fic recs

You smiled up at him, biting your lip. “Who said I want gentle, Buck?”

That was all it took. In one smooth motion, he pulled you into his lap so you were straddling him, your knees sinking into the cushions on either side of his hips. His hands, warm flesh on one side, cool vibranium on the other, settled on your waist, holding you firmly in place. He didn’t kiss you right away. Instead, he let the tension build, staring at you with that intense, almost predatory focus he got when the soldier side of him stirred.

His thumbs slipped under the hem of your shirt, slowly pushing the fabric up. Inch by inch, he exposed your skin to the cool air, tracing the line of your ribs, the curve of your waist. When he finally tugged the shirt over your head and tossed it aside, he leaned in, lips brushing just below your ear.

“Been thinking about this,” he confessed quietly. “About how warm and tight you get for me. How you squeeze around my cock like you never want me to leave.”

You shivered at his words, grinding down against the hard ridge of him through his jeans. Bucky hissed, his grip tightening. He let you rock against him for a few long moments, building that delicious friction, but every time you tried to speed up he held you still.

“Easy,” he murmured, voice dropping into a low rumble. “You’ve been teasing me for an hour, doll. Now it’s my turn. We’re doing this my way… slow.”

He finally kissed you, slow at first, almost lazy, his mouth claiming yours with patient thoroughness. His tongue teased yours, tasting, exploring, while one hand slid up your back to unhook your bra. The cool metal of his left hand made your nipples harden instantly as he cupped your breasts, rolling them gently, then pinching just hard enough to draw a whimper from you.

Bucky smiled against your lips. “So sensitive tonight.” He dipped his head, trailing open-mouthed kisses down your neck, across your collarbone, until his mouth closed over one nipple. He sucked slowly, tongue swirling, while his other hand worked your other breast. The contrast between hot mouth and cool metal fingers had you arching into him, grinding harder against his lap.

Your hands fumbled with his shirt, desperate to feel skin. He let you pull it off, revealing the scarred, muscled torso you loved, metal plates glinting in the low light. You ran your palms over his chest, feeling the steady thump of his heart, then lower, tracing the sharp V of his hips until you reached the button of his jeans.

He caught your wrist. “Slow,” he reminded you, voice husky. “We’ve got time.”

But he did let you open his jeans. You pushed them down just enough to free him. Bucky’s cock sprang out, thick, heavy, flushed dark at the tip and already glistening with pre-cum. It was big, intimidatingly so, the veined length curving slightly upward. You wrapped your hand around as much of it as you could, stroking slowly from base to head, feeling him throb in your palm.

“Fuck, that’s good,” he groaned, head falling back against the couch. His hips twitched once, but he stayed in control, letting you explore him. You pumped him leisurely, thumb swiping over the sensitive head, spreading the slickness. Bucky’s breathing grew ragged, his metal hand sliding into your hair to guide your mouth to his for another deep kiss.

Minutes stretched like that, kissing, touching, teasing. He worked your shorts and panties down your thighs, fingers dipping between your legs to find you soaked. Two thick fingers circled your clit with maddening slowness, then dipped inside, curling just right while his thumb kept up the pressure. He brought you right to the edge, then eased off, again and again, until you were trembling and begging against his mouth.

“Please, Bucky… need you.”

He pulled his fingers free and brought them to his lips, tasting you with a low hum. Then he lifted you slightly, positioning the thick head of his cock at your entrance. He rubbed it up and down your slit, coating himself in your wetness, teasing your clit with every pass.

“Look at me,” he ordered softly.

Your eyes locked with his as he finally started to push in.

The stretch was exquisite, slow, deliberate, every inch forcing you open wider around his girth. Bucky’s jaw clenched, a muscle ticking as he fought the urge to thrust up hard. “So fucking tight… that’s it, take it all.”

You sank down onto him gradually, whimpering at the fullness. When he was finally buried to the hilt, your ass flush against his thighs, he wrapped both arms around you and pulled you tight to his chest. No thrusting. Just deep, complete connection.

“There we go,” he whispered, pressing a kiss to your temple. “Just keep me warm, doll. Feel how deep I am? How full you are?”

His cock twitched inside you, heavy and hot, the veins pulsing against your walls. You clenched around him involuntarily and he groaned, the sound vibrating through his chest. His hands stroked your back, your sides, your thighs, gentle soothing touches that contrasted with the filthy fullness between your legs.

Time slowed. The rain continued outside. Bucky stayed perfectly still except for the occasional lazy roll of his hips that pressed him impossibly deeper, nudging against that spot that made stars burst behind your eyes. He whispered praises and filthy promises against your skin:

“Such a good girl, keeping my big dick warm like this.”

“Could stay buried in this perfect pussy for hours.”

“Feel me throbbing? That’s all for you.”

Your body relaxed into his, every nerve alight with the constant, overwhelming sensation of being stretched and filled. Every small shift made you both gasp. His metal hand traced patterns on your lower back while his flesh hand tangled in your hair.

When you eventually started to squirm, desperate for more friction, Bucky held you firmly in place. “Uh-uh, doll. Don’t move.” He pressed a slow, open-mouthed kiss to your neck, then another, savoring the way you fluttered and clenched around his cock. “You wanted this slow… so that’s what you’re getting. I’m not moving until I decide you’re ready.”

— yours truly, ѕℓυtdιεr.

how badly you wanted to fuck his brains out, oh how fast you wanted to go — but the soldier had to know how much you love him, how your body yearns for his own, how it molded itself just for him, just to fit him.

how his own body caressed yours, huge palms splayed against the small of your back, trying to move you deeper against him — as if you weren’t already buried balls deep.

his forehead tipped into the crook of your neck, soft pants and whispered breaths fanned against your hot skin as he let out shaky, broken whines.

“You know how much i love you… right sergeant?” he gasped, broken, wantonly, trying to dig his face deeper into you — crawl into your body, share a soul at least.

you finger tips rake down his shoulders, to his biceps, his forearms, before trailing to take both his hands in yours, holding them tightly into your own — his flesh one hot and clammy from how long you’ve been dragging this out, but you dont care.

you bring them to your lips. knuckled that have endured decades of suffering, of pain. fingers that have been at the wake of peoples demise, that have gripped necks, triggers, knife handles and arms of a chair, like just another, regular tuesday.

you peck at them, a soft swipe of plush against the calloused skin, a contrast to everything he’s ever known. a soft reminder that tells him ‘this is your future now.” a sigil carved right into his very being.

and you give his vibranium arm the same treatment.

gentle plucks against his fingertips, each a petal’s touch of a kiss, each an anchor to him. a million pound weight lifting from his aching shoulders.

his back shudders. lungs aching, throat working overtime against the thick spit in his mouth as he whines a quiet “a-aagh—!” Barely there, barely a warning.

“I love you so much, Jamie,” a kiss to the back of his hand, “all of you,” his wrists, the plates shift as you press. “I dont know what i’d do without you, Bucky.”

you pause your moving hips, letting him feel you wholly. holding your complete warmth against him, keep your body on his until he feels your devotion.

his cock stirs inside you. twitching within the confines of your plush walls, aching for release, for some kind of pulse against his blushed head, spurting hot pre-cum inside of you.

“Too..” he swallows thickly, laboured breaths coming fast as if he’d ran a marathon — like he’d get tired out from running that far. “S’too much, doll—“

you smile as you trail your hand up his back, earning another shudder from your cold fingers, carding them through his soft (tufts), before tugging his head up from your shoulder. he exhaled wobbly, plush lips kiss bitten and red, eyes achingly worn with tears as he stared up into your own eyes — reverence written through his pupils as they dilated at your image. completely and utterly pussy whipped.

“Want me to stop, huh?” you huff, teeth bared in a smile as Bucky shuts his eyes — exasperated and totally spent. You lean down, nudging your nose to his cheek. “Use your words, babyboy, do you want me to stop or keep going?”

you rocked your hips back, garnering a choked up whine from his throat as his own hips buckled up into you. “You want me to keep showing you how much i love you, right?”

he nods, resembling a bobble head at the strenuous pace he affirms your words. you reward him with your fingers, stroking through his soft tresses of curls, rocking your hips back and forth on top of him in that same gentle, soft, loving pace.

You lean forward. lips against his ear, warm breath on his skin as your breath hitches, “You feel so good, Buck… God, i can feel you everywhere.”

his mouth shuts on a groan, lips sealed in a line as he moves his hips into yours. his hard length trapped within the tight, hot hold you hug him in — inside and out — red tip caressing your sensitive cervix with each push in.

his bottom lip wobbles as he hides his sobs. so overwhelmed with your own devotion for the man — your words, your body, all their own scripture for the spectre that is Bucky Barnes.

his palms splay against the flesh of your ass, kneading into the fat like a cat on their most favourite blanket. He inhales shakily, trying to regain some kind of composure, before whispering into your shoulder — now moist and sticky from his tears and spit.

“I’m — hmm…” he sniffles, “I’m so lu-ucky to have you.”

the corse hair trailing his pelvis tickles your clit, all too sensitive, making you gasp softly. you can feel his cock chub, thicken with cum as he continues picking up his hips against you, as you pulse around him.

you hum, half moan, half laugh, as you watch him. he never takes his eyes off of you — keeping direct eye contact through your joint release as it climbs up and up through your bellies.

“Y’gonna cu-um, baby?” his hands help you grind into him — all thick heat and warmth.

“mhm — yeah, i am,” you gasp as his metal hand slips to the dip of your back, arching you into his hold, urging you deeper. the change of position making you lose yourself more, and more. “Fuck — just like that, Jamie... touch me?”

he almost scoffs at the request, flesh hand already finding its way between the two of you, thumb circling in time with his hips before you could get your words out. it’s like you share a mind, you think, like you’re one.

the surprised pulses of your walls from the contact ushers him further and further to the line. “Baby… baby, m’gonna cum…” his voice hushed. his body warning him, stuttering hips and jagged touches against your bud — you hitch your hips, thrusting against him with vigour, chasing your release.

“Keep going… Just… like that—!” ripped through your body, your orgasm washed against you harsh in a full body chill. fingers deftly tugging at his hair, trying to keep yourself grounded in Bucky. The tugging and throbbing of you, you, you, finally catching up to him.

His own orgasm uncaged, twitching inside of your confines in a desperate attempt to touch more of you, before he reaches finality. warm white spurts of cum drip down your walls, making you gasp with your own overstimulation — making you think about the relief Bucky must be feeling.

finally releasing all that tension, all his love inside of you, again, and again, and again, until he was fully spent. drowsiness seeping through his mind like a foggy cloud, his blue eyes sheathed by his thick eyelashes, half lidded.

your joint finishes ebbed, leaving the two of you a mix of sweaty flesh and devotion. he pulls you close, metal arm wrapped around your middle, his flesh one holding your head to his collar, stroking your hair, squeezing you against him.

“Can we,” he sighed deep, savouring the air of your mix one last time. “Can we stay like this a little longer? Just sit like this?”

and you do. coming down from intense care and passion — holding onto his shoulders, squeezing them occasionally, breathing in the heady scent of his sweat and body wash.

“I meant everything i said, you know,” you move back, getting a good look at his reddened complexion. tears streaked and down right adorable.

he sniffles into a smile, into a chuckle. his laugh having an immediate effect on you, your tummy coiling with butterflies.

“everything. I love you, Bucky.”

he hums, eyes gazing into yours, glancing at your lips, before finding you again. “Thank you, sweetheart. Thank you, so much.”

taglist: @devililithh @buckyfmd @umbreoni @bckyslover @nikkitabarnes @miraclediviner @barnes-babydoll @kqtholins

bucky taglist: @dolcesaints @wildflowersandvibranium @colettebarnes @ssop-hiee @the-once-and-future-bitch @metal-armed-muse @bucklesby-barnes @herejustforbuckybarnes @overwintering-soldier @slutdier @sebastianstanisahotmf @demiebarnes

The mattress creaks and the frame knocks into the wall, chipping the paint, denting the wood where the two meet.

Forehead to forehead, sweat accumulating with torrid breaths and aching muscles, Bucky's hips caught to yours. Pressing, slamming, holding down as he clenches his glutes and humps, elongating the pleasure, taunting.

But the light chime of his tags kept ringing. They keep batting across your chest, cold and moist, patting your chin and dragging across your skin when you were right there.

It was just as your legs fell open, knees laying up as his dick dragged in and out, and he willed his noises to stay at a minimum, when the tags flittered to the dip of your neck. Your lips parted, sighing, rolling your eyes as it tap tap tap's and sings against your hot skin. You move, careful not to ruin the precision, pressing the chain against his peck, holding them firm to his chest.

At first, Bucky almost sat up, almost paused to ask if you were okay — pushing at his sternum, brows taut and eyes glassy, whining with every breath. Instead he pushed deeper, metal fingers drawing up your body until they held your jaw, squeezing your cheeks, making you look into his eyes.

"What's the matter?" His breath sticks to your face, bumping his nose to yours. "Pushin' me away? C'mon, speak to me."

You can't. That's the problem. It feels like with each pull and push, each pulse around his cock, and every kiss his tip grants your cervix, he drives all linguistic knowledge out of your brain, spilling it from your lips in garbled nonsense and breathy moans.

A whiney hum spills out as you tighten your lips into a line, keeping your jaw firm. You lean back into the pillow, shutting your eyes trying to find any semblance of words, but his hips keep moving. Slower now, yet still as effective, still holding you rigid and perfectly, and tauntingly precise. Rutting the length of himself inside of you while the fuzz of hair that littered the base kept grazing your clit. It isn't until one hand claws at the meat of his shoulder, and the other, the hand that pushed at the chain, leaving tiny dents in it's wake, fisted at the metal.

It clinks as the tags stay dangling from your palm, bumping to and fro.

"Oh, sweetheart," Bucky soothes, the warm metal of his thumb strokes against your bottom lip, slicked with spit and salty with sweat. "We're they botherin' you?"

You nod quickly, leaving a sharp smile on his face, dipping down to leave gentle kisses against your jaw.

"My smart girl," you keen into the praise, leaning deeper into his hand, letting his voice rasp and vibrate into your skin, leaving more room for him to lick and kiss. "Thought you wanted me to stop."

Ardently, you shake your head, ruffling your hair into the pillow behind you.

"No, no stopping. 'M not gonna stop." And he doesn't. His flesh hand replaces your own around the tags and he slots them between his teeth.

Salt and iron cover his tongue, sweat that had dripped from his down body, and your own that had mixed in as it had laid against your own skin, or tapped annoyingly your neck. It makes a dull sound as they sat firmly between his teeth, braced to the side, just where his molars start and his canines dig into the printed letters of his name.

It shouldn't be hot.

The sight of his mouth full, his teeth bared, carrying something precious with an iron grip of his jaw, made your walls pulse. You almost wanted to swap it out, to reach up and take the tags in your own mouth, enveloped in the debauched taste of century old metal, skin and spit.

But its hedonic. You love how he looks. Skin slick, chest heaving, drool already pooling at the edges of the tags, at the corner of his mouth right where his lips met. Animalistic in a way.

"There we go, there we go," his speech muffled, yet still affirmative and firm as he brings back the pace. Making your head drop back and mouth hang open on a gasp, arching your back. The warmth of his palm glides up your torso, leaving goosebumps as he drags up and down, before pulling your leg up by the thigh to latch onto his waist and holding you firmly at the hip. All while holding himself up on his forearm, vibranium fingers holding the top of your head reassuringly, grazing his thumb on your hairline.

He hums, unable to speak with his mouth full, unable to gather the spit about to fall. Your hands claw at the contorting muscles of his shoulder blades, moving to capture his hair between your fingers.

The tug you force has him stuttering, hips pressing to your own, the hair surrounding his base tickles again, right against your nub.

"Oh—fuck," you breathe out, jaw slack and tight all at once, the light feeling of release easing up your back as your thighs begin to tingle and tremble around his torso. "Bucky… Bucky, please."

The rivulets of spit drop, coating your neck and chin, and he follows them down until his hot, wet breath finds your temple. His chest caves with each inhale, keeping his hips up, holding down the pace that has you throbbing up his shaft, your nails digging into his shoulder and thighs shaking. He can feel the ring around the root of him, creamy and white, mixed in with the dark patch of hair.

The tags tinkle dully, let go from the cell of his teeth to lay wet next to your neck. You pay no mind to the slurping sound of him gathering spit from his lips; only staying in the blissed out haze of Bucky's body atop of yours and his pretty cock slapping in and out of you.

"C'mon, c'mon…" he repeats like a mantra, whispering under his breath, heated on the shell of your ear. "You got it, fuck, you feel so good. Wanna cum—cum inside of you, wanna push it in deep, n'keep fuckin' it in… Please, please, please…"

As your nails print crescents into his skin, your mouth holds a jumble of 'yes's to his shoulder. Balm and torrid to the meat of his shoulder, your body locks and a sweet ache begins to release around the stretch of him. Your lips press to his collarbone, muffling the shudders and whines and gasps that release as he fucks you through it, wet slaps and mumbled grunts chorusing together while you jolt and pulse.

It isn't long until he follows through, finishing deep inside, pressing and holding himself as his cock twitches with each spurt of cum. As if awoken from his daze, he keeps his hips moving.

Splatterings of white coat both of your pelvises and thighs, shuddering with overstimulation, muscles limp from overexertion, eyes half lidded and lips parted and red.

Bucky slowed himself as your jerking lessened and your teeth bared to hiss at the mild pain, and his dick softened. He watched, holding himself up with his knuckles to the pillow, guiding the softer limb to stay inside of your full warmth, uncaring about the mess that now coats his fingers — absentmindedly licking them off like candy residue.

Sighs and soft groans alike leave you both as he slips out. Your nails caress his torso, gliding gently up the red marks you printed on his back, down to the sensitive muscles of his ass, making him twitch and press his hips to yours again with a stifled laugh to your jaw.

"Careful, might get hard again before I can clean you up." He kisses and breathes you in, holding you into his body as your fingers hold their gentle rhythm.

You huff a lazy version of a laugh, nosing against the sweet smell of sweat where his neck meets his shoulder.

"Oh no, how awful," You croak sarcastically. The weakness in your voice makes you both laugh fully, rumbling chests pressed against one another, cheeks tight with smiles, and eyes watching with warm fragments. After a short moment of silence, of lungs catching up, you follow down the column of his neck to where his dog tags laid lopsided on your chest, and hummed. "I liked that thing you did."

