam’s words loud and clear. “Don’t bother,” he replies, running a hand reassuringly down her back. “I’ll take the night shift.” She smiles widely at that, and as Sam voices his confirmation, he takes off earpiece for good measure as he adds, “Seems I have weeks to make up for." 

“Bold of you to assume you can make up for all that time in one night," she says, smirking. 

He tips his chin up at that, the corners of his lips quirking when he catches the little breath she takes in. 

“I’m extremely excited, Darcy,” he says truthfully, watching as she lights up in pleasant surprise that he had remembered her name. “We made this one as a love letter to all of Cap’s fans, so fingers crossed that they like it.”

Darcy beams. “I’m sure-” she begins, only to pause when she’s interrupted by a chorus of excited squealing. They both look up the carpet to see the cause of the commotion, prompting Darcy to chuckle. “Seems your costar has arrived.”

“Seems so,” he manages to say. Part of him is aware that Darcy still has her mic extended to him and that he’s now frozen stupid while on live television, but he doesn’t care. There’s nothing, absolutely nothing, that could pry his eyes away from the sight of Natasha slowly descending the carpet, looking every bit the movie star that she is with her hair falling in loose waves down her back and her lips painted crimson – a few shades deeper than the little red number she has on that hugs her in all the right places and falls just a little past her knees.

Natasha’s eyes meet his as she approaches, her lips lifting in that soft smile he knows is just for him. “Hi there.”

“Hi,” he says, offering his arm out for her to take. She links her arm with his, allowing him to guide her until she’s standing by his side. She looks even more ethereal now that she’s right next to him, and for the briefest of moments, it’s as though he forgets how to breathe. He sighs as a smile all but threatens to split his face in two. “You look stunning.”

“As do you,” she says, and he swears he sees a hint of a blush pave its way to her cheeks.

“The one and only Natasha Romanoff is here with us, ladies and dudes,” Darcy says, and it’s only then that he remembers that he’s still halfway through an interview. If Darcy is at all piqued by his lack of attention, though, she doesn’t show it as she turns excitedly to Natasha before pointing to the cameras. “Wave to everyone at home, girl!”  

Natasha chuckles, waving into the camera with her free hand. “Hi, everyone!”

“Natasha, can you tell us what your experience working on this movie was like?” Darcy inquires.

“Oh, it was magical,” she says. “Honestly, the cast and crew just gelled so well. We really became one big, happy family out there. Which is all you can really ask for when you spend months shooting for hours on end.” She turns towards him, her smile growing wider. “And, of course, it’s never a bad day at the office when you get to work with this one.” 

“Can confirm that lots of people were jealous of your job, yes,” Darcy says, causing both her and Natasha to laugh and him to sheepishly shake his head. 

“I will have the people know that she is also a joy to work with,” he says, leaning closer to the mic before looking back to Natasha. “Getting to watch her work every day was an absolute treat. There is simply no Black Widow without her.” 

“I paid him to say that,” Natasha quips, still holding his gaze even as she attempts to brush off his compliment. He winks in response, eliciting another smile from her. 

“Speaking of the people, though…” Darcy’s words cause him to turn back at the host just in time to see her eyes dart between him and Natasha before zeroing in on the hand Natasha still has resting on his chest. “I’ve been sent to do their work here, so I have to ask. There have been… discussions, if you will, on the interwebs these past few weeks about Cap and Widow’s chemistry maybe, possibly, extending beyond the screen...” She wiggles her brows. “Would either of you care to set the record straight right here, right now?”  

He chuckles at the conspiratorial smile that finds its way across Darcy’s face, and as he looks at Natasha next to him, he lifts a brow up in a silent question. They’ve discussed this ad nauseam at this point, and while he knows, unequivocally, what his answer is and that hers is exactly the same, the fact of the matter is that there would be no going back from this. His next words will alter the path of their lives moving forward, and he wouldn’t dare pull the trigger without her consent. But then her lips curl into that trademark smirk of hers, and that’s all the confirmation he needs to know that they’re on the same page. 

“Actually, Darcy, we would…” he says, his eyes never once leaving Natasha’s. From his periphery, he sees the mic that Darcy pushes closer to him, anticipating his response. He knows the words he wants to say, has rehearsed them in his head more times than he can count. Even so, he decides to let his hand slide to Natasha's waist instead, pulling her to him. 

“What are you doing?” Natasha asks, her eyes lighting up in a mix of surprise and amusement just as Darcy lets out a gasp. 

He doesn't respond, opting instead to lean down and slant his lips over hers. In an instant, they’re engulfed by the sound of the crowd cheering around them and of the cameras furiously flashing away, memorializing this moment forevermore, but he lets that all fade away as he deepens their kiss.

“Think that’s clear enough for them?” he asks when they finally pull away, smirking when she just snorts, pushing playfully at his chest. 

Perhaps she should be happy. Elated even. Albeit only in the darkest recesses of her mind, this is what she had found herself hoping he would do as they both laid sprawled out on her couch mere hours ago, her head on his chest as she listened to each beat of his heart. Instead, she finds herself reeling. Hard.  

“You don’t know what you’re doing,” she finally says, digging her nails into the insides of her palms.

“Yes, I do,” he insists. “Nat-”

“It’s career suicide, Steve!” she says, watching as that combatant expression of his that she knows all too well makes its way across his face. His lips part as if to respond, but she beats him to it. “And for what?”

“For us,” he says without missing a beat, as though it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

She scoffs. “Do you not remember-”

“I remember everything, Nat,” he interjects this time, his words causing her to press her lips into a line. “Believe me, I’ve seen the show.” He pushes off the doorway, making his way to her. “Which is why I know that when you go out and act like what we had didn’t mean a thing to you or that us avoiding each other isn’t tearing you apart on the inside too, that’s all it is. A show.” He stops just before her, his eyes somehow managing to look even more breathtaking in the dim light of her kitchen. “So you can keep putting it on… but just know that I’ll be here, sitting through it. Again and again.”

She searches his eyes, though she’s not even certain what for. A sign, maybe. Or even some hint of a warning that his words are only half-hearted. But the only thing she can see is his irrefutable resolve, the intensity of which knocks the breath right out of her. “Why?”

“Because you’ve done nearly everything to push me away…” he says, and whether the little gasp that falls from her lips is from the gravity of his words or the sparks that run across her skin as he slowly reaches for her, taking her hand in his to intertwine their fingers, she isn’t quite sure. “The one thing you haven’t done is say that you don’t love me.”

His gaze implores her to tell him he’s wrong, to rebuff his claims and pull away from his touch. Only, she can’t. And they both know it. “Steve…”   

“Natasha, I love you,” he says – declares, really, with how steadfast his tone is. And if there’s any room left for ambiguity, he erases it as he adds, “All I want is you. And I don’t care what it costs.” He shakes his head. “I don’t care if they never let me pick up the shield again. Or if people fire off one hot take after another about us on the internet for the rest of their sorry, miserable lives. None of that matters to me.” He sighs, bringing a hand up to cup her face. “And if none of that matters to you, either… Then all I need to know is, do you love me, too?”

“I do,” she says, her response spilling out of her as if on their own accord. “So much.”

His lips quirk into the smallest of smiles as he brushes his thumb over the apple of her cheek. “Then be with me.”

Her eyes screw shut at his invitation. The irony isn’t lost on her. Here he is, talking about putting down the shield so they could be together, but it’s as though with her silence, she’s the one proverbially keeping it up to place some self-imposed distance between them. When she had walked out on him that night, she had told herself that she was doing it for him, to protect him not only from the pandemonium that came with her life, but also, and perhaps more importantly, from her. But those points are all moot now, it seems. She's tried every trick in her book to scare him away, and while it had worked temporarily, by his own admission, he had come to figure it out. And now, nothing about what he's seen fazes him any longer.

It's then that it finally dawns on her. The reasons she had been using to justify pushing him away were only ever partial truths. She may have trained herself to let the words of others roll right off her back and to accept that their loyalty to her may only ever be transactional, but the fact of the matter is he’s not just anyone. He’s the one – the only one – who has recognized that she's been putting up a façade all this time, the only one who has dared to ask and find out what’s behind it. As much as the idea terrifies her, he is under her skin now, and if he were to walk away, if he were to somehow change his mind, she knows with prolific certainty that there’s nothing in the arsenal she’s been building over the years that could save her from the magnitude of that hurt. 

He could well and truly really break her. And yet, she finds that with every fiber of her being, she still longs to say yes to him. To tell him that what they have is strong enough to withstand any and all of the noise that comes their way. That she’s ready to take this leap. But before she can, it’s clear to her that if they’re to have any chance at all, there could be no more hiding. She’s going to have to show him everything she’s been keeping in – the good, the bad, and the absolute wreckage that includes that tiny voice in her head, spurred on by the memories of her past and the pieces of her that never quite fully healed, that aches for reassurance.

“Please don’t hurt me,” she whispers as she opens her eyes. Not like they have, she wants to add. Not like I’ve allowed them to. 

“I won’t,” he says, and whether it’s the conviction in his tone or the way his eyes fill with so much devotion that even though she’s heard that affirmation many times before, in many different variations, she finds herself believing it instantly. Irrevocably. “God, Nat, I’ll-”

She doesn’t let him utter whatever oath he was just about to swear as she rises on the tips of her toes to grab his face and crush her lips to his. For whatever promise he was going to make, it doesn’t matter. The second their lips meet, it’s as though the rest of the world fades away. There’s just them. Them and this electrifying desire that’s mixed in with something else, too. Something stronger, more formidable. Something that tethers her to him. And as he bends at the knees, scooping her into his arms without breaking their kiss, she finally comprehends what it is. It’s the very thing she’s been running away from since she first felt an inkling of it. This feeling that he’s everything she’s ever wanted and everything she’s ever going to want. That against the odds, they had a chance.

That there could be a them.

“Steve,” she sighs at the revelation, and if the way he kisses her deeper – hungrier – is any indication, he seems to have arrived at the same conclusion. But for the first time in her life, the idea doesn’t incite fear in her heart. Instead, as he walks them out of her kitchen and down the hall, she leans into it, kissing him back just as fiercely and conveying all the possibilities of them into the lock of their lips. 

​​“I missed you so much,” he confesses, trailing his lips down the column of her throat when they stumble down onto her bed, his body bracketing hers.

He nips teasingly at her pulse, causing her to shudder. She wants to say that she missed him too, to let him know how desperate she is for his touch and to satiate this seemingly never-ending ache she has for him that sinks right to her bones. But the relief in his tone tugs at her heartstrings, and she forces herself to focus. “Hey,” she says, cupping his face in her hands and forcing him to meet her gaze. “I love you.”

The awe that shimmers brightly in his eyes is impossible to miss. “You have no idea how long I’ve waited to hear you say that.”  

“If I ever made you doubt it…” she says, shaking her head. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” he whispers without so much as a hint of hesitation that it’s almost hard to believe that after everything she’s done, here he is, choosing to trust her with his heart. Moments ago, she might have questioned it – questioned him – but not anymore. He turns his head, kissing the inside of her palm, and as his lips pull up into a little smile, her heart feels just about ready to burst in her chest that all she can do is bring her lips back to his. 

It’s then that she finally allows her desire to lead, letting herself get reacquainted with the taste of his lips and the feel of his body under her touch as she finds the hem of his shirt, pushing it up and off him. His hands follow suit, their kisses losing their chasteness and growing teeth as they both work to rid each other of the barriers between them. Blissful sighs fall from their lips as skin eventually grazes skin, and by the time they’ve stripped down to nothing, the only sound in the room is of their labored breathing. She reaches between them, feeling his chest rumble with a groan when she finds him already hard and aching for her.

“Steve,” she whimpers when she guides him to her entrance, making them both gasp as he glides teasingly over her. “Please.” 

To her relief, he doesn’t make her plead any longer. With a swivel of his hips, he pushes into her, making her nails dig into his back as her lips part with a breath. It astonishes her that despite losing count of the number of times they’ve surrendered to each other, that first push always feels like the very first, that stretch as he slowly sinks into her deliriously perfect every single time.

“I love you,” she sighs contentedly, wrapping her arms around his neck once he’s fully seated inside of her.

He leans his forehead against hers. “Say it again.” 

“I love you,” she repeats, a smile painting her lips now. “God, I love you.”

He beams at that, the joy that paints his expression so addictive that she can’t help but want to repeat the sentiment. So she does, professing the same words to him over and over even as he begins to move and stopping only when his lips find hers again, practically stealing the breath right out of her lungs.

For a moment, she’s content to let him lead. To savor the delectable fullness she feels as he ruts up into her nice and slow, hands caressing every inch of her skin that he can reach as though they have all the time in the world. But as it always is with them, pleasure quickly begins to crackle hotly through them both, and what starts off as languid and leisurely quickly grows frenzied. Ravenous.

A particularly delicious snap of his hips has her calling out his name, her walls fluttering and her arms tightening around him as she careens towards the edge. It's not until he presses a soothing kiss to her temple that she realizes she’s whimpering. “I know, baby,” he whispers. “I know.”

His hand reaches behind her then, holding her to him as he maneuvers them until he’s sitting up and she has a knee on either side of his lap.

“Natasha,” he rasps out when she sinks right back down onto him, her head tipping back in ecstasy as he brushes against that sweet spot inside her that makes her body tremble just so. Vaguely, she’s aware of his hands curling into her waist, his thumbs running soothingly over the skin there, encouraging her to move, but she allows herself a second to simply savor the feeling of being stretched just that little bit more this way.

“So good,” she whispers, teeth sinking into her bottom lip. He smiles up at her, and she watches as his expression dissolves into one of sweet torment when she finally begins moving, lifting herself up and then back down again and causing them both to moan. They'd long learned each other's bodies as if it were their own. Even so, as the pleasure begins to uncoil low in her stomach, she notes that this time around feels remarkably disparate from any other. More scintillating, somehow. As though with their fears and inhibitions finally laid to rest, this connection between them only runs deeper. More intimate.

Free. 

The muscles in her thighs begin to burn with the effort when she feels Steve reach between them, and as his hand slips down to where they’re joined, rubbing tight circles around her bundle of nerves, she gasps. “Let go, Nat,” he says just as her breaths come quicker. “I’ve got you.” 

It’s with that promise that she finally cries out, white-hot pleasure turning her vision to white as she succumbs to her high and takes him right off that dizzying edge with her. 

“Maria’s going to kill you, you know,” she teases later on when they finally make it underneath the sheets.

His breath skims across the top of her head as he chuckles. “She survived Tony Stark’s bachelor years,” he says. “She’s more than capable of handling me choosing to be with the love of my life.”

"Love of your life, huh?" she says, peeling her head away from his chest to raise a brow playfully at him. "That sounds serious."

"Oh, it's very serious," he says, smirking. "I'm talking, might get stuck with me forever, serious." 

She shakes her head in amusement. With all the truth they've laid bare tonight, it seems absurd that these words would still have the power to give her butterflies. And yet, she feels that familiar flutter in her stomach just the same. She sighs. “This isn’t going to be easy.”

“No, it’s not,” he concurs, lifting one shoulder in a shrug. “But I’m ready to give it a try if you are.”

For a second, she just holds his gaze. Given the lives they both live, the possibility of getting hurt will always loom. And while that notion is one that had petrified her before, tonight, she realizes that it doesn’t matter anymore. With him, she’s willing to take the plunge – come what may. 

She reaches for his hand, bringing it up to her lips to kiss his knuckles. “I am.” 

“I don’t fucking care about my follower count!”

“Then what about future projects? Do you care about that?” Maria asks, undeterred. “Because just yesterday, I had a meeting booked with the studio to look into extending your three-picture deal. Today, they suddenly need to take a raincheck?” Maria shakes her head as she reaches for the tablet on her desk before handing it to him. “That’s not a coincidence, Steve. Not in light of all this... protest.”

“What are you talking about?” he says, his brows furrowing in confusion. Maria’s only response is to extend the tablet further out to him, and reluctantly, he takes the device to see the Twitter trending page pulled up on the screen, his name in bold font at the very top. An exasperated sigh falls from his lips as he taps on it. Call him old fashioned, but he had never come to understand the allure of an online presence. He had resisted building one for as long as he could, acquiescing only when the subject had become a sticking point in the new age of contract negotiations. Even then, he was only too happy to hand over the reins to Maria and her team. And as he skims through these responses now, he couldn’t be more thankful that he did.

“Jesus,” he says as he haphazardly drops the tablet back onto Maria’s desk, shaking his head as though the action will erase what he’s just seen. For those comments he’s just read – if they could still even be called that – are nothing short of vitriolic. How people could have the courage to release such vile things online, opining about matters they not only haven’t a scintilla of a clue about, but also absolutely no business casting judgment on, he couldn’t comprehend. “Where was all this outrage when I put my hands on that pap?”

Maria’s expression softens a touch at that, her silence a resounding confirmation of what he already knows. “Steve, I know you… care for her,” Maria carefully begins a beat later. “But, rightly or wrongly, they’ve already decided who and what she is. Don’t let her drag you down with her.”

A cold, humorless chuckle falls from his lips. “How is it that the person who’s supposedly dragging me down is the only one that actually lets me breathe around here?” Now more than ever, he could see it. The way people conflated him with the paragon of virtue that was Captain America, a mere character he plays. He gestures towards the tablet. “Am I even an actual person to these people, Maria?” He shakes his head. “And I’m just supposed to believe that all of this is just, what? Because they care about me?”

His hands curl into fists at the very thought, and before him, Maria can only press her lips into a line. For the reality is bleak. These strangers pontificating about their disappointment in his choices are the same ones who claim, adamantly, to have his best interests at heart. It didn’t matter that what they ask of him, what they feel ever so entitled to implore him to do, is the one thing that will break him. They’ve already set the rules, the price of his defiance already outlined – live up to the perfect, impossible image that they’ve built of him in their minds or be at their perceived mercy.

To hell with that.

The response comes to him instantaneously. For it's all clear to him now. In the end, it doesn’t matter. None of it does. Nothing about what the sanctimonious, faceless keyboard warriors say online changes the fact that he’s never been happier than when he’s with Natasha. It doesn’t diminish the joy he feels when he hears her laugh or when her verdant eyes are the first thing he sees when he opens his. Or the spark that rushes through his veins, making him feel more alive than he’s ever felt, when he has her hand in his. And, above all else, it won't make him forget that it wasn't until he had her in his arms, the both of them sprawled out in comfortable silence on her couch this morning, that he finally felt whole for the first time in weeks.

There isn't anything in the world that could hold a candle to any of that. He isn’t going to let there be – no matter what it costs him.

He rises from his seat, watching as a knowing yet still apprehensive look crosses Maria’s face. She sighs. “Steve.”

“It’s my life, Maria,” he says, squaring his shoulders. “My choices are just that, mine. And I choose her.” 

She wanted to be. So damn much it hurt. At least then she could blame the alcohol for the warm, fuzzy feelings in her chest right now. That would be a more palatable explanation, surely. In reality, though, her buzz had started to subside by the time he’d put out the cigarette they’d been sharing, taking with it the courage she needs to actually speak the truth. But he didn’t have to be privy to that, so instead, she shows him her hand, bringing her thumb and index finger close but stopping just short of letting them touch. They both laugh – his sounding like music to her ears and causing her stomach to flutter with what feels like the wings of a million butterflies flapping away.

The arm he has draped over her pulls her closer, their faces so close now that she finds herself holding her breath. “Are you gonna kiss me?” she asks, the longing slipping right into her voice.

His lips quirk into a rueful smile. “No,” he whispers, but just as the sudden hurt from his response begins to wash over her, he adds, “But only because you might not remember it tomorrow. And I want you to remember it, Nat. So badly.”

As if she could forget. As if there’s enough alcohol in the world that could erase the feeling she got every time their lips met, their every kiss already seared indelibly into her brain. But admitting that now only feels as though it would hurt them somehow, so she chooses to simply nod, letting him pull her down to rest her head in his lap.

“Why are you doing this?” she finds herself asking a beat later, the playfulness in her tone and her will to keep up any pretenses suddenly gone. She asks because nothing about the way he’s been acting tonight makes any sense. She’s hurt him plenty these last few weeks with her lack of words and her every action. And while he hadn’t said it outright, hasn't accused her of doing so, he didn’t need to. She saw it – could still see it – in his face now, in the way his blue eyes just aren’t as bright as before. Even still, he’d been adamant about her not going home alone. Of shielding her from the cameras and the prying eyes, holding her close to him as he guided her out of the party and into the backseat.

This would cost him. He could be paying for this already, in this very instant, in fact. She’s as sure of it as the sun rising in the East come morning. The second the pictures of them find their way to someone’s screen, the collective rage will roar deafeningly. There won’t be a place to hide, and he has to know that, too.

So she wouldn’t really blame him if he changed his mind. If this is merely his way of extending a courtesy to her, one human to another. If, after he drops her off at her rental, she never hears from him again. It’s what others have done, regardless of how steadfast they had proclaimed their constitution to be. Sooner or later, her baggage always gets too heavy for someone else to bear. And yet, as she stares at him, her question hanging in the air between them, she finds herself desperately hoping – coveting – a different ending.

He runs his fingers through her hair, the sincerity in his eyes so frighteningly clear that it makes her own sting with tears. “You know why.”

It’s not until she stumbles out of bed the next morning, relying on her muscle memory to lead her as she pads her way out of her room in search of some aspirin, that she truly understands. For there, on her couch, she finds him slumbering still in his clothes from last night. Instantly, everything from her fears, valid as they still are, to the throbbing in her temples suddenly feels inconsequential in that moment. And for the first time in weeks, it’s as though she’s remembering what it’s like to breathe.

She makes her way to him, reaching for the throw draped on the back of the couch. He stirs as she lays it over him, and she watches as his eyes flutter open to reveal her favorite shade of blue.

“Hi,” he says, his voice still gravelly with sleep. “How are you feeling?”

“Better than I deserve,” she admits, prompting them both to smile. He shifts closer to the back of the couch, his hand patting the small space he creates, and despite her initial reluctance, she finds herself settling down next to him. “You stayed.”

His hand finds hers. “There’s nowhere else I’d rather be.”

Looming large above all, though, is the guilt. While their filming schedule is winding down, what little days they have left on set have only grown more difficult to navigate. Outside of their scenes, she and Steve haven’t spoken to each other since he’d confronted her on her way back to her trailer that day. Even so, the silence between them is nothing short of deafening. On the rare occasion that she allows herself to steal a glance at him, she can still see all the questions swirling in his face. Questions she knows she owes him answers to, but that she can never give. For in the midst of all those inquiries, she can also see vestiges of what she thinks might still be hope. For what, she’s not certain. All she knows is that it doesn’t matter – it can’t – and that she’s the last person that can ever give it oxygen.

At least, that’s what she’s been convincing herself of every night when she heads out the door with her lips lacquered and her clutch in hand and into the flashing lights of one club. Then another.

It’s for the best.

A sigh falls heavily from her lips. Those four words are ones she finds herself repeating like a mantra more than she cares to admit these days. In theory, she knows that they hold true even when it does nothing to stomp out the deep-seated ache in her chest – especially now, as she looks at the screen once more and takes in the way Steve’s posture has gone rigid, his expression incandescent with anger as he stares the photographer down. And not for the first time since she hightailed it out of his rental that night, she catches herself scrolling through her contacts, her thumb hovering over his name.

It’s for the best.

Just as she’s done every other time, she sets her phone back down, swallowing down the lump in her throat.

“Late night?” The question comes from Melina later on as they sit in the back of a town car enroute to her next appearance. Her agent’s tone is a little too pointed for her liking, and she lets her know as much with a sharp glare. Melina brings her hands up as if in surrender, and she just shakes her head as she leans further back into the headrest, closing her eyes. “Are you okay?”

Like a reflex, her response comes to her in an instant, but she bites it back just as quickly. As the lie hangs acridly on the tip of her tongue, she keeps her eyes shut. She would like to think that after decades in this business, she’d be used to this by now. And she is. Saying what people want to hear. Appearing in such a way that people want to see. All of that became second nature to her long ago – her circumstances behind closed doors be damned.

Nevertheless, every now and then, she gives into the nagging craving to speak the truth. “Does it matter?”

As the seconds drag on and her response goes unanswered, she turns to Melina to see the woman already another world away, her ever sharp gaze trained on the screen of her tablet, taking in the details underneath what looks to be a headshot of a petite young blonde with piercing green eyes. As she turns back to watch the busy streets pass by the window, the humorless chuckle that falls from her lips is one she would never in a million years be able to stifle. “Body’s not even cold yet.”

“Natasha,” Melina says, her tone conciliatory now. “You know it’s not like that.”

The car comes to a stop, the relentless clicks of the cameras flashing away outside audible even through the closed windows. The sound only intensifies as her door is opened, but before she steps out, she pauses to look back at Melina. “Make sure you tell her what this job really entails.”

If Melina reacts to her words, she doesn’t hear or see it as she steps out and onto the carpet. The smile on her face is cut straight out of the glossiest of magazine covers, never once losing its luster as she makes her way towards the hordes of people shouting her name on the sidelines to sign photographs of her own image and to grin into one outstretched phone screen after another.

“Natasha, nice to see you again,” Betty Brand, the bubbly host of E! greets once she finally makes it to the end of the carpet, giving her a kiss on either cheek before holding out the microphone in her direction. “How have you been?”

Without missing a beat, her lips curl up into another blinding smile. “Fantastic as always, Betty. Thanks.”

“Good to hear. So, tell us, who are you wearing this fine evening?”

This wasn’t the plan. When the directors had suggested that they spend more time together – allow the chemistry to blossom, they had said – they hadn’t agreed to anything more than afternoon coffees in the name of, as the panel’s mediator had put it, movie magic. And if either of them expected anything more, it’s not as though anything could really come of this anyway. He’s America’s sweetheart, the current darling of the industry and the face of the hottest superhero franchise. Tarnishing that image would be a crime – especially by her hands. Only those coffees had quickly turned into dinners in each other’s rentals. Which seamlessly paved the way for late night chats over bottles of wine that never quite made it into glasses. And before either of them realized, they were hooked on the taste of Bordeaux on each other’s lips. But even as reaching for each other in the middle of the night had started to become so automatic it was practically a reflex, she never thought it would turn into… well, this. This was only supposed to be fun, a harmless outlet for the relentless pressure that came with headlining a blockbuster. Nothing more. There was never supposed to be any reverence in this. At least, not in the way Steve touched her, setting her skin alight as he got to know every single inch of it as if it were his own. Nor was it supposed to be in the way he looked at her, his blue eyes baring into hers and seeing past seemingly every façade she’s spent years carefully crafting. But it’s there, its presence as glaring as the sun on a cloudless morning that even she can’t convince herself otherwise. Above all else, though, she was never supposed to reciprocate any of that. Not willingly, anyway. She could chalk up knowing that he can only take his coffee if it’s piping hot and that he can’t stand the taste of pickles to the many hours spent on set together, but what of the rest? She had no excuse for revealing to him, truthfully, the meaning behind the tattoos on her skin when he had asked – close to dozing off as he was. Or the vitriol that burns deep within her each time she hears the invasive questions the press directs at him, shamelessly trying to pry into what little of his life he doesn’t share with the world. Perhaps most egregious, though, is how sometimes, she catches herself wishing that here, next to him, is truly her place. That, when the sets are taken down and the shutters are placed back on all the lenses, she could still, at the end of the day, watch him dream.

Which is what she’s doing now, it seems. Fuck. The realization runs through her like a freight train, and it’s as though for a moment, the breath gets caught in her lungs. For this feeling, it’s one she knows well. One she’s felt before, one too many times, if the entire world were to have their say. And while the bruises from those times were solely metaphorical, she still knows where they are, and can still feel where they once marked her. A sudden flash in the dark breaks her reverie, and it’s almost in relief that she shifts to her side to reach for her phone on the bedside table, her lungs finally remembering how to function as she breathes in. On the screen, an email from her agent catches her eye. To: [email protected] From: [email protected] Subject: URGENT

www.thedailystar.com/castmates-or-more - You don’t need this right now. Neither of you do.

Melina Vostokoff Head of Talent, Red Room Agency 310.168.0098

Her eyebrows furrow as she taps on the link and watches as it opens up her browser.

THE SOLDIER & THE SPY: ROMANCE ON SET

Love is in the air… but is it for who we think it is?

When Marvel Studios had announced that Captain America and Black Widow would be teaming up in Captain America: The Winter Soldier, the long-awaited next installment to the studio’s burgeoning superhero franchise, fans were elated at the possibility of seeing the world’s first Super Soldier finally find his match in the reformed assassin. And while details of the movie’s plot are still being kept under wraps, it appears that regardless of what happens when the movie hits the big screen in the Summer, people may just get the sizzling romance they were seeking.

Costars Steve Rogers, 29, and Natasha Romanoff, 32, who play Captain America and Black Widow respectively, were recently seen having dinner at celebrity hotspot, Nobu Los Angeles. While they had arrived separately, a picture captured of Romanoff driving her onyx Corvette out the parking garage with Rogers in the passenger seat confirmed that the pair had left together at the end of the evening.

“They’ve definitely grown closer since filming began,” an anonymous on-set source tells The Daily Star. “They enjoy each other’s company and it’s not surprising to find them together during downtime. At least not to the people on set.”

Though Rogers hasn’t been linked to anyone in recent months, Romanoff’s divorce from Matt Murdock, star of the Daredevil television series on Disney+, was finalized in the Spring of last year. Prior to marrying the silver screen star, though, Romanoff, who rose to fame taking on roles as enigmatic ingenues in various acclaimed independent films, and who has twice been voted Maxim’s Sexiest Woman Alive, was also married to renowned surgeon, Stephen Strange, earlier on in her career.

The Daily Star has reached out to both Rogers’ and Romanoff’s representatives for comment but did not receive a response prior to this article’s publication.

What do you think of a potential romance between these two costars? Sound off below in the comments!

She knows better by now. Truly, she does. She was a mere child when she entered this industry. Back then, it did no good for anyone to look through the tabloid opinion pages when they were merely in print, and it’s even more deleterious now that anyone could fire off their hot take for the world to see. Even so, like a moth to a flame, she finds herself scrolling further down the page.

HannahLovesCap1918: if he’s wise he’ll stay away from this Maneater!!!!!!!!!!

_sarah_: Husband #3 already in her web, I see!

marvelloverr: Does she never not hang onto the next hot thing?

sophiaxxrogers: it’s giving engagement ring collector fr fr 💀

She stops there, but it doesn’t matter. Every headline written about her begins to flash through her mind like a highlight reel of every mistake she’s ever made, perceived or otherwise. And with a career that’s spanned as long as hers has, that list is lengthy – a ledger gushing with enough red to drown even those who claim to be unfazed by it. The reminder reawakens the pain that’s since dulled but found a permanent home deep in her bones nonetheless, quickly consuming the bubbly effervescence that occupied her mere moments ago, and if that isn’t reason enough to have her bolting out of bed, one final glance at the man sleeping next to her certainly is.

It's with that fact that he’s able to extinguish what guilt he’s feeling about his lack of interest at the moment. With another glance at the crowd before him, he carefully slides the napkin that was once underneath his coffee cup to his left, and from the corner of his eye, he catches the way his costar takes her bottom lip between her teeth, trying to suppress a smile as she looks down at the table to see the grid he’d hastily drawn. Natasha clicks down on the top of the pen she’s been twirling between her fingers, scribbling an X on the centermost square before pushing the napkin back towards him.

“This question is for Natasha,” the panel’s mediator announces. “What do you think of Captain America and Black Widow being paired together for this film? Doesn’t it seem like an odd partnership considering that morally, these characters exist on opposite ends of the spectrum?” “I guess you’ll just have to see the movie to find out,” Natasha quips without missing a beat, eliciting a laugh from both the crowd and their castmates. He rolls his lips to keep from beaming. Such a professional. “But in all seriousness,” she continues, “I think these characters have a lot to learn from each other. Cap very much lives in black and white and Widow is highly comfortable operating in the gray, but as you'll see in the film, with the challenges they face, they’re both going to have to learn to be comfortable in each other’s moral spheres. So, yeah, an interesting dynamic to see play out for sure.” “Now that we’re on the topic of dynamics,” the mediator says. “In the teaser that was played exclusively for us today, we find Cap and Widow looking like they’re on an undercover mission. Widow is doing her thing, Cap is looking uncomfortable but also really… entranced by her, maybe?” He pauses as the crowd voices their agreement. “What do you think, Steve? Is this where Cap finally finds his perfect partner?” “Well… our Executive Producer, Kevin, looks just about ready to tranq dart me, so I’m going to pass on that last question,” he says as another fit of laughter echoes throughout the room. “But one thing I will say is, this is a whole new world for Cap. It hasn’t been that long since he was in the ice, so to see someone like Widow who’s so quick on her feet and razor-sharp in her environment, yeah, I think you could say he’s entranced, if not completely in awe.” “Interesting that you say that because even with what little we saw, it’s obvious that Cap and Widow have sizzling chemistry…” The crowd begins to hoot, and the mediator smiles like a cat that’s caught the canary. Here we go. “Could that have anything to do with your chemistry with Natasha in real life? I mean, I think I speak for everyone here today when we say that we’ve noticed.” The crowd cheers, cajoling him for an answer, and when he steals a glance at Natasha, he finds that she’s turned his way as well, an amused expression on her face. “It’s true, you guys are noticing something…” he begins as he turns back to the crowd. “And that’s Natasha being absolutely tremendous at her job.” A chorus of laughter reverberates in the hall before the mediator turns to Natasha. “Is that true, Natasha? Is movie magic all this is?” “Oh, for sure,” Natasha says, her tone serious even as her smile says she’s anything but. “Have you seen him? Who wants to be close to this” – she gestures towards him – “all damn day?” She scoffs. “It’s a chore.” He tips his head back, one hand flying to his chest as he laughs along with the entire room. Next to him, Natasha just shakes her head. “But no, Steve and I are great friends. That’s all you’re seeing there.”

“Great job out there, both of you,” Kevin says when they finally make it backstage after signing autographs at the end of the panel. “You had them eating out of the palm of your hands! You guys are total pros and I’m so glad you’re friends. Makes my job a lot easier, that’s for damn sure.” “We aim to please, boss,” Natasha says with a two-fingered salute. “And please you do,” Kevin says. “And as a show of my gratitude for soldiering through a full day of promo, why don’t you two take the rest of the day off? Grab dinner or something. On me.” He turns to Natasha. “I’m game if you are.” “I think I can free up my evening,” she confirms. “But I do have to grab my purse in the back.” “I’ll leave you two to it then,” Kevin says. With a final nod at their producer, they begin to head back towards the green room where the cast was gathered prior to the beginning of the panel. The walk takes longer than usual as they stop to greet familiar faces and pause for conversations and pictures with excited fans, but he doesn’t mind. He didn’t hold any love for extended press conferences, but this part of the job – meeting the people who his work resonated deeply with – is one he holds dear. “Where do you want to go?” Natasha asks once they make it back to the room and she walks over to the corner to retrieve her purse. He looks around the empty room before following close behind her. “Don’t care,” he mutters, causing her to turn. His hands find her waist then, and she gasps in surprise when he pulls her close and slants his lips over hers in a kiss that’s nothing short of a claim. Her purse falls to the ground with a thud, but neither of them pay it any mind as she snakes her arms around his neck. There’s an amused smile on Natasha’s lips when they eventually pull away, the both of them heaving for air. “What was that for?” “This…” he says, his fingers toying with the hem of the colorful chiffon blouse she has on underneath her blazer, giving him just a glimpse of her skin through the material. “Has been driving me crazy all day.” “That was kind of the point,” she says, a devious smirk painting her lips. He narrows his eyes at her. “And here I was about to make it up to you,” he says, watching as she raises a brow up in question. He grins. “You know, seeing how working with me is such a chore.” “It really is,” she laments jokingly, causing them both to chuckle. She trails her hands up his arms, feeling his biceps through his sweater as she looks up at him from underneath the fan of her lashes. “And it’s going to take a lot more than dinner to convince me otherwise.” “Is that right?” he asks, watching a glint spark in her eyes. “In that case, your place or mine?”

This was only supposed to be fun, a harmless outlet for the relentless pressure that came with headlining a blockbuster. Nothing more. There was never supposed to be any reverence in this. At least, not in the way Steve touched her, setting her skin alight as he got to know every single inch of it as if it were his own. Nor was it supposed to be in the way he looked at her, his blue eyes baring into hers and seeing past seemingly every façade she’s spent years carefully crafting. But it’s there, its presence as glaring as the sun on a cloudless morning that even she can’t convince herself otherwise.

Above all else, though, she was never supposed to reciprocate any of that. Not willingly, anyway. She could chalk up knowing that he can only take his coffee if it’s piping hot and that he can’t stand the taste of pickles to the many hours spent on set together, but what of the rest? She had no excuse for revealing to him, truthfully, the meaning behind the tattoos on her skin when he had asked – close to dozing off as he was. Or the vitriol that burns deep within her each time she hears the invasive questions the press directs at him, shamelessly trying to pry into what little of his life he doesn’t share with the world. Perhaps most egregious, though, is how sometimes, she catches herself wishing that here, next to him, is truly her place. That, when the sets are taken down and the shutters are placed back on all the lenses, she could still, at the end of the day, watch him dream. Which is what she’s doing now, she realizes. Fuck.

“You’re lucky I was the one checking the logs that day,” he says, admonishment in his tone even as his expression lights up with amusement. “You could’ve given poor Clint a heart attack.”

“I’m sorry,” she says, rolling her lips to keep from smiling. Part of her protection detail is to monitor all aspects of her digital activity to ensure her stalker isn’t somehow lurking, and she knows, full well, that includes her browser history.

“I don’t think that you are, though,” Steve says, making her shiver as his hand encircles her ankle.

“No?” Her response comes out breathier than she’d intended, and she can’t peel her eyes away from the sight of him securing her ankle to one of the leather cuffs. He does the same with the other, and the sound of the leather being pulled taut as he adjusts the buckle, ensuring it’s secure, causes her stomach flutter in anticipation.

“No,” he confirms, and as he meets her gaze, she finds that his typically bright blue eyes have darkened to a navy. Even so, the glint in them is unmistakable, and she catches it just as he extends the bar a few inches so that her legs spread out wider. She gasps, and the grin that his lips curl up into is nothing short of devious. “In fact, I don’t think you’re even a little sorry.”

The mattress dips under his weight as he kneels between her legs. “Steve,” she says – whines, really – as he leans down to press a kiss right above where the cuff sits on her ankle. She sinks back down as his lips begin to trail up her leg, his rough stubble brushing against her skin and sending tingles up her spine with each kiss. When he reaches the thatch of hair between her thighs, her back arches off the bed as he presses his nose just right above where she’s already aching. “Fuck.”

“See, I think you did it on purpose,” he murmurs against the skin of her belly now, making her inhale sharply when his tongue circles her navel. “I think you were hoping someone else would see.” He dusts kisses up her ribs, between the dip of her breasts, making her squirm with need as he takes his time making his way up her frame until his mouth finally finds hers. “That’s what you wanted, didn’t you? For everyone to see all the things I do to you…” He kisses her again, deeper this time, practically stealing the breath right out of her lungs. “All the things you let me do to you.”

A breathless chuckle falls from her lips. She knows he’s only playing along. That he’s the only one that ever sees the things she looks up when she’s all alone and that he would never risk exposing her – exposing them – that way. Nevertheless, she adores that he’s always up for letting her live out her fantasies.

“Maybe I did,” she breathes out. “And maybe I want them to know that only you can do this to me.” He all but grunts at her words, slanting his lips over hers again just as his hand brushes against her center. Her eyes fall shut. “Steve.”

“What, baby?” he says, gliding his fingers over the slickness between her thighs. “Tell me what you want.”

Her chest rises and falls with a heavy breath. “Steve, please-”

“Tell me what you want, Nat,” he repeats. “You’ve never been shy about it before, so tell me now. Tell me and I’ll give it to you.”

“Touch me,” she tries to command, but the words come out more like a plea than anything else.

“I am,” he says, teasing at her entrance now, but not quite pushing in.

She whimpers, shaking her head even as she tries to arch up into his touch. “With your mouth,” she says. “Taste me.”

Something akin to a growl rips from the back of his throat. “Gladly,” he says as he moves down her body, settling right between her legs. He kisses the inside of her thigh, and she swears she can feel him smiling against her skin as he adds, “Don’t hold back.”

Those three words are all she needs to hear. His instruction is simple, and it’s one she takes quickly as she rocks her hips up into his face, her lips parting in a silent gasp as he kisses her wetness and lets out a groan at the first stroke of his tongue against her folds. She wants to cry out, say his name. Tell him just how much she’s been wanting – craving – this for days, but she can no longer form words. She can barely breathe, much less think. The only thing she can do is feel, feel the way pleasure pulses hotly through every fiber of her being as he sweeps his tongue meticulously over her again and again.

“Oh, my God,” she whimpers when he focuses on the rise of her clit, wrapping his lips around the bundle of nerves. Her breath turns into frantic pants as he begins to suck, sending her hands flying into her hair, her fingers digging into her tresses as she attempts to ground herself. The sensation is nearly too much, threatening to throw her over that dizzying edge far too soon as the coil low in her stomach begins to tighten. But for as much as her body craves the release, she wants to savor this moment too, to revel in every wave of delicious ecstasy washing over her and making her tremble. She tries to close her legs, but the bar has absolutely no give, which was the point, she knows, and the feeling of being so vulnerably open and under his complete mercy only brings a fresh wave of heat to her center.

"Look at you, Nat," he says, "look at how you respond to me." He mutters a curse under his breath, voice inebriated, and that – hearing that he's just as consumed by lust as she is right now – only makes her walls flutter even more. "I'll never get enough of you."

And neither will she, she wants to say, but she does not get the chance as he brings his mouth back to her, making her gasp.

Sooner than she’d like, he sinks two fingers into her, sending her wailing as the flames of her release lick ferociously up her skin. “Steve!” she cries when his fingers only continue to move against her folds, hitting right at the spot inside of her that sends white sparks across her vision. “Fuck- baby, I can’t! Can’t-” she sputters out, but his only response is to flick his tongue over her again, lapping her up in firm, broad strokes until another orgasm crashes over her, leaving her a whining, convulsing mess.

“Good?” he asks later on, even as her body is still trembling with the aftershocks, her lungs still burning for air. She finds the wherewithal to open her eyes to see him smiling as he hovers over her, his chin still damp with her arousal – the visual sending yet another shiver down her spine despite how spent she already feels.

Her lips lift into the sloppiest of smiles. “So good,” she says with a shake of her head. “So, so good.”

“Good,” he says, “because I’m nowhere near done with you.”

A laugh rumbles through her chest. Oh, fuck.

He turns to see that Maria Hill, the lead anchor from SHIELD Sports, has made her way to him. She holds a microphone up as the rest of her camera crew and the Avengers’ PR team crowd around them. Impressing a seasoned veteran like Maria is no easy feat, but even he can see the touch of awe in her expression, and his pride swells just in the slightest. He chuckles, his shoulders lifting in a shrug as he contemplates her question.

He recalls the first time he had won as though it was just yesterday. The adrenaline that had lingered in his veins long after the whistle had blown and he had gotten his hands on the Lombardi. The satisfaction of having conquered his life-long dream was euphoric. The thirst to feel this high once again immediate. In that moment, all the sacrifices he had made from the grueling workouts to the missed Holidays with his family – they were all worth it.