"'That thing'?" He pressed, smirking, lowering his voice. "I've got many things goin' for me, sweetheart, be specific."

Another laugh breaks, crinkling your eyes at the corners, playfully pushing at his chest.

"That dog tag thing, you know, putting them in your mouth."

"You liked that?"

You nodded, fervently. "Uh-huh. Very much."

His lips move into a soft smile, catching the slick metal cards between his fingers to bring them up.

"That so?" He teases quietly, dragging them across your bottom lip, leaving the dewy residue to sit, sliding them just between the seam of your lips only to jut it out with a pop. "Maybe next time you can hold them for me?"

With your tongue poking out, you get a taste of the flavour that pooled alongside Bucky's own tongue. Musky and sour, tangy with body heat. And with a soft press on your thigh, you know that you're under a limit.

"Next time meaning five minutes?" You prod, tilting your head innocently. "Haven't even gotten cleaned up and it seems like little Sergeant Barnes is reporting for duty."

With a tut, he holds your chin, shaking his head. "Nuh-uh, fuck that and your smart mouth. Open wide, hold tight."

You obey and bite down as he slots the tags between your teeth, tugging at the chain twice to test out your grip. You scrunch your nose and furrow your brows, playfully pulling back at the chain. The grotesque brackishness of the tester you got grips you fully and drips down your throat.

"'Little Sergeant Barnes'," he repeats, sitting up as far as he could to grab ahold on himself. Sticky, wet and just as hard as before. He strokes himself, groaning as he fists tighter at his ruddy tip, coaxing a pearl of precum. Defiantly, he taps his heaviness on your clit. "Keep that up and making sure every inch of you aches with me the next day, understood?"

A giggle bubbles up before you could force it down. He slaps his cock against your clit again, holding and coating it down and between your lips, still creamy and dripping his own release, bullying your button with his tip. Your whine is muffled between your teeth as you bear them down.

"Understood?" He pushes, voice firmer, harsher, and you nod, heart racing, ribs already quivering. The sounds of your joint bodies squelch louder and louder, as your head lays dizzier and dizzier, but his voice whispers so soft and the way he terrorises and hounds your insides brings stars to the corners of your eyes.

taglist: @devililithh @buck-star @buckyfmd @nikkitabarnes @miraclediviner @barnes-babydoll @kqtholins @wint3rbarnes @swimmingnightcolor @ilovestizzy @chronic-fangirl-222 @ornateglass @bucklesby-barnes @avgdestitute @demiebarnes @sunkissedspell @stanmarvelous @castielscaplan @ladymiseryy @phoenix-in-writing @layaflores @wherewinterblooms @sunday-bug @buckybunni @filthgf @angelryex @megsavengersslut @sassandscribbles @amidnightwish21 @goobers-mcgee @my-fabulousness-has-arrived @angelryex @iloveotters101 @venigrantrogers

marvel taglist: @colettebarnes @marvel--obsessed @pughsbelova @quantumbarnes @my-drvidess

seb taglist: @slutdier @clover1004 @colettebarnes @metal-armed-muse @68ep @herejustforbuckybarnes @quantumbarnes @buckysdecaflove @erina00 @onyx8514

When someone called you special, the deepest and ugliest parts of your mind sneered. Resurrected at the mere notion that 'special' and your name should go together. No one called you special unless they were about to hurt you or needed something from you.

Valentina Allegra D'Fontaine called you 'special' in the news release when she pushed out a PR piece about your admittance to the team. Unfortunately for you, she was filed under both of the above categories.

For someone to say it without the undertone of malice was hard for you to accept. Because despite all of your insecurities, how were you meant to feel special when you were surrounded by superheroes? Three soldiers who had been injected with a serum that made them stronger beyond your comprehension, two women who had survived unimaginable horrors and manipulation, and one kind man who had also fallen into Valentina's grasp, and was given powers that far surpassed everyone's combined efforts.

You were nothing special all things considered.

That phrase slipped past your lips much more frequently than Bucky cared for. The self deprecating voice in your head he longed to squash. And it was because he knew better.

Bucky had spent most of this century seeing the worst and most evil parts of the world. He had dug into your past when Valentina dropped you into his lap, the habit of knowing who surrounded him hard to break. What he found had angered him, almost enough to act on it, but he refrained — knowing doing so would break the trust you needed to have in him. Yet if someone could survive what you went through, and still be able to smile and crack a joke while in serious situations like being under enemy fire that wasn't "nothing special". That was the gold standard.

"What's wrong, rookie? You look exhausted like a horse. The old man keeping you up with late night training drills?" Yelena asked as she spotted you on the bench press, noting the bags under your eyes.

Training drills isn't exactly how you would describe the events of last night.

"Uh, no, just haven't really been sleeping well," you answered, trying to keep the heat out of your face and the tremor from your muscles. You pushed the bar up, racking the weight at the top.

Yelena's eyes sharpened as she leaned against one of the supports on the machine. "Mhm, maybe you should stop sneaking into Bucky's room and you'd actually get some sleep."

You sat up, not about to fall for the bait this easily. After all, you and Bucky spending the night in the same room was hardly news anymore, especially after the night of your first successful mission that still only came swimming to your memories in fragments. So, you leaned into sympathy, hoping that maybe the doe eyed look would get her to drop the teasing.

"You know it's easier for me to sleep next to someone," you shrugged, hoping it wasn't too stiff or robotic.

"Mhm," Yelena said again, passing you a water bottle before beginning to adjust the weight for her set. "And I've said that my room is also open, yet you go to your mentor."

You stood up to switch places with her. "Trust me, you don't want to put up with me. Just a habit to go next door instead of further down the hall when I'm half asleep."

"No, that's fine, I see how it is," Yelena continued. "Barnes always gets the good company. One day I'll get you to say yes to a girls night."

"Trust me, I'm not that interesting," you assured, continuing to steer the conversation into something you were more comfortable with. "He just puts up with me because he has to. My company really isn't anything special."

And there it was again. The deflection that had tension rising in Bucky's body. Curse his super soldier hearing for being able to eavesdrop. Or maybe his eardrums were just tuned to the frequency of your voice, no matter where it was in the Tower.

It wasn't like he could even rectify the situation right then. Every idea passing through his mind would all but announce the relationship like a big flashing billboard. He understood why you wanted to keep it a secret for now, and would keep his promise for your comfort. So all he could do now was stay silent.

He watched as you and Yelena finished your workout from the corner of his eye, exchanging small jokes about something that happened on a previous mission. Bucky had to admit, your way of slipping back into the armor of your persona was commendable. Something he wasn't sure he even taught you, just a default setting you had that would protect your most fragile pieces.

You felt the storm cloud of his gaze before you heard the thunder or saw the crack of lightning. The catalyst to Bucky's profession of love was you saying you were nothing special in that mountain safe house. For reasons unbeknownst to you, that phrase seemed to really get under his skin. Even before you were aware of how he felt beyond seeing you as a problem to manage, he had tried to get you out of the self depreciating language. Refocusing your words into learning the mechanics of gadgets, at the shooting range, in sparring matches. Anywhere he could slip in some form of praise that took an annoyingly short amount of time for him to figure out you responded well to.

Stuck on the puzzle of just why it seemed to irk the soldier, you moved on instinct to your suite; hoping to maybe catch a nap before dinner.

After you had showered, you were still mulling over the conversation with Yelena, picking apart pieces of it to see if you had let your facade slip. Overthinking how you would approach the fallout should you have divulged new information, when there was a sharp knock at your door.

You had just slipped an oversized shirt over your head when the door opened anyway, Bucky shutting it behind him as soon as he crossed the threshold.

"Hello to you too," you quipped, flopping down on your couch. "I was about to nap since someone kept me up past my bed time."

For emphasis, you yawned loudly, stretching your arms above your head as you started to flip through channels on the small TV.

But he didn't chuckle or send back a retort like you had expected. "Why do you keep saying you're nothing special?"

So maybe you would finally get the answer to the conundrum that had been plaguing you since the night in the Alps. "Just a turn of phrase, Barnes, you know how it is."

"Well get it out of your vocabulary."

His voice was lower in register, commanding like he was talking to you after you were knowingly insubordinate. You didn't really have an argument for it either, not really wanting to hash out just why you continued to say it. "It's really not a big deal, just something to get Yelena from prying," you waved it off, now juggling how to get another trained soldier off the scent of a secret.

"It is a big deal," he insisted. "Do I need to show you just how special you are?"

Your gaze flicked up to his, abandoning the endless scroll of too many viewing options. "Bucky, really, it's fine."

"No, it's not. Because while you say it's just a phrase, it's something you actually believe." He stepped further into your room, not crowding into your personal space just yet.

There was a flash of hurt behind his eyes that you still couldn't comprehend. People who told you that you were special always ended up manipulating you in some way or another. But someone like Bucky would surely not be that cruel. It was just hard for you to come to terms with the fact that he didn't want anything from you, he just wanted…you.

He offered a hand out to you, then gentler… "Let me show you."

You tilted your head, wondering if this was going to end up being a lesson just like the one last night. Taking his hand, you let him lead you to the edge of your bed. He sat, while his hands locked on your waist, keeping you standing and between his thighs. Turning your body so you faced away from him, he nodded to the full length mirror directly across from you two.

"Alright, what are you doing?" you asked, shifting your stance as his touch began drifting under your shirt.

"Just watch. Trust me, solnyshko," he whispered, wrapping a hand around your jaw to make sure you face forward. His other hand was already lifting your shirt up over your head, palm warming your exposed skin.

"You know if you just wanted me out of my clothes, all you had to do was ask," you murmured heart beginning to beat faster.

"Would you hush and let me do this?" he asked, thumb swiping at a scar right underneath the band of your bra.

"Now. I have a few scars so I know what it's like to look at them and only see pain. But I see proof of survival."

You couldn't help the shiver that ran through your body at his soft touch, nor the adoration in his eyes as he looked up at you. Goosebumps rose in the wake of his touch, when he found a bullet wound right on your hip. "You got this one when you jumped in front of that shot that was meant for me, remember?"

Nodding, you shifted your body again restlessly. The praise almost more exposing than the fact that he was slowly uncovering your body. He pressed a kiss right over the scar while he rolled your shorts down. Hands warm and sure as they moved back up your legs, tracing the faint marks on your thighs that had come from years of fighting.

"That was incredibly brave," he started, and you tried to look away from your own reflection. Bravery was not something you would've called it, more like instinct and a lack of impulse control. But Bucky's hand drifted back to your chin to easily guide your vision back to the mirror.

"Maybe a little stupid. And yet you barely flinched, stood up and told me to 'be more fucking careful'. You didn't even react when I yelled back for you to not be so reckless," he murmured, still looking at you through the mirror.

You huffed softly, resisting the urge to bat his hands away as they warmed pieces of your soul that you didn't even realize were frozen over. "You're not that scary."

Bucky hummed in amusement, "I'll keep that in mind." With one smooth flick of his wrist, your bra came loose, the straps falling down your arms as he pushed it to the floor to join the growing pool of fabric at your feet.

"Are you ever going to tell me where you learned that?" you asked, meeting his eyes in the mirror.

A dusting of pink appeared along his cheeks as he cleared his throat. "Used to practice on pillows back in the 40s and stole bras from the laundry room. I wasn't about to be humiliated if I fell in bed with a woman."

"And did that happen often?" The words slipped out before you could stop them. Even if it had been meant to tease, what a dumb thing to say. You weren't naive enough to think you were the first person he had slept with or seen at this level of undress, but you really didn't want to have the mental imagery of comparing yourself to his previous partners.

But his smile was gentle as his hands wandered up to knead the soft flesh of your breasts, thumb rolling against your nipple that had peaked with the draft of the room. "Probably not as often as you think. And definitely not with anyone like you."

Another huff left your lips again like you still didn't believe him, even as your knees started to buckle from the sensations rolling through you. Your body leaning more and more back into the heat and strength of him. Almost every inch of you was bared, shaking from more than just the movements of his hands and yet he was still somehow holding you up and making sure you stayed staring straight ahead. "You don't have to say things like that just to appease me you know."

"You genuinely believe the women I entertained back in the day knew how to fire a weapon as well as you, wield a knife like I taught you, or talk back to me like I let you?"

"You know that's not what I mean."

"Sweetheart, your good looks aren't the only reason I fell for you. Maybe one day I'll organize all of the reasons into a list. But right now I wanna take care of you." Bucky's hands skimmed from your shoulders down to the waistband of your panties. "Can I?"

You nod as his fingers drift over the damp fabric barely concealing just what his simple touch had done to you.

"Good girl, keep watching, okay?" his voice was a low rumble, vibrating from his chest through your back where you were now leaning most of your weight on him.

You wanted to roll your eyes, and ask just why the mirror was still necessary, but the tone he used was one you knew not to question. His fingers slid down, circling around your clit over the fabric. A breath you didn't realize you were holding had your shoulders sagging, and a small whimper left your chest.

"Look at you already," he cooed, fingers pushing between your folds. "So wet, little sun. I love the way your body reacts to me."

Heat flared from your chest as Bucky moved your panties down your frame so you stood naked while he was still fully clothed behind you. "Yeah, well, can't help it I guess…" you mumble, eyes darting away in embarrassment.

Bucky guided your chin back again, his own gaze steady and adoring. "Good. Don't help it. You know what that does to me to know you trust me enough to let go for me?"

He guided your hips down so you were sitting on the bed between his thighs. Your back pressed to his chest as arm wrapped around your waist. His foot tapped your calf to nudge your legs further apart even as you tried to close them; not used to seeing all of yourself in a mirror like this.

"There we go, now watch when I do this," his voice was barely a whisper as his chin propped on your shoulder, breath warm as it fanned over you sending heat pooling low in your belly. His vibranium arm banded around your waist to keep you still, the slight coolness of it causing a shiver to spread down your spine. His other hand drifted back between your thighs, barely grazing over where you ached the most. Your breath stuttered again, watching his fingers expertly circle your clit accumulating the slickness before he easily slipped one between your folds.

A whimper left your throat once his finger crooked against that spot that caused sparks to shoot across every nerve ending. Your head fell back against his shoulder slightly, your back arching to chase the friction. His metal hand drifted up to your breast, fingers tracing lazy patterns around your nipple. "You're so beautiful when you let go like this," he uttered softly, right into your ear.

The affirmation going straight to your head, easy for you to believe when he was also granting you pleasure. His fingers picked up speed, no longer a tease, but with intent. A second finger pushed in just as a moan spilled free from your lips, his thumb now circling against your clit. Your hands gripped onto his thighs, nails digging into the rough denim of his jeans. "Bucky…" you whined, hips rocking in time with the movements of his hand.

"That's my girl, let me hear you. Don't hold back on me." His hand drifted up from your breast, to hold your head up when he felt it falling further back. "You falling apart is my favorite, I want you to see it."

You shuddered again, feeling the familiar edge of climax lingering. In desperation you wanted to turn your head, for your lips to meet his so you could feel him everywhere, but his hand on your jaw was unrelenting. You met his gaze in the mirror instead, seeing the dark need in his eyes as he watched you unravel further and further.

He added a third finger, the stretch overwhelming as you watched his fingers disappear into your tight pussy; mouth opening on a silent moan of both shock and want. You could see how your muscles tensed, legs shaking and trembling as your breaths came out in gasps. The rush of seeing the dazed and blissed out look on your face combined with Bucky's rough voice still whispering against your cheek had the pleasure cresting and washing over you. Your body went taut, clenching around his fingers, and where they had been going in with little resistance, his movements stuttered working you through your release.

"See? You taught me something last night," he teased, pressing a kiss to your neck as you let your body fall back against the hard planes of his chest.

You laughed, still a bit breathless as his lips continued peppering gentle kisses from your jaw, under your ear, to your shoulder. He shifted his hips against your bare ass then, and that's when you felt every inch of his hard cock straining against his jeans. The rough denim suddenly feeling like a cruel barrier as the heat built between you again.

"Feel what you do to me, sweet girl? All because of you, no one else," he hummed into your shoulder as his fingers drifted down, guiding your hand until you could feel just how much he ached for you.

Your fingers trailed along the ridge, instinctively curling around where you could. Bucky's hips jerked into your touch in response, a ragged sound rumbling from his chest. as he lightly traced his hands down your sides. Your voice was shaky as his hips rocked into your touch like he couldn't help it. "I…I've never let myself want anything like this before."

"You're allowed to want this," he whispered, his hand covering yours pressing your palm into him tighter. "It's all for you."

Then Bucky shifted again, unzipping his jeans and working them down his hips just enough to free himself. You felt him hot, heavy, throbbing against your bare skin. His eyes locked on yours through the mirror as he directed your hand back to his cock. You wrapped your fingers around him again, trembling at the way he twitched under your touch.

Your eyes met in the mirror, his chest brushing against your back as his breath became ragged. "You want to watch how well you take me? Hm?" His head turned, nose brushing against your ear.

"Yes…" you answered, still a little shy, cheeks blazing; embarrassment and want warring with each other.

"Good girl, that's what I wanna hear." he breathed, easily lifting your hips up so you could settle further on his lap, his cock now slipping between the slick of your folds. He rocked your hips just enough that the head of his cock caught on your swollen clit with every movement.

He let you watch the almost obscene way he teased you both; nearly sinking in only to maneuver before your pussy could suck him in. You ground down, desperate for that fullness only he was able to deliver. "So fucking wet for me, I could just slide in…" he mumbled, breath warm.

And then he did, lifting your hips, sinking you down slowly. Your eyes locked in on how his cock disappeared into your body, feeling every inch stretch you wide until you were fully seated against his thighs.

"You feel like you were made to take me, sweetheart," his voice rough, yet his eyes enamored as your gazes met in the mirror. His hands guided your hips in a slow grind, letting you feel every vein, every inch of him. Every time he pulsed, or pushed up it had a moan spilling from your parted lips until your legs were trembling.

Once the initial shock of the stretch wore off, Bucky's pace picked up. Angling your body so his cock was now hitting that deep spot that had your vision already growing hazy. With each thrust, his eyes seemed to be growing more feral with need.

"Next time you even fucking think about calling yourself nothing special," he growled in your ear, pushing up impossibly deeper, "I want you to remember this feeling, being full of me and knowing you're the only one that makes me lose control like this. That gets to see me like this. Only you, little sun."