His second win was further sweetened by the vindication. Of having proven to the media and the pundits and every person that doubted his return from injury that they were wrong. Bringing the trophy home for the Avengers was his way of repaying the fans for their continued belief in what he still had to offer and the team for standing by him after the circus that his personal life had thrown them into. Above all, though, his second ring was another means for him to show Natasha how much he valued every risk she had taken for him – for them – and for this beautiful life that they now shared.

But this time… This time feels disparate. It’s no less sweet by any means. When there are footballers who could only dream of winning the Super Bowl once, much less three times, he knows what a privilege it is for him to be standing here, victorious, at this very moment. And it’s not as though this time is any less hard-fought or miraculous as the others. In more ways than one, getting here has been harder than it’s ever been. Even so, there’s something distinct about this particular win that he can’t quite put a finger on, so he tells Maria the one thing he does know for certain.

“I don’t think it’s really sunk in yet,” he says, earning a laugh from Maria and the crowd around them. “But what I do know is that I’m so proud of this team. Every single person played their hearts out tonight and gave their absolute everything. They deserve this.”

“As do you, their fearless leader.”

“They make my job easy, that’s for sure,” he says with a grin.

“To that we can agree,” Maria says. “Let’s talk about the fans then. Any message for them?”

“Oh, definitely-”

“Daddy!”

Even in the midst of the pandemonium surrounding him, the voice is one he could pick out anywhere. Years of media training had honed his ability to tune out the loudest of distractions especially when he’s right smack in the middle of a televised interview, but not this one. He could never ignore this one.

He turns towards the sound, and he feels his face threatening to split in half with how wide his smile grows when he sees Nadia making her way towards him, her pigtails swinging from side to side as she runs as fast as her little legs will take her. Bucky is a half a step ahead, his teammate clearing a path for his daughter in the melee. Natasha lingers a few paces behind them, carrying Brady as Pietro dutifully flanks her. His eyes meet Natasha’s for the briefest of moments, and they share a smile before he crouches down, opening his arms out wide.

“There’s my girl!” he says as he scoops Nadia into his arms and rises to his feet.

“You win, Daddy!” Nadia exclaims, beaming from ear to ear. “I so proud of you!”

There’s a chorus of aww around them, but he can’t focus on anything other than how his heart feels too big for his chest right now. “Thank you, sweetheart,” he says, making Nadia squeal when he nuzzles her cheek. And, as if sensing her presence, he shifts Nadia against one hip so he can use his other hand to pull Natasha into his side just as she comes to stand next to him. His smile widens as he looks down at her and their son, who’s still somehow sleeping soundly against her chest. “Hi there.”

“Hi,” Natasha greets before smiling. “Congratulations, Cap.”

“Thank you,” he says, leaning down for a kiss. There’s a smirk on her lips when they pull away. “You’re about to say something about how sweaty I am, aren’t you?”

“More like how you might be forgetting something,” she deadpans, nodding towards the cameras when his brow furrows in confusion.

His eyes widen. “Oh, right,” he says, earning a laugh from everyone as he turns back towards Maria. “The fans. I mean, what else is there to say but thank you? Thank you for the support and the belief you gave this team.” He shakes his head. “I’m sure I speak for the entire team when I say that your support has powered us through the most difficult of challenges this season and it’s the reason why we did whatever it takes to get to this final game. We hope you enjoy this one!”

Maria nods before a playfully sly grin makes its way to her face as she adds, “And maybe start preparing for the next?”

Despite the chuckle that falls from his lips, Maria’s question gives him pause. Regardless of the season’s results, his response to this very question has been the same for as long as he can remember – a resounding hell yes! and a call for their fans to lock in for what’s to come. This time, though, he finds himself only pulling Natasha closer just as Nadia rests her head against his shoulder.

“Let’s celebrate this one first,” he says finally, and from the corner of his eye, he catches the way Natasha’s head suddenly whips towards him.

“You heard the Captain’s orders,” Maria says into the mic before nodding at him. “Thanks, Steve. Enjoy the rest of the celebrations.”

“Thanks, Maria.”

With a final smile at Maria and her crew, he drapes an arm around Natasha, leading her in the direction of the sideline. It’s when they make it out of earshot of the reporters that Natasha places a hand on his elbow, stopping him in his tracks. He knows he’s good enough to convince Maria and the rest of the country that there’s nothing more to his response other than him wanting to live in the moment. But he can’t fool his wife. And as she looks up at him now, a million and one questions swirling in her eyes, he knows without a doubt that she understands the implication of his words. She sighs. “Steve-”

A soft whimper interrupts her, and they both look down to where Brady is situated against her chest to see their son stirring awake. Natasha smiles when his eyes flutter open. “Hey, you,” she coos, lifting Brady out of his carrier. “Look who finally decided to join the party.”

Brady blinks up at her before looking around, his eyes settling on him. “Dada win?”

“Hey, Bud,” he says, moving to take Brady from Natasha’s arms. “Yes, dada won.” Brady gives him a little clap, and with a chuckle, he dusts a kiss to the little boy’s temple before doing the same to Nadia, who’s still busy taking in the lively scenery around her. He pulls both kids closer to him, reveling in the joy of just having them in his arms before letting out a contented sigh. He’s held many titles in his life from Rookie of the Year to MVP. None of them could quite hold a candle to his favorite – Dad.

When he looks back at Natasha, he finds that her expression has softened to one of pure admiration for the scene before her. “Later, okay?” he says, because yes, while he had seemingly made his mind up in a single moment of clarity, this is a discussion they need to make as a family. And they would, just not right at this moment. “We’ll talk later.”

She holds his gaze for a second longer before nodding. “Okay.”

“Get in here,” he says, smiling when Natasha just shakes her head fondly before wrapping her arms tightly around them. “Oh, I love you guys so much.”

“We love you too, Daddy,” Nadia says. “But can we get Icees now?”

He and Natasha share an amused glance, and as he looks back at Nadia, he has to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing when he sees his daughter staring patiently at him, waiting for a response. “Yes, baby girl,” he says with a chuckle. “We can get Icees now.”

Then there’s the way he shows up at her door every morning. It wasn’t in any way different to how he’s shown up for the last year, but now she’s grown attuned to it. The sound of his voice is something she finds herself looking forward to hearing as she sits at her kitchen island, sipping her cup of coffee. She can’t always make out the words, but she can tell from the light-hearted tone that regardless of which member of his team was keeping vigil at her door that night, that they are always happy to see him. It’s then as the voices fade that she waits with anticipation, listening to the pad of his footsteps until there’s a light rap against the arch of her kitchen. His grin is boyish and lopsided when he sees her, giving her an unspoken confirmation that she’s under his watch now, and that’s enough to put a little spring in her step as she gets ready for the day.

Day. Night. It didn’t matter. Thoughts of Steve lingered with her, sticking to her like the most exquisite of perfumes. It’s why she makes it a point to never think too far ahead. To stay in the moment with whomever she’s meeting with. This week she’s been organizing a fundraiser for the orphanage, and with everything from invitations to menus to review and approve, she couldn’t be more thankful for the distraction.

Come the end of the week, she pats herself on the back for only letting her mind drift to Steve twice during her last meeting. As she exits the conference room with Wanda, Red Guardian’s Head of Marketing, she’s greeted with a nod by Sam, her daytime bodyguard for the day. Steve had informed her yesterday of his impending absence, citing a contract negotiation with a new client. And while there was a part of her that was disappointed that she wouldn’t be seeing him until later on, she also found herself relieved for the brief separation. Steve’s errand was a reminder that not only did he have his own business to run, but also that he, too, had something at stake if she didn’t get this misplaced longing of hers in order.

Sam follows behind her and Wanda as they make it down the hall, and as they’re about to head in separate directions, she places a hand on Wanda’s arm. “Send me videos of Billy and Tommy’s performance this weekend, okay? I can’t wait to see them in their costumes!”

Wanda beams at the mention of her boys. “I’m so excited,” she says, tucking a strand of auburn hair behind her ear. “I got extra storage for my phone and everything.”

“They’ll do great, I’m sure of it.”

With a final smile, she waves goodbye to Wanda before heading into the awaiting elevator. As the car heads up to her office, she catches the way Sam’s hand reaches up, tapping on his earpiece. With how quiet Sam’s voice is, she can’t quite make out what he says, but a part of her wonders if he’s reporting back to Steve at their HQ. Stop. With a shake of her head, she flushes the thoughts of Steve from her mind just as the elevator comes to a halt and the doors slide open. Get it together, Romanoff.

Sam opens the door for her as they reach her office. “Thanks, Sam.”

“Anytime, Miss-” Sam pauses when she arches a brow at him, a sheepish smile breaking out on his face. “Natasha.”

“That’s more like it.”

As she enters her office, she’s immediately greeted by the sight of Loki waiting for her. She and Loki had met when they were just teenagers in boarding school, the two of them bonding over their mutual hate of the cliques that were quick to form on campus and the occasional pack of cigarettes. His company, Mischief Inc., is notorious for organizing the most extravagant bashes in the nation, and the second she had selected her first initiative as CEO, there was only one person in her mind to call.

Loki waves from his seat on the couch. “Hello, darling.”

“So nice of you to wake before the sun goes down,” she says, smiling at the nonchalant shrug he gives in response as he rises to give her a kiss on the cheek.

“You call, I come running,” Loki says as they both settle on the couch. “I’m easy like that.” She rolls her eyes playfully, prompting him to chuckle. “But I have to admit, ever since your assistant sent over your proposal, I’ve been intrigued.”

“So you’ve read it, I take,” she says, ever grateful for Daisy’s efficiency.

“Read it?” Loki says, scoffing. “Darling, the team’s already working on the interiors as we speak.”

Excitement rushes through her. When she had submitted her proposal to the board, she had highlighted the need to bring in fresh clientele to their properties. While her parents had built an empire on selling the luxury experience at their flagship hotels, they hadn’t done the best of jobs at making sure that evolved with the times. Now that she’s at the helm, she’s made it her mission to change that – starting with revamping the rooftop lounge at the Red Guardian Las Vegas, the company’s hotel overlooking the Strip that hasn’t been putting up the numbers it used to. The plan is to install an invitation-only nightclub, to have prospective patrons clamor to partake in the most coveted, if not borderline hedonistic, experience in the City of Sin. Admittedly, it’s a ballsy first initiative to take on, but she believes in her vision, and if there’s one person she knows that can help her bring it to life, it’s Loki.

“This is going to be epic,” she says, unable to keep a smile from breaking out on her lips.

“It’s going to be the talk of the town,” Loki concurs, scooting forward to reach for his tablet. “Though I hope you don’t have any other large commitments coming up. We have our work cut out for us if we’re going to make the grand opening in five weeks.”

Loki’s threat of long hours and endless days is one she welcomes with open arms. In her view, this nightclub opening is an opportunity to kill two birds with one stone – providing her both with a means to further prove herself to the board and a distraction from all her thoughts of Steve. From the thoughts of his hands on her body, roaming all over. Of all the dirty promises he’d whisper in her ear as he took her hard and deep, clearing her mind and relieving her of every burden, making her feel as though her desires weren’t so… ignoble.

And there, she realizes, is another issue she’s been avoiding. While her night with Steve had shown her what she truly craved, the fact of the matter is she’s always been curious. Vanilla had never really done it for her, and while she’s always wanted to venture out, there’s a part of her that’s always been ashamed of it. As if there’s something wrong or inappropriate about positioning herself as the capable and driven face of an esteemed Fortune 500 company during the day, but wanting to be taken, all consumingly, in the bedroom at night. It’s a dichotomy she cannot quite reconcile, nor find a partner she trusts enough to help her do so.

Until last week, that is.

“Earth to Natasha.” Loki waves a hand in front of her, chuckling when she shakes her head to focus. “Did you wander off to a different universe?”

If only. “Sorry, I didn't get much sleep last night,” she says. “You were saying?”

There’s a touch of suspicion in Loki’s expression as he regards her. “As I was saying,” Loki says, “if we’re expecting our guests to be high-profile individuals, the security here needs to be airtight.”

“Steve’s team can do it,” she says before she can even think twice about it. “At least, I can talk to him about it. See if they have the bandwidth.”

“Ah, yes,” Loki says, craning his neck as he looks around her office. “And where, may I ask, is your broody shadow lingering today?”

“He’s not here,” she says, taking in the way Loki’s brows lift in surprise. “Work errand.”

“A work errand? That’s oddly vague,” Loki says, smirking. “If I had to guess, the man probably had a long night with a-”

“Steve runs a business just like you and me, Loki,” she interrupts before her friend can go any further. “He has a duty to his team to secure the best deals that he can. But even if that’s not what he’s doing right now” – she shakes her head, swallowing down the unsettling feeling that’s suddenly washed over her at the thought – “what he does in his private life is no one’s business but his.”

It's strange, if not a touch troubling to her, how protective she suddenly feels of him. While she already knew that he laid claim to the most mischievous parts of her, she’s only now realizing that he’s wormed his way into the softest, most delicate aspects, too. How or when that happened, she isn’t really sure.

Across from her, Loki just shrugs. “Even so, you have to admit, the man is easy on the eyes.”

With that, she couldn’t argue.

It’s as she’s walking Loki to her door later on after they’ve settled on next steps that her friend turns to her, catching her by the elbow. “Is everything okay, Nat? I make light of it, but don’t think I haven’t noticed how dialed-in you’ve been in the last few days.”

“I’m fine, Loki,” she says, sighing when he stares knowingly at her. “It’s the new job, is all. You know how it is.”

While her explanation is only a half-truth, it didn’t make it any less of a fact. Loki and his sister, Sylvie, had jumped through hoops to prove to their own father that they were worthy of running their own company. If there’s someone who understands the burden of a new seat at the top, it’s him.

“Heavy is the head that wears the crown,” Loki laments, his expression softening. “Just don’t work yourself to the ground, all right? Unwind every now and then.” A smirk crosses his lips as he adds, “However you would like to.”

“Get out of here,” she says, the two of them sharing a laugh as she gives his shoulder a playful shove.

Loki leaves with a wink, and as the door to her office clicks shut, she slumps back down on the couch. While she had many siblings, it’s only with Loki that she’s felt that familial bond with. Loki was her first true confidant, and while she wishes she could tell him her current predicament, there’s a part of her that just isn’t ready. And it's not because she feared his judgment. In her heart, she knows that if she ever told Loki how she would prefer to unwind, he would be the last person to shame her. What she needs to grapple with here is herself. Specifically, her lack of acceptance of the part of herself that wants another surreptitious escape with Steve. For him to put her on her hands and knees and pull on her hair as he brings her to her crest. And then after, to do what she wishes he had that night, which was to scoop her into his arms, take her to her bed, and kiss her until they both drifted off.

Her hands come up to her face as she groans, longing for all these things – all these things that just don’t seem to go together. And, more importantly, the very things she can’t have with him.

With a huff, she sits up. Maybe she couldn’t get a grasp on that version of her, but she could focus on the one she actually had a handle on. The version of her that was brought up to run this company, to take care of the people who kept this well-oiled machine running. She reaches for her phone, scrolling through her contacts until she finds the number of her favorite bakery.

By the time she hangs up, she’s scheduled two cakes to be delivered to Wanda’s as a congratulations for her boys. The task isn’t much, but on a day like today, she counts completing it as a win.

By the second week, her yearning begins to taper. She wishes she could say it was because glancing Steve’s way didn’t make warmth spread across her chest any longer, but in reality, she’s convinced it’s only because wanting him has just become part of her personality as much as craving success and liking the color red has. But she has a grip on it enough that she and Steve resume their Wednesday ritual at the gym, and though she has to put in extra effort to remember to breathe every time he touches her to correct her form or demonstrate a new maneuver, she’s glad that the physical exertion wears her down enough to let her drift off once she’s finally made it to bed.

Her imagination, on the other hand, has been a completely different story. It’s as vivid as ever, running amuck, and as Steve accompanies her to her various functions, she sometimes catches herself wondering what it would be like to not only have him be the man looking out for her, but also the man on her arm, supporting her.

Much like she’s doing right now, as he follows close behind her as she enters the double doors of the ballroom of The Empire, Red Guardian’s crown jewel in New York. The fundraiser for the orphanage has barely started, but the room is already brimming with guests, and she need not glance back to know that Steve’s eyes are already surveilling the room, looking for possible threats and taking stock of exit routes.

“Miss Romanoff,” a young albeit tall brunette greets with a smile. “Thank you for joining us. May I take your coat?”

“Please,” she says, shedding the candy red coat she’d thrown on for the evening. “Thank you, Kate.”

Kate smiles at the recognition, handing her a coat check tag before ushering both her and Steve further inside. The ballroom is abuzz with conversation and the voice of a blues singer crooning softly, the air laced with a mix of expensive cologne and the most decadent of hors d'oeuvres. At the center, couples pack the dance floor, covering every inch of it that, if not for the fact that she had done the final review of the details for this event, she would be none the wiser about its existence.

She takes in their swarmed surroundings, turning to Steve with a smile. “Everyone’s here.”

For a moment, he doesn’t respond, and she realizes it’s because he’s fixated on her dress – taking in every detail of the strapless number she had selected for the evening, the white material adorned with red, pink, and yellow petals as it cinches at her waist and falls just a few inches above her knees. When his eyes finally meet hers, she swears his gaze looks darker around the edges, and she has to look away briefly to calm the little flutter she feels in her stomach.

“Yeah,” Steve finally says, “turnout looks excellent.”

“Daisy sent me an update on the donation figures just before we got here. We’ve already topped last year’s haul for the orphanage and the night’s barely begun.”

Steve’s lips quirk up in a smile. “It’s really great what you’re doing for them. That place, those kids… they’re lucky to have you as their advocate.”

“I was lucky to have that place,” she says. “I always go back to the first moment I met Alexei and Melina. That… hopefulness that they’d choose me. And then to find out that they did?” She sighs. “I just hope all of those children get to experience that.”

“With the help of your work, they will,” he says, prompting her to smile. “And for what it’s worth, your parents were always going to choose you, Nat.”

She eyes him skeptically. “You seem oddly sure about that.”

“Believe me,” he says softly, “resisting you is the hardest thing in the world.” An effervescence spreads across her chest at his words, but before she can respond, a waiter stops by their side, offering them both a glass of champagne. She takes one flute off the tray while Steve politely declines, and it’s only when they’re alone once more that he leans forward, his hand finding the small of her back as he whispers in her ear, “Has anyone told you how sexy you look tonight?”

Want races through her veins, hot and heavy, as she takes a sip of her drink. He’s so close to her now that she can smell his aftershave, and she knows that if she turns to look at him, it’ll take nothing short of a miracle to not pull him in. It takes her a second to find her voice, but even when she does, it’s lower than usual. “First I’m hearing of it.”

“This dress…” His hand flexes behind her, his touch light as a cloud as he caresses the fabric. “It’s almost as beautiful as the woman wearing it.”

A shiver runs down her spine. Breathe, she reminds herself, looking out into the distance in an attempt to steady her thrumming pulse. As she does, she catches a glimpse of one of the couples on the dance floor, the woman’s eyes falling shut as the man pulls her even closer to him, leaning his forehead against hers.

“Do you ever wish that were us?” Steve turns slightly at the question, following her line of sight. “Because I do,” she confesses, looking at him now. “All the time.”

His growl is quiet as his eyes find hers, but she hears it just the same. “Natasha…”

“Natasha! There you are.”

She’s not sure whether to be frustrated or relieved by the interruption, but she does not get much time to ponder her answer because the second she turns, she finds Eleanor Bishop, one of Red Guardian’s long-standing board members, approaching.

Steve takes a step back from her, and quickly, she plasters on a smile. “Eleanor, hello.”

“Marvelous event,” Eleanor says, gesturing towards the room.

“Isn’t it?” she says. “We inked a new events partnership with Mischief Inc. recently. They’ve done a phenomenal job.”

“As have you,” Eleanor says, scoffing when she begins to wave off the praise. “I know a Natasha Romanoff event when I see one, so don’t you even. Many people would have gawked at the idea of waiving the rate for the ballroom tonight.”

“Short-term loss for long-term gain,” she says with a shrug. “Any smart business person would’ve done it.”

“Oh, honey,” Eleanor says, all but scoffing. “When everyone’s out to make quick money, that’s just not true.”

“Eleanor, I can assure you that under my watch, Red Guardian will be focused on the long game.”

“I don’t doubt that,” Eleanor says. “I can’t wait to see what you do out in Vegas.”

She’s in the middle of sharing more plans for the upcoming opening when Eleanor abruptly excuses herself, muttering something about keeping her fiancé in check. As they part ways, she continues to move through the room, Steve never more than a few steps behind her as she stops to mingle with the various guests in attendance, charming her way through the conversation until whoever has their checkbook out doesn’t even realize they’re adding another zero.

It’s as she’s just finished listening to yet another venture capitalist opine about their new super yacht that her eyes wander across the room, landing once again on the couples on the dance floor. She zeroes in on the pair whispering sweet nothings to one another as they sway. Taking in the woman’s heated gaze as the man pulls away from her, she can only wonder about their exchange. If he had suggested that they leave, promising to worship her the second they were out of sight. The thought makes her shudder.

“Natasha, are you okay?” She hadn’t realized just how closely Steve had been following her until his question prompts her to spin around and nearly collide with his chest. Concern paints his features, and she takes a step back. “Are you cold?”

“No, I’m fine,” she says, shaking her head as if that will set her right. “Excuse me, I have to run to the ladies’ room.”

When she slips into the bathroom, she checks each stall, and content with the confirmation that she’s alone, she stops in front of the sink, staring at her reflection. “Fuck,” she mutters, flipping the tap on and running her wrists under the stream before letting out a frustrated sigh. One man shouldn’t be able to throw her off-kilter this way, especially not after a single night. She’s Natasha Romanoff. Against the odds, she has proven to a board full of vultures that she, and not her spiteful siblings, is the rightful successor to their father. That she can lead and take charge of the largest real estate portfolio known to man. When it comes to business, she is fearless. She knows what she wants and she isn’t afraid to do what she needs to do to get it. Certainly, she’s more unflappable than this.

Just not, apparently, when it comes to the man she wants – the very man she can’t have.

That fucking dress was going to be the death of him.

That’s the only thing Steve can think about as he follows Natasha out of the ballroom. Her coat is draped over her shoulders again, but it doesn’t matter. He had gotten a good enough look as he watched her chat her way through the room tonight, the damn thing clinging to her body in all the right places that if he hadn’t already studied the building’s blueprint last night, he’d be seriously concerned about his ability to execute his duties.

For the last two weeks, he’s succeeded at keeping a relative distance from her. That is, settling for being close enough to protect her, but not as close as he truly wanted to be. And he gave himself credit for that. When it took every ounce of restraint he had to keep himself from pulling her in every time she so much as glanced his way, that little smile playing on her lips, he counted remaining rooted in place as a win. When every time she sat in a meeting that went on a little too long, her mind drifting off slightly as she tapped her perfectly manicured nails on the glass of the conference table – reminding him of the way those same nails had dug into his scalp as he buried his face between her thighs, making her cry out – he took his ability to bat away the memory as a sign that maybe, just maybe, they could pull off going back to business as usual.

All those minuscule wins of his, erased by one intricately stitched piece of fabric.

As they approach the elevator bank, he’s reminded of the remark he’d made in the ballroom earlier, of how beautiful her dress was – of how beautiful she was. He had meant every word, and while he didn’t regret letting her know just how stunning she looks tonight, he still chastises himself internally for placing himself right on that slippery slope.

“What time does your shift end?” Natasha asks, stopping short of pressing on the elevator’s call button.

He glances briefly at his watch. “Your night guard should already be in the lobby.”

“Guess that means you’re off the clock, then?”

“Technically.”

Natasha chews on her bottom lip. “Have a drink with me?” she asks, and taking in the skeptical look he knows crosses his features, she adds, “We can talk about Vegas.”

Every bone in his body tells him to say no. He’s already faltered once tonight. Surely, adding alcohol to the mix isn’t going to make it any easier for him to prevent himself from doing so again. Instead, he should head home, dive right back into the stack of paperwork he has on his coffee table. Or better yet, head to the gym. Go a few rounds in the ring until he’s expelled every image of her in this dress from his mind and every drop of desire he has for her from his body.

But that would be futile. He knows this for a fact because ever since that night, that’s all he’s been trying to do. But Natasha Romanoff is under his skin, and he hasn’t a clue how to get her out.

He must have stood there silently for too long because before him, Natasha suddenly shakes her head. “You know what? Forget I said anything,” she says. “You must have plans-”

“I don’t,” he interrupts, surprising them both. “I’d love to get a drink with you.”

The smile that breaks out on her face is infectious as she turns to call up the elevator. A few seconds later, the doors ping open, and he follows her inside. “Rendezvous at the top floor, Northeast corner,” he says into his earpiece as the car begins to ascend.

He hears the response within a split second. “Copy that. Heading your way.”

Natasha arches a brow. “James?”

“Clint.”

“I didn’t realize Clint put in nights as well.”

“We do our best not to put him in rotation,” he says, “but with his wife and kids out of town, he said the quiet in his house was driving him crazy.”

They both chuckle at that, and in that moment, it occurs to him that maybe this is what he needs to focus on to ensure he is on his best behavior, to remind himself that there are people like Clint who have a family to support. That there are people whose livelihoods depended on him and on his ability to run this operation just like every other contract they have.

There’s a hum in the air when they arrive at the rooftop, and as the maitre d’ escorts them further into the back, his eyes scan the room. All around, patrons huddle in their own little alcoves, conversing and sipping on top shelf liquor under the dim lighting. They settle at a private table in the back, and as Natasha slides into the booth, he spots Clint stationed by one of the pillars. With a nod at his colleague, he follows behind her.

“Thank you for agreeing to cover Vegas, by the way,” Natasha says once their server sets their drinks down.

“Pretty sure I’m the one who should be thanking you,” he says, reaching for his Scotch. “You’re the one bringing the added business to us.”

“I know you don’t like to be away from your dad for long, is all,” she says, her finger circling the rim of her Vodka soda. “And like you said, Clint has a wife and kids. Sam has a sister and nephews. James…”

“Has a dog,” he fills in for her, nodding when her brows shoot up in surprise. “Roscoe.”

She giggles, the sound making his own lips curl in a smile. “For some reason, in my mind, I always thought he’d be a cat person.”

“Don’t be fooled,” he says. “He may act all aloof, but deep down, he enjoys that Roscoe needs him.”

“Noted,” she says, still grinning. “Regardless, thank you. I know you all give up a lot to protect me.”

There are many reasons why he craves this woman the way his lungs crave air, but it’s this, the kindness and compassion she has for everyone around her, that sits atop of the list. “You’re worth it,” he says softly, watching as she looks down in an attempt to hide the flush that colors her cheeks. “Besides, I’m sure the old man wouldn’t mind having a few days off from me nagging him to hit the gym.”

“You are a hardass at the gym,” she says, chuckling at the withering glare he shoots her way. “Have you ever been to Vegas?”

“Once,” he replies. “The scene over there isn’t really my thing.”

Her eyes light up with intrigue, and she shifts closer to him. “What is your thing, Steve?”

He stills when he feels the slight brush of her thigh against his, but the answer to her question comes to him almost instantly. You. But that’s not an answer you give your client. It’s not even one you give to a friend. So instead, he brings his drink to his lips, taking a sip as he contemplates his response.

“Consistency,” he finally says, “whether that’s with how I execute a job or how I go about my workout plan. Now, some people” – he smirks when she tips her chin up in challenge, her eyes narrowing at him – “find that stringent, but I think it helps me appreciate the outcomes more.”

Natasha’s gaze travels from his face, to his shoulders, and then down to his arms. “Trust me, you’re not the only one that appreciates those.”

“Natasha.” It’s the second time he’s said her name in warning in a matter of hours, but it’s a frivolous one at best, and they both know it.

Guilt races through her features. “I’m sorry,” she says, bringing her head to her hands. “I don’t mean to make your job any harder than it already is.” She sighs. “It’s just the last couple of weeks… They’ve been a struggle for me.”

“Hey,” he says, moving even closer to her, his hand falling to where the hem on her dress falls above her knee. He’s playing with fire now, but he’ll be damned if he lets her think that she’s alone in this affliction. “It’s been hell for me, too.”

“Doesn’t seem that way,” she whispers, and it kills him, how genuine the look in her eyes is as she stares up at him. As if keeping away from her could be anything but agony.

“Looks can be deceiving,” he says, running his thumb across her skin as he leans in. “How can I not be in hell when the mere thought of you…” He shakes his head. “Has me hard every goddamn time, Nat.”

Her glossy lips part at his words, her chest rising as she takes in a breath, and the only thing he can think about is how much he wants to lean down even further to trail kisses down the column of her throat, to nip at her pulse in the way that drives her crazy. His other hand tightens around his glass, so much so that he’s surprised it doesn’t shatter in his grasp.

Her eyes are brimming with desperation when he leans away, and he doesn’t need a mirror to tell him that his own are, too. “But nothing’s changed, has it?”

It would be so easy to tell her she’s wrong. To pull her in, and once and for all, end this mutual misery they’ve apparently been cohabitating in for the last two weeks. It’s all he wants, and yet, the truth remains. He sighs. “I’m never going to stop needing you to be safe.”

The way his words cause sadness to cloud her eyes is nothing short of devastating. Nevertheless, he finds that he means every word just as much, if not more, than when he first said it at her place that night. Only this time, doing what he has to do – the right thing – has become that much more difficult because he can feel his will dwindling, slowly but surely unraveling at the seams. It’s one thing to want to map every inch of her body, to lose himself in her in some vain attempt to satiate his need to know every bit of her sumptuous frame. That’s the easy part. What isn’t easy is the fact that he’s now certain he wants her mind and soul just as much, too.

The waitress brings them a fresh round of drinks, and that seems to be enough for them to leave the subject at that. They spend the next hour talking about anything else – Vegas, the latest documentary he’s been into, her sadness over her favorite bodega closing down. Somewhere along the way, they move onto scrutinizing their fellow patrons, creating stories about them and playfully placing bets on how their nights will end.

“It’s a good thing you didn’t actually bet any money,” he says later on when their drinks are just about done, nodding in the direction of a woman bidding a man goodbye two tables down. “They’re not going home together.”

“Yeah,” she says, looking their way. “Looks like you win.”

“I guess I do,” he says quietly, even when he knows that couldn’t be further from the truth. When he wants her as much he does, not being able to have her feels like the biggest loss there is.

If affirming his need to keep her safe that night at her fundraiser was supposed to do anything, making wanting her any less was apparently not on that list. In the week that follows, Natasha’s schedule grows brutal in a way it’s never been since he’s come to work for her. With the opening of the nightclub and their impending trip to Vegas nearing, she’s all business as she and her friend and business partner, Loki, comb through every detail as thoroughly as they can. Despite that, as he shadows her from one commitment to the next, he finds himself longing for her more than ever.

It frustrates him if only for the fact that it doesn’t make any sense. If she’s not in a meeting, she’s shuffling across town trying to get to the next one, all while taking calls and shooting out emails in between. She barely has time to scarf down the lunch Daisy adamantly insists she eats everyday, much less talk to him. He hasn’t a clue what it is about seeing her this way that makes his mind continue to wonder about things it shouldn’t, but it does just the same.

Every single time she’s gotten her way in a meeting, the second it’s over, he’s wanted nothing more than to push her up against the wall of her office. When she presented the final plans for the Red Room – the name for the nightclub that she and Loki had settled on – he felt his heart just about ready to burst with pride seeing her win over even the most skeptical of board members. Then, at the end of each day, as she sits in the back of the SUV, nearly drifting off in exhaustion as they head back home, it’s only by a feat of strength that he’s kept himself from reaching out to her, from pressing his hands into her tense shoulders and dusting a kiss to her neck.

Hindsight being what it is, he realizes how superbly idiotic it was of him to think that giving into her once was going to miraculously get her out of his system. While she had become the star of his fantasies only shortly after he met her, now that he knows what she tastes like and what it feels like to have her in his arms, those images have only grown more crazed in his mind, more specific. And no matter what he does, what he forces himself to remember is at stake, he cannot, for the life of him, get her out of his head. His entire existence has ostensibly become a practice in resisting her, and for the sake of his sanity, he opts to take it one day at a time instead of wondering about just how long he can continue to withstand it all.

Days before they’re set to leave for Vegas, he follows Natasha into the elevator of her building. It’s two hours later than when they had intended to get back, but given how the last week has gone, he’s hardly going to complain.

“Daisy, I don’t care if he offers to unearth the Strip and carry it to the lobby,” Natasha says into her phone just as he leans back against the rail and the doors slide closed. “We’re keeping the guest list tight, so please tell Mr. Hammer that if he insists on taking every person in his entourage, Tao at the Venetian is very much still open.” With a thank you to her assistant, she hangs up, and in seconds, she toes off her heels, moaning in relief as her feet sink into the plush carpet. “Oh, thank God.”

“Natasha Romanoff without heels on,” he says, a smirk crossing his lips. “Someone alert the press.”

Despite her exhaustion, she manages to chuckle. “Be glad I’m too tired to hit you right now,” she says. “Besides, nothing you haven’t seen before.”

“Well,” he says, bending down to pick up her shoes. “If I remember correctly-”

The words die at the tip of his tongue the second he scoops her heels up by their straps, his throat growing dry as he takes in the shining black leather and the thin yet sky-high stilettos – the very same pair she had worn when he had let his desire for her topple his self-control. When he looks up at Natasha, the heat in her eyes is enough to tell him that she, too, is thinking back to that same night, all those weeks ago.

“Didn’t have to take them off then,” she whispers.

As she says that, he’s reminded of the way these heels had dug into the surface of her desk, screeching against the wood as he hiked her legs up and his fingers delved into the hot clutch of her body, making her keen. He swallows at the memory. “No,” he says, his voice sounding strained as he slowly, and almost hesitantly, hands her shoes back to her. “No, you didn’t.”

The elevator dings, signaling their arrival on her floor, and he nearly huffs out a breath of relief as they both exit. As he’s done every night, he walks her to the door of her suite, only this time, as they both linger outside, it’s as though the frame looms large.

Natasha leans against the door, her hand falling to the knob. “Steve…”

The way she says his name, like an invitation back into their lustful bubble, causes his hands to ball at his sides. “Natasha.”

His body aches with want as he stands before her, his hands desperate to curl around her hips and pull her flush to him. He wants nothing more than to kiss her breathless, carry her inside, and spread her out on her sheets, bound and begging – the way he knows she likes. The way he knows they both crave. And with one twist of the knob and a step inside, he could make all of that happen.

But then there would be the aftermath. Unlike that first night, he doesn’t think he has the wherewithal to walk away. Because he knows now that it’s not just sex with her. It never was. When all is said and done and they're both sated, he’ll still want the rest of her, too. And that’s something he knows he can’t have.

It’s with that thought that he lets out a wistful sigh. “You look great in those shoes,” he says, his eyes drifting to where they’re still dangling from her other hand before looking back at her. “And if it’s any consolation, you’ll be wearing them when I get home, too.”

The last thing he sees as he turns to leave is the way her lips part, her green eyes glimmering with unbridled desire. And as he makes his way back down the hall, he finds himself inwardly cursing. He’s not sure who it is that said time makes everything easier, but one thing he knows for certain is that whoever it is, is a bald-faced liar. All these weeks haven’t made resisting Natasha any easier, not one bit. It’s harder. So much harder.

The nerves hit her a few days before the opening. It’s subtle, so much so that if it weren’t for the fact that he’s spent all this time watching her, it probably would be imperceptible. But from his seat across the aisle from her on the Red Guardian jet, he sees it – the faraway look in her eyes as she stares out the window, her fingers mindlessly twirling the charm dangling from her bracelet.

“Thank you,” he says when the attendant comes up to him, setting down the drink he’d requested. As she leaves, he picks up the cup and rises from his seat to make his way across.

Natasha looks up as he approaches, arching a brow in question when he places the drink in front of her. She peers under the lid to check its contents. “It’s tea.”

He settles down on the seat across from her, doing his best to keep from smiling at the way her lower lip juts out in a pout. “It is.”

“If I wanted to drink wet potpourri, I would just take the pouches in the lavatory,” she says, pushing the cup away from her before crossing her arms over her chest. “I’d rather have-”

“Watermelon Sour Patch Kids,” he finishes for her, shaking his head when her face lights up. “I know, but sugar will only make the jitters worse.” A mix of surprise and what he thinks might be embarrassment colors her expression, prompting her to look away. “Hey,” he says softly, scooting forward in his seat. “Talk to me.”

“It’s nothing,” she says, watching the clouds float by the window. Eventually, she looks back at him, sighing when she finds him still waiting patiently. “I don’t know, I guess there’s just a lot riding on this opening, and now that it’s almost here…” She shrugs. “I just really need this to go well.”

"And it will.”

“You don’t know that. Not for certain.”

“Yeah, maybe I don’t have a crystal ball.” He sighs in concession. “But if the last few weeks are anything to go by, what I do know for certain is that you’ve dotted every I and crossed every T that you can,” he says. “Now it’s time to trust your process. Watch it all play out.”

“Logically, I know that…” she says, resting her hands on the table in front of her before smiling. “I suppose patience has just never been my strong suit.”

“Now, even I know better than to answer that when you have a cup of steaming hot liquid within reach.”

“That you gave me, no less.”

“Clearly, I could learn a thing or two from you about decision-making,” he says, causing them both to chuckle. “Seriously, though. Everything will work out, you’ll see.”

“Yeah,” she says, her tone growing wistful as she quietly adds, “I wish they were here, though.”

There are days where she’s so prolific at masking her grief that it’s difficult to remember that that tragic day wasn’t so long ago. But as he looks at her now, the pain in her eyes clear as day, he’s reminded of how fresh the wound still is, and, as his own experience with loss has shown him, how it will continue to be for quite some time.

“I know it could never be the same,” he says, reaching forward to catch the oval charm of her bracelet between his thumb and forefinger – the same one that her mother had handed down to her when she was younger, and the same one she now keeps a picture of her parents in. “But they’ll always be with you, Nat.”

She nods at that, smiling softly and taking the charm into her own hands as he leans back into his seat. “Hey, Steve?” he hears her call out a beat later. He looks at her, eyes questioning. “I’m glad you’re here,” she says. “I know you’re technically working, but-”

“Natasha,” he interrupts. “There’s no place I’d rather be than right here, watching your six.”

There’s a flutter in his chest as she looks down, her hair falling around her face concealing the smile that was already breaking out on her lips.

“Don’t you think this is a tad overkill?” Natasha says as they sit in the back of the SUV enroute to the hotel.

He looks to see her eyes panning from Sam, who’s behind the wheel, and then to Bucky in the passenger’s seat. His lip part to respond, but Bucky beats him to it. “It’s really more for Steve. Wouldn’t want him to get his ass kicked out there.”

“Hilarious,” he deadpans as everyone laughs, glaring at Bucky through the rearview mirror as the man smirks in response. He turns back to Natasha. “And since we’re going into new territory this week, the answer is no, it’s not overkill.”

“I guess you’re right,” she says as she looks forward, her brow suddenly arching in what he thinks might be amusement.

It’s as Bucky mutters a curse that he finally looks out the windshield to see the hotel come into view, a swarm of photographers forming a sea of flashing lights right in the roundabout leading to the front entrance of the hotel.

“Jesus,” Sam says, “I thought the opening wasn’t for another three days!”

“It isn’t,” Natasha says, completely unfazed by the scene as she lets out a little chuckle. “Fellas, may I introduce you to Loki Laufeyson’s penchant for everything grandiose and dramatic.”

He presses his lips into a line. “Sam, circle around back-”

“It’s fine,” Natasha says, placing a hand on his arm.

“Are you sure?” he asks, surprised. In the past, she hasn’t cared for the cameras, much less when she’s just trying to check into her own hotel. “We can get you through, but that’s a circus.”

“Normally, I’d say no,” she admits. “But this is all part of Loki’s media coverage plan for the opening. All press being good press and all that.” And then, cracking a smile, she adds, “Unless, of course, you think I’m too hideous to be photographed right now.”

He scoffs at the notion, turning to Sam. “Stay the course.” At his behest, Sam turns into the roundabout, the cacophony of clicks and rumbled voices growing louder as the car comes to a full stop by the entrance. “Vultures,” he says, more to himself than anyone else as he slips his aviators on. With his hand on the door handle, he looks back at Natasha. “Stay behind me, all right?”

“Lead the way,” she says, and despite the ruckus surrounding them, the smile she gives him is so confident and trusting that he can’t help but crack a smile too, momentarily forgetting his annoyance at the situation.

He exits the car first, nodding at the bellhop that motions towards the trunk and finding himself thankful when he sees that someone had at least thought to cordon off a path to the entrance. With the assurance that there’s a clear lane forward, he turns to reach his hand out to Natasha to help her down. The clicks and flashes intensify the second she steps out and into the view of the photographers, and it’s only when he sees Bucky slot in a few steps behind her that he begins to forge his way inside.

“See, now that wasn’t so hard, was it?” Natasha teases the second they clear the lobby.

“Still harder than slipping through the back door.”

She sneaks a glance at Bucky. “Is he always such a Debbie Downer?”

“Oh, he can do that all day,” Bucky says.

He narrows his eyes at them both. “If the two of you-”

“Look who finally decided to show up.”

He turns towards the sound of the interruption to see Loki making his way towards them, the man looking ever dapper in a perfectly tailored suit and slicked back hair. “Took you long enough,” Loki says, pulling Natasha into his arms.

“Well, I would have gotten here sooner, but someone unleashed a jungle on my front lawn,” Natasha says as they pull away, jokingly shooting Loki a withering look before pointing her thumbs at him and Bucky. “You may or may not owe these two an apology.”

“Gentlemen, my apologies for making your jobs harder this afternoon,” Loki says, sounding sincere in spite of his light tone. “All a necessary evil, I’m afraid.” He gives Loki a single nod in acknowledgement, and if the man is at all bothered by the curt response, he does not show it as he turns his attention back to Natasha and points towards the elevator bank. “Shall we? Sylvie received some last minute documents from the contractor. There are a few things I wanted to go over.”

Natasha nods, and as she and Loki huddle over a tablet, their discussion already beginning, he leads the way towards the elevators. He’s about to press on the call button when the doors slide open, revealing a single occupant standing at the center, and quickly, he catalogs the stranger’s appearance – taking in everything from his lanky physique to the ruby red lenses of his spectacles that gleam underneath the fluorescent lighting.

The man takes in the scene before him, a smile suddenly breaking out on his face. “Natasha?”

At the mention of her name, Natasha looks up from the screen. “Matt,” she says, her eyes lighting up in recognition. “What are you doing here?”

He watches as the man – Matt, he reminds himself – steps out of the elevator, and he has to move slightly to the side as Matt comes to stand in front of Natasha, leaning down to greet her with a kiss on the cheek.

“I had a conference that got postponed at the last minute,” Matt says before looking at Loki. “I was about to dive into some new cases until I saw that Loki sent over an invitation for the Red Room’s opening this weekend.”