Your brain was dizzy from the praise, from seeing your reflection in the mirror — eyes glassy and lips parted in pleasure — Bucky's hands firm on your hips, vibranium plates whirring in restraint to not hurt only to hold, his need clearly written on his face. There really was no room for doubt or for that self deprecating voice to slip in between the voracious need and adoration between you both. An aching certainty that just maybe you were wanted for once in your life; for a good reason, not out of malevolence. That you really were as special as he kept saying or tried to get you to believe. At least to him, and wasn't he currently the most important person in your life?

Right here, fucked out of your mind, desire and heat curling through every nerve ending, you could finally allow yourself to believe that you maybe were special.

His arm moved to anchor your back to his chest, hand landing firm at your shoulder. His other hand trailed further in, fingers circling your clit as he pounded up harder from beneath you. The rise of your second orgasm came in a tidal wave, rolling up from your toes as you helplessly trembled in his grip. You kept your eyes locked on the way your body moved, how your breasts bounced with each rough thrust, and with Bucky's name on your lips you came apart around him. Walls clenching so hard you saw how they tried to keep his cock deeply seated as you rode out the waves of pleasure.

"So fuckin' tight when you come for me, my perfect girl," Bucky groaned, head tipping back briefly before meeting your eyes through the mirror again. With one more deep thrust, you saw how his cock pulsated and throbbed, twitching as it pumped you full. His hands returned to your hips, urging you to slowly roll and fuck his cum deeper as it threatened to spill out around him.

Bucky collapsed back onto the bed, your body following his like a magnet; too tired to keep holding your spine up.

"Buck, I don't know," you finally panted when you found your voice again. "If I get that kind of treatment every time I call myself nothing special I may just do it more often."

All he could manage was a deep sigh. "You're such a menace sometimes."

Next Installment ➳ Jingle Bell Unrocked ♡

After Chirps: is it too much to ask for my own Bucky at this point? ♡

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The typical anxiety of a Valentina meeting was now punctuated with an avalanche of feelings you couldn't contain. So here you lay in Bucky's bed, a multicolor canopy of Christmas lights glowing in the darkness, while your mind spiraled further into the abyss.

Your mind would not quiet, no matter how close you buried into Bucky's side. Turning like a rotisserie chicken was getting you nowhere, unable to escape the prongs of Val's words.

Because what would happen if you made one more mistake? Get thrown out into the cold, away from the closest thing you had to a family? The thought was already making your muscles ache with premature cold. Would Val really put you back on the street? You wouldn't put it past her.

The anxiety had your legs swinging off the side of the bed, wrapping a throw blanket over your shoulders while you paced in the soft red and green glow. Your fingers traced absentmindedly along the bulbs that gave off a subtle warmth that did little to bring reprieve to how bone deep the cold went on your fingertips.

You weren't about to go back out on the streets. You couldn't.

Bucky grunted softly in his sleep, arm curling subconsciously where you had just been, seeking the warmth of your body. When he didn't find you he turned onto his side, face burying into the pillow you typically laid your head on.

A strange tug pulled in the center of your chest. Bucky wouldn't let you be homeless again. You knew that for certain. But would he be able to keep Val from imposing her will? Would the others on the team? It had been too long since you had willingly relied on others. From there, the thoughts spiraled down a drain, each one more debilitating than the last.

Your toes dug into the plush carpet underfoot. Fingers trailed along the mellow lights, pressing the top into your fingertip until it left a faint indent. You rubbed it away with your thumb as you moved to sit on the couch, pulling the blanket tighter over your shoulders. You heard Bucky shift again behind you, but his light snores indicated he was still far from waking up.

The coffee table in front of you was littered with evidence of your place here, even if Valentina always had you questioning it. Two glasses, set out and ready if you wanted a drink. One of your books was next to his. Your coffee mug from earlier that still had remnants of hot chocolate Bucky made after your performance review with Val. Even then he didn't push, just offered his presence.

You tucked your knees under your body, examining the little constellation of comfort he'd allowed you to build in his space. It was all proof you belonged and at least were wanted, weren't they? That should have been enough. That Bucky, who really did not like chaos until you showed up, willingly let you make yourself at home in the sanctuary of his room.

But Val's voice still echoed, colder than the mountain air that had once seeped into your bones. Your thoughts kept circling back to how easy it would be for her to pull it all away. Sighing, you moved to stand, taking the dirty mugs to the bathroom sink to rinse them out.

Still restless, you crawled back into bed. The throw blanket not as good as the warmth Bucky's body could provide. You knew he would just say you were being too anxious, that he would protect you no matter what. And you would just have to believe the voice in your ear that sounded suspiciously like his deep timbre. It was a brief debate about waking him up. Just so you could hear his sleepy voice telling you it was all going to be okay. But you couldn't bring yourself to.

You shuffled closer; leaning your head on his shoulder to hear the steadiness of his heart beat under your ear while your gaze was locked on just how peaceful he looked when he was asleep. Dead to the world with no responsibility past continuing the deep even breaths making his chest rise and fall in a rhythm that normally could lull you to sleep. Turning your head, you placed a kiss on the hard plane of muscle, trying to impart some of his body heat into yours.

Seeing him this relaxed was rare. He was normally always worried about something. The team, otherworldly threats, Val…you.

Your hand started to drift, first tracing the chain of his dog tags that he always wore. Metal that was typically cold was singed from the temperature of his skin. Your thumb traced over his name, almost a whole century between now and when the number etched actually meant something. Slowly you twirled a finger through the beaded chain, before you smoothed it back flat against his heart.

He was always soft with you, but you always sensed there was a guard up with him. Something unintentional that had been honed by years of distrust around other people. Another slow pass of your palm moved from his sternum to the patches of jagged scars where black and gold met his flesh. You wished you could will them away. You knew they reminded him of all of that pain he had to endure, even if he did his best to mask it.

Scooting closer still, you propped your thigh over his. Lips trailed over wounds both old and new, your tongue occasionally tracing a raised edge of a scar to taste the salt and musk on his skin. You really didn't mean to, but his taste was addicting in a way you hadn't been expecting. Hands and mouth turned overdesirous, with Bucky pliant beneath your touch for once, able to explore his body to your heart's content. With the lightest of touches, you ran a finger along the seam where his vibranium arm met his body. A lifetime of awful memories loaded in just a few serrated lines. You pressed your lips to the edge, feeling the dual sensations of warm skin and cold metal, trying to impart some form of atonement.

Still, Bucky didn't stir beneath you. He did sigh as soon as you got to the slope of his throat, his hand finding your knee that was resting on his thigh in slumber. You pulled back, taking in the peace on his features and the warmth of his hand on your leg.

Laying your head back on his chest, what started as a quiet worship of him turned into hunger. Your hand drifted to feel the ridges of his abdomen, savoring the way he subconsciously flexed while your fingers danced lower. They paused to run through the small patch of soft, dark hair — a subtle arrow leading you down until your fingers barely dipped below the waistband of his sleep pants.

You hovered there, heart beating wildly. You shouldn't dip lower, you knew you shouldn't. Withdrawing your hand, you placed it instead where you could see his cock stirring beneath the fabric. And as soon as your fingers grazed the hard line of him, your name came whispered from his lips. Your gaze flicked up to his face, but his eyes were still closed and his chest was still moving with even breaths.

Your fingers pressed a little more firmly against the hard line of his cock, breath held as you watched his face for any sign of discomfort. But his body only responded to your touch with a small, instinctive roll up into your palm, a soft sound vibrating in his throat. Your name fell from his lips again, barely audible, like he was calling for you in his dream. It made you bolder as your hand continued to squeeze him through the thin fabric.

He'd told you more than once, in quiet moments while you were tangled in these very sheets that you never needed to ask. The first was after you trusted him enough to tie you to the headboard behind you with the Christmas lights that somehow still got strung up.

Trust is a two way street, sweetheart. Whenever you want me, you can take me. He'd murmured, kissing your fingertips. You'd laughed then, thinking you would never find yourself in this position. Thinking you would have just been secure enough to wake him up. But he was sleeping so peacefully and you didn't want to disturb him. He'd also said if it's too much, I'll let you know.

So you watched his face more intently now, waiting for any sign that he wanted you to stop, any whisper of the word no. But there was nothing except the way he held you closer and the way his hips kept seeking your touch even in sleep. You let yourself take what you wanted in an attempt to self soothe the anxiety still swirling in your chest.

Shifting to kneel between his spread thighs, you bit your lip as you hooked your fingers into the waistband of his pants, easing the fabric down. Pausing to watch for any sign of discomfort or that he was waking, but there was nothing but the serenity of sleep.

"Come on, Bucky, help me out here," you whispered as you got the waistband to the crest of his hips. Leaning down, you pressed your lips to the swollen head of his cock that was peeking just above the fabric. Your tongue eased out, tasting the heat of him lightly and then pulled back. A needy sigh and a greedy arch of his body was all it took for you to be able to roll the fabric down his muscular thighs until you freed his now twitching length.

You shuffled down to lay on your stomach, resting your head on his thigh so you could watch his reactions as you had him bare and vulnerable and all for you. Using a single finger, you teasingly stroked from the base to the tip of his cock, tracking the way he trembled under your touch.

Continuing the soft strokes, your own pulse was thundering in your ears watching his need only increase. Precum was leaking in thin strands and onto his abdomen and his hand had reached out for you even in sleep. You wound your fingers through his, holding your joined hands low on his ribs, feeling every sharp intake of breath.

You traced the veins that stood out along his length, watching him throb; body arching after your touch. Every slow pass made his cock twitch and your thighs to press together. He moaned softly, hips shifting like he was searching for friction.

Leaning in, you pressed another kiss to the flushed head, tongue darting out to taste him, brushing across the slit just to hear him groan deeply in his chest. But then you pulled away again, just to watch him tremble.

You only gave him what you wanted, intent on taking your time to make a mess of him. Soft strokes of your finger, teasing licks of your tongue. Occasionally you would wrap your hand around his length for a few tortuously slow slides from base to tip, watching as more beads of precum spilled over, reflecting the multicolored lights overhead.

"Please, sunshine…" he slurred, bucking his hips after your touch once again released him.

"Okay, I'm sorry," you whispered against his thigh and began kissing your way up to the base of his cock; now flushed with need. You laid your tongue flat on the underside, dragging slowly up until you could wrap your lips around the sensitive head. A sharp intake of breath from the soldier below you had your eyes snapping to his face, but his eyes were still closed; showing no sign of waking up.

You sunk your mouth down over him, taking him in as deep as he would go. Bucky let out a deep sigh of pleasure as you finally gave him what you knew he needed. Every movement of yours was slow, savoring the addicting taste of him until his hips were jerking up into your mouth, desperate for more.

His cock trembled as soon as it hit the back of your throat, a barely repressed moan vibrated around him, and you felt the muscles of his legs tremble. Alternating long drags of your mouth with deep soothing strokes and swirls of your tongue.

Every so often you would replace your mouth with your hand, focusing on the flushed head and lapping at the leaking slit just to watch the muscles in his abs tense and his fingers fisting harder on the sheets.

Your name became a breathy whisper in the hushed room. His voice thick and heavy and wrecked like he was calling out for you in his dream he couldn't seem to wake from. The sound mixed with the taste of his skin that you couldn't get enough of was building the heat in your belly. So much so, that you wanted to feel him buried inside just to see if your pussy would be enough to wake him or if he would sleep through the pleasure.

Releasing his cock from your mouth slowly, you drank in the way Bucky's lips were parted on a whine, chest rising and falling more rapidly, hair just a little mussed against the pillow.

You kissed the edge of his hip, sinking your teeth in for a flash that made him shudder even in sleep. He still didn't stir as you peppered kisses over his strong ab muscles until you were at his stubbled jawline once more. A barely there moan passed from his throat on an exhale as you brought your thighs to straddle his hips. A needy twitch of his cock had you feeling bold, grinding your dripping pussy across his length.

His hands moved on muscle memory, settling heavily on your waist. Lifting up, you easily guided the tip of his hard length to your entrance. With one hand braced on his shoulder, you slowly sank down, watching the dreamy wave of pleasure pass beneath his eyelids. You exhaled heavily at the stretch, trying not to break the moment.

Leaning forward, you nuzzled into crook of his neck as your hips began to rock. A slow drag of your body while you savored every ridge and vein until you were gasping against his skin.

His fingers flexed each time you shifted his cock until just the head was captured by your walls, like somewhere in slumber he wanted to push you back down at his pace. But his body wasn't cooperating. Another roll of your hips had him hitting a spot that only he seemed to be able to reach. Your entire body jolted, clenching around him as a broken wimper left your mouth.

His eyes fluttered open then, brief confusion in his gaze that quickly turned to teasing realization as to what was happening.

"Hi," his voice was still rough with the edges of sleep.

"Hi," you whispered back with another slow rock of your hips. "Is this okay?"

"Mmm," he grunted in response meeting your movements with a lazy roll of his own. "Best way to be woken up. How long ya been up there?"

The verbal affirmation now fueled your actions. You sat up just a bit straighter, grounding your palms on his chest so you could move with more deliberation. "I don't know, I didn't time it," you chuckled watching his eyelids fall closed again.

It was different, being in control of his pleasure like this. Where normally he would help guide your movements, whisper praises in your ear, and adjust the roll of his body when he felt you clench a certain way…he seemed to still be walking the line between fully awake and his REM cycle.

His hands at your hips were heavy, fingers simply kneading the flesh of your ass. Occasionally his thighs would flex, providing a needy twitch of his hips while you continued an even motion.

"Feels good, keep goin' just like that…"

His voice was a breathy whisper as his eyebrows drew together. Your fingers threaded through his hair, pushing some of the strands back that had fallen over his face. "Just like that, huh?" You teased, leaning forward so your chest rested on his. Strong arms circled your waist in proclivity, seeking to keep you close even while he was trying to become more alert.

"Mhm, don't stop sweetheart, please." A sharp inhale had you rising from the force of his chest when your hips started to move in an even circle, dragging his cock slowly out and in.

"Oh, look who's begging now," you whispered, mouth grazing along the column of his throat. Another slow grind had his body arching into your movements, chasing the feeling of being buried deep in your pussy.

Another groan passed through his parted lips. "Can't help it, you're too good at that."

You hummed, tracing a thumb across his cheek. "Just relax for me."

Your lips brushed the corner of his mouth, using your thumb you tilted his head back to keep his lips right below yours; brushing with each sharp snap of your hips as you moved faster. His grip around your waist tightened, your clit now grinding against the soft patch of hair on his pubic bone.

His cock throbbed with each slide into your body, eyes dazed as they focused on you moving above him. "'m close," he gasped, like he couldn't believe it. Even though you had been almost edging him in his sleep before you climbed atop.

"Yeah?" Your mouth slotted over his, drinking in his deep groans as you rocked down hard, clenching your cunt tighter as you pulled him nearly out. "Go on then."

He nodded, thighs trembling while his hands released your waist, instead gripping the flesh of your ass as he jerked up harder into you. Each meeting of your hips had pleasure spiking, your own whines slipping into his mouth. "Wait, sweetheart — did you…?" he could barely get the words out as he tried to get you to slow down, his climax coming sooner than he cared to admit.

"It's okay, don't worry about me, Sarge," you murmured, tongue easily moving past his lips to keep him quiet even as his fingers flexed onto your hips.

The pet name was his undoing. It always was. But hearing it come from your mouth passionately, and then immediately feeling you everywhere on his body had him moving desperately with you until you felt the tension snap. His cock pulsated, spilling warmth into you as he came with a strangled groan. The lines of pleasure were illuminated on his face by the glowing Christmas lights, and you had half a mind to somehow convince him to keep them up year round if he looked this angelic in this light.

His chest heaved, trying to catch his breath as your movements slowed back to a listless rock, pushing yourself to sit further up with your hands braced right over his heart. Your eyes were closed, with needy twitches of your hips on his sensitive cock pulling soft whines from your parted lips.

In a swift motion using his strength, he easily caught you off guard; rolling you underneath him. "Your turn," he pressed a gentle kiss to your nose. "Gotta take care of my girl."

He settled between your legs before you had a chance to protest. His hands were gentle as they moved your thighs apart, hooking his arms under and pulling you where he wanted you. Your fingers threaded with his as you tried to bring him back up to just relax in his arms, but he only needed to meet your gaze to let you know his determination. His blue eyes were half-lidded, more attentive than when your positions had been flipped.

His mouth found your clit, slow and unhurried, coaxing you right to the edge with expert movements of his tongue. Any argument that had been in the works dissolved into a moan as you sunk into the pillows. Your hand threaded through his hair, letting the tension of your body go.

All of the uneasiness about the next mission. All of the worries about what Val would do next while she orchestrated whatever marionette act she had planned for the New Avengers. All of the anxiety that bubbled beneath your surface.

It was all forgotten when Bucky was between your thighs, devouring you like you were his last meal on Earth. Your thighs were trembling not long after he set up camp, tongue and fingers working in tandem to encompass your mind in pleasure. His name fell in hushed, reverent whispers between soft gasps.

You let yourself fall under the soft glow of the Christmas lights. The sharp edges of the day faded into your unraveling from the safety of how he held you. He stayed through every tremor of your body, murmuring gentle praise until you were satiated.

Bucky pressed a kiss to each of your inner thighs before settling his head on your chest; arms wrapping around your back. "Are you okay?" he asked, like he could sense the storm that had kept you awake.

"I am now."

His head tilted back enough to meet your gaze. Doing your best impression of someone who wasn't just spiraling internally. You could tell he only half believed you and that he was close to persuading the truth out of you. But you threaded your fingers through his hair again, and his hand came up to rest on your cheek, gently sliding his thumb across your skin. And you saw the minute he decided that this wasn't a conversation to have while neither of you were fully awake.

"You can wake me up sooner you know," he offered, settling his cheek against your shoulder. "Not that I didn't appreciate the way you did."

"I know," you mumbled, moving your arms tighter around him just as sleep finally claimed you.