He watches as a tinge of surprise paints Natasha’s features, but in a flash, she blinks it away as she turns to smile a little too sweetly at Loki, who shrugs nonchalantly in response. “Far be it for me to gatekeep a good time.”

“Well, I’m glad you could make it,” Natasha says as she turns back to Matt. “It’s been a while.”

“So am I, and it really has. It’s so good to see you,” Matt says before eyeing the rest of them. “The added audience notwithstanding.”

His brows furrow at Matt’s comment, and it is only Natasha’s chuckle that prevents a dagger of a glare from completely forming in his eyes. “I like to keep good company,” she says. “Matt, this is Steve Rogers and James Barnes. Their team will be running security for the opening.”

“We also provide round-the-clock security for Ms. Romanoff,” he says, giving the hand Matt stretches out to him a firm shake.

“I see,” Matt says before placing a hand on Natasha’s arm, his voice growing quiet as he adds, “Is everything okay, now? I know for a while there…”

He’s not sure why Matt’s words only stoke his mounting annoyance – the man is showing concern for Natasha, after all. And yet, something about this person being privy to something so personal about her makes him feel as though there’s a steel ball lodged in his chest.

“So far, so good,” Natasha says, shifting to meet his gaze for the briefest of moments as she adds, “helps to know someone’s watching your six.”

His lips threaten to quirk upwards in a smile at her words, and he looks away in an attempt to hide it just as Matt hums in response. “I’m glad things are looking up then,” Matt says before glancing at his watch. “I was actually just headed out to meet a few friends, but is there any chance you two are free for dinner?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Natasha begins. “There’s just-”

“We’ll be there,” Loki pipes in, prompting Natasha’s head to whip to him suddenly.

“We can even have it here in the hotel restaurant,” Matt adds, as if sensing Natasha’s reluctance. “That way, you two can get back to work right after.”

Loki beams. “Then it’s settled, we’ll see you this evening.”

“Great,” Matt says before glancing at Natasha once more. “It was great seeing you, Tash.”

“You too, Matt.”

Quickly, he presses a knuckle down on the call button, prompting the elevator doors to slide open once again. He walks in, situating himself in the corner with his back to the wall. Tash?

Bucky mans the panel, and the second they all filter in and the doors close, Natasha turns to Loki, her green eyes glaring. “What the hell was that about?”

“What was what about?” Loki replies all too nonchalantly.

“You know what,” Natasha insists, crossing her arms over her chest. “We barely have enough time as it is, we certainly shouldn’t be wasting it on some dinner.”

“Oh, relax, will you,” Loki says. “I know we have an endless list of things to double and triple check before the opening, but surely even we have to eat.”

“That’s what room service is for.”

“We might be here for business, darling, but it wouldn’t kill you to live a little.”

The ensuing smirk that finds its way to Loki’s lips causes his shoulders to tense, and he watches as an exasperated look paints Natasha’s face. “Loki-”

“Matty Murdock has always had a thing for you, and you know it,” Loki says before she can finish her protestation, and from where he stands, he has to shift on his feet. “And from what I remember of you two in boarding school-”

“Matt is married, ” Natasha says, and he nearly breathes out a sigh of relief at her words.

“Not as of six months ago,” Loki volley back, and he catches the way Natasha takes a step back in surprise at the news. “Look, I’m not telling you to start anything back up with the man, but we are in the City of Sin.” There’s a glint in Loki’s eyes as he suggestively adds, “Have some fun with the handsome devil.”

If Natasha responds, he does not hear it through the sound of his heart pounding in his ears. He looks up at the glowing numbers above the doors, watching them increase with every floor they pass as he bites on the inside of his cheek. While tight spaces hadn’t been a worry for him before, it’s as though the walls are closing in on him now, his chest feeling as though there’s a weight bearing down on it.

The telltale ping of the elevator snaps him back, and the decision comes to him in a flash, his eyes immediately finding Bucky’s as everyone begins to exit. “You got it from here?”

Bucky blinks at him for a second. “Sure…”

“You’re leaving?”

He looks to find Natasha staring at him, a touch of worry in her expression. “Clint wants to go through the security plans a final time.”

“Oh, okay,” she says just as he hits the button for the lobby. “I’ll see you later then?”

“Might be awhile,” he says, “but Sam will be in for the night shift.”

He doesn’t wait for her response, nor does he see it as the doors close and he turns to lean his forehead against the wall, letting out a long and winded sigh.

“That Ossobuco was the best I’ve ever had,” Loki says as he sets his utensils down on his empty plate. “No wonder the Venetian hates you so much.”

Natasha smirks over her wine glass. It took a lot of convincing and a more than generous compensation package, but her first win in her quest to revamp this hotel was poaching the chef of the Venetian’s Michelin star restaurant away, and if Loki’s comment and the seemingly endless waitlist to get a reservation is any indication, the move’s already paying off in spades. “If they valued their assets enough, they would have paid them what they’re worth.”

“Ever the shark,” Matt says teasingly, smiling at her from across the table.

Next to her, Sharon scoffs. “Are you surprised?”

While she’s known Loki and Matt since her very first day at boarding school, Sharon had become part of their fold when she enrolled a few semesters later. Nevertheless, her spunky, devil-may-care attitude made them fast friends, and while they’ve endeavored to keep in touch, dinners between the four of them have been few and far in between with Sharon running her consulting firm out East. It’s only by a stroke of luck that Sharon’s visit to the country had coincided with the Red Room’s opening.

“I never said it was a bad thing,” Matt says, tipping his glass of bourbon towards her. “Eat or be eaten, right?”

“You know it,” she says, leaning back against her chair as they all share a laugh.

Despite her initial misgivings about this dinner, she’s glad that Loki had all but dragged her to attend. With the Red Room’s impending opening, her nerves have been frayed, and she’s glad for the temporary reprieve the last few hours have brought her as the four of them reminisced about what a handful their quartet had been back in their adolescence. All things considered, it’s nearly a perfect night.

Nearly.

Her eyes wander towards where Steve stands a few feet away, his hands behind his back as he keeps an eye on their surroundings. She didn’t quite know what to make of his abrupt departure this afternoon, or even if there’s anything to make of it. While she had grown accustomed to him accompanying her throughout the day, it’s not as though it’s been written in ink. He, too, had a company to run, and if Clint had something to discuss with him, then that’s something he should be able to attend to without her being overcome with some semblance of dread over his absence.

That’s the reality, and yet there’s a part of her that she can’t quite ignore – the part of her that senses that something’s not quite right. She was glad to see him eventually return, knocking at her door at six on the dot to escort her down to the restaurant. Even so, a silence lingered between them. It’s unusual given that if there’s anything that came easily to them since day one, it’s always been the conversation. And she knows it’s not due to Loki’s added presence, either. Steve’s never been reticent around her friend before, and she doesn’t believe there’s any reason for that to change now.

If nothing else, his sudden lack of words is jarring when just this morning, she thought they had shared a moment on the jet when he had helped alleviate her concerns about the Red Room’s opening and the absence of her parents. What’s shifted since then, she can only guess.

“What’s the deal with you and your bodyguard?”

Sharon’s question interrupts her thoughts, and when she blinks to focus, she sees that her friend has a brow arched at her in question. She steals a glance in front of her to see Matt and Loki engaged in conversation before turning back to Sharon. “Excuse me?”

“The gorgeous dreamboat that follows you around all day,” Sharon clarifies before nodding in Steve’s direction. “You’ve been looking his way ever since we got here.”

“I’ve been looking in that direction because we got intel that the woman seated in the table in front of him is a columnist from La Liste,” she says, reaching for her wine. “Her review could literally make or break this restaurant, so I’ve been trying to gauge her reaction.”

“Are you ever not working?” Sharon quips, to which she only shrugs unapologetically. “So, there’s nothing going on between you and…”

“Steve,” she finishes for her. “And, come on, Sharon, we work together. He’s the head of my security team.”

“And that’s a problem because…”

This time, she’s the one that quirks up a brow. “Do you fraternize with any of your consultants?”

“None of my consultants look like that,” Sharon counters, prompting her to roll her eyes in response. “Do you know anything about him then? Specifically, if he’s seeing anyone?”

“I don’t know,” she says, and she finds herself bothered by the fact that it’s the truth. Sure, they shared a night together a little over a month ago, and while they’ve been sneaking lingering gazes and errant touches in the weeks since, she realizes that she doesn’t actually know what goes on after he leaves. What she does know for certain though, is that the idea of him with someone else feels like a punch to the gut.

“It’s really just work between you two then,” Sharon muses before chuckling. “I have to hand it to you, Romanoff. You’re a better woman than I could ever be. Because if I had someone like that following me around all day?” She shakes her head. “I would get to know him very, very well.”

“Different strokes for different folks and all that,” she mutters, reaching for her drink.

“You wouldn’t mind me getting to know him then, would you?”

Her glass freezes midair at Sharon’s question, and, more saliently, at the suggestive smirk on her friend’s lips. Every cell in her body wants her to tell Sharon the truth – that yes, she does mind. She minds very much. Only, she knows she has absolutely no right to. Steve isn’t something to lay claim over, and even if that were the case, he still wouldn’t be hers. He couldn’t be. And that’s why, despite the unease that settles over her, she plasters on the best smile that she can muster. “Since when do you ask for permission anyway?”

“That’s true,” Sharon says, chuckling as she brings her glass to her lips, downing the rest of its contents in one go.

It’s as they’re saying their goodbyes at the end of their meal that she watches as Sharon makes a beeline for Steve, extending her hand out to him.

“Hi, I don’t think we’ve met,” Sharon says. “I’m Sharon Carter, Natasha’s friend.”

“Steve Rogers,” he says, smiling politely as he shakes her hand. “I’m-”

“The head of Natasha’s security team,” Sharon says, smiling. “She mentioned.”

If Steve is at all impressed by Sharon’s response, she doesn’t see it as Matt comes up to her, a little grin playing on his lips. “So, I was wondering…”

“I’m pretty sure those exact words got us into a lot of trouble way back when,” she quips, eliciting a laugh from Matt.

“Luckily, things have changed a bit since then.”

“Have they really?”

“Hey, I did say a bit,” Matt says before shaking his head. “Anyway, back to that thing I was wondering about… Any chance you’re still very much into ballet?”

She smiles. “Always.”

“Perfect,” Matt says, his face lighting up, “because there’s a show tomorrow at the Smith Center. Come with me?”

“Oh, Matt,” she says. “I would love to, but-”

“But nothing,” Loki interjects, draping an arm over her shoulders. “She’ll be there.”

She looks incredulously up at Loki. “The opening is literally the night after tomorrow.”

“So Sylvie and I will handle the final run-throughs,” Loki reasons. “If anything comes up, we’ll give you a ring. Hand to God.”

“I don’t know…”

“What if we play it by ear?” Matt suggests. “I know you’re busy, but if by the end of the day tomorrow, you happen to find yourself with some time to spare, the offer will still stand then.” He shrugs. “Give me a call, maybe?”

Even with Loki’s offer to cover the rest of the final arrangements, she doesn’t need to check her calendar to know that her schedule is brimming tomorrow. Nevertheless, the unadulterated sincerity in Matt’s tone makes it difficult for her to outright refuse. “Okay,” she says. “I’ll let you know.”

Matt beams. “Perfect.”

The silence is suffocating as she and Steve stand in the elevator as it ascends onto her floor, and as it bleeds into their walk to her suite, she finally turns to him. “Is everything okay?”

Steve shrugs. “Why wouldn’t it be?”

“Ever since you left in a hurry this afternoon, you’ve been off,” she notes, catching the way he steals a glance at something over her head. She looks back to see that Sam is already on the other end of the hall, the man dutifully staring forward, presumably to give them some semblance of privacy. With a sigh, she lowers her voice. “You know you can talk to me, right? Whatever it is.”

A litany of emotions paint his face, and for a moment, she’s hopeful that he’ll finally let her in on whatever it is that’s been bothering him. Instead, she’s disappointed to see him shake his head. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Of course not,” she says, feeling a little like she’s just been slapped in the face. She turns to continue walking, but sensing his presence still behind her, she looks back at him. “Sam’s down the hall. You can go now.”

She doesn’t bother to check his reaction – if he even has any – as she begins to make her way to her suite. Once inside, she leans back against the door, tipping her head back and closing her eyes.

“Comms check. Confirm eyes on Red. Over.”

“Affirmative,” Steve says. “I have eyes on Red.”

As Clint acknowledges his response, he looks back towards the sea of flashing lights just a few feet away, watching as Natasha smiles for the cameras with one hand poised at her waist. Behind her, the logo of the Red Room glows crimson, providing a stark contrast to the jet-black two-piece number she had selected for the evening.

To say that his breath had gotten caught in his throat when he knocked on her door this evening to escort her to the rooftop would be an understatement. The second she pulled open the door of her suite and he laid eyes on her, for a beat there, it’s as though he had forgotten how to breathe altogether. From the deep V of her sleeveless blazer that showed off her perfect, alabaster skin to the satin dress pants that accentuated her shapely legs, there was no question that her suit was tailor made for her. She had kept her makeup light for the evening too, settling for darkened lashes that somehow made her green eyes look brighter and a light pink gloss on her already luscious lips. He isn’t certain how she managed to look both ethereal and still every bit the powerful CEO that she is, but just the sight of her was almost enough to make him forget the tension that’s built between them since arriving in Vegas.

Only, he can’t, and as he spots Matt making his way up the red carpet towards Natasha, pulling her in for a hug once he reaches her, he remembers why. As Matt and Natasha pose for pictures together, he shifts his weight on his feet, doing his best to prevent a scowl from forming on his face. Truth be told, if there’s tension between him and Natasha now, he knows he had precipitated it. To see her interact with Matt in the lobby when they arrived – that is, to witness the familiarity Matt had with Natasha and her life – was one thing. But once he caught wind of their history as Loki had all but encouraged Natasha to seek Matt out while they were in town, the very idea of Natasha with someone else had caused a hot streak of jealousy to singe its way down his entire being. Misplaced as the emotion was, he knew he needed to get out of there, which is why he had made up some lame excuse about having to meet with Clint.

A walk had done wonders to calm him down. With his emotions in order, he had found the courage to make it back to her floor in time to escort her down for dinner, fully intending to apologize to her for his behavior once he got the chance. But as luck would have it, as they were leaving the restaurant, he heard Matt ask her to the ballet. If she had accepted the invitation happily, he doesn’t know. Before he could hear her reaction, Sharon, her friend, had come up to him to introduce herself.

Not that it mattered. By the time he and Natasha had made it to the elevator, that unsettling feeling had returned to his gut, and though he felt terrible about the hurt look that crossed Natasha’s face at his curt response to her question about what was bothering him, all he could focus on was the idea of her potentially spending more time with Matt. But his premonition hadn’t been wrong, it seemed. By morning, when Daisy had emailed Natasha's agenda for the day, he saw that she had the entire evening blocked out for the ballet.

If there was any saving grace, it was that he wasn’t her night guard. And while he thought that avoiding the sight of Natasha and Matt together would provide him some sort of reprieve, his mind had other ideas. He had thought to sublimate at the gym, but it was to no avail. It didn’t matter how many times he pounded his fists into the sand-filled bag before him, no amount of force could exorcise the images of Matt peeling Natasha out of her dress from his mind.

As he focuses his attention back towards the carpet, he watches as Natasha begins to walk towards the entrance of the Red Room, and he grits his teeth when he sees the hand Matt places on the small of her back. With a sigh, he turns to follow them. He’d lost count of the number of night watches he’d done during his tenure in the Army, but somehow, something tells him that this night would shape out to be the longest of his life.

“What’s Red’s shithead of a brother doing here?”

From his position by the bar, he looks towards where Clint is stationed up on the balcony, his arms resting against the metal rails as he keeps an eye on the teeming crowd from up above.

“Which one?” Bucky asks from somewhere by the dance floor.

Sam scoffs. “Does it matter?”

“I guess not,” Clint concedes, “but I hope his business acumen is better than his dancing. If not, Red’s really holding this entire family up.”

“He’s here because he can’t resist a photo op and because the board doesn’t want the press to know that there’s a rift amongst the siblings,” Steve says, his tone clipped. “And keep the line clear.”

As a cacophony of apologies fill his ear, he mutes his microphone before huffing out a breath. There’s a part of him that knows that he’s being unfair to the team. His foul mood has nothing to do with their banter – usually, their snarky back-and-forth made working shifts like this fly by – and all to do with the fact that he chose to be in the field today of all days.

The thought is one he finds himself lamenting as he turns his gaze to his left, to where Natasha is sitting on one of the oversized couches, nursing a Martini as she chats with Loki and a group of their friends. Matt sits next to her, one arm draped around the back of the couch, and he doesn’t miss the way the man’s fingers caress Natasha’s bare shoulder every now and then. Much as he’d like to look away, he can’t. Regardless of how much the sight causes his blood to boil, it's his job to watch her. Even so, every single time he catches the gesture, he can’t help but curse his inability to stay put. He could have been the type of business owner that kept to balancing the books and negotiating their contracts, but because he’s physically incapable of remaining within the four walls of his office, he’s left with no choice but to watch another man do the one thing he wishes he could: touch the woman he’s absolutely crazy about.

It's then that reality crashes over him like a ton of bricks. Everything from his fetid mood to the tension that’s found a home seemingly in every muscle in his body since they walked into the hotel lobby a few days ago has nothing to do with Matt Murdoch specifically. And, despite what he’s been trying to convince himself of these past few days, it doesn’t even have anything to do with the history Matt shared with Natasha. The latter was none of his business, and when it came to the former, he barely knows the man outside of what he’s heard about his life in passing during what felt like the longest elevator ride of his life. Surely, what little he does know about him isn’t enough to warrant the hate he feels coursing through him every time he sees him.

But as he watches Matt lean in to whisper something in Natasha’s ear, causing her to laugh, he realizes that what he’s truly envious of are the possibilities Matt has. If Matt wanted to and Natasha was so inclined, he could wine and dine her. Matt could take Natasha’s hand and intertwine their fingers as he guided her through a crowd. The two of them could be out in the open together and no one would bat an eye. With them, being together would have zero consequences – the complete opposite of what it would be like for him and Natasha.

He swallows the sudden tightness that’s formed in his throat, and he peels his eyes away from Natasha for a second as he taps on his earpiece again. “Stepping off,” he says, already turning. “Sam, take my 20.”

“You got it, Cap.”

With Sam’s confirmation, he weaves his way through the crowd and towards the back of the club before slipping into the bathroom. At the sink, he splashes his face, repeating the action once, twice, and then another time in hopes that the frigid water will temper the bitter cocktail of longing and jealousy still burning its way through his entire being. When it doesn’t, he curls his hands around the sink, groaning in frustration and wanting nothing more than to rip it right off the wall.

Natasha isn’t his to covet. He has absolutely no right to feel this way – especially when it was he who had told her that being together would only compromise her safety. And yet, the very idea of her with someone else feels like a blade slicing right through his chest. The risks are crystal clear in his mind, and while he knows he won’t be able to live with himself should they ever play out, it’s as though his heart outright refuses to accept the reality.

He looks up at the mirror before him, studying his reflection, and while his face is hardened by the impasse he finds himself trapped in, somewhere in there he recognizes parts of the man he still is. The man who, regardless of the circumstances, always does the right thing. Who puts the people he cares about first. And while he may be at a crossroads now, what’s clear to him is that he needs to find a way to go back to completely being that man. For that man would never jeopardize the livelihoods of his peers. And, above all, that man would never let anything get in the way of protecting the woman who’s covertly clawed her way into his heart – his feelings be damned.

It's with that newfound determination that he lets go of the sink, shuts the water off, and dries his face. As he exits, he reaches for his earpiece. “On my-”

“Fancy running into you here.”

He looks up to find Sharon standing there, looking elegant in a little black dress and her pin-straight mane falling down her shoulders like a golden curtain. He musters a smile. “Sharon, hi. Nice to see you again.”

“Likewise,” Sharon says, her lips coyly curling upwards. “I was actually hoping you’d be here tonight.”

“Is that right?”

Sharon nods, tilting her head to the side. “Any chance I could interest you in joining me for a drink?”

“Sharon,” he says, chuckling quietly as his gaze falls momentarily to his feet. “I appreciate the offer, but I’m on the clock-”

“Oh, come on,” Sharon says, taking a step forward so that mere inches separate them. “We’re at the hottest new nightclub in Vegas. Surely, even the big strong bodyguard can have a little fun.” Her hand falls to his arm, curling around his bicep as she stands on the tips of her toes to whisper in his ear, “Besides, your boss is pretty preoccupied right now, so I doubt she’ll mind.”

“Sharon-”

“Oh, excuse me.”

The voice is one he could recognize anywhere, and as he and Sharon turn towards the sound, his eyes widen when he finds Natasha standing there, appraising them both.

“Pardon the interruption,” she says, shooting them both the most saccharine of smiles. “I’ll find another bathroom.”

The techno beat pulses throughout the room, but Natasha doesn’t hear it through the sound of her own heart beating in her ears. She doesn’t really have a destination in mind as she pushes through the crowd of sweaty bodies, but what she does know is that she has to keep walking, to put as much distance between herself and the scene she just walked in on.

In all honesty, she doesn’t even know why she got up from her seat to begin with. First it was because the drinks that were being passed around the room were all too sweet and brightly colored for her liking. But as she rose from the couch to make her way to the bar, the sight of Sam standing in the spot a few feet away from her that Steve had previously occupied, stopped her in her tracks.

The irony wasn’t lost on her that in a room packed with people, somehow, she was the one fretting for her bodyguard. Absurd as the notion was, though, she decided to go searching on her own anyway – going as far as to let Sam know that he need not follow her when she saw him begin to move when she did. Unease flickered across Sam’s face at her request, but with one sweet smile and a promise to be back soon, he had let her go, no doubt radioing the rest of their team. Her eyes scanned the expanse of the room, searching the sea of bodies all but plastered together as they moved to the beat. Even the massive counter at the bar was filled with patrons, each of them watching as the bartenders put on a show as they poured their drinks. There was a part of her that knew that the sight should make her happy. Without a doubt, the Red Room’s opening was a success, and yet, all she could focus on was how none of these people around her were Steve.

At some point, she had wound up towards the back of the room, a wave of relief washing over her almost instantly when she passed the hall leading to the restrooms to see Steve’s familiar frame. Only the feeling was fleeting, dissipating almost instantly when she saw Sharon so close to him, whispering in his ear. She hadn’t meant to disrupt their moment, but the words had tumbled out of her mouth before she could bite them back, and it’s only by reflex that she managed to plaster on a smile for them both before excusing herself.

As she works to get away from them now, she supposes she shouldn’t be so surprised to have witnessed Steve and Sharon together. After all, Sharon had given her a heads up, and while she hadn’t even noticed her friend leave the little alcove they’d formed back at the couch, if there’s anything she knows about Sharon Carter, it’s that her determination is nothing but staunch. What she hadn’t anticipated, however, was just how much the sight of someone else’s hands on Steve was going to sting – hurting her more than she could have ever imagined.

She’s aware that it’s that very hurt that’s driving her to stop in front of a server now, but she doesn’t care. When her heart feels as though it’s just been ripped out of her chest, if she’s to survive the rest of the night, she needs to numb the feeling away. With that, she grabs a shot glass off the tray, bringing it to her lips and knocking back the contents in a single gulp. It’s only after the alcohol burns a stripe down her throat, momentarily blocking out the images playing in her head that she finds it in her to cross the room, making it back to where Loki and everyone else are still chatting animatedly.

She stalks up to where Matt is still seated, bending down to huskily whisper in his ear, “Dance with me.”

Matt turns her way, a smile breaking out on his lips as he rises from his seat and takes her hand. From the corner of her eye, she catches the brow Loki arches her way, but she ignores her friend as she allows Matt to guide her towards the dance floor. They settle at the center, and as Matt’s hands find their way to her waist, pulling her back flush to his chest, she begins to sway her hips to the beat.

If the music has lyrics, she doesn’t catch them. But it doesn’t matter. This is the type of music that’s meant to be felt, and it’s with that that she surrenders to the rhythm, raising her arm up to wrap it around Matt’s neck, holding him to her. Underneath the neon red lights that illuminate the dance floor, she allows herself to do everything one’s supposed to do at a nightclub. Bump. Gyrate. Hint at what lies ahead once the night ends. She and Matt grind together, and she can’t help but close her eyes when she feels his hold on her only tighten.

“Imagine what Principal Coulson would say if he saw us now,” Matt whispers in her ear, and she feels him smile against her skin as he nuzzles her neck.

“Probably the same thing he said when he caught us by the fountain,” she muses, her lips curling up into a smirk as she leans further into him and turns to catch his gaze as she adds, “That we’re bound to get arrested for indecency one day.”

Matt chuckles. “Far be it for us not to live up to his expectations.”

Before she can respond, Matt turns her, parking his hands firmly at her waist as he smiles down at her. And then he’s leaning down, but just as his face is mere inches away from hers, her hands suddenly come up, landing on his chest and pushing him away. “I’m sorry, Matt,” she says, her eyes wide. “I can’t do this.”

Confusion colors Matt’s expression as she turns away, and vaguely, she hears him call out to her over the music, but she doesn’t dare look back. Instead, she hastens her steps, the air suddenly too thick around her. It’s as though the presence of the crowd is all too much, and she knows she has to get out. Her eyes search for the glowing sign of the nearest exit, and she’s glad when she finds one close by. She turns the corner, stepping into the hall, only to gasp when she feels a hand on her waist, gripping her firmly and pulling her into a darkened room.

“Did he kiss you?” The question slips out angrier than Steve had intended it to, but with how incandescent he feels, he can’t quite seem to bring himself to care as he backs Natasha up against the door of the storage room, caging her in as he rests his hands on either side of her.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” Natasha spits out, her nostrils flaring even as she makes no move to get away. The room is dark, lit only by the light peering in from the hall through the space between the blinds and casting a red tint on the small space. Nevertheless, he sees the ire in her stare as she glares at him. “You’re lucky I didn’t take a swing at you!”

He ignores her remark, gritting his teeth. “Did. He. Kiss. You.”

“What’s it to you?” she says, tipping her chin up in challenge.

Guilt washes over him almost instantly, the fight he had in him suddenly extinguished by her question. Despite the blinding envy rushing through him right now, he knows he has no right to demand answers from her, much less about this. He sighs, his expression softening. “Natasha-”

“Why are you acting like this?” she cuts in.

“How am I acting?”

“Like a jealous ass!” she says, unable to keep her frustration at bay any longer. He looks away, ashamed of how easily she had seen through him. “You’re the one that said we couldn’t be together, remember? That there are too many risks.” When he finally finds the wherewithal to meet her gaze again, he finds himself taken aback to see her expression brimming with mutual guilt. “And I’ve been trying to respect that. But ever since that night, all we’ve been doing is stealing moments where we can, and I go along with it, because you know what? I’d rather have a piece of you than none at all.” Her bottom lip begins to quiver, but she sinks her teeth right into it. “But then out of nowhere, you just push me away-”

“I pushed you away because I couldn’t stand to see you with him!” he finally admits, watching as her eyes widen in surprise. “I watch him with you, watch the way he touches you” – he grits out the last word, his eyes falling shut as the images of her dancing with Matt only moments ago replay in his head like a special kind of torment made just for him – “I see it and it makes me feral because I don’t want anyone else’s hands on you but mine!”

“So what, if you can’t have me, no one can?” she challenges hotly, her brow rising. “You don’t own me, and you definitely don’t get to act like you do just because you want to fuck me!”

“That’s not what I said!”

“Isn’t it, though?” she says. “You can’t tell me that the idea of me with someone else all but sickens you when not half an hour ago, you and Sharon-”

“Sharon? Natasha, nothing happened with her.”

“I saw it,” she says, a scowl forming on her forehead. “I saw her all over you.”

“And if you hadn’t run off, you would have seen me tell her that I wasn’t interested!” he exclaims before scoffing. “God, Natasha, how could I possibly be even remotely interested in someone else when you’ve been on my mind every second of every goddamn day since I met you?” Her lips part at the revelation, and as he looks her right in the eyes, his voice softens. “You’re so far under my skin that I find myself rationalizing all the ways to bend my rules for you, and that scares the shit out of me! Because the rules? They keep me from slipping. And I can’t slip, not with you.” He sighs. “You asked me that night what it’d do to me if something happened to you,” he reminds her. “It’d kill me, Nat. That’s what it’d do. But maybe that doesn’t even matter because resisting you? That might just kill me first.”

“Then stop!” she says, her words almost a plea. She brings her hands up, cupping his face between her hands, and it takes all of him not to melt right into her touch. “Stop resisting me, Steve.” She runs her thumb over his jaw. “You said we couldn’t be together because you’re scared I’ll get hurt, but the only thing hurting me right now is not being with you.”

He shakes his head. “Nat-”

“I miss you,” she says, pulling him closer. “I ache for you. So much.”

“Baby…” His eyes fall shut as he leans his forehead against hers. It’s as though the wind’s been knocked right out of him, taking with it the last vestiges of his will. He knows he should walk away right now, but all he can seem to focus on is how much he’s been aching for her, too. “Fuck,” he mutters, and then he’s leaning down to slant his lips over hers, letting his desire for her consume him whole. He kisses her as though he’s claiming her – allowing himself to pretend, if only for this moment, that she’s his instead of someone he covets – and he can’t help but groan at the intoxicating taste that’s a mix of her cherry lip gloss, tequila, and just her.

When he pulls away, he can’t help but smile as her lips chase his. He leans further away, and she whimpers. “Ssh,” he says, giving her a conciliatory peck before maneuvering them back a step so that her back is against the door once more.

“People will wonder where we are,” she breathes out halfheartedly, watching as he raises an arm to slide the lock shut behind her.

“They’ll wonder where you are,” he corrects. “But don’t worry, we’ll be out soon.” A smirk forms on his lips. “I just need to properly apologize first.”

Her eyes darken. “Do you now?”

His only response is to gently turn her, guiding her until she’s facing the door. “Palms on the door, baby,” he whispers, catching the way her skin prickles at his words as she complies. “Let me show you how sorry I am for acting like a jealous ass.”

She laughs at that, but the sound quickly dies when his hands find her waist, and he hears her breath grow shallow as they begin to move upwards. A shiver wracks her entire body when he presses a kiss just where her ear meets her neck, and the second he cups her breasts, palming her through the material of her top, she moans.

“Is this how you’re going to apologize?” she asks, her voice shaky as she leans her forehead against the frame and his lips brush against the nape of her neck.

He chuckles against her skin before trailing open-mouthed kisses down the column of her spine. “No, Nat,” he says, his hands finding the front of her pants and making quick work of undoing them. A whimper falls from her lips when he pulls the material down to her knees, taking her panties along with it. And as he curls his hands around her hips, she goes pliant under his touch, allowing him to tug her back until she’s almost bent at the waist. With her rear in the air, he kneels behind her, pressing a kiss to each of her cheeks.

“Steve,” she sighs out, craning her head as though she can’t resist looking back at him. “Please-”

Her words dissolve into a moan when he presses his thumbs against her, spreading her open, and he barely contains his growl when he sees how slick she already is between her legs. “This is how I’m going to apologize.”

“Oh, God,” she cries out the second he kisses her throbbing center, his touch like a jolt of electricity through her body as it trembles underneath his ministrations. None of his memories of that night or his fantasies over the past few weeks could compare to having her right now, to losing himself in the decadence of her arousal – she tastes of salt and honey and like the woman he’s been desperate to devour again, and he can’t help but groan as he licks a broad stripe up her sex. He lavishes attention on her clit, and he hears her breathing pick up as he swirls and sucks on the bundle of nerves, his name falling from her lips in quiet little pants as she attempts to keep her voice down. She tries to push her hips back, seeking more contact and whimpering in protest when he holds her firmly in place. Her thighs shake, and coupled with the way her walls are fluttering against his tongue, he can tell that she’s close. He quickens his pace, working over her with deep, firm licks until she shatters with a whine. Even so, he doesn’t relent, pulling her even closer to him until another orgasm bursts over her hot on the heels of the first.

It's when her breathing begins to stabilize that he pulls her panties back up, followed by her slacks. She turns as he rises to his feet, quickly wrapping an arm around his neck and pulling him in for a kiss. Her lips pull up in a dazed smile when they pull away. “I suppose you’re forgiven.”

“I was hoping you’d say that,” he says, dusting another kiss to her forehead. She looks up at him, her eyes so vulnerable that it pulls at his heart. He cups her face in his hand, running a thumb over the apple of her cheek. “What is it, Nat?”

“Come back to my suite with me.”

This time, he doesn’t even think twice before nodding. He can’t, not anymore.

“Rogers to Comms, come in. I’m with Red. We’re inbound to base. Does anyone copy?”

The response is swift. “This is Wilson, I copy,” he hears Sam say just as Natasha swipes her keycard through the reader and he follows her through the doorway of her suite. “Making my way over.”

“Negative,” he says, closing the door behind him. “I’ll take the night shift.”

Natasha turns to him, the surprise on her face impossible to miss. He’s never done that before, but the implication of his words – of borrowed time for them – sparks something in her eyes that’s akin to hope. In his ear, Sam’s reply comes a beat later. “Copy that. Wilson out.”

He only manages to slip off his earpiece, tucking it into his pants pocket before Natasha closes the distance between them, her mouth hungrily finding his as she presses him against the nearest wall. He pulls her closer, letting out a moan when she nibbles on his bottom lip.

“Want this off,” she says between kisses, her hands balling around the collar of his shirt in emphasis.

A smile finds its way across his lips as he lets go of her, placing his hands up in front of him as if in surrender. Desire flashes brightly in her stare, causing a bolt of heat to tear right through him as she moves her hands down, her fingers quickly working to rid him of his vest and then his shirt. It’s as she pushes his button-up off his shoulders, baring his torso to her, that her eyes rake hungrily over his bare skin. She swipes her tongue over her lips, huffing out a sigh before looking heatedly back up at him. “You’re infuriatingly beautiful, you know that, right?”

“Look who’s talking,” he says with a scoff.

As she brings her eyes back to his chest, he catches the way her hands twitch, her fingers curling into her palms as though it’s taking a great deal of effort to keep them at her sides. “I-” she begins, only to shake her head. “Need you in my bed. Now.”

He pushes off the wall, letting her lead him past the living space of her suite and through the archway of the bedroom. A devious smirk paints its way across her lips the second they’re inside, and she plants a hand on the bare skin of his belly, pushing gently and walking him backwards until the back of his knees hit the bed.

“Sit,” she commands, and even in the darkness of the room, he catches the way her green eyes have all but gone black as he sinks down on the mattress. She struts over to him, the tops of her breasts brushing over his face as she leans in, and like a reflex, he reaches to pull her closer, only for her to step back.

“Nat,” he says, the need to touch her growing only all too consuming.

She wags a finger at him, and as he ticks a brow up at her, he watches in intrigue as she reaches for his belt, undoing the buckle and pulling it out from the loops. She runs her hands through the leather, pulling it taut as if to test its strength. He chuckles quietly. “Didn’t take you for the flogging type.”

“I’m not,” she says, moving to place one knee on either side of him as she sits across his lap. “But never say never.”

She reaches her arms around him, tugging his hands on the mattress, and it’s as she adjusts them behind his back, securing his belt around his wrists, that his lips quirk up. “I thought you liked it when I took control?”

“Oh, I do,” she says, moving off of him again. She takes a step back as she brings a hand to the back of her head, feeling for the pin of her updo. She pulls it loose, and as her hair cascades down her shoulders, she smiles. “But maybe I like it when you lose control for me, too.”

His breath catches in his throat, and he watches as she slides her hands down the front of her blazer, stopping right at the hem. Her fingers find the hook and eye closure, and she makes a show of slowly unclasping it. She undoes one, and then another, working her way upwards until the fabric falls open and sashays down her body, landing behind her with a soft thud and baring her creamy skin to him. From where he’s sitting, he revels in the ravenous look that fills her eyes, feeling himself tenting even more uncomfortably against his pants as he takes in the flat of her belly and the perfect teardrops of her breasts, her rosy nipples tipping upwards as they pebble in the cool air of the room.

She holds his gaze as she moves on to her slacks, unbuttoning it before sliding the zipper down. With a coquettish tilt of her head, she turns around, and then she’s hooking her thumbs into the waistband and causing a groan to rip from the back of his throat as she bends to slip it down her legs along with her panties. He can see the evidence of her arousal shimmering between her thighs, and whether that’s from what he’d done to her up in the Red Room or simply from the show she’s putting on for him now, he doesn’t know. Nor can he bring himself to care as his mouth waters.

She’s about to step out of her heels when she pauses, stealing a glance back at him. “Oh, I almost forgot,” she says, smirking. “You like when I keep these on, don’t you?”

“I do,” he tries to reply coolly, but his voice betrays him. She saunters back to him, her hips swaying with her every step before she moves to straddle him. As she does, he feels the warmth of her sex against him, and with a growl, he strains against his belt. “Natasha.”

“You said you weren’t going to touch me again,” she coos, desire crackling hotly in her eyes even as her mouth forms into a petulant pout. Her hands find his shoulders, and she dusts a kiss to his jaw. “Luckily, I didn’t make the same promise when it comes to you.”

“I think we both know I didn’t make good on that.”

“Maybe not, but you did make me wait,” she counters, flattening her palms against his chest. “God, Steve, do you have any idea how much I’ve been needing this?” She shakes her head, leaning in closer. “Ever since that night, I’ve been dying to feel you again…” Her lips begin to follow the trail of her hands, staining his skin with the remnants of her gloss as they graze each of his pecs and then every plane of his sculpted abs. “To touch every inch of you.” Her hands slide even lower, brushing past the light patch of hair below his navel, and he lets out a grunt when she cups the outline of his erection through his pants. “I mean, it’s only fair, isn’t it?” she muses, looking up at him from underneath the fan of her lashes as she undoes the button, “seeing as there isn’t a part of me you haven’t touched.”

A grunt – loud and feral – slips from his lips. “Nat,” he says, her name sounding both like a warning and a plea all at once. But then she slides a hand past the waistband of his boxers, and he throws his head back. “Fuck, fuck.”

“You know, I tried,” she says as she curls her fingers around the base of him, causing his hips to arch off the mattress as she squeezes. With her other hand, she hooks his chin between her thumb and forefinger, pulling his head back so she can slant her lips over his. “I tried to be… good.” She begins to stroke him, his breath picking up with every languid slide of her hand up and down his length. “I tried to play by your rules. Keep you out of my mind.” She pulls away from him, sighing. “But I remember everything.”

“What… what do you remember?” he manages to sputter out between heavy breaths.

“I remember how you touched me,” she purrs, making him hiss as her thumb runs over the head of him, gathering the wetness that’s formed before shuttling her hand back down. “I remember how you felt inside of me…” His entire body grows rigid at wantonness that fills her tone as she says that, and another curse falls unbidden from his lips. “The way you filled me and stretched me… ruining me for everyone else.”

“Jesus, Nat,” he swears, feeling the sweat beginning to form on his brow as he pants. “I-”

She cuts him off with another bruising kiss. “I remember what you taste like, too,” she says, making him whimper. “I want to taste you again.” She cups his cheek with her other hand, tracing his bottom lip. “Do you want that, baby?”

“Yes,” he says, not caring one bit that he’s begging now. “God, yes. Please, Nat. Please.”

With a final kiss to his lips, she lets him go, sinking down to her knees right between the spread of his legs. She makes quick work of pulling his pants and boxers down his knees, her tongue coming out to wet her lips as his length, thick and flushed, springs free.

“Oh, fuck,” he cries out the second she wraps her lips tightly around him. When he strains against the belt again, she digs her nails into the skin of his thighs, imploring him to stay still. She looks up at him, and the unabashed lust in her eyes as her mouth moves fastidiously over his shaft is without a doubt the biggest turn-on of his life, sending a fresh wave of desire right through him. His lips lift in a dazed, intoxicated smile. “So fucking gorgeous.”

His words only spurn her on. She pushes at his knees, and he parts them wider, surrendering to her and the delicious pleasure building at the base of his spine as she takes him deeper. But then she lets a hand roam lower, and he cries out, her name falling brokenly from his lips once again when she cups his sack, gently kneading it in her grasp.

It’s when she hallows her cheeks, sucking him harder, that he feels his quads begin to tighten, the beginning embers of his impending orgasm already sparking. And while he’s spent many a night wondering what it would be like to have her mouth on him like this, there’s something he wants more right now.

“Nat, sweetheart.” The weariness laced with the desperation in his tone causes her to ease off of him, and when she shoots him a worried look, he shakes his head. “Please, just- Need to be inside of you.” In a second, she’s rising to her feet, and despite the desire roaring in his veins as she pulls his boxers and pants the rest of the way down, he finds the wherewithal to call out to her again, nodding towards his pants. “Wallet.”

Her teeth bother her bottom lip for the briefest of moments before she cups his face. “I’m covered,” she heaves out. “And I’ve been tested.”

“So have I,” he says, eyes finding hers. “There’s no one else but you, Nat.”

She groans at that, the look in her eyes rapacious. “Then I want you bare,” she says as she makes a move to straddle him again.

“Wait,” he says, managing a lazy smile when she whines his name in protest. “Turn around.”

For a second, she stares at him, uncertain. But her confusion fades quickly, and he catches the way her skin prickles with gooseflesh, her breath hitching with excitement as his request dawns on her. She swivels around, her back to him, and when she positions herself over him, he swears he feels his blood run thick when she reaches for his length and rubs the head of him over her folds. She leans back as they both moan, taunting him as her scarlet tresses fan across his chest. He wants to grip her hair firmly in his hands, tug her back, and kiss her neck. He knows she knows it – and that she wants it just as much, too.

“So wet,” Steve all but growls into the skin of her shoulder as she continues to tease him. “Is this all for me, Nat?”

“Only for you,” she says, letting out a mewl when she finally sinks down on him. He moans loudly, feeling as though flames are licking across his skin as she takes him in, inch by inch. Behind him, his hands clench into fists in an effort to keep himself grounded. He’s been longing to feel her again for weeks, and now that he’s enveloped in her warmth, not a single barrier separating them, he feels as though he’s slowly being driven mad with desire. It’s only by sheer will that he resists the urge to buck up into her, allowing her to control how much of him to take. She whimpers his name when he finally bottoms out, one hand shooting up to wrap around his neck, holding him to her. “It’s so deep this way.”

“It’s perfect,” he says, kissing her neck, her cheek – any part of her that he can reach. “You’re perfect.”

He feels her shiver against him, and they both gasp as she begins to move her hips. Everything from the way her walls grip him to how his name falls from her lips as though it’s a benediction feels like nothing short of a fever dream. But it’s real. He can feel it, real and raw and oh so right as she rides him, and he savors each rise and fall of her body over his length.

“Tell me again,” she says, leaning back against his shoulder and pulling his head to the side. “Tell me there’s no one else.”

“There’s no one else,” he promises, and she looks so beautiful like this, with her cheeks flushed and her eyes wild that he can’t help but kiss her. “I want you, Nat. Just you.”

The needy moan she lets out against the lock of their lips causes a tremor to roll over him. He wants so badly to touch her, to grab her hips tightly, to feel the weight of her breasts in his hands. But he knows her, knows that for as much as she loves bequeathing control to him that sometimes, she needs to be able to lead, too. So he lets her, electing instead to bask in the view of her gorgeous figure moving up and down on him, her hands trailing up her own body, rolling a nipple between her fingers as she chases her own pleasure.