Next Installment ➳ Choked on Christmas Spirit ♡

After Chirps: I'm about to get so real. But the wind has been drained from my sails. Seasonal depression, regular ass depression, crippling anxiety, and other happenings have really got me knocked on my ass. I'm sorry this one is late, and the others will likely be late as well, but trust they are coming as soon as I get this outta my system. Thank you for sticking with me ♡

Everything Taglist: @biaswreckedbybuckybarnes @overwintering-soldier @stanmarvelous @scarletkanami @wint3rbarnes @barnes-babydoll @defn0tonyourleft @herejustforbuckybarnes @stesha02 @sheriff-bodecker @wherewinterblooms @cassity357 @miraclediviner @houseofhyde @tw1sters @bucksbby @daddysbitchybaby @metal-armed-muse @avgdestitute @imtoooldforthis82 @daydreamgoddess14 @hailmary-yramliah @nachtigall127 @heavenchana @ornateglass @steelandvibranium @stkmaprang @yourmomoclockit @misswhiddless @mariamorales1998

Bucky Only: @thegirlwhowaited5everok @phantom-wolf-girl @iamthatonefangirl @optimisticchildtyrant @sassandscribbles @i-gotta-go-so-much-bigger @procrastination20 @mathcat345

Kinkmas: @riirikenobi @vickynguyennn @galaxygoddess30

If you'd like to be added to a permanent taglist, please comment on this post. If you want to only be tagged in just this Twelve Days of Kinkmas, please comment below or feel free to send me a message ୨ৎ

That feeling slithered around your chest, settling like a separate pulse beside your heart, tuning your body to the frequency that once again, Bucky Barnes meant safety. And judging from the heat that was already simmering beneath your veins at something so simple as the way the plates of his vibranium arm shifted or how his hand flexed against a stubborn strap, your body would follow him to the deepest pits of hell before your brain even caught up.

There was a quiet you appreciated as the two of you approached whatever building you were meant to infiltrate. Today, it was what was meant to be an abandoned warehouse just outside of Belfast to intercept a small, encrypted drive — the location and time frame for a change of hands only unfolding after the successful mission Bucky and Walker went on a week prior.

You were shoulder to shoulder, steps making no sound on the frosted forest floor, as the dark gray building started to loom in the distance between the trees. Waiting for when the other shoe would inevitably drop and you found yourself in danger.

Until then, your eyes scanned the tree line, looking for signs of an ambush while Bucky kept his gaze locked forward. The closer you got to the building, the further behind you Bucky drifted. A shield covering your six better than any piece of metal Val could ever supply you with.

He boosted you to the first rung of the back fire escape, kissing the now cold fabric covering your knee, a silent barely there motion. An order to be safe. His fingers lingered where they once held your boot, like he was apprehensive to let you slip away before he flanked the building.

You were meant to infiltrate from the top, sweeping for cameras or loose guards while he worked through the lower levels, clearing any extra threats before the drive handoff. You'd split up on missions before. It wasn't new to play to your strengths to get the job done in a timely manner. But considering the last mission the two of you went on ended with you almost dying of hypothermia, you could feel the hesitation in his grip to let you go off on your own.

Looking down as the cold steel of the fire escape bit through your gloves, you gave him a nod before he tore off, disappearing into the shadows.

The rooftop was slick with ice, your breath puffing in the air like a ghost as you moved low, bringing unwelcome flashbacks to a dark room and your mind floating away on an ice cap. You flitted those thoughts down, focusing on looking for security measures instead of your near death experience in the Alps.

Three blinking red security sensors were shadowing the vent you needed to descend. They were disarmed, and you were dropping onto the metal catwalk in under three minutes; still silent as a mouse, adrenaline pumping through every muscle.

The top floors were a maze of catwalks with stairs leading to random dead ends. But you had studied the floor plan Val provided with eerie accuracy when you weren't wrapped in Bucky's warm embrace, knowing which shadows to stick to and where the cameras that needed disabling were located. You descended to the lower levels to find the security room before the deal; just an extra precaution to hopefully avoid a storm of bullets.

But it only took one distraction. Your mind to wander the pastures of what could happen later in the safehouse rather than staying in the field of what currently was. Half a second too late, you noticed the thin wire stretched at the base of the next stairwell. It wasn't in the floor plans Val had sent. Nor was it mentioned in a mission briefing.

A single silent tripwire, nearly invisible in the low light before you could descend further into the main floor. Your boot caught, and you heard the faintest ping of metal snapping back. Turning, you spied the sensor turn from a deep blue to an angry red as lights clicked on, giving away your position.

"Shit," you hissed as footsteps thundered above you. Your hand was on your knife as a crash sounded and two figures, much larger than you and masked, descended from the upper levels.

You were about to lunge, ready to fight your way through and get to Bucky's location when a heavy arm locked around your middle. Incredibly wrong and binding as the figure hauled you against a hard bulletproof vest. You struggled, but your knife had slipped from your fingers and your hands could not find a weakness to exploit as your feet left the ground; helplessly being tugged back up the stairs.

And then the wall to your left exploded inward in a blur of black and gold; showering concrete dust and debris over the scene. Bucky crashed through like a battering ram, a line of blood visible through a rip in his jacket on his shoulder, eyes black with a fury you'd never seen before.

There was no hesitation, only a calculated storm, as his vibranium hand grabbed the arm at your waist, pulling you free with a gentleness as you heard bones snap. Before you even had time to reach for your gun, Bucky's fist connected with the nearest attacker's jaw in a sickening crunch.

With one broken arm, the first man attempted to reach for you again, only for Bucky's hand to close around his throat, lifting him clear off the ground. "You touch her, you die," he snarled, voice so low and hushed you almost didn't catch it. But the intent behind it had heat pulsing in your chest, blooming brighter than it should have at the sight of seeing him hurt.

The attackers were sprawled in a heap at your feet, Bucky kicked one of them out of his path as his hands landed on either side of your face. The sheer power locked away for now until he needed to use it again. "You okay? Did they hurt you?"

You shook your head, pulse still thundering in your ears and low in your belly, barely able to meet his eyes — worried that he'd be able to see the need warring in your mind. "No. I — I'm fine. Just…didn't see the trip wire."

Bucky frowned, looking at the sensor behind you. "Guess Val gave us bad intel. There weren't supposed to be traps in the stairwell."

"Figures," you mumbled, bending to pick up your knife that you dropped, acutely aware of his eyes lingering over you and the weight of his hand on your waist.

"Got what we came for, at least," he slipped a small, battered case from inside his jacket and held it up between two fingers. "Was on my way to you so we could slip out quietly, but…" his eyes flicked to the triggered sensor. "So much for subtle I guess."

You meant to answer. To maybe banter that yeah, well, par for the course or something else witty. Maybe something to refocus on the mission, but the words wouldn't form. Because even as the adrenaline from almost being captured was ebbing, your eyes wouldn't stop staring at the line of blood on his shoulder, the way his chest was still heaving beneath his ruined jacket. You really should have been worried. Should have maybe been scolding him for being reckless and straying from the plan, even if that's what you were doing as well.

Instead all you could think about was getting him alone, peeling him out of that bloodied shirt, and running your lips along every bruise until he was shivering beneath you.

He squeezed your bicep, drawing your focus back. "Alright, come on. Let's get out of here before they send reinforcements. You good, rookie?"

Yeah, you were great. Would be better if he just pushed you up against the wall he had punched through like it was nothing. You nodded, trying to move the hunger down that was making your mouth dry and thoughts run wild. "Yeah, better now."

You followed him through the path he had forged to get to you, spying several other armed guards in crumpled heaps. It made your pulse pound in places it had no business being right now; knowing that one man…someone you got to call yours no less, had left a trail of feral desperation when he sensed you were in danger.

It made your knees wobble. Scratch that, it made you want to fall to your knees and show your appreciation right now. His shoulders still held tension, posture rigid as blood continued to seep from the cut on his shoulder and one you hadn't noticed on his cheek.

You should be administering first aid even with the serum running in his veins healing wounds much faster than a normal person. Maybe you just wanted an excuse to put your hands on him in a way only he let you. So you could soothe every jagged edge and tense muscle. With your tongue. Preferably.

There was a sparking heat rising in your body you could not explain, like a ghost was slowly injecting your veins with warm, peppermint tea. Stepping out into the cold air, you were surprised a cloud of mist wasn't billowing from your skin.

By the time you crossed into the relative safety of your accommodations for the night before flying back to New York in the morning, the burning in your veins hadn't faded. In fact, it had only gotten worse — especially when Bucky kept tugging you back to his side as you walked through the forest if you drifted, giving you no reprieve from whatever his proximity was doing to your brain.

Now, the tension in the air was rising in a way you were sure only you could feel. Was it too much to ask for…right now? You should let him rest. Patch him up maybe. Let your hands wander…

No, you had to get a grip.

"Rookie." Bucky's stern voice cut through your haze and you blinked past the clouds to see him already setting out a first aid kit. His jacket had been tossed over a chair in the corner, and just honestly, how were you meant to focus when he peeled his shirt off next, revealing more bruising and reddening spots that he had incurred in your honor.

"Let me…" you swallowed trying to process exactly what you were going to ask. "Let me help you clean that."

"Alright fine, if you wanna play nurse, who am I to stop you." he teased, but plopped into the chair anyway with a wince and a barely concealed hiss.

You stepped between his thighs after a brief debate of just…straddling one, trying to keep focus like you have a hundred times before. You'd patched each other up after worse, but never after knowing each other intimately. Your hands lingered where they shouldn't. Brushing over his chest so you could feel his heartbeat, making sure he was still real and solid.

It was ridiculous really, the way your pulse was increasing just from his proximity, how you had to keep your teeth focused on the plush of your own lip so these traitorous thoughts of soothing him with your mouth wouldn't come to fruition. You should be more focused on cleaning the now dried blood with antiseptic, bandaging wounds, but all you could think about was when you'd get to thank him for each and every bruise and mark he'd earned in your honor.

Maybe you could sink to your knees now.

"You did good today, sweetheart," Bucky's voice brings you back to the present instead of swirling in the pornography that was playing in your head. You really needed to get a handle on whatever this was.

He rolled his shoulder when you finished securing the last piece of gauze.

You huffed out a laugh, starting to clean up the dirtied bandages and wipes. "Until I triggered a rogue sensor and almost got myself abducted."

"That wasn't your fault we had bad intel," he said gently, standing to his full height, his chest barely brushing your arm as he did. "Plus been awhile since we had something go off without a hitch, wouldn't be us if something didn't go a little off. Keeps it interesting."

"I'd rather you not get hurt," you sighed, taking a step back before you did something brazen. "Go shower, I'll start on my mission report while it's still fresh, and see if I can figure out dinner."

"Oh, bossing me around now? When did that dynamic change?" He asked, moving to pick out a fresh set of clothes anyway.

When you were trying not to be so damn needy fresh off a mission.

"I'd hardly call it bossing you around, considering it's the normal routine of things," you explained, forcing your legs to take a step away from his body heat.

"Yes ma'am," he murmured in your ear as he moved through the room, getting entirely too close for comfort. Yet you held back. Keeping your baser instincts locked away while you granted him the serenity of a shower without you.

Was it possible to be jealous of a washcloth? The way your fingers were curling and uncurling at the idea that a stupid piece of fabric got to get him clean instead of you pointed in the realm of yes, it was possible.

The mission report sat untouched, a cursor blinking in the vast emptiness of the page where you were meant to be detailing what went wrong in the field mocked you incessantly. Because how were you meant to say 'oh, I almost got kidnapped but then Bucky broke some bones and then I wanted to bone him?' In a professional way?

In a cloud of steam, Bucky returned to the too small room, smelling too much like he had doused himself in pheromones tuned to your synapses.

"Your turn, sweetheart," he said simply, like he was oblivious to the way he was affecting you.

Once inside the bathroom, you planned to take a nice, cold shower. Let this lingering desire wash off a bit so you could both unwind with the adrenaline dropping. But the cool water did nothing. You could still smell the residual of his body wash. Feel his arm wrapping carefully around you while he shielded you from harm.

Eventually, your hand started to drift of it's own accord. Maybe if you just took care of yourself first, you could focus. But it was no use. Your own touch felt wrong somehow, like a firework half lit and barely getting off the ground, fizzling into nothingness.

Insatiable didn't even begin to cover it. The skin across your chest felt too tight. Every sweep of his shirt that you stole to sleep in felt like a tease of his hands. Okay, maybe you shouldn't have worn it, given how fast your self control was unraveling.

When you exited the bathroom, you had a plan. Five minutes of sitting on the bed while he finished the reports, and only then would you start begging. Surely you could wait that long.

But Bucky was entirely too enthralled on the laptop set up on the small round table. The clicking of his fingers across the keys had you suddenly wondering how you could easily replace yourself with one of them. Probably the space bar. Maybe the delete button since you knew he tapped on those the most.

Something was clearly wrong with you if that is what you had been reduced to. Wanting to somehow trade places with buttons on a laptop.

That was, until he stretched his hands up over his head, and made the softest of grunts. And you perked up like a dog who heard their owner pull into the driveway. Surely that meant he was finished and could focus on you.

Until you heard the sounds of typing again.

And just like that you tucked your tail between your legs and fell back onto the pillows with a sigh.

Enough is enough. You finally told yourself, dragging your body to standing.

"Bucky?" You asked, coming to a stop at his shoulder. Your eyes briefly caught the mission report and the words 'enemy attempted abducting field agent' and the heat between your thighs flared brighter. "Can I just…sit with you a minute?"

He tipped his head to look at you, surprise flickering when he saw you wearing his shirt…and little else. He didn't say much, just nodded in affirmation, his Adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed.

As gracefully as you could in the chair he was in, you settled either thigh around his hips, immediately bringing your chest flush with his and your nose into the crook of his neck. Heaving a shaky sigh, you inhaled the scent of safety, letting your eyes close and your mind to drift. His hand stroked down your spine twice, like he too needed to be reminded that you were still here.

The typing continued behind you, though slower and in a more stilted rhythm than it had been when you were on the bed. The erraticism only increasing with each breath that passed between you.

"Am I bothering you?" Your voice came out smaller than you expected, letting your lips sweep over the column of his neck.

His breath hitched, fingers pausing on the keyboard. "Never," he whispered, kissing your shoulder, but there was a rough edge to the word. Feeling him shudder beneath you is when you first notice it. The distinct growing pressure, thick and hard, almost instantaneous when you crawled in his lap

"That for me?" You couldn't help but tease, giving another slow roll of your hips, feeling the fabric of his sweatpants dampen with your arousal.

He rolled his shoulders back, moving his hands off the keyboard and onto your hips to try to adjust himself. "Yeah it's for you, but I really do need to finish these reports first, sweetheart."

A tiny, desperate noise leaves your throat as your head falls forward, forehead bumping the back of the chair. "Come on, let me help you…that can't be comfortable…"

His hand slips under your borrowed shirt, the cool metal causing a burst of goosebumps across your heated skin. You shivered uncontrollably, his touch pulling more needy shifts of your hips against him.

"Alright, sunshine," he groans like it pains him when you rock into him more. "You wanna help?"

His hands shift again, one nudging your hips up while the other works his sweatpants and boxers down just enough to free his cock, flushed, already leaking with desperation for you. The sight only made you wetter.

"Now," he murmured, guiding your hips back forward, lining himself up with your entrance. "Just…sit still and keep me warm, you think you can do that for me?"

You nod, perhaps a bit too eagerly, your brain telling you to agree to whatever he was saying as long as it filled the void in the pit of your stomach.

"See, I knew nothing good was going to come from us getting together," he teased gently, his head tipping back so he could watch every flare of emotion across your face as you greedily sank down.

Your hands braced on his chest, fingers squeezing at the hard planes of muscle as he guided you down until you were completely seated. Stretched full and perfect, a small hum of content breached your lips as you lean forward to get more comfortable.

You both groaned at the sudden shift in angle, the head of his cock now brushing against that spongy spot deep inside that had your thighs trembling. The urge to move felt ineluctable. Every deep breath you tried to take only made the urge worse, a storm of your own design really.

"That's my girl, fuck," he breathed, one hand sliding to the curve of your ass with the gentlest of squeezes. "Stay just like that for me, and when I'm done I'll take care of you."

With his chin resting on your shoulder, you could feel every time that muscle in his jaw fluttered. His composure waning with every passing second, and the moment you feel the first falter of your resolve to stay still, you knew that he wasn't going to last without moving either.

You can't help it when he's finally as close as he can possibly get without you crawling into his skin. Your walls spasm around him, causing a domino effect of pleasure. Your hips tip further forward, chasing the feeling before you can stop it. His cock pushes further against that spot. A soft, breathy moan leaves your lips right into Bucky's ear. His hand flies to your hip to keep you still, but in doing so he tilts you even more forward, causing the same repetition of motions.

"Behave, rookie," Bucky warned, his voice half-wrecked in your ear. "Val is going to have our asses if I don't get these submitted."

How were you meant to stop? When the second you were wrapped in his arms it felt like your blood was burning, like every thought became disordered static except for how much you wanted him to ruin you. How much your entire being needed to know that he was still here.

"Can't…f-fuck, Bucky, I can't, you feel too good," you mumbled into his neck. "Just…just a little, please?"

It was shameful the way you begged for him. You should have been embarrassed with the way your body reacted, the way you couldn't tell your own muscles to stop when they got something they wanted, the way you could feel yourself dripping around him just from being filled so deeply.

"I'm gonna have to teach you some patience one of these days," Bucky sighed, flexing his fingers on your hips just a bit more firmly.

"Bucky, I've been patient," you whined, trying to move, but his iron grip kept you in place.

Wrapping an arm around your waist, he tilted your chin to meet his gaze, his own need clearly written in the crystal pools of his irises. "Sweetheart, you're…fuck you're shaking. You need me that bad?"

Your entire body was trembling now, nipples peaked and sensitive from how the soft borrowed cotton was brushing against them from your writhing. Nodding your head once, your muscles clenched around his cock involuntarily once more, causing a hiss through his teeth. "You…you saved me. By breaking through a concrete wall and…and then said 'touch her or you die' like some sort of action hero and my brain just kinda went haywire and I have been trying not to just jump on you ever since that stairwell and —"

Your barely incoherent babbling was ceased as his mouth crashed into yours. His hands left your skin, and the distinct sound of a laptop slamming shut occurred somewhere in the space behind you, followed by the sound of it crashing to the floor.

In the hurricane of emotion, you could not bring yourself to care if the machinery was broken or not. Not when Bucky broke the kiss long enough to yank both of your shirts off with prolific strength. Fibers stretching and protesting as they attempted to get out of the way of a man starved.