Soon enough, her hips are moving faster against him. Even so, she whines in discontent. She’s close, he can feel it in the way her walls clench around him and by how much louder her moans are growing, but he knows this isn’t enough.

“Untie me, baby,” he says. “Untie me so I can fuck you the way you need me to.”

She barely has time to react.

The second she frees him from his restraints, he springs up, wrapping his arms around her and maneuvering them until her back is on the mattress. He hikes her legs up on his shoulders, holding her down with his body. “This won’t last long.”

Her lips part to agree, to tell him how close she is already, but the words diffuse into a moan when his arms find her thighs, holding her in place as he enters her in one deliriously delicious thrust. She’s exquisitely pinned in this position, unable to do anything but wrap her arms around him, her nails scratching down his back as he pulls out nearly all the way before snapping his hips forward, burying himself deep into her. The pace he sets toes the line between pain and pleasure, but she welcomes it, luxuriating in being able to feel him in every part of her body, right down to her bones, as he drives into her hard, fast, and rough. Come tomorrow, she knows she’ll have bruises where he’s holding her, but she couldn't care less, only growing wetter at the idea of having some semblance of a keepsake to remember this moment by once it’s over.

“Steve,” she calls out at a particularly delectable push of his hips. He kisses her so hard and deep and consuming that she has to pull away, her lungs burning for air. “Oh, just like that.”

“Close, baby,” he warns, and she feels the way his thrusts grow erratic above her.

“Me too,” she whimpers as he reaches between them, down to where they’re joined. His hand brushes against her bundle of nerves, and she shrieks as he continues to drive into her, taking her body and claiming it with the hard and rough fucking that she’s been craving for weeks. She can see in the way his forehead is creased, a bead of sweat dripping from his temple, that he’s holding on for her – denying himself for her – and though she didn’t think it’s possible to want him any more than she already does, with every fiber of her being, she does. His thumb begins to rub tight circles around her clit, and as white spots start to flicker across her vision, she reaches for him. “Come on me,” she breathes out, pulling his face so close to hers that she can feel his breath across her skin. “Want to feel you all over me.”

She hears him groan just as the heat pooling low in her belly unfurls, causing her eyes to fall shut. Her stomach tightens, and as her orgasm bursts over her, curling her toes, everything around her blurs, save for the sensation of white-hot pleasure pulsing throughout her every cell.

Her body is still trembling when she feels Steve suddenly pull out of her, and as she forces her eyes open, she finds him kneeling between her legs, the muscles of his forearm flexing as his hand furiously strokes his length. Then he grits out her name, his hips bucking, and she gasps when she feels the warmth of his release against her belly, making the blood thrum in her veins all over again despite how boneless she already feels.

Steve collapses down next to her, and when she turns her head to him, her pride swells just a little at how thoroughly wrecked he looks. He peels an eye open once he gets his breathing in some order, reaching out to touch her face. “Are you okay?”

“Mm…” She doesn’t look away from him as she trails one hand down her stomach, rubbing her fingers across the warmth still strewn on her skin before bringing it up to her mouth. A curse falls from his lips, and she smiles as she licks her fingers clean. “Never better.”

It's later on when they’ve managed to clean up and make it under the sheets that he pulls her to him. Below them, Sin City is still alive and buzzing, the glow from the Strip casting her room in a neon hue. She rests her head on his chest, and as his hand begins to run up and down her arm absentmindedly, she revels in the quiet and the comfort of being wrapped up in his warmth.

“Do you think this’ll ever fade?” she asks, looking up at him.

“Wanting you this way?” he clarifies, to which she nods. “I don’t see how.”

“Then what are we going to do?”

He stares up at the ceiling, silent. Eventually, he sighs. “I don’t know.”

Earlier that night…

“Your Old Fashioned, Mr. Laufeyson.”

“Thank you, Brad,” Loki says, leaning back into his seat on the balcony as the server leaves and he takes a sip of his cocktail. Before him, the sea of bodies is still grinding to the beat, showing zero signs of slowing down any time soon. It’s nearly midnight already, and he can’t help but smile into his drink. In the morning, the success of this opening will be strewn across the publications, and it’s with glee that he’ll clip every single headline into his next presentation for the quarterly Odinson Holdings earnings call. How’s that for a measly subsidiary.

His reverie is broken by the feel of a weight on his shoulder, and he looks up to see Natasha. “I was wondering where you went.”

“Had to get some air,” she says over the pulsing music, and from the corner of his eye, he sees Steve lingering a few steps away.

“Everything all right, darling?”

“Everything’s fine,” she says. As he studies her appearance, he notes the way the color on her lips has begun to fade, and while her hair isn’t a mess, the slicked back updo she’s had on certainly isn’t as pristine as when she first arrived. Even so, he says nothing of it as she shrugs. “I might have had a little too much to drink tonight, though. Do you mind if I take off?”

“Not at all,” he says, setting his drink down on the table before rising from his seat to wrap his arms tightly around her. “This night is a certified success. Congratulations.”

“Couldn’t have done it without you,” she says, squeezing him back just as tight.

“Oh, you could have,” he says. “You just wouldn’t have had as much fun.” He punctuates his words with a smile, making her giggle before he turns to Steve. “You’ll make sure she gets back to her suite?”

Steve nods. “Of course.”

He bids Natasha goodbye with a kiss on her cheek, and as she and Steve make their way down the stairs of the balcony and onto the main floor of the club, he picks up his drink again before walking towards the railing, looking out into the vast expanse of the room. He watches as they both make their way towards the exit, Steve slightly in front of Natasha as he guides her through the throng of people.

“You know something.”

The statement prompts him to glance to his left to see that Sylvie’s joined him, her hands curled around the railing as she, too, watches Steve and Natasha leave. He doesn’t respond, electing instead to take another sip of his drink as he looks back out onto the floor.

“This little class reunion of yours… it isn’t the happenstance she thinks it is, is it?”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” he says, merely earning a snort from Sylvie.

“You’re not going to tell her that you know?” she asks, a touch of amusement in her tone. “It’s unlike you two to keep secrets from each other.”

Only problem is, everything about this job has felt personal from the outset. He couldn’t explain it, but from the moment her parents had approached him, seeking his company’s services to protect their daughter from the stalker who had already evaded security once, deftly slipping past them to hold Natasha at knifepoint in the very elevator bank they were just standing in, all he’s ever thought about is never again. Never again would someone get the opportunity to harm her. Not if he had anything to do about it.

Then he met her. Just as he had done for every new client, he had done his research. As one of the children adopted by Alexei and Melina Shostakov, she was one of the heirs to Red Guardian Realty, the largest real estate conglomerate in the country. It didn’t come as a surprise that she had attended the most prestigious schools, graduating top of her class at university and adding accomplished ballerina on top of an already impressive resume. In his experience, when it came to dealing with society’s upper echelon, that merely came with the territory. What did catch his attention, though, was the fact that he couldn’t find much else. Unlike the rest of her siblings whose faces were plastered across the tabloids every week, details about Natasha’s personal life remained elusive. He had seen pictures of her, of course, mostly next to her parents at official events, but none of those quite did her justice – none of them quite capturing how captivating her smile actually is or how her presence could command the attention of an entire room despite her petite frame. And that’s not to mention her eyes, verdant as the forest in the Summer and bright as day. He wishes he could say it was something as rudimentary as instant attraction, but even that didn’t feel encompassing enough to describe the need he felt to protect her the second his eyes met hers.

And it’s what he’s done for the last three hundred and eighty-nine days since. For more than a year, he’s been by her side, getting to know her. Keeping her out of harm’s way. Uncovering the various layers of Natasha Romanoff – the woman, who despite growing up in extreme privilege and largesse, has never treated anyone as anything but her equal. Who would go out of her way in a heartbeat to take care of those she cared about.

The more he got to know her, the more personal his mission became. And as much as he hates to admit it, she’s become more than just his job. At the very least, he had come to see her as a friend. A confidant. He convinces himself that that’s why the events of tonight have felt so personal, the ire from what he had seen unfold slowly but surely clawing its way under his skin. That’s the thing about being by Natasha’s side as often as he is. It’s like getting a front row seat to everything that happens to her. Sometimes it’s as joyous as the children at the orphanage she frequents running into her arms the second she drops by for a visit. Other times, like tonight, it’s watching the unfair way she’s treated, and hearing the vile things spewed her way.

His thoughts are interrupted by a touch as light as a feather. He stills, looking forward at the reflection on the brushed metals doors to see that Natasha’s stepped closer to him, her fingers working to unclench his fist.

“Natasha,” he whispers, but whether it’s in warning or relief, he’s unsure. Luckily, he doesn’t have to linger on the question for too long as the elevator dings, signaling their arrival on her floor. He gestures to the doors as they slide open. “After you.”

This isn’t her. The thought rushes through Natasha as she leads Steve down the hall and to her suite. If there is one thing she didn’t do, it’s get involved with the people on her payroll. And that’s what Steve Rogers is – a person paid to keep her safe.

If only that were the whole truth.

In reality, he’s also the person she’s spent the most time with in the last year, his ever looming presence giving her the peace of mind she’s had to go without for longer than she cares to admit. Gone were the days of her looking over her shoulder, of her stomach feeling unsettled over the idea that there were unwanted eyes on her. Not that the scrutiny ever went away, of course. For as long as she can recall, that’s been part of her life. The unintended consequence of her privilege. Now, though, she could rest easy knowing that she also had Steve’s eyes, his sharp, watchful gaze looking out for her.

But it’s not only Steve’s presence that’s allowed her to revel in safety. She was still reeling from her brush with her stalker when her parents had hired Steve, and even with him shadowing her, she knew that if she was ever going to live without fear ever again, she needed to learn to defend herself. To never feel the helplessness she felt that night as that mad man pressed a blade to her skin. Her parents were less than thrilled with the idea (let Steve do his job, her mother had insisted), but much to her surprise, Steve was very much all in. And so began their weekly ritual. Every Wednesday after work, Steve would train her to fight, teaching her all the ways she could protect herself.

If she had to think of the moment she felt her relationship with Steve begin to shift, it was here. Maybe it was the late hour or the exhaustion from the day, but she found that Steve was more willing to let his guard down after those sessions. It’s as they were sitting on the mats, trying to catch their breath between sets at the gym, that she learned all the details about him that she’s grown to admire, like how big an influence his father was in his choice to join the Army. How much he missed his mom. What a little shit he could be with a quip.

Before she really knew it, Steve had become more than just her bodyguard. He had become her sounding board, and she trusted him implicitly – which was more than she could say about some people she called family.

Families were complicated, but hers was a little more so. Their parents had loved them fiercely, of that there was no doubt. But she and her siblings were all cut from different cloths, and after that fateful car crash that had suddenly taken their parents, the very glue that held them together, that couldn’t be more apparent. Those differences were on full display tonight at the first board meeting since their parents’ passing. Weeks of anticipation had ended with the board announcing that they had selected her to be the next CEO, her father’s successor. Her sisters were practically apathetic – Yelena shrugged, and while Antonia rolled her eyes, she said nothing more. Her brothers, though, were incandescent. Helmut had branded her a manipulative snake. But it was John who had the most to say, all but accusing her of sleeping her way into the position. Not that she was the least bit surprised. Of all her siblings, their relationship had always had the most friction. They had been adopted practically at the same time, at the same age, and knowingly or not, were pitted against each other for the same things. So when he had the audacity to level such accusations at her tonight, it hadn’t come as a shock.

What did come as a shock was Steve’s reaction. He was standing by the door of the conference room, but from her periphery, she caught the way his entire demeanor went rigid the second her brothers had voiced their outrage. On the car ride back to her building, he remained silent, only speaking into his ear piece to alert the rest of his team of their impending arrival. Otherwise, he gazed out the windshield pensively, his jaw set. The tension that had found its way to his shoulders had never subsided either, and she’s certain if she looked back at him now, she could still find it in his stance.

She couldn’t lie. The idea of this man, who she had come to know as the very epitome of composure and level-headedness, getting incensed on her behalf… it did things to her. While she prided herself in being a consummate professional, with Steve, she found that to be an arduous task. As anyone with a pulse and a pair of eyes could deduce, with his broad shoulders, strong arms, and blue eyes so intense it made you feel as though you were being swallowed whole by the ocean, Steve Rogers was a specimen. Couple that with the fact that she has never felt safer in someone’s presence than when she’s around his, and well. It’s no wonder that this man has been the star of her filthiest dreams for months.

As they near her door, she reaches for her keys in her coat pocket, letting her mind wander back to Steve’s reaction to her touch in the elevator mere moments ago. She bites her lip as she recalls the way he had said her name, as though he was at odds with himself, trying to keep himself together. She wonders how quick he would be to keep his composure if he knew every which way she has thought of his lips on hers, of his hands on her body, and his weight holding her down.

Lost in her thoughts, she doesn’t realize that her keys have slipped from her grasp until she sees a flash of movement as Steve reaches out in front of her, catching them in his palm. Not that she’s surprised. His eyes are never not on her, watching her, and though she knows he’s just doing his job, secretly, she savors it. When she finally looks up at him, the concern that’s been pooling in his eyes all night has somehow intensified, and she finds herself holding in a breath at their sudden proximity. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” she says, but the tightness in his expression tells her he doesn’t quite believe her. She mumbles a thanks as she takes her keys back from him, and as they make it to her door, she waits. If all the nights he’s walked her to this very spot were anything to go by, this is where he leaves her. But as she pushes the key into the lock, he remains rooted in place, and a rush of excitement fills her chest as she opens the door to her suite.

He should turn around now. The idea gnaws away at him even as he nods at Bucky at the opposite end of the hall, officially passing the night shift onto his colleague. But even so, like a moth to a flame, he finds himself following Natasha inside.

“Thank you,” she says as they cross the threshold and he helps her shrug out of her coat. He nods in acknowledgement, stowing it away. “Can I pour you a drink?”

He looks to see that she’s made her way to the living room, glancing at him from over her shoulder as she stands by the credenza, one hand already on the decanter. “I’m still on the clock.”

“That’s what you always say,” she says cheekily, turning her attention back to the crystal before her. It could end here, he tells himself. He could bid her goodnight, turn around, and make his way back home the way he’s done every night. Instead, he pads forward still. “Besides, I saw James out there. As far as I’m concerned, you’re off duty.”

“Is that an order?” he asks as he comes to stand next to her, eyeing the two tumblers she now has in her hands.

The corner of her lips turns up in a sly grin. “It could be.”

He shakes his head, biting back a groan. “Natasha-”

“Please?”

The way she’s looking at him from underneath the fan of her darkened lashes is just not fair. The spark in her eyes is Goliath, and his self-restraint, what little remains of it anyway, is merely David. He sighs in concession. “One drink.”

“One drink,” she parrots, her expression lighting up in victory as she extends the other drink towards him. It wasn’t a secret to him that she’s fond of winning. What is novel is the effervescent feeling that rushes through him knowing he’s letting her, and it’s one he finds he could dangerously get addicted to. They clink glasses before taking a sip, and he relishes the familiar burn of liquor down his throat. “Besides,” she says a beat later, “if a nearly hundred year old scotch can’t turn that frown upside down, what will?” His lips press into a hard line at that, and he watches the way she tilts her head to the side. “Want to tell me what that’s about?”

He wants to. God knows the words have been hanging on the tip of his tongue the entire night, begging to be said. He so desperately wants to tell her that her brothers are low lives. That she deserves better. That it kills him that he couldn’t say or do anything in her defense because not only does she not need him to fight her battles, but also it’s simply not his place. This isn’t a discussion a bodyguard has with his client, which is why he settles for, “Your brothers are a piece of work.”

She hums in agreement. “You knew that, though.”

He did. Her brothers may have never had the audacity to speak to her the way they did tonight when their parents were still around, but the animosity has always been palpable from their backhanded comments to the outright callousness with which they viewed the situation with her stalker, practically ridiculing Natasha for needing round-the-clock security. The latter makes his blood boil – the idea that they think their sister’s safety is something to trivialize, and this time, he isn’t able to hold back. “I should’ve beat John to a pulp.”

The regret sets in the second the words leave his mouth, and he admonishes himself internally. His lips part to apologize, but before he can, Natasha chuckles. “Believe me, he isn’t worth the bruised knuckles or the assault charge.”

“Maybe I’d like to be the judge of that.”

“Such a man,” she says teasingly, taking another sip of her drink.

For the first time since they entered the conference room this evening, he feels his lips lifting into a little smile. If Natasha could find levity in the situation, shrug it off, surely he could, too. And perhaps it’s the liquid courage giving him the audacity to do so, but before he lets the subject go completely, he finds himself finally asking the one question that’s been eating away at him all night. “Natasha, why didn’t you say anything?”

She’s silent for a while, her eyes studying his face. What she’s searching for, he’s unsure. Nevertheless, he holds her gaze, waiting, because none of the events tonight made sense to him. He’s been with her in countless meetings this year, some of which have bordered on incendiary, and while she’s not one to be prone to an outburst, she also doesn’t turn the other cheek the way she did in front of her family tonight.

Eventually, Natasha shrugs. “Because there’s no point.”

“No point?” he asks. “Natasha, I don’t understand.” He’s overstepping now, he knows, but the words slip from his lips just the same. “They shouldn’t be able to speak about you that way! None of what they said is true. The board chose you because you earned it. You submitted the best proposal to take the company forward, not them! And they have the audacity-”

“What choice do I have, Steve?” Natasha interrupts, and for a moment, he can only stand there, frozen, taken aback by her question. As she stares at him, the playful mood she’s been intent on upholding dissipates, and she sighs. “I know none of what my brothers say or think about me is true, but what choice do I have but to take it?”

His brows furrow in confusion. “Natasha, you’re allowed to defend yourself.”

“I wish that were true,” she says, smiling ruefully. “I want this job because I care about continuing my parents’ legacy. But the board?” The resentment in her tone is clear as day she adds, “all they care about is making it seem like there was a clear succession plan so our stock price doesn’t dip.” Her shoulders lift as she scoffs. “If I react… If I so much as show them that my brothers get under my skin, I’m too emotional. Too soft to run this company. But if I respond in kind… I’m a bitch that’ll run it to the ground out of spite.” She shakes her head. “Much as I’d like to wipe that smug look off John’s face, I have to play the long game.”

“Natasha…” he says, placing his drink down on the credenza. He’s been so lost in his anger tonight that he forgot, momentarily, that the stakes are, and have always been, different for her. It wasn’t fair, but the bar for her has always been higher, the fall from the top always steeper. It’s why she’s careful to keep as much of her private life out of the press. Why she meticulously plans her every move, demanding perfection of herself even as her siblings – her brothers, especially – are given seemingly endless leeway for their transgressions. He steps closer to her, putting a hand on her arm. “I’m sorry. I can’t imagine how exhausting it must be.”

Her eyes go from the hand he has on her arm to his face. “It is,” she says, agreeing to the sentiment without any specifics. Somehow, that pulls even more at his heart strings. Because it’s all of it, all the time, he realizes.

He sighs. “I wish-”

He doesn’t get to finish his thought as she pushes on the tips of her toes, pressing her lips to his. The kiss is soft, sweet, tender. She pulls away a moment too soon, but not soon enough for him not to catch a taste of the heady mix that’s her lipstick, the scotch, and something uniquely Natasha.

“I’m sorry,” Natasha says a beat later when the silence between them lingers. “I thought-”

A growl rips from the back of his throat, and before he can stop himself, his hands come up to cup her face as he pulls her into a searing kiss. The tumbler in hand falls from her grasp, hitting the ground and shattering into a million pieces by their feet, but neither of them pay it any mind as he backs them towards the nearest wall.

“I want you,” he confesses, exhaling deeply as he leans his forehead against hers, “so much I can barely think straight. Barely breathe.”

Her hands wrap around him, pulling him closer. “It’s the same for me.”

“Fuck,” the curse falls unbidden from his lips as he hears her confirm their mutual longing. As absurd as it seems at this moment, he could still put a stop to all this. They’re both toeing the line, but with one step back, he still could pull them away from it. Go back to what they were, what they ought to be. Client and bodyguard. Business associates. Friends. He could tell himself that what they’re doing is wrong, verboten. But as he looks down at her, he finds that he can’t. He doesn’t want to. Because there is nothing, absolutely nothing, that feels wrong about having Natasha Romanoff in his arms. Whatever line there is, he’s sprinting well and truly past it.

“What do you want me to do, Nat?” There’s a part of him that already knows the answer. Even so, he wants – needs – to hear her say it.

Her eyes twinkle, and her response is the gush of wind that sends the house of cards that’s his restraint crumbling. “Kiss me.”

With that, he finds her lips again, kissing her passionately as if one kiss could make up for months and months of not having her. He doesn’t hold back, and based on the way she gasps, her hands finding purchase on his arms, squeezing tightly, he suspects that she doesn’t want him to. It’s when he takes her hands, pinning them above her head with his own as his lips find their way down to her neck that she cries out, voicing her approval when he pushes his pelvis flush against her, letting her feel the effect she has on him.

“Been wanting this for so long,” she says, and when he looks back up at her, her eyes are dazed as she tries to catch her breath.

He lowers one hand to her face, running his thumb over her cheek as he, too, forces air into his lungs. “Yeah?”

She nods, swallowing hard. “Every night when you go home, I keep thinking you’ll come back. Bring me to bed.”

His hands slide down to her waist, digging into the silk of her dress. “Then what do I do, Nat?”

“You take me hard and dirty,” she says without an ounce of hesitation. “So much that every time I move, all I can think about is you.”