His lips latched onto your neck, pulling the skin gently with his teeth.

"Show me," he asked once he released his hold on your flesh. "Show me how much you need me."

His voice a rough whisper as he did the closest thing to begging you'd heard from him. Warm hands slid up your thighs, thumbs just grazing where you were joined in a tease as his legs spread wider below you. They found their place at the bottom of your rib cage, providing soothing circles under the guise of guiding your back to arch so he could watch where he disappeared into your body.

The first roll of your hips without him holding you back is tentative at first. Until you feel him shift subtly below you, meeting you with his own gentle thrusts. "There you go…" his words thick with want as his hands moved with greedy worship.

"I just…I don't know what would've happened if you weren't there today," you breathed, words bubbling to the surface as you moved in an even grind.

"Think I'd let some two-bit mug take my girl? Not a chance in hell, sweetheart."

You let a small giggle escape as you continued rocking on him, too enthralled with pleasure, but not too much so that the next words out of your mouth are a tease. "Really leaning into the 40s slang, Barnes. You gonna call me doll next?"

His eyes met yours, a sparkle of humor glinting against the small gold flecks in shades of blue. In one swift motion, he braced one of his arms behind your head, the other on your thigh and tilted your world until your back hit the table behind you.

"Watch your mouth, doll," he grunted, guiding your thighs high around his waist. "Or I'll have to show you what happens when a wise-cracking dame back talks her Sergeant."

"Yeah?" You asked, breathier than you meant to when he held down your hips and began thrusting into you deeper. "Why don't you show me?"

Bucky hummed, bracing a hand next to your head, vibranium plates clicking into place. The noise alone sent shivers down your spine. "You have such a smart mouth, thought I would've gotten rid of that by now."

Without warning, his thrusts picked up; turning punishing until you were scrambling to hold onto something so you didn't slide clear off the smooth table. Your fingers landed on the boundary of the wood, the curved edge biting into your palms as you hung on.

Any words that you had caught in your throat, erased by the feeling of how deeply you felt his cock throbbing in your pussy, replaced instead by feeble moans. Made only worse when his thumb barely brushed your clit, the sensation causing your hips to jolt up.

Bucky dropped his head to the crook of your neck, the stubble along his jaw prickled at your skin sending sparks shooting wherever they dared to graze. His lips accosted your ear next, tone dropped to a low whisper. "What's the matter, sunshine? No more comebacks?" His hips snapped into yours with each syllable, thumb working in small, sweeping strokes over your clit again and again. "Thought you had all kinds of things to say a minute ago."

All you could do was gasp, lungs working to expand when you were sure his cock was hitting your diaphragm. Your body arched into his on instinct, thighs tightening around his waist, table groaning in protest underneath you. Words were gone, replaced by his name, barely audible over the sound of skin moving against skin.

You could feel the smug grin against your collarbone as he trailed wet kisses wherever he could reach. "There it is. No more of that teasing now, huh? Too fucked out on my cock, aren't you pretty girl?"

His thumb picked up speed, your cunt fluttering around him immediately in response, and all you could really manage was a quick nod to his question. You should have been mortified at how quickly he dissolved you to a whimpering mess beneath him. But he was too attuned to what your body needed, you were defenseless against his ministrations.

"Bucky…I…I need —"

You didn't even get to finish that sentence, let alone actually finish no matter how close to the ledge of release you were. The table seemed to have been actually finished, shattering underneath the power of a super soldier ruining his rookie. One second your spine was being pressed to hardwood, the next you were suspended in the air, saved by Bucky's quick reflexes as the table splintered and crumpled to a heap on the floor.

Your legs locked around him on instinct, hands flying around his shoulders as you looked behind you. "Should've done this on the bed, I think…" you said, breathless, words suddenly back now that you weren't being driven into.

At the same moment, Bucky steadied you in his grasp. "You alright, sweetheart?"

You let out a shaky laugh, glancing at the wreckage beneath you. "Yeah, yeah I'm fine. Just still would like to, uh…"

"Right," he agreed, chest heaving as he caught your eye. Suddenly, you both started laughing. The absurdity of the situation while he was still buried deep leaving you both a little delirious.

"Bed?" you offered, tilting your head towards the mattress, still giggling.

He nodded, turning easily to gently place you on the cool sheets. "So much trouble you are," he murmured against your lips, remnants of laughter still fluttering between you. His tongue swept into your mouth, heat blooming low in your belly all over again. There was no frantic need anymore, now on the plush bedspread. Just heat and devotion, two souls merging together even in the aftermath of a broken table.

Desperation grew in a slow tide, rising with every drawn-out grind of his hips, every whisper of praise against your skin. Your lips parted on a filthy moan as his fingers took up residence on your sensitive clit once more, and he greedily drank every noise you made. "Still need me, little sun?" he asked against your throat, the vibrations of his words against your skin sent shockwaves down your spine.

"I'll always need you, Bucky," you whispered back, hands tangling in his hair to pull him impossibly closer as the pleasure coiled fast in your belly with each deliberate roll of his hips; the head of his cock dragging against that spot that made your vision blur at the edges and your eyelids to flutter.

His fingers — once drawing lazy circles — picked up the pace when he felt you pulse around him. It hit before you could warn him. Or maybe he could already tell how close you had been by the way your hips lifted, chasing after him when he tried to pull out; pleading for more, begging to stay stretched full. You came with a startled shudder, his name breaking free from your throat, your cunt clenching around him.

Bucky's eyes blew wide above you, his jaw clenching as he worked you through it. "So fuckin' perfect, every time you do that." His lips met yours again, a deep groan sounding low in his throat as his hips faltered. Fingers fisted into the sheets near your shoulder just as you felt his cock twitch; warmth spilling into you in thick, pulsing waves. He nipped at your bottom lip as his hips gave a few helpless rolls, pushing his release in deeper.

With a sigh, his mouth traced along your cheeks, your jaw, down to the dips of your throat, like he was committing the taste of your skin with a small sheen of sweat post orgasm to memory.

Your head tilted to allow him better access, your gaze landing on the table still in disarray. "Are you gonna include 'broke safehouse table' on your mission report too?"

Next Installment ➳ Not So Silent Night ♡

After Chirps: Chat how do we feel that this may not get done when I said it will? Would you still read it? lmao ♡

Everything Taglist: @biaswreckedbybuckybarnes @overwintering-soldier @stanmarvelous @scarletkanami @wint3rbarnes @barnes-babydoll @defn0tonyourleft @herejustforbuckybarnes @stesha02 @sheriff-bodecker @wherewinterblooms @cassity357 @miraclediviner @houseofhyde @tw1sters @bucksbby @daddysbitchybaby @metal-armed-muse @avgdestitute @imtoooldforthis82 @daydreamgoddess14 @hailmary-yramliah @nachtigall127 @heavenchana @ornateglass @steelandvibranium @stkmaprang @yourmomoclockit @ornateglass

Bucky Only: @thegirlwhowaited5everok @phantom-wolf-girl @iamthatonefangirl @optimisticchildtyrant @sassandscribbles @i-gotta-go-so-much-bigger @procrastination20 @mathcat345

Kinkmas: @riirikenobi @vickynguyennn @galaxygoddess30

If you'd like to be added to a permanent taglist, please comment on this post. If you want to only be tagged in just this Twelve Days of Kinkmas, please comment below or feel free to send me a message ୨ৎ

The cage began erecting itself the day you were birthed into a cruel and cold world. You never asked for the gift of life at the cost of your mother's, but your father acted like it was a debt he would spend the entirety of your life trying to collect.

He was distant at first, only holding onto you because you were the last remaining piece of his wife. Providing just enough care no one ever stepped in. But debt collectors had ways of making you pay under the table. Eventually he tried to drown his grief with bottles of amber and clear liquid. Proclaiming he couldn't even look at you because your eyes matched too closely with your mother's, and couldn't listen to you because your voice reminded him of her.

You wouldn't know, you'd only ever seen pictures of her.

You soon stopped asking for forgiveness. Stopped asking for anything at all. You learned to disappear, to make yourself smaller, until even the sharpest words bounced off of an impenetrable fortress.

Being invisible became your superpower. Out of sight meant out of danger. It was easier to hide behind masks and carefully curated smiles than risk being seen for what you really were. Broken. Scared. Damaged.

When you finally escaped at eighteen, you became barely more than a rumor on the streets. Perfected the art of invisibility and secrecy and turned it into a way of survival.

Never show. Never tell. And never let anyone close enough to guess the truth.

Even here, in the relative safety of the Watchtower, secrecy is a habit you can't shake. While you know that no one on the team would judge you for what you had to do to survive — seeing as their indecencies far surpassed yours — you were still wary to let them in. There was so much hardship crammed into this glittering tower of wealth and power, why would you want to add to it? Instead, you did what you thought was best. Shrouded your upbringing in mystery and flipped on whatever personality would relieve the weight of everything around you.

You're good at secrets. You always have been.

The only person you weren't able to fool was now folded into the biggest secret you had to keep to date. Bucky Barnes had slipped right past your defenses, dismantled your traps, and made himself at home before you could stop him. He was the only one who could coax you from the cage of your own making, wanting to spill every secret you've ever kept.

Which was a dangerous thing to realize. Especially when you were on your way to the conference room for a meeting with Valentina where you had to keep your devotion to the one man hidden from the only other person who had caught you in your web of secrets.

You took a deep breath before badging into the conference room. Sliding on that mask as easily as a scientist would place a new specimen under their microscope.

"Well if it isn't the gold star rookie," Val said warmly, already seated at the large wooden table.

You deeply despised that nickname when it came from her. It felt more like a condescension than actual praise.

"Valentina," you nodded, taking a seat across from her, carefully eyeing the files in front of her.

"You seem very tired recently. Been getting enough sleep? You know it's hard to save the world when you're running on empty."

You pursed your lips, the cracks apparently had begun to form. And even though it sounded like she was concerned for your well being, you knew better.

Valentina Allegra D'Fontaine always tried to play to the fact that you grew up without a maternal figure. Trying to slot herself in that role as soon as she picked you up. Too bad you were just cunning enough to notice that it was a manipulation tactic.

No matter, you had a few of your own. And it wasn't like you were going to tell her exactly what had been keeping you up.

"I'm fine, thank you for asking." With just the right tilt of your brows, to show your appreciation for her alleged concern.

She smiled softly. "Well I hope Sergeant Barnes is going easy on you after that scare in the Alps. It's lucky you have someone like that protecting you isn't it?"

You wanted to fidget at the mention of Bucky's name, and the mission gone awry. But you weren't going to fall for the bait that easily. Despite the uptick in your heartbeat, you remained neutral, giving her a gentle shrug of your shoulders in response. "Wouldn't say he was ever hard on me to begin with, but he has been letting me recover."

"Good, then you'll recover even better when he and Walker go retrieve the intel that you somehow managed to miss."

And there it was. The sticking point to this conversation where she wanted to see how the gold star rookie would deal being separated from her mentor for an extended period of time.

Underneath the carefully crafted compliments and acts of compassion, Val was really delivering a double edged knife. Bringing attention to the fact that you screwed up a mission, and taking away the one person she knew brought you comfort.

"It'll be a nice break I think," you answered smoothly. "I hope they're able to recover the intel, and I apologize I wasn't able to complete the mission."

Val's eyes narrowed even as another one of her pathetically fake matronly smiles pulled at her lips. "You know it must feel good to have someone in your corner like Barnes. Big strong super soldier." She puffed up her chest for emphasis, as if you didn't understand her implication. "After being on your own for so long."

A single tap of your finger against your thigh hidden beneath the conference table was the only tell you allowed. "I managed to get by. Can't say I mind the extra company though."

"Right. Extra company," Val nodded, now flipping through the pages in front of her.

This woman always knew where to stick the knife with you. How to make you feel just the right amount of 'motherly affection' before pulling the rug out from under you.

"Officially, consider this a recovery check-in, but you will be on stand-by after that disappointing performance," Val continued, scribbling her notes down. At least she had the decency to sound concerned. "Unofficially, consider yourself warned against certain…distractions. And ask yourself if you can afford any more mistakes."

Another tap of your finger on your thigh. You knew she wanted you to grovel and beg to be let on the mission with Bucky and Walker. Or maybe she just wanted you to come clean about your relationship so she could spin it for a PR piece. Too bad for her, you were doing neither. Deep in your heart you knew she only had suspicions to go on. Both of the missions reports you and Bucky turned in left out confessions of love and sleeping bag shenanigans. And ever since then, you had both been careful. Calculated. Keeping things contained to the safety of your rooms…and one supply closet.

You stood carefully, not going to give her the satisfaction of showing the cracks in your armor. The only thought running through your mind was that this torment was almost done as soon as you crossed back into the relative safety of the hallway.

She called your name sweetly just as your hand reached for the door. "Secrets don't stay hidden for long. I'd hate for one too trip you up. After all, that's how you ended up here in the first place, right?"

Your grip tightened on the handle, the cold press of it biting into your palm. All of your instincts told you to just rip it off the door and hurl it at her toothy smile.

Instead, you simply nodded and walked out.

The door shutting behind you felt akin to a pin being pulled in a grenade. You knew an explosion of something was coming, but whether the fall out was going to happen where you could contain it or everything was going to be blasted away by an explosion you couldn't tell. And that's exactly how Valentina wanted you to feel after the meeting.

Your thoughts hurled after one another faster than you could catch them, meticulously going over everything you said, looking for some slip in your mask that she would later use against you.

Halfway to the common area, you felt the familiar weight of his gaze. Like he'd been waiting ready to catch you as you dropped after the meeting.

You didn't say anything as he followed you, only falling into step with you when you were far enough away from the conference room and out of the way of prying eyes.

"You okay?"

You nodded, maybe a little too quick. "Yeah just…let's go to the shooting range or something, I need to —"

"That's not what you need," Bucky said it like it was a fact. And you were too wired to argue. He placed a gentle hand on your back, steering you towards your suite and away from the chaos.

Neither of you said another word until the door to your suite shut out the world behind you.

Bucky sat at the edge of your bed, letting you pace a line in front of him for all of three turns before he caught your arm and guided you to sit next to him. "Tell me what she said." Let me fix it is what his eyes told you.

So, you described the meeting, which is how they always went. Val attempting to insert herself into some maternal role like that would get her past your steel plated armor, you attempting to walk the tightrope of being 'grateful' to have someone like her in your life and not let anything slip. Then the worst of all, you being benched and stuck here with your own thoughts until she determined you could be trusted.

Bucky's face remained neutral, rubbing a thumb across your pulse point in your wrist. "Figured something like this would happen. Especially when I saw just my name and Walker's on the call sheet."

You drifted towards him, letting yourself be vulnerable in the only way he could make you feel. "I just hate that as soon as we tell everyone, she's going to want to spin it into some PR bullshit just like this mentorship program."

"I know, sweetheart." He pressed a kiss to your temple. "Think we just need to get you out of that head of yours, and I have an idea if you'll let me."

He was right, of course he was. He had seen first hand how your thoughts could spiral when you were alone with them. In the past, he had always put on some trashy TV, found the most unhealthy junk food the Watchtower had to offer, and just existed in your orbit. But the way he said it this time, without moving for the remote or making a move to venture down to the kitchen had you curious. "Okay," you confirmed.

"Get your vibrator for me," Bucky doesn't ask, just looks at you expectantly.

You feel your cheeks heat, trying to figure out where he was going with this. "I…how did you know I have one of those?"

"Super soldier hearing. And for someone who is aware we share a wall, you're not as quiet as you think you are."

Great. You leaned over to your bedside table, opened the bottom drawer where your toy was carefully hidden underneath a few books. Handing over the sleek black device should have felt embarrassing, really you wanted to scream into your pillow at the fact that he had heard you use it. But you were past the point of wanting to hide from him.

He took it, placing it beside him and then leveled you with a stare you only recognized when he was about direct you. "Strip for me, little sun."

Your nerves were too frazzled to really deny it, and at this point you really did just want him to make the thoughts in your head stop battering your brain. You'd been naked around him enough by now anyway, this wasn't something new or to be ashamed of.

With a pointed finger just as your panties slid down your legs, you matched his tone. "Shirt off. I don't know what you're planning, but it'll help me feel better."

Bucky's lips quirked into an amused grin as he discarded the dark t shirt without hesitation. He stood, guiding you to sit on the edge of the bed. "Lay back and just try to let go for me," he murmured, kneeling between your thighs.

You did, settling on your cool sheets while his hands — warm and reverent — traveled further up your legs until they paused at your hips pulling you further to the edge.

His lips trailed along the marks on your skin he had left a few days before, murmuring his apologies that he lost his carefully crafted restraint so easily.

"Don't worry ab — ah —" you had been in the middle of telling him to stop beating himself up about it when his tongue slowly licked from your entrance to your clit. Your back arched off the bed, gasping as he made slow, agonizing circles along the bundle of nerves.

Bucky lowered his shoulders just enough to allow your thighs to rest there, granting him access to get impossibly closer. His tongue moved in slow, long lines, pausing to gently suck on your clit.

Your eyes fluttered closed, your body already surrendering to the pleasure he pulled from you.

"Eyes on me, angel." Bucky's hand tapped your hip, whispering against your skin to bring your focus back to him between your thighs. "I wanna see those thoughts leave your pretty head."

His tongue moved faster, bringing you closer to the edge like only he knew he could. A finger pushed past your entrance just as you let out a soft moan, your back arching as he pressed at that spot that already had you unraveling. For a heart stopping moment, you really thought he would stop. Edge you like he had in the supply closet.

"Please don't stop, Buck…" you pleaded, fingers threading through his hair like you could keep him between your thighs until you broke.

Bucky only chuckled against your pussy, and the vibration mixed with the dark intent in his eyes tore your orgasm from you. The feeling exploded from your lower belly as his name fell from your lips over and over.

Your legs started to shake and clamp around his head like a vice, and just as the last of the aftershocks subsided, you thought so would his tongue.

But…instead of feeling him slow down like he had any other time he was buried between your legs, he sped up. There was no gentle retreat, no lazy circle of his mouth to your inner thighs while he worked you down fro them high of an orgasm. His tongue lapped at your oversensitive clit, ravenous even as you were shaking on the edge of pain and bliss when he added another finger into your still pulsating cunt.

"Bucky, what're you…" you tried to push him away, but he easily caught your wrists with his vibranium hand.

"Thought you told me not to stop sweet girl?" he cooed, thumb now replacing his tongue. "What happened to that?"

Your whole body was trembling in involuntary muscle spasms, every sound coming from your lips was beyond your control. The vibration of another chuckle from the man between your legs rolled through you made you jolt

"I — Bucky, 's too much, I can't—" you whined, trying to squirm away from the mind bending pleasure.

"You can, stop fightin' it," he assured, standing up so your legs fell to either side of his hips. Even as he brought your hands above your head, twisting to interlock his fingers with yours in a gentle embrace, his other hand never stopped moving.

"You're okay, just feel for me, little sun," he whispered against your check, letting his lips trail across your jaw and nipping at your earlobe gently.

You whimpered again, trying to push past the tension that was still wracking your body from the meeting; from keeping this very thing a secret. Because while you could feel tears pricking at the corners of your eyes as the oversensitivity gave way to a pleasure you weren't expecting, all you could think of was how you wanted to brag to anyone who would listen about these skills of his.

You felt a sob building in your chest, the pleasure cresting so high that it almost hurt. Tears now rolled down your eyes, and your breath caught on a jagged whimper. You felt too exposed to the world until you squeezed his hand, focusing instead on where he was anchoring you to reality.

Almost like he could feel your body stop fighting and lean into the pleasure, he hummed in approval. "There you go…"

Your legs tightened around the solid muscle of his frame as you felt another orgasm slither down your spine; blooming hot and bright in your mind.

"Doing so good for me, solnyshko…" the roughness of his voice was the last piece that brought you over the edge a second time. Your entire body seemed to clench around him, yet Bucky still worked you through it. Even as you tried to close your legs or maybe just hold him there, you weren't sure which.

Your body felt like jelly, every muscle shaking, while sweat started to cool on your skin. You weren't sure if the sounds coming from your mouth was a laugh or a cry. You'd never felt so jittery or wrung out in a post orgasm dizziness.

The world was still hazy, your breath coming in deep gasps, and you didn't even realize Bucky was shifting. You opened your eyes just as your ears registered the low, ominous buzzing.

"You're still thinking too much," he whispered, now laying next to you on the bed, tucking you into his side. Your head lolled onto his shoulder, as he held your thighs open and trailed your vibrator down your stomach. The low hum felt like a tease; like you could already feel it against your oversensitive pussy even if he was just dragging it everywhere but there.

You sighed, body tensing again as he pressed the toy to your clit. "I…doubt that," you managed as your body bowed off the bed. Tears blurred your vision again; your own voice sounded strange in your ears as another moan released from your chest.

There was too much…everything. The vibrations, the heat, the slick mess between your thighs, even Bucky's voice.

"Mmm…you can still talk though…" he teased, pushing in just a little rougher, arm circling your waist to keep you still.

Your hips jerked relentlessly, not sure if you wanted to escape or chase the pleasure. With your back arching off the bed again, all senses overwhelmed as he clicked the setting up once. It made your vision white, hands grasping for anything until you found the arm holding you in place. Sweat made your palms clammy against the smooth vibranium as you tried to dig your nails in, teeth clenched while tension seemed to grip every nerve ending of your body.

It was helpless really, you trying to move away. Your body was already spent from shattering twice, and Bucky seemed to want to keep breaking you into smaller, more manageable pieces.

His fingers found the sensitive skin of your peaked nipple, giving it a quick tug while continuing the slow circle of the toy on your clit. He was somehow everywhere, infiltrating beneath your skin, wiping away every single thought with each touch and vibration, even if you were unable to process the words he was saying.

You felt the pleasure crest again, shuddering as you clung to his arm, looking for anything to ground you against the world blanking again.

"That's one, can you keep count for me, sweetheart?" He whispered into your hairline, bringing the toy away for a breath and then returning it to your quivering center. Could you? No, you could barely nod at his instruction, neck suddenly feeling too weak to hold your head up.

"T-two," you whimpered. Time blurred after the second time you fell over the edge, with only the deep timbre of his voice in your ear to keep you from floating too far into bliss.

You lost count after three. Maybe four. Numbers lost all meaning between the vibrations, the slick mess between your thighs, and your moans of pleasure.

Your body felt like static. Everything was buzzing, and with every word of praise Bucky murmured into your ear felt like honey was being dripped over your mind. Sweat was beading at your hairline, your breaths had become deep gasps only mixed with staccato whimpers.

Another wave had you trembling in his grasp. "What number was that, little sun?"

Your eyes tried to open, they really did. Your mouth opened to answer, but no sound came out past another moan when the toy was clicked to a higher setting. You could feel the vibration to your bones, rattling the last of your thoughts free.

"What happened, rookie? Can't follow simple instructions anymore?"

"Can't…can't count anymore, Buck…" you whispered helplessly.

Bucky smoothed your hair back from your forehead where it had started to stick. "That's okay, sweet girl. Just one more f'me."

You nodded, boneless, breathless, finally feeling yourself let go. The last climax snuck up on you before you could react. Your muscles straining, the only indication you had even fell over the edge was your grip tightening on Bucky's arm that was slung over your waist to keep you still and a strangled moan from your lips. Your limbs went heavy, disconnecting from your brain as you let yourself sink into the mattress in a full surrender.

You couldn't even register the toy being moved away, phantom vibrations still coursing through your body leaving you shaking. All you knew was Bucky's warm presence as he finally let you come down.

"Hey," he murmured, dropping to press a kiss to your shoulder, then one to each of your closed eyelids — damp with tears. "Come back, little sun. Right here with me."

You melted into his side, letting your muscles unwind and every last bit of tension ebbing away as he brought you closer to his side. Nodding slightly, you found yourself nuzzling closer into his chest as your arm drifted around his waist. The warmth of his skin the only thing grounding you against the tremors still traveling along your nerves.

He moved both of your bodies in tandem, tucking you both under your blankets; wrapping you in more comfort than you have ever known. A tear slips free, landing on the soldier beneath you. You're not even sure why it happened. But Bucky didn't move, holding you tighter while emotions you couldn't name stirred under your surface. His palm never stopped tracing the line of your back, soothing you through it.

"You did so good for me. I'm so proud of you. Always am," he whispered into your temple.

You blinked your eyes open, looking up at his eyes — bright and blue, a silent question of 'did I fix it?' in the depths. "You with me?" he asked, wiping away another stray tear.

"Yeah, think so," you mumble as best you could with your cheek pressed against him.

"Good. You feel better?"

"Mhm," you manage, letting your eyes close again. "Thank you."

And for the first time all day, the only thing you felt was safe enough to let all of your secrets go and your walls to finally retreat.

Next Installment ➳ I'll Be Home for Christmas ♡

After Chirps: I don't know, I'm running out of stuff to chirp about heh. Honestly, this is the one I was concerned about for awhile, just because it's more plot heavy instead of kink heavy, so if y'all hate it I understand, but just know there's much more smut happening later, and the next installment is pretty funny so... ♡

Everything Taglist: @biaswreckedbybuckybarnes @overwintering-soldier @stanmarvelous @scarletkanami @wint3rbarnes @barnes-babydoll @defn0tonyourleft @herejustforbuckybarnes @stesha02 @sheriff-bodecker @wherewinterblooms @cassity357 @miraclediviner @houseofhyde @tw1sters @bucksbby @daddysbitchybaby @metal-armed-muse @avgdestitute @imtoooldforthis82 @daydreamgoddess14 @hailmary-yramliah @nachtigall127 @heavenchana @ornateglass @steelandvibranium @stkmaprang @mathcat345 @yourmomoclockit

Bucky Only: @thegirlwhowaited5everok @phantom-wolf-girl @iamthatonefangirl @optimisticchildtyrant @sassandscribbles @i-gotta-go-so-much-bigger @procrastination20

Kinkmas: @riirikenobi @vickynguyennn @galaxygoddess30

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Whose jacket you now had draped over your shoulders. Who was responsible for the dull ache between your thighs and a bruise on your hip that was suspiciously hand shaped. And who hadn't left your side since the jet landed back at the Tower. Who directed you to the med bay like he had hundreds of times before with a gentle tug on your sleeve.

Even if you weren't shivering anymore, you could vaguely hear the word "precaution" whispered in your ear before you had a chance to protest. Bucky's voice low enough it made all of your nerves stand at attention. It was the same tone he had used to murmur praises as he thrust into you again and again to the symphony of a rustling sleeping bag.

You knew there was an elephant in the room only the two of you could see. A line had been crossed. Confessions had laid you both bare and now there was nothing left to do except figure out how to move forward.

Which wasn't exactly your forte. Your place in the New Avengers had given you structure sure, but old habits died hard. And an early life of crime on the streets wasn't exactly where you could plan what would happen.

The medical team at the Watchtower consisted of a few doctors and scientists. People who also were likely indebted to Valentina, or young and naive enough to want experience treating superheroes.

The med bay was a place you really tried to avoid if at all possible. So bright it made your eyes water, a calculating cold had you pulling Bucky's jacket closer around your shoulders. The biting sensation had you remembering the last time you shivered. While your eyes rolled back and the breath in your throat caught.

"Your heart rate is a little high, we'll need to do an EKG," the nurse murmured, pulling another machine closer. You wondered if the machine could tell the difference between an actual medical issue and something far more dangerous. Want.

Your gaze found Bucky, the alleged cause of your elevated tests, standing across the room with his arms folded. Like he didn't trust even the medical staff around his rookie. He didn't offer commentary, but his eyes crinkled and the corner of his mouth twitched. Of course he knew why your heart rate was increased. But did he save you from the cold press of the monitors hooked up to your body?

Of course not. Probably another teaching moment where you needed to somehow control your bodily functions.

Warmth was supposed to be simple. A blanket thrown over shivering shoulders or a cup of something steaming pressed into numb fingers. But you were learning warmth, could be absolutely terrifying. Because you somehow had to trust it wouldn't be taken away.

No one taught you how to move forward when you got what you wanted. When you lived through the night and woke up wrapped in the arms of someone who promised, over and over again, to keep you warm even before they professed their love.

"Alright, you're cleared to go. Plenty of rest, a good, hot meal, water, and…"

The nurse's voice faded into the distance. You knew how to take care of yourself after a high-five with death. Had done it successfully before Valentina picked you up. Long before anyone called you rookie, or anything but trouble. You'd patched yourself up after worse, kept moving, kept your head down. But real comfort like this still felt like you'd stumbled into a story where you were meant to be an NPC not a main character.

You weren't fragile. You just weren't used to having someone stubborn enough to argue with a nurse about your discharge orders, or to drape his jacket back over your shoulders. Even though he always did that, warmth had draped a new filter over the lens in which you saw him.

All of his actions that you thought were just protection, looking out for you because you had been assigned to him, were really small glimpses into the way the soldier showed affection. You had just been so jaded and blinded to the assumption he only saw you as a problem, you never thought to reframe it as anything but him following orders.

You could feel Bucky's gaze tracking your every move into the hallway of the Tower and towards the residential suites. Something that would have normally felt as an observation to be jotted down later now felt like a quiet hope for what was to come.

And that's when John Walker stepped into your path, all but blocking your route to either safety or the inevitability of conversation you weren't sure you were ready to have yet.

His sharp gaze bounced from you, swallowed up by Bucky's jacket, to Bucky himself. "What the hell happened to you two? Why did you go to the med bay after a simple recon mission?"

"Protocol, John," Bucky answered, barely slowing as he moved the other man out of the way and gestured for you to keep walking. "You know that."

You ignored the thundering heartbeat in your ears. Bucky had shielded you from Walker's relentless interrogation tactics time and time again, yet now with the whispers of a love confession circling your head it felt different.

John, undeterred followed close behind. "Well, did you at least get the recon?"

"Not exactly," you shrugged even as Bucky beside you sighed in an effort to get you to not engage. But some of his orders you never were good at following. "Blizzard hit."

"Blizzard? Since when does a little snow slow down the Winter Soldier and his gold star rookie? You know, back in the Army —"

You cut him off, "Snow wasn't the problem. Bullets sure were though."

That stopped him, confusion etching across his whole face. "Why were there bullets in the snow?"

You and Bucky paused to exchange a look of equal parts disbelief and exhaustion. Surely Walker could not have been serious. But when you glanced at him it was like he was trying to divide 8,274 by 5. "People were shooting at us, John," you deadpanned.

"Oh," he grunted, thinking that answer over. "So…no recon then?"

"Too busy not dying." Bucky responded, steering you away by simply holding his arm behind you. Effectively keeping you in the pull of his gravity and out of the meteor shower of John's ridiculous questions.

The elevator up to the residential suites was quiet. The air charged by the fact that ever since you had been rescued from the mountain safe house, this was the first time the two of you had been alone.

Missions always end the same with Bucky. A jet ride home, a pit stop at the med bay even if nothing had gone wrong, a shared elevator up, a wind down consisting of something sweet to drink and maybe something mindless on a television screen to act as a palate cleanser after bullets and sharp knives. A ritual that started after a bad mission that left you shell shocked and distant, even after getting cleared by the medical team.

It always helped. And up until last night, you really thought it was wisdom he was imparting on you, another technique to deal with this life you had been pushed into. Not that he actually enjoyed your company past toleration.

Bucky broke the silence first. "We should talk…when you're ready."

You knew you should. Because what even was this past speeches from two hearts that never thought they could accept love?

"We can still do our thing…if you want. Drinks, bad TV…" you trailed off as the elevator dinged open, stepping out first.

"I'd like that."

Bucky followed, unlocking the door to his suite and letting you go in first. A dance that had been done thousands of times. Yet this time had tension winding around your lungs and making it hard to breathe.

"Are you okay?" He finally asked, watching you perch on the couch.

"Yeah, just…don't know what to say I guess."

Bucky knelt in front of you, a glass of something amber held in his palm in the space between you. There was no expectation in the gesture, only the comforting presence of a routine. He would never push you to discuss your feelings, or demand a performance. The only thing he offered was his quiet companionship that would always be there if you called.

You brushed a thumb over the indents of the glass. "Just, um. Thank you for saving me. And well, you know the other stuff." Even as the words left your mouth you felt your cheeks heat. Thanking someone for sex just felt…weird. But then again this whole situation didn't feel the most normal.

The corner of his mouth lifted slightly, a fond look crossing his features as he watched you closely. "Anytime, solnyshko."

That fucking nickname. You thought, as you took a small sip of the drink in your hand. Even before he whispered it against your skin while he made you see stars it still sent a warmth blossoming in your chest. "Still don't think it's very mentor-ly that you call me that. Even if I do like it."

"That… other stuff probably wasn't either," he teased.

"No, probably not. Hope you don't give any of the other rookies that kind of treatment."

"Nope, you're special," Bucky whispered.

Any words you could say didn't really feel like they could ever be enough. You didn't think you could ever be enough. Even after the words he said that still felt like a fever dream.

So you just…leaned forward. The same as you did last night when you finally thawed, only this time held no urgency, and your limbs didn't feel clumsy. You heard his breath catching, like he still wasn't used to you being this forthcoming and in his space.

Instinctively you pulled back just a touch. Maybe you were pushing this too far. Last night had been so in the moment. A 'you almost died' desperation where emotions and heat tangled into something passionate. This was the real world that existed beyond the walls of a drafty mountain safe house.

But just as quickly as you pulled away, Bucky's hand moved to the nape of your neck and guided you back in. His other plucked the half full glass out of your grip and set it behind him as his lips met yours.

You melted into him, letting your fingers drift into the soft tresses of his hair. This type of warmth with Bucky you could get used to. His arm moved to your waist to bring you closer, your thighs drifting to either side of his torso where he still knelt in front of you.

Once your brain fully caught up with what was happening and where this would inevitably end, you broke the kiss. "Wait, I…I should shower. We just spent hours on a plane and I'm still covered in that gel they needed to use for the EKG."

Bucky's hands were on your thighs, slowly stroking up and down while his thumbs massaged your muscles. "I have a shower here," he suggested, chest rising and falling in a slightly more ragged pace, his lips were a soft pink and slightly swollen.

You hummed in thought, leaning back against the couch. Bucky's form followed you, his hands sliding up from your thighs to just barely skim the sides of your waist. You really looked at him then, now in the light of day and not cloaked by night. The hunger and desire in his eyes was evident, and that was really all you needed.

And he had just said anytime. So…

"Yeah, but…I don't know how your shower works. I might need you to show me the ropes."

"Pretty sure you have an identical one in your room," Bucky chuckled. "But if you need me to give you a hands on tutorial, I guess I can help you out."

He rose from his spot between your thighs, his hands moving to grip yours and help you to stand on unsteady legs. You followed dutifully, heart already pounding in anticipation.

Bucky opened the door tilting his head for you to go in. You'd been in his bathroom a handful of times when you'd snuck into his room to spend the night platonically in his bed, but nothing ever felt as charged as this. And now, even though you had inadvertently asked him to join you, you still weren't sure you were allowed to request his company like that.

"Alright rookie," he began, voice laced with amusement. "There's only one handle, and I've seen you use gadgets much more complicated. This should be no problem."

You watched with feigned interest, gaze lingering on the way his muscles rippled under the black compression top. Nodding at the simple instructions. Left hot, cold right, hit the button for the handheld. Just like yours.

"Think you got it handled from here?" Bucky asked, testing the water temperature as it cascaded from the shower head.

You paused, toying with the hem of your shirt. "What if I run into an issue while I'm in there?"

"Sweetheart, if you want me in here, you can just ask for it you know. You don't have to come up with clever ways to do it."

Oh. "Uhm, if that's the case then…will you stay with me? I think I'd like to see you in the daytime and not covered by a sleeping bag."

Bucky's mouth moved into that charming grin that always seemed to send butterflies fluttering in your chest. He reached for you first, fingers looping into the sides of your shirt, and bringing you closer. In a smooth motion, the fabric was tugged over your head, and discarded somewhere in the bathroom.

The rest of your clothes disappeared between gentle touches and your heart rate increasing. until suddenly it was just you and him and your nerves. There was no more covering to hide your deepest insecurities, and that alone had you shaking. And yet no one had really ever looked at you the way Bucky did. His eyes traced the small bruise on your hip that was in the shape of his hand, to old scars and bruises you had accumulated over the years like he was committing every bit of you to memory.