He groans her name, stealing the breath right out of her lungs with another bruising kiss. “You’re all I think about when I come home, too.” He trails his lips up her jaw, to the shell of her ear to whisper, “I spread you out on my bed, kiss every inch of your skin until you’re begging me to let you come.” His words elicit a moan from her, and he feels her nails dig into his biceps through the material of his button up. “I’ll take you any way you want me to, Nat. Hard, dirty, rough… All you have to do is tell me.”

She shudders in his hold, and he pulls away just enough to see her expression drunk with unadulterated lust. There’s a mischievous glint in her eye as she contemplates the possibilities. “I don’t want to think. I just want to feel.” She brings her arms up, wrapping it around his neck. “Tell me how I want to be fucked, Steve.”

Months of wanting, months of wondering… They’ve all led to this very moment, and as she looks out into the expanse of the room, illuminated only by the glow of the skyline filtering in from the panel of floor-to-ceiling windows right across, she feels her heart race in anticipation.

“Quite the view you’ve chosen here,” she says, her voice sounding breathier than usual even to her own ears. She wasn’t sure where they were headed when Steve had scooped her up into his arms, and in all honesty, she didn’t quite care. But the second he had crossed the hall into her office, it’s as if a fresh wave of desire shot straight through her veins.

“Hadn’t noticed,” Steve says from where he stands behind her, crowding her against the desk. His hands find the thin straps of her dress, and she can’t help the shiver that runs down her spine when he pushes them off her shoulders.

“Why are we here, Steve?” she finds herself asking, sucking in a breath as he begins to pull on her zipper. As it reaches the end, the garment slinks down her body, the material shimmering in the dark in a pool by her feet. He mutters a curse under his breath, and feeling emboldened, she turns around. The first thing she notices is that he’s shed his suit jacket, draped it on the back of her chair, but she can only glance at it fleetingly because the second she looks at his face, her stomach flutters. His typically bright eyes have gone dark, the hunger evident in them as he takes in the sight of her standing before him in nothing but a lacy black thong and heels. “You know, if you keep staring at me like that, I’m going to start feeling a tad obscene.”

“You don’t stare at a work of art,” he counters. “You admire it.” Heat rushes to her cheeks, and inwardly, she marvels at the irony. Here she is, standing before this man in nearly nothing, and somehow, it’s his words that have her blushing. She bites back a smile, trying to busy herself by stepping out of her heels when she feels his fingers encircle her wrist. There’s a devious glint in his eyes when she looks up. “Leave them on.”

She arches a brow in intrigue, but doesn’t question the request. “You still haven’t answered my question.”

The grin that creeps onto his lips is trouble personified, and she finds herself holding her breath as he steps forward, erasing what little distance was left between them. “You told me to tell you how you want to be fucked,” he says, reaching for her waist and making her gasp as he hoists her up onto her desk as if she weighs nothing. He nudges her knees apart, standing between her legs and whispering down into her ear. “You want it hard, Nat.” She bites her lip, goosebumps prickling her skin as his breath dances across it, and she’s so entranced by his words that she doesn’t even realize he’s pulled on the pin of her bun until it comes loose at the base of her neck, her hair cascading down her back like a crimson waterfall. “You want it so rough you’ll feel me for days.” Her eyes fall shut when he leans down to press a kiss to her pulse, and as his other hand trails up, cupping her breast and making her nipple pebble underneath his ministrations, she can only throw her head back. “And I think you might even want it to hurt a little.”

He tugs on her nipple, making her gasp, and instantly, she feels herself grow wetter between her legs. “God, yes.”

“Is that what you want?”

She leans further into his touch. “That’s exactly what I want.”

He smiles against her skin. “And that’s what you’ll get,” he promises. “But first, I think you want me to spread you out on this desk…” He pulls away enough to look at her, tucking a tendril of hair behind her ear with his free hand. The gesture is so tender, the complete and polar opposite of what he’s promising to do to her right now, that it makes her head spin. “Eat you out right where you spend your days telling people what to do, making all those important decisions… Tease you with my mouth until you’re out of your mind.” She sucks in a gasp. “How does that sound?”

“Perfect,” she manages to heave out. “That sounds perfect.”

“Then lean back, Nat.”

She does as commanded, moving her palms behind her and watching him take a step back, his eyes never once breaking contact with hers while unbuttons the cuffs on his shirt. As he rolls his sleeves up his forearms, it occurs to her that while she’s all but laid out bare before him, he’s still fully dressed. But even with this imbalance, something about the way his licentious gaze trails up her body, taking her in, makes her feel desired in a way she’s never felt before.

It’s when he slides a hand down the flat of her belly, reaching the lace of her thong and ripping the delicate material away with one flick of his wrist that she feels her sex pulse. “Oh, God.”

“Do you know what it does to me?” he asks as he settles down on her chair. “Knowing that I’ve seen you at this desk, taking all those meetings… Making all those calls.” He hikes her legs up, setting her heels at the edge of her desk and licking his lips at the sight of her arousal glistening between her thighs. “In these shoes.” When he dusts a kiss just above where the strap rests on her ankle, the soft hair of his beard brushing against her skin, she can only whimper knowing his mouth is so close yet still so far from where she’s aching to feel him. “And now here you are, so wet for me…” He brushes a finger teasingly at her entrance, her vision blurring when she hears him groan. “Aching to be touched.”

There’s a part of her that wishes he would tell her. Tell her every single detail of the effect she has on him, to know that he’s as desperate for her touch as she is for his. But then he’s pushing in, her body taking him without any resistance. “Steve,” she whines, her gaze falling between her legs, watching every movement of his hand. For a moment, it’s as though she can’t breathe, too lost in her own pleasure and too mesmerized by seeing everything as it happens to her. Her hips cant upwards when he adds another finger. “Oh.”

He looks up at her, and his voice is tight as he speaks, as though he’s feeling just as inebriated with desire as she is right now. “Good, baby?”

When she mewls out another yes, he dips his head between her legs, his lips grazing her heat, and with his hands and mouth working her in tandem, she falls back on the desk, her arms no longer able to hold her up. Her hands fly to his hair, pulling, needing something, anything, to keep her from drowning in this ecstasy. She’s so turned on beyond words, that when he licks a broad stripe up her center, all she can do is cry out his name. Of all the nights she had fantasized about this, none of them could hold a candle to the pleasure she feels right now. The way he teases her, licking tantalizingly at her folds and sucking at her bundle of nerves until she’s just there, only to pull away before she crests… It’s deliriously good, a high she’s fast becoming hooked on.

“You look so good like this, Nat,” Steve says, easing his mouth off her to press a kiss to the inside of her thigh even as he continues to work her with his fingers. “Look at you, just begging to fall apart.”

“Steve,” she begins to say, only for her words to be replaced by a moan when he nips at the flesh of her inner thigh, the little sting of pain making her back bow off the mahogany. “Yes, yes, yes.”

“Come for me, Nat,” he says, bringing his mouth back to her center, his lips finding her bundle of nerves. She arches against his face, seeking out more contact, more everything, and as white-hot pleasure permeates throughout her every nerve ending, she finds exactly what she’s been craving. All of her worries, her laundry list of things to do… they all fade into nothing, and all she can think about is the heat unfurling low in her stomach, building. Rising.

“No!” She whimpers when Steve pulls his fingers out, tears nearly stinging her eyes as her walls flutter around nothing. Vaguely, she’s aware of him shushing her gently, of his hand moving lower, and then even lower still. “Oh, my God,” she gasps when she feels his finger at her other entrance, teasing. She tenses – unsure of how far he’ll take this, how far she’ll let him. But before she can give it more thought, her body answers for her, a long, needy moan escaping from her lips as his tongue flicks at her clit and his finger presses in. And then her body is trembling, her orgasm washing over her like waves crashing violently to shore.

She’s not sure how long she revels in bliss. Seconds, maybe, but with the intensity of the aftershocks, it feels like an eternity. It takes her a moment, but eventually, she recognizes the telltale sound of a zipper being pulled. Her eyes flutter open, and with what strength she still has, she sits up just as Steve brings a hand to his length, stroking.

Her mouth falls open, and despite the earth-shattering climax he’s just wringed out of her, she feels her nipples already tightening at the sight before her. She’s not entirely certain how her body could still crave more, but as she watches Steve’s hand shuttle up and down his hardness, his gaze trained on her and only her, it does. The scene playing out before her feels like a cut straight out of her dirtiest fantasy, and she couldn’t look away if she tried.

It’s when Steve’s hand slows at the head, his thumb gathering the bead of liquid, that their eyes meet. He’s always been adept at anticipating her needs, and when it comes to her base desires, it seems it’s no different. He brings his thumb to her mouth, slowly sliding his arousal over her lip, and as the salty taste of him hits her tongue, she moans, taking his hand between both of hers and drawing him all the way in.

“Christ, Nat,” Steve says, groaning when she nips at the skin of his thumb only to soothe it over with her tongue, sucking. She’s lost count of the number of nights she’s spent wondering what he tastes like, and now that she knows, she's ravenous with how much she wants more. With a pained groan, Steve pulls his hand away, his lips finding hers before she can so much as blink. The kiss is intoxicating – tasting of her, of him, of them. By the time they separate, she’s practically writhing, the heat between her legs once again unbearable. “Going to bend you over this desk now.”

With a smile, she slides off, stands, and turns. Behind her, she can hear the tearing of foil as he pulls out a condom and rolls it on, and then his hand is between her shoulder blades, pushing her down. She rests her cheek against the wood, and as he presses against her entrance, she cries out in need. In need of the rightness of this very moment. The covetousness. The tabooness of them, together, as Steve widens her stance, spreads her open, and sinks right into her in a single thrust. Her name falls from his lips, his tone gravelly. Intoxicated. She feels it just the same, her nails scratching at the wood as he bottoms out.

Steve curls his body over hers, and as he sets a rhythm with his hips that’s as delectable as it is punishing, she lets her eyes fall shut, the glow of Manhattan below them disappearing as she loses herself in the sensation. The sensation of finally having the man she’s been fantasizing over, of him buried deep inside of her, of him letting her indulge in her wildest desires right in her office, not a single soul knowing what they’re up to.

His lips pepper every inch of her skin that he can find, every kiss like another one of their dirty little secrets that she’ll keep. He’s not the least bit gentle, and when he slides his hands around her, cupping her breasts, she yelps when he pinches at her nipples.

“Tell me if it’s too much,” he says, because even when he’s doing exactly as she’s asked, she knows him, knows he could never live with himself if he hurt her.

“It’s not,” she assures him, letting out another whimper when he repeats the motion and she basks in the sharp tingle that follows. “It’s so good. So fucking good.”

Her moans fall freely now, if not a little muffled by the desk, but she couldn't care less. As she tethers between pain and pleasure, pleasure and pain, the seesaw of sensations is like gasoline slowly but surely dripping into the fire of her lust.

“What do you need, Nat?” Steve asks not a moment too soon, sensing her longing before she does in that uncanny way only he can.

She wishes she knew. She can feel the pleasure coiling at her spine, threatening to burst over her, and yet it’s as though she’s searching for that little extra spark to set her ablaze – a spark that she hadn’t even known she wanted, much less needed, until Steve had shown her tonight. As the frustration of tethering on the edge begins to set in, she whimpers. “Steve,” she breathes out, moaning at a particularly delicious thrust of his hips. “More.”

In her haze, she doesn’t quite catch what Steve murmurs in response, feeling only the kiss he presses to her cheek as his hands let go of her breasts, traveling down her sides, until they’re past her waist.

“Ah!” she cries out when his palm collides with her backside, the sound reverberating across the room. The burn dissolves into pleasure, and she keens. “Again,” she says, hearing Steve growl in response, hips driving deeper into her as he raises his palm and swats her once more. “Oh, just like that.”

He obliges her request, once, twice. And then another time, until soon, all the sensations brew into one outrageous storm, and as Steve reaches around her and down to where they’re joined, circling her bundle of nerves, it breaks. With a litany of incoherent sounds falling from her mouth, she falls apart, taking Steve right down the edge with her.

Just once. That’s what he had told himself when he decided to throw caution to the wind and kiss Natasha senseless. When he slipped that dress off her body, hoisted her up on that desk. One time to get her out of his system. One time to make him stop wondering.

But now that he knows what it’s like to have her in his arms, knows what she sounds like just as she’s on the brink of falling apart, he doesn’t think he can ever get enough.

He should leave, put as much distance between him and the temptation that is Natasha Romanoff. But as he pulls his pants up and disposes of the condom, he finds that he can’t just yet. “Come on, gorgeous,” he says as he lifts her into his arms, mindful of her pinkened skin. “Let’s get you cleaned up.”

A sated sigh slips from her lips as she settles against his chest. He pads out of her office, making his way to the other side of her suite enroute to her bedroom and right into the ensuite bathroom. When he reaches the large soaking tub, he sets her on the ledge, watching as she winces. He frowns. “I told you to tell me if it was too much.”

“It wasn’t,” she says firmly as he turns on the tap, adjusting the temperature. She leans forward, running her hand under the running water. A smile breaks out on her face. “Just how I like it.”

“I know.”

“I’m not going to lie,” she says, yawning. “I think I might just doze off.”

“I’ll turn this off,” he says, already reaching to shut the water. “The last thing we want is for you to drown in your own tub.”

“No!” she says, her lower lip jutting out in a pout, effectively stopping him in his tracks. “You know I can’t turn down a good bubble bath.”

“That I also know,” he says softly, biting the inside of his cheek to keep from smiling. He shouldn’t feel such joy at knowing these things about her. In fact, he shouldn’t even have all these little details in his brain, like the fact that she loves daisies and that her guilty pleasure is watermelon-flavored Sour Patch Kids, so much so that she always keeps an emergency stash of them in the bottom drawer of her desk. Or the fact that she got her love of candy from her mom, who would always have a pack in her bag ready for them to share. It’s also why she makes sure to carry some with her when she goes to visit the kids, sneaking them treats even though she knows the staff at the orphanage frowns upon the sugary delights.

But that was Natasha. Ever caring, ever kind-hearted. Always trying to do good with the privilege bestowed upon her.

There isn’t a goddamn thing that he doesn’t like about this woman, he realizes. Mind, soul, and now body – it attracts him all.

Which is why he shouldn’t be privy to all these things about her. None of it has to do with him doing his job. With keeping her safe.

He has to leave.

“Steve.” Natasha’s voice breaks him out of his reverie, and when he looks at her, he finds her brows furrowed in concern. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” he says, shaking his head. “I’m okay.”

“Are you sure?”

“All good,” he assures her. He wishes he could give her more than a few words, but he doesn’t trust himself not to crack open now, to confess to her that the absolute last thing he wants to do is leave.

“Well, then…” she begins, a sheepish expression suddenly painting her features. “Do you mind stepping out for a bit while I use the little girl’s room?” Despite his thoughts being at war, he finds that he can’t help but chuckle at her request. She gasps, shoving his arm even as she tries desperately not to crack a smile. “Don’t laugh! Everyone pees.”

“Really? I never knew,” he quips, prompting her to roll her eyes.

“You just fucked me into oblivion,” she adds. “Peeing is not optional.”

He arches a brow at her. “You’ll say things like that, but God forbid I watch you pee?”

“A little mystery never killed anybody.”

He shakes his head. “I can just go.”

“No,” she says, reaching out to catch his arm again. “I only need a minute.” She looks up at him, eyes wide. “Come back, please.”

He’s not sure if it’s the please she added at the end of her request or the vulnerability in her eyes as she said it, but either way, it renders any thoughts he had of walking out of her front door right now moot. With a nod, he makes his way out of her bathroom, leaving the door just ajar.

As he waits, he paces her bedroom, his hand rubbing at the back of his neck. He stops by her windowsill, looking out into the glimmering city. Below, he finds the crowds still bustling, going about their night, the image only serving to highlight his current solitude. Here he is, standing atop one of the tallest skyscrapers in town, alone in the bedroom of the woman he’s just slept with. A woman who also happens to be his client, his assignment. A woman he had no business touching, much less having.

He leans his forehead against the glass, sighing. It’s when he finds himself at a crossroads like this that he truly missed his mom the most. What he would give to be able to pick up the phone and give her a ring again. But even though that’s no longer a possibility, he still knows what she would tell him – the only answer she deemed right and universal to every predicament.

When in doubt, do the right thing.

Guilt washes over him from the top of his head down to his toes. If there’s one thing that’s crystallized for him tonight, it’s that being with Natasha impaired his judgment, and that’s just not something he could afford, given his job. The very same job that not only requires him to make decisions on the fly, but that also demands that he make the right ones. Mistakes didn’t come cheap in his field. At best, they led to injury. At worst, they were fatal. The last thought brings a chill down his spine, and he reminds himself of the file he has in his office, the very same file Alexei had brought to him way back when, filled with stolen pictures of Natasha that the maniac had coveted, and letters that he had written to her. The endless reports that detailed every which way that poor excuse of a human being used to subvert security. He reminds himself that if not for that one detective who had gotten there in time, he may never have gotten the chance to meet Natasha.

He implores himself to remember all of that. To sear into his memory what was at stake if he chooses to be selfish right now, and what the consequences could be. With that, he moves away from the window, rapping softly on the frame of the open door.

“All clear!”

Given the clearance, he walks in, and the sight that greets him has him cursing under his breath for the umpteenth time this evening. In the tub, Natasha sits surrounded by bubbles, her hair piled high up in a bun.

“Hi,” she says, her tone soft and her face all but glowing. She pats the space he had set her down on not long ago. “Come sit.” His only response is to nod, making his way over to her to perch on the marble ledge. “We should talk.”

“We should,” he says, resisting the urge to push the strands of hair that have fallen loose from her bun away from her face.

“I can tell you’re wound up, Steve,” she says.

His lips quirk up slightly. “Isn’t that what I usually tell you?”

She cracks a smile, but it lasts but a second as she reaches for his hand. “You regret this.”

“What? Natasha, no,” he says, shaking his head. “Never. Don’t you ever think that.”

She bites her lip. “Really?”

“Of course,” he says without skipping a beat, his hand reaching to cup her face. “Being with you was a dream come true.”

She sighs, relief washing over her face as she leans into his touch. “It was a dream come true for me, too.”

“It was incredible,” he adds, swallowing the tightness that’s suddenly formed in his throat. “I could never regret it.” He sighs, dreading his next words. But he has to say them. Has to be honest. “But, Nat, it can’t happen again.” The sadness that fills her eyes is a dagger straight to his heart, but he soldiers on. Do the right thing, he reminds himself. “My head isn’t clear when I’m with you, and I need it to be in order to do my job. I can’t let anything happen to you.”

“You would never let anything happen to me.”

The way she says it, with so much trust and certainty, floors him. And it’s this, the amount of faith she has in him and in his ability to keep her out of harm’s way, that gives him the strength to remain steadfast. “And it’s going to stay that way,” he promises. “You haven’t a clue what it would do to me if something happened to you.”

“Tell me,” she says, eyes imploring.

He shakes his head, his mind refusing to entertain the possibility. “It’s not going to happen.”

She reaches for the hand he has on her face, clasping it between her own. “Having you by my side this last year… I’ve never felt safer.”

“Good,” he says, allowing his lips to pull up in a little smile. “I’m glad.”

Easily, if not a little too easily, they slip into conversation as if it’s the end of just another night for them at the gym. She talks about the plans she’s made for the upcoming bachelor party of her best friend, and they both laugh at how ridiculous some of the decorations she’s ordered are going to turn out. In turn, he gives her his assessment of what he thinks is blooming between the doorman and the receptionist in her building.

“You suspected there was something going on between those two and you’re only telling me now?” she says, narrowing her eyes at him. “You know I’ve been trying to play matchmaker for weeks!”

“I needed to make sure my intel was- hey!” he exclaims, barely dodging the water she splashes his way. As she sticks her tongue out at him, he glares at her witheringly.

“Serves you right for withholding information,” she says, only to gasp when he suddenly retaliates. “Rogers!”

The image of her cheek and shoulder marred by bubbles causes him to burst out in laughter. “I’m sorry!” he says, and despite her best effort, she too begins laughing. “Here, let me help you.”

“You better,” she mutters, and he rolls his lips to prevent another laugh from slipping.

He reaches forward, gingerly wiping away the suds from her cheek with the back of his hand, doing the same with the ones on her shoulder. “Your skin is so soft.”

“It’s all the bath oils,” she says, taking his hand. “You should try them sometime.” She scoops some water into her palm to pour it over his, massaging his fingers. “Or, better yet… you could come join me.”

As she looks at him, she bites her lip, and he can only groan. “You, Natasha Romanoff, are trouble.” Her only response is to shrug, and it takes every bit of restraint he has left in his body to not lean in and kiss that little smirk off her lips. Focus. “That… person. He could have easily harmed you, and all he got was a measly six months of jail time.”

“And he hasn’t sniffed this place since,” she points out. “You’re exceptional at your job, Steve. As is your team. I haven’t even gotten so much as a suspicious letter.”

“And that’s how it’s going to remain,” he says, adamant.

She huffs out a breath that’s long and winded. “You’re really not going to touch me again, are you?”

He shakes his head no, smiling sadly as his response elicits another disappointed sigh from her. He lifts their joined hands, bringing it up to press a kiss to the back of hers. “But know, in my dreams, I have you every night.” She throws her head back, groaning, and he chuckles. “I should go.”

“Yeah,” she says, tilting her head playfully to the side. “You keep saying that.”

He grins. “Can I get you a towel?”

“Please.”

He stands to retrieve a towel from the rack, grabbing the fluffiest one, and when he returns to her, he finds that smile playing on her lips again. “What?”

“Well, if you’re going to leave, I guess you better turn around.”

It shouldn’t be that hard to do. But when all he wants is to wrap this towel around her, pull her in, and carry her to bed, the effort feels Herculean. He chuckles, setting the cloth down by the ledge before making his way out. “Goodnight, Natasha.”