The urge to cover up was winning even as he pulled you closer into his body. "You're staring," you whispered, heat flooding into your cheeks and down your spine.

"Can you blame me?" Bucky's voice was low, as he pulled you under the water. "You're so beautiful."

The water was hotter than you expected. The last time you had really done anything like this in a shower, the partner you were with deemed the temperature too hot and left you to freeze under a stream of water while he didn't even remotely get you off.

But Bucky had always been different even before you were able to have him like this. The heat prickled on your skin before warmth seeped in, chasing out any of the cold that had haunted you since the Alps. "How's the water?" he asked, reaching up to adjust the spray so it wasn't directly in your face.

"Perfect," you whispered, wrapping your arms around his neck. Your lips met his again, steam continuing to curl around your bodies.

His hands found your hips until your back hit the tile wall, but it did nothing to cool the heat simmering on your skin. Bucky's hand had cradled behind your head, cushioning it from any hard knocks.

In the light, you both had a menagerie of scarring from years of fighting separate battles, and that somehow didn't matter. His thumb brushed along a long since closed bullet wound you had taken early on in your days as an Avenger. Your fingers skirted along the spiderweb of scars coming from where his vibranium arm attached to his shoulder.

And somewhere in between the reverence and caution of pushing too quickly, you felt the need to reciprocate everything he had done over the past 24 hours. You allowed your fingers to drift down his stomach, feeling the lines of hard muscle you had always appreciated from the sidelines, drinking in the way his breath stuttered as your touch went lower.

You'd felt him inside you last night, so it wasn't like it was a new revelation that he was well endowed. But being able to feel and see him here with nothing but heat and water trailing down every glorious inch was enough to make your stomach do somersaults.

You sank to your knees, wrapping a gentle hand around his already hard cock as you settled on the hard tile, water cascading down your back. You felt him twitch at the contact, the tip already flushed from more than just the steam still coiling in the small bathroom.

Last night was all about desperation. Here, you could savor the moment. Savor the strength, the power, the way it meant how much he trusted you with the most vulnerable parts of him.

Bucky grabbed your wrist the second it clicked where this was about to go. "The med bay said you needed rest, get back up here and let me take care of you."

"I feel fine," you batted his hand away. "And you know I'm a terrible patient."

"Yeah, I remember that one time when you — fuck — " the word moved from his throat and into the shower steam as your lips enveloped the sensitive tip of his cock. Well, at least you figured out an effective way of silencing him when he was about to scold you. Not that you could really do this in front of the other members of the team.

His hand drifted to the back of your head, which only made you bolder. You took him further into your mouth, humming at the weight of him on your tongue.

"Remind me to thank Valentina for recruiting you, sweetheart," Bucky groaned as his other hand braced against the tile, another moan of pleasure vibrating off the small walls of the shower.

You kept a slow pace at first, every touch deliberate like you were mirroring how he had unraveled you last night. His thighs were tensing under your hands at every swirl of your tongue at the tip, and every time your cheeks hollowed as you pulled back you were rewarded with a deep moan that had you clenching your thighs together.

His grip tightened in your hair, the metal plates of his vibranium arm whirring somewhere above you against the tile. But then his hand moved under your bicep, trying to pull you up and away.

You looked up at him, releasing his cock from your mouth and let your thumb tease where your lips had just been. "What's wrong, Sarge? Can't handle it?"

His answering laugh was wrecked as you let him tug you to standing. "Oh, I can handle it. Just don't want you wearing yourself out."

"Sure," you teased, nipping at his bottom lip before pulling him back into you. His mouth was on yours for half a heartbeat before it drifted to the corner of your mouth, then trailed down your throat. His hands slid down, mapping your curves, pausing at the bruise he left on your skin last night and massaging an apology in.

Fingers drifted closer to the ache between your thighs, and a small gasp left your mouth as he barely grazed your clit.

"What's wrong, rookie? Can't handle it?" He teased right back, voice low in your ear as he pressed you against the wall.

You barely had time to register the way he used your own words against you so quickly, before he did something that nearly knocked your breath clean from your lungs. Bucky dropped to his knees, water sluicing down his back as he settled where you had just been on the slick tile. His hands gently leaned you against the wall and guided your thighs apart.

His gaze lifted to meet yours, hungry and worshipful before he leaned in, never taking his eyes off of yours. He pressed a kiss just above your knee, then higher and higher, his mouth trailing up your thigh, tongue licking the water off your skin as the constant stream beat down on you both. Until he was poised right in front of your dripping pussy. His tongue barely brushed through your folds, and it was enough to make your knees buckle.

Bucky hooked your thigh over his shoulder, a hand coming up to your hip to hold you in place; enough strength rippling through him to let you know that you weren't going anywhere no matter how much you were already trembling.

"Always knew your mouth was good for more than just ordering me around," you gasped out, fingers twisting into the wet locks of his hair.

"All that attitude, and you're still gonna fall apart for me here in a second," Bucky mumbled before his tongue circled your clit, then suddenly dipped lower and pressing in. Enough to have you almost sliding down the wall, hips rocking forward chasing the sensation.

Your hand tangled tighter in his hair as your moans mixed with the pitter patter of the water still falling warm around you. He hummed in approval, the vibration shooting straight through you.

"Bucky — oh fuck —" you gasped, head falling back as you felt yourself unraveling quickly by the second.

His lips sealed around your clit causing another strangled gasp to leave your chest as your fingers laced with his at your hip. Patterns were drawn by his sinful tongue on every intimate part of you, and you were left trembling, hips rocking into his mouth as you chased whatever pleasure he was giving you.

When you finally let yourself fall over the edge, you cried out his name like it was the only word you remembered. Slumping back and spent with your hand still gripping his like neither of you wanted to let go, you wiped the water from his face. He pressed a kiss to the inside of your thigh before putting it back down on the ground and rising to his full height.

"You taste better than I ever could've imagined," he whispered. And that was when you decided that nothing in your life could have ever prepared for you to be wanted like this, by someone like him.

You arched into him as his lips found yours again. The kiss started slow, but grew greedy and ragged. You could taste yourself on his tongue once it slid into your mouth. Your palms brushed along his slick chest, before your fingers curled around the back of his neck to pull him impossibly closer.

You could still feel him hard and twitching against your stomach, the knowledge that he always took care of you first had your chest fluttering. "Bucky…" you mumbled against his mouth, your leg raising to wrap around his torso so the tip of his cock settled just at your entrance.

His large hand gripped the back of your other leg, lifting you with ease. "I got you sweet girl, don't worry."

Bucky shifted, looping an arm around your waist to pull you closer to him rather than pressing you into the wall. His other cradling your head again in a desperate effort to keep as much of you off the tiles.

From this angle, the tip of his cock fell on your sensitive bundle of nerves. Your back arched of its own accord, chasing the friction. With his body eclipsing yours, it almost felt like you were back in the sleeping bag again. "You know there really isn't even that much more room in here."

He chuckled, ducking his head so his mouth trailed along your jaw. "I realize that, but you're the one who wanted me in here. You really complaining now, sweetheart?"

His hips moved, teasing your slick pussy by just barely pushing past your entrance.

"I — no — I'm just wondering when I get to experience your best work. You know, since you seemed to be all talk in the Alps," you gritted out as he pushed in a little more; the air leaving your lungs with each shallow thrust.

Bucky hummed, finally bottoming out. Your breathing stuttered as he let you get used to the stretch of him. "Afraid those are reserved for the bedroom, not these adventurous places where I could drop you."

There should be something ridiculous about shower sex. You were vaguely aware you should be more concerned about gravity, or the water holding temperature, or where the droplets were pooling…but Bucky started moving, hitting that spot that already had you seeing stars and his mouth attached to the sensitive skin just under your ear. And everything else just seemed to fade away except the steam and him making you feel more alive than you'd ever been.

Shower sex had always seemed over-hyped. Something you thought was a good way to do two things poorly. But that's likely because you'd never had Bucky Barnes holding you up and shielding you from the wall as much as he was. Whispering filth and sweet nothings against your skin that you couldn't quite hear over the roar of blood pounding in your ears and the stream of the water against glass and tile.

His thrusts started slow, an unhurried pace that had each drag of his cock sending sparks up your spine. Your hands moved from digging half moons into his flesh to tangle in the wet mess of his hair; pushing it back when it fell in his eyes. Every roll of his hips coaxed a moan from somewhere you didn't know existed, and every so often he would pull nearly all the way out just to slam back in, punching the air from your chest.

"God, you feel so damn good."

Your walls clenched around him in response to the praise, pleasure blooming up your spine, hot and heavy. "Fuck, you fill me up so perfectly," you moaned back.

Bucky groaned, slamming in harder as he angled your hips towards him. "Not gonna last if you keep sayin' stuff like that," his voice was a deep rumble, with a warmth behind it that went all the way to your bones.

The sensation was overwhelming and all consuming, but that was nothing compared to the memories of the praise he gave you last night while in a similar position that he repeated now. Things you really still didn't believe he saw in you, but came rambling out whenever he buried his cock so deep you felt him in your throat.

"Perfect. Takin' me so well. So fuckin' beautiful when you let go like this."

Your limbs wrapped tighter around his body, as his pace grew rougher. The water still spraying down splashed in all directions where it was accumulating between your two joined forms. His own arms locked around you, cradling your head against the hard knocks from his thrusts, his own hand taking the brunt of it.

It wasn't perfect, each punishing snap of his hips was slick and messy with the sound of skin echoing off of the walls along with your combined moans of pleasure. You could feel yourself falling apart quickly, the coil tightening until it broke in your belly when you finally clenched around him. A gasp — maybe his name, maybe a curse, maybe a prayer — tore from your chest as your head fell to his shoulder.

Bucky pressed a kiss to your hair, and you heard his voice low and rough and wrecked in your ear. "That's my girl."

You were still pulsing with aftershocks when you felt his muscles tense around you and his fingers digging into your skin, the plates in his Vibranium arm locking together. His grip shifted with a ragged exhale in your ear as he pulled out at the very last second, pressing his now throbbing cock on your thigh. His release coated your skin, warmer than the water, before it slid down the drain.

A huffed breath of laughter left you in the post orgasm haze. "You can do that inside next time if you want, I'm on the pill."

Bucky grunted, slowly lowering your body down. His hands steady on your hips even when your legs threatened to give out on the slippery tile. "Well now you tell me."

"You didn't ask. Just like you didn't in the sleeping bag."

That small crooked smile that always had your stomach flipping over tugged at his lips as he reached for the soap. "Okay well there was no room to pull out in there, I didn't have a chance to figure it out before you jumped on me."

Your familiar banter dissolved into the background, just like it would after a mission or a training session, yet with the added aftercare of actually using the shower and waning hot water for its intended purpose. When you both were finally clean, wrapped in towels and each other on his bed, you were the one who finally decided to address the elephant in the room.

"I don't want them to know," you whispered, head propped on your hands as you lay on his chest. You didn't have to say who them was. The fallout of the two of you getting together in whatever capacity was going to open either of you up to teasing and accusatory favoritism, or Valentina finding more to hold over your head than she already did.

Bucky leaned in to place a small kiss on your nose. "Then we'll keep this a secret for as long as you need."

And maybe for the first time in your life you were realizing that real warmth was a concept you could get used to; as long as it came from your mentor Bucky Barnes.

Next Installment ➳ Naughty & Nice ♡

After Chirps: So...what did we think? Lowkey nervous because while this is 'kinkmas' I may have put more plot than porn. Sorry...hope y'all don't feel misled...I get it if you want to yell at me, but I was in my feelings while drafting all of these

Happy Thanksgiving to my American friends! I'm in charge of cooking more than just mediocre fanfictions today, wish me luck I don't burn my turkey

Everything Taglist: @biaswreckedbybuckybarnes @overwintering-soldier @stanmarvelous @scarletkanami @wint3rbarnes @barnes-babydoll @defn0tonyourleft @herejustforbuckybarnes @stesha02 @wherewinterblooms @cassity357 @miraclediviner @houseofhyde @tw1sters @bucksbby @daddysbitchybaby @metal-armed-muse @avgdestitute @imtoooldforthis82 @daydreamgoddess14 @hailmary-yramliah

Bucky Only: @thegirlwhowaited5everok @phantom-wolf-girl @iamthatonefangirl @optimisticchildtyrant @sassandscribbles @i-gotta-go-so-much-bigger

Kinkmas: @riirikenobi @vickynguyennn @galaxygoddess30

If you'd like to be added to a permanent taglist, please comment on this post. If you want to only be tagged in just this Twelve Days of Kinkmas, please comment below orr feel free to send me a message ୨ৎ

Fingers curled tightly into the crisp hotel sheets beneath you, the expensive fabric bunching in your grasp as ragged breaths filled the room. Each inhale came quicker than the last, swallowed almost as soon as it escaped.

The sturdy wooden headboard knocked occasionally against the wall behind the bed, the muted thuds echoing through the suite and blending with the steady hum of the city far below. Warm afternoon light painted the room in shades of amber and gold while sheer curtains swayed gently in the breeze from the cracked balcony door.

An inked hand found its place around your throat, the touch firm yet reverent drawing a breathless cry from your lips before it was stolen away by his own.

Lewis kissed you like a man who had spent far too many sleepless nights imagining this moment, every brush of his mouth carrying the weight of weeks apart. It wasn’t rushed – it was desperate in the quietest way, lingering and hungry all at once. As though he was trying to make up for every mile that had kept you separated.

Your fingers slipped into his soft natural curls, threading through the dark strands until your hand settled at the nape of his neck. You gave the gentlest tug, just enough to draw him impossibly closer.

A low, involuntary groan rumbled against your lips. The sound vibrating through the space between you before he deepened the kiss, reluctant to leave even the smallest breath unshared.

 A hand settled firmly against your waist, drawing you effortlessly closer. His touch lingered as though he needed reassurance that you were truly here, his thumb absentmindedly tracing slow circles against your side.

“Been too long, sweetheart…” he murmured, the words barely more than a breath against your lips. The raw ache woven into his voice made your body stutter.

Sensing the way your body melted beneath his touch, his lips wandered from yours. Lingering along the curve of your jaw in unhurried kisses before tracing a slow path down the column of your neck.

Every touch was deliberate lingering just long enough to leave warmth blooming in its wake. He paused occasionally, pressing featherlight kisses against your skin as though committing every inch of you to memory.

His hand slipped away from your neck, fingertips gliding gently over the contours of your body. His palm wandered slowly before settling gently against the curve of your chest. His thumb brushed over your hardened nipple and leaned down placing a delicate kiss. Lifting his gaze to yours the smallest smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.

He continued his slow descent, his lips planting fleeting kisses as he moved lower. He finally paused between your bare legs. For a heartbeat, he simply looked at you. Gaze soft with love, admiration and quiet longing.

His tattooed hands found your inner thighs, their warmth a striking contrast against the cool air that brushed over your skin.

A shiver swept through you before you could stop it. Your legs trembled beneath his touch, goosebumps blossoming across your skin as your breathing caught in your chest.

Before you could gather another steady breath, he leaned in slowly, unhurried, allowing anticipation to settle between you before his lips found you.

He dragged his tongue in a gradual worshipful motion gliding up your centre. A soft, trembling breath escaped your lips as you instinctively reached for him, your fingers threaded once more through his curls.

His hands remained anchored in your thighs as your muscles quivered with Lewis initiating slow reverent circles around your clit. His eyes closed briefly, completely absorbed in the moment.

A small hum of contentment escaped him that vibrated through your core. Flattening his tongue he continued long savouring licks, your hand tightened as another shaky breath left you. He looked up for the briefest second before focusing on his movements again.

Your soft cries grew louder, filling the bedroom and fading into the rhythm between the two of you. Each breath came a little less steadily than the last, your chest rising and falling as wave after wave of warmth coursed through you.

Lewis remained completely immersed, his tongue moved faster alternating between circles around your clit and long strokes up your core.

The pleasure continued to build at an unhurried pace, leaving your thoughts wonderfully scattered. A tremor ran through you, your hips lifting almost on their own accord. Lewis steadied you with gentle hands, grounding you with a tenderness.

The tension within you finally snapped, breaking all at once. Your back arched instinctively as a breathless cry escaped your lips, his name falling from your mouth. Your thighs continued quivering beneath the reassuring hold his hands had.

Lewis let out a low, muffled sound of his own with satisfaction and devotion, refusing to pull away. Instead, he remained exactly where he was. His touch never wavered, as though his concern was helping you ride out the last lingering ride of emotions.

Only when you shifted, gently guiding him back, did he pause and relent careful not to overwhelm you. He rose slowly as if reluctant to break the connection entirely. His lips were parted slightly, breath uneven and the intensity of his gaze was dark and utterly absorbed in you.

He greeted friends, peers, flashing his easy, devastating smile. Marco’s hand stayed firm on your lower back, warm and claiming, like he sensed the shift in the air the second Lewis appeared.

Like a moth to flame, Lewis’s eyes found yours across the crowd. There was a second of recognition where his eyebrows lifted slightly. Then his gaze slid to the hand on your back, followed the line of the arm, clocked the ownership in Marco’s stance. Whatever flashed behind his eyes…jealousy, possession, something darker…he buried it fast. The mask of cool stayed perfect.

He approached eventually. Leaned in for a sweet, polite kiss on your cheek, lips brushing just long enough to send heat curling low in your stomach. “Hey, angel.”

The old nickname slipped out soft like a habit he couldn’t undo. You felt Marco stiffen beside you.

You smiled back, nodding, voice steady. “Hey. This is Marco.”

Lewis turned to him, extended a hand with his trademark grin. Friendly, but his eyes did a quick, subtle sweep: the watch, the posture, the way Marco’s fingers flexed against your spine. He sized him up in half a second, recognised his face. Formula E driver, same media polish, same lean build, same easy charm, but the championship was different. Electric, urban, not nearly as impressive. Marco was a shittier version of Lewis, is what he processed instantly. The amusement flickered in Lewis’s gaze for the briefest instant, gone before anyone but you could catch it. “Nice to meet you, mate.”

Marco shook firmly, returning the smile. “You too. Great race today. Your overtake on Charles was superb.”

Lewis chuckled low, modest as always. “Thanks, man. Had to push it. You race too?”

“Formula E mostly. Different beast, but the adrenaline’s the same.”

Lewis nodded, eyes flicking back to you for a split second, amused, almost fond. Like he could see exactly how hard you were working to keep your face neutral, and like he found the parallel between him and Marco hilarious in a quiet, private way. “Respect. Electric’s the future, right? Keeping it clean.”

Marco laughed. “Trying to. You should come do a guest stint sometime, see how it feels without the V6 noise.”

“Maybe one day,” Lewis said, polite, but his smirk tugged a fraction higher. Like the idea of stepping into Marco’s world amused him more than it should.

“How’ve you been?” he asked then, the question landing squarely on you again. His voice dropped just enough that it felt private, even in the crowd.

“Good,” you said, far too quick. “Busy. You?”

“Same. Always moving.” His gaze lingered on your mouth for half a second before sliding back up. “You look… happy.”

Marco’s thumb stroked a small circle on your back, possessive and reassuring.

“She’s been great,” he said with an easy smile. “We’ve been keeping each other company.”

Oh, Lewis didn’t like that. His grin didn’t falter, but something sharpened behind it. The muscle in his jaw clenched, only for a brief second, before he managed a slightly strained “lucky man.”

Small talk flowed after that. Nice, surface level, laughing at the right moments. Lewis asked Marco about his last ePrix weekend, complimenting his taste in watches “That’s a nice piece...vintage?”, kept the vibe light and gentlemanly. But every time you spoke, Lewis leaned in to hear you over the music, head dipping until you were eye-level, breath warm against your skin. His pinky brushed yours on the bar ledge, deliberate, fleeting, gone before Marco could notice. You snapped your eyes back to your date mid-sentence, pulse hammering against your ribs. Lewis watched you fluster, a little smile lingered at the corner of his mouth, one that said I know exactly what you’re trying not to feel.

You were trying so hard not to look at him like you used to. Like he was still the only man who could unravel you with a glance. And he knew. You hated him for it.

“Oh, actually!” Lewis smiled eventually, easy as breathing. “One of our friends is just over there. I’m sure she’d love to see you. Can I steal her away for a second, mate?”

Marco glanced at the empty space Lewis had nodded toward, then back with a confused shrug. “Yeah, yeah, of course. Go catch up.”

Lewis caught your wrist, gentle but quick, and pulled you to the side, away from the crowd, into a shadowed corner where the music dulled to a throb.

Only then did his smile stop, his eyebrows furrowing slightly as he scoffed under his breath.

“You really doing this?” he whispered, tilting his head, eyes locked on yours. “Filling the void already? With him?”

The words hit like a slap wrapped in desire. The sharpness of his whisper lit every nerve in your body on fire. He was jealous.

You stepped closer, voice low and sharp. “You’re the one who said you don’t do relationships. No love, no strings, no nothing. You said it while you were balls deep inside of me, Lewis. Repeatedly. You told me, warned me, to stay away.”

He exhaled slow, like the memory was still fresh on his skin too. “I did. And I meant it. Relationships are my enemy. They don’t work for me. Never have. I’ll ruin you, angel. I told you that from the start.”

“Then why do you look at me like that?” you shot back, quieter now. “Like you’re pissed I’m here with someone else?”

His jaw worked your words over, clenching and unclenching before he spoke. “I’m not pissed. I’m… realistic. You’re trying to move on, and that’s good. That’s what I wanted for you. But seeing his hand on you—” He cut himself off, shook his head once. “Doesn’t sit right with me.”

You laughed once, bitter. “You don’t get to feel possessive when you’re the one who drew the line.”

“I know.” His thumb brushed the inside of your wrist where he still held you. “I don’t want to hurt you. That’s why I said stay away. Every time.”

“Then let go of my wrist.”

“No,” he murmured, tightening his grip slightly. “I don’t want to do that either.”

“Let go, Lew.” 

He raised an eyebrow, his smirk deepening into something that made you want to slap him and kiss him in the same breath.

“I like holding your wrist,” he said simply, voice low and playful, like he was confessing the most innocent secret. “Feels nice, doesn't it?”

You tried to glare at him, but it came out weaker than you wanted, heat already pooling low in your stomach. “You’re such an asshole.”

Lewis chuckled softly, the sound warm and dangerous against your skin. He didn’t let go. Instead, his thumb continued its slow, lazy circles over your pulse point, pressing just enough to remind you how well he knew every sensitive spot on your body.

“Maybe,” he murmured, leaning in a fraction closer, lips brushing the shell of your ear. “But you like it when I’m an asshole. You like it when I touch you like this… even when you’re pretending you don’t.”

Your breath got stuck in your throat, betraying you the moment his lips touched your skin. He tilted his head, eyes glittering and far too amused. “Tell me I’m wrong. Tell me that when his hand is on your back, it feels the same as mine does right now.” 

He moved the hand that wasn’t holding your wrist to your lower back, a gentle sweep over the curve of your ass before settling in an innocent position. His voice dropped even lower, teasing, almost sweet. “Go on, angel. Lie to me.”

You swallowed hard, trying to ignore the way your body was already leaning toward him, traitorous and desperate. “You don’t get to do this. You don’t get to pull me away and then act like you still have any claim.”

“I’m not claiming anything,” he said, but the smirk on his lips said otherwise. His hand came up, fingertips ghosting along your bare arm, barely there and yet everywhere at once. “I’m just… reminding you. Reminding both of us.” He paused, voice turning rougher, more honest. “Because the second I saw his hand on you tonight, all I could think about was how much better mine feels there. How much better it feels everywhere.”

He let the silence stretch for a second, thumb still stroking your wrist like he had all the time in the world.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” he whispered, the words brushing warm against your ear. “I never did. That’s why I told you to stay away. But fuck… I also don’t want to stop touching you. Not when you look at me like that. Not when you still shiver the second I get close.”

Your heart was pounding so loud you were sure he could hear it. The music from the party felt miles away. There was only his voice, his scent, the heat of his body inches from yours.

Lewis finally pulled back enough to meet your eyes again, a wicked little smirk still playing on his lips, but his gaze had gone darker, hungrier.

“So yes… I like holding your wrist,” he admitted, voice soft and dangerous. “I like a lot of things about you. Too many things.” He sighed, rolling his eyes like he was annoyed at himself, but the smile never left. “And I know I shouldn’t. I know I’m bad for you. But here we are.”

Only then did he let go. Slowly, reluctantly, fingers dragging along your skin like he was memorising every inch one last time. The loss of contact left you colder than it should have. You let out a shaky breath, unsure whether it was relief or pure disappointment twisting in your chest.

He leaned in one final time, breath ghosting hot against your ear, voice dropping even deeper.

“We need to talk. Properly. Away from all this noise.” He let the deliberate pause linger, loaded with everything he wasn’t saying. “Let me take you for a drive, baby.”

You hesitated, heart hammering so hard it felt like it might crack your ribs. Marco was still somewhere behind you, laughing with someone, completely oblivious to the way the air between you and Lewis had thickened into something dangerous and familiar. The city glittered below the rooftop like it was in on the secret, Monaco sprawled out like a glittering trap that had already caught you both.

Lewis watched you with a lust-filled stare, the one that always undid you. You could feel how much he wanted you. His tongue ran slowly over his bottom lip, like he could taste the moment you were about to cave. The diamond chains around his neck caught the low light, glinting against the smooth, inked skin of his chest where the black tank dipped low. He looked every inch the beautiful, untouchable dickhead who had ruined you more times than you could count.

You hated how much you still wanted him. Hated how your body already knew exactly how this night would end.

He didn’t push. He just waited, eyes dark and knowing. Like he already knew your answer before you did.

Then you said the words that always started the cycle again. “Fine, okay. A quick one.”

The valet brought Lewis’s Ferrari around without a word. You slid into the passenger seat before you could talk yourself out of it, the leather warm from the Monaco night. Lewis folded himself behind the wheel, one hand loose on the gear stick, the other resting on the steering wheel like he had all the time in the world. The engine purred to life, and he pulled away from the rooftop venue with the quiet confidence that used to make your stomach flip.

For the first few minutes, the silence was almost gentle.

He drove with the windows cracked, warm wind slipping in and tangling with your perfume. The city lights blurred past as he took the winding road up toward La Turbie, away from the noise and the eyes.

“I meant what I said earlier,” he started, voice soft but steady. One hand left the wheel to rest on the centre console, close enough that his knuckles brushed your thigh. “I don’t want to hurt you. That’s never been the plan.”

You turned your head to look at him. The dashboard glow carved sharp shadows across his jaw, highlighting the freshly trimmed beard and the way his tongue darted out to wet his bottom lip again. He looked unfairly beautiful like this, half in shadow, half in light. “Then why do you keep doing it?” you asked quietly.

Lewis exhaled through his nose, a small, rueful smile tugging at his mouth. “Because I’m selfish. Because I warned you from the beginning that relationships aren’t meant for me… and I still can’t seem to stay away from you.” His fingers flexed on the console, brushing your skin again. “You try to fill the void with every man you meet, don’t you? Because you’re still upset with me. Still trying to prove something.”

The words settled somewhere between accusation and confession. You let out a breathy laugh, half incredulous, half turned on because he knew you like the back of his hand.

“God, you’re unbelievable. You ghost me for weeks, tell me I deserve better, then get jealous the second someone else touches me?”

“I’m not jealous,” he said, but the smirk gave him away. He glanced over at you, eyes dark and playful. “Okay… maybe a little. But come on, angel. Marco?” He shook his head, chuckling low. “Formula E? Electric cars? That’s cute. He’s like the BTEC version of me, babe. Same smile, same charm, same ‘I’m a professional driver’ shit… but boring and without the edge. Without the part that actually makes you wet.”

You couldn’t help it, a real laugh burst out of you, bright and surprised, cutting through the tension like a knife. Lewis grinned wider, clearly pleased with himself, the sound of your laughter doing dangerous things to the air between you.

“Shut up,” you said, still laughing, swatting at his arm. “You’re such a dick.”

“I’m an honest dick,” he countered, voice warm with amusement. “Admit it. When he’s fucking you, you close your eyes and pretend it’s me anyway.”

“Fuck off, Lewis,” you shot back, half-laughing, half-breathless, thighs pressing together without meaning to. “I do not—”

“Oh, baby,” he drawled, low and sultry, eyes flicking from the road to your mouth and back again. “Don’t lie to me. We both know you do.”

You scoffed, but the sound came out shaky. “You’re so fucking full of yourself.”

“And you’re so fucking wet right now just thinking about it,” he murmured, that smug smirk curling deeper. “Tell me I’m wrong. Tell me his name is the one on your tongue when you come.”

Heat flooded your face. You turned to glare at him, but your voice betrayed you and came out ofter, breathier than you wanted. “You wish.”

Lewis chuckled, smug and knowing His hand left the wheel and landed on your knee, sliding slowly upward, fingertips slipping under the hem of your dress like they belonged there. “Nah… I don’t have to wish. I remember exactly how you sound when you’re trying not to moan my name. All breathy and desperate… like you’re doing right now.”

Your breath hitched. The car felt impossibly small, the air thick with your perfume and the low rumble of the engine. The last time you’d been in this car, his hand had been between your thighs at 3 a.m., two fingers curling inside you while he drove one-handed through empty streets, telling you in the same low, filthy voice exactly what he was going to do to you when you got home. The memory hit you both at the same time. You saw it flash across his face, the way his grip tightened on the wheel, the way his tongue ran over his bottom lip again, slower this time. Lewis swallowed hard.

“Fuck,” he muttered under his breath, eyes flicking to your bare legs where your dress had ridden up slightly. “This car is too small for us to fuck in, baby.”

“Lewis…” It was supposed to be a warning. It came out like a plea.

“Yeah?” His palm smoothed higher, thumb stroking the soft skin of your inner thigh, dangerously close to where you were aching. “You gonna tell me to stop? Or are you gonna keep pretending you don’t want my hand between your thighs right now?”

You swallowed hard, heart slamming against your ribs. All you could do was repeat yourself, with a little more emphasis, your brain scrambling for words. “You’re such a fucking dick, Lewis.”

“Mm. But I’m your favourite dick,” he said, voice dropping even lower, rough with want. His fingers teased higher, brushing the edge of your lace panties. “And you’re soaked for this dick. Aren’t you, angel?”

The silence that followed was loud. Your thighs trembled under his touch. You hated how right he was. Hated how badly you wanted him to keep going.

Lewis leaned over just enough for his breath to ghost your ear, eyes still on the winding road.

“Say it,” he whispered, hot and commanding. “Tell me you think about me when he fucks you. Tell me you close your eyes and wish it was my cock instead.”

You let out a shaky, broken laugh that sounded far too close to a moan.

“Fuck…I hate you..”

He grinned, slow and wicked, fingers finally pressing against your clothed heat, a slow drag upwards.

“And yet here you are… letting me touch you again.”

His fingers kept rubbing slow, torturous circles against your soaked lace, pressing just hard enough to make your hips twitch involuntarily toward his hand. You were embarrassingly wet already, the fabric clinging to you, and Lewis could feel every little shift of your body. His jaw flexed, breath coming slightly heavier as he tried to keep his eyes on the dark, winding road.

You glanced down before you could stop yourself.

The thick outline of his cock was straining against the tailored Dior trousers, twitching visibly with every stroke of his fingers between your thighs. The sight made your mouth go dry. He was rock hard, the fabric stretched tight over him, and the knowledge that he was this turned on just from touching you made you throb under his touch.

Lewis noticed where your eyes had gone. A low, rough chuckle rumbled in his chest.

“See what you do to me?” he murmured, voice thick with arousal. His fingers never stopped their teasing rhythm, pressing firmer now, rubbing right over where you needed him most through the lace. “One conversation and I’m already this fucking hard for you. Pathetic, isn’t it?”

You bit your lip hard, a soft whimper slipping out before you could catch it.

“Tell me to take you back right now,” he said suddenly, strained. His fingers slowed but didn’t stop, still stroking you with maddening patience. “Tell me to turn the car around and drop you back at the party with Marco. I’ll do it. I swear I will.”

Your chest rose and fell rapidly. The words wouldn’t come. All you could do was spread your legs wider, chasing the pressure of his hand.

Lewis let out a shaky exhale, eyes flicking between the road and your face, dark with hunger.

“I meant every warning I ever gave you,” he whispered, finally pulling his hand away just long enough to reach over and cup your chin. His thumb brushed slowly across your lower lip, pressing gently until your mouth parted for him. “I’ll hurt you. I’ll break your heart. I’ll leave you crying over me again.”

He leaned in closer, breath hot against your lips, voice barely above a growl.

“But right now… I really don’t give a fuck about being good.”

Then he kissed you. Deep, desperate, and starving. His tongue slid against yours like he was claiming every moan, every whimper, every shaky breath. The car swerved slightly as he lost focus for half a second, but he didn’t care. Neither did you.

His hand dropped back between your thighs, shoving your dress higher, fingers finally pushing your soaked panties aside to touch bare, dripping skin.

The pull-off was just ahead. Lewis didn’t even ask this time. He took the turn sharply, tyres crunching over gravel as he killed the engine in the shadowed cliffside spot. The sudden silence was deafening, broken only by your ragged breathing and the distant crash of waves far below.

He turned to you fully, eyes black with lust, chest heaving.

“Last chance, angel,” he rasped, already reaching for the seat lever to push his seat back. “Tell me no.”

You didn’t. Instead, you climbed over the console and into his lap like you’d been starving for it.

Lewis groaned the moment your weight settled on him, hands gripping your hips hard enough to bruise as he shoved his seat all the way back. “Fuck, angel… that’s it. Come here, baby.”

Your dress was already bunched around your waist. His fingers yanked your soaked panties to the side with zero patience, the lace digging into your skin. The moment he sprang free, thick and heavy, leaking at the tip, you both moaned. He was so hard it looked almost painful, the head flushed dark and glistening. 

You didn’t wait. You sank down on him in one slick, desperate slide.

“Shit—fuck—” Lewis’s head fell back against the headrest, a broken moan ripping from his throat. “So fucking tight… always so fucking perfect for me.”

The stretch burned in the best way. You gasped, nails digging into his shoulders through the thin tank as you took every thick inch. He was so deep like this, filling you completely, and the angle in the car made it even hotter.

Lewis’s hands slid up your thighs, gripping hard. “That’s my girl,” he rasped, voice wrecked already. “Look at you… taking me so well. Like you were made for my cock.”

You started moving, rolling your hips, grinding down on him with needy, frantic strokes. The car rocked with every thrust. Fog was already blooming across the windows, sealing you both inside your own private hell.

Lewis couldn’t stop moaning. Low, filthy sounds that vibrated against your neck as he buried his face there, biting and sucking marks into your skin.

“Fuck, baby… ride me just like that,” he groaned, one hand slipping between your bodies to rub tight circles over your clit. “You feel so good. So wet. You’re dripping, angel. You missed this dick, didn’t you?”

“Yes—” The word broke on a whimper as you slammed down harder, chasing that perfect spot only he ever hit. “Lewis… oh my god—”

“That’s it. Say my name.” His voice was hoarse, praise pouring out between moans. “No one else makes you feel like this. No one else gets you this fucking soaked. You know it. I know it.”

He thrust up to meet you, hips snapping hard, the wet slap of skin echoing in the small space. Every stroke was deep and punishing, like he was trying to fuck the memory of anyone else out of your body.

You were both losing control. Lewis’s head tipped back again, eyes closing, mouth open on a constant stream of broken sounds. “Shit… you’re gonna make me come too fast. You always do this to me—fuck, you ruin me every single time.”

His praise mixed with raw desperation, the two of you feeding off each other.

“You’re so good,” he panted, thumb rubbing faster over your clit. “So fucking good for me. My perfect little slut. Taking every inch like you can’t get enough.”

You clenched around him at the words, a sharp cry tearing from your throat. The praise hit you harder than the thrusts. Lewis felt it. He moaned louder, almost whining. “Yeah? You like when I talk to you like that? Like when I tell you how fucking perfect your pussy feels?”

You nodded frantically, hips stuttering as you rode him harder, grinding down on his cock with messy, desperate rolls.

“God, I’m so deep,” he groaned, voice cracking. “Can feel you squeezing me—fuck, you’re gonna come, aren’t you? Come on my cock, angel. Let me feel it. Let me feel how good I make you feel.”

The praise, the filth, the way his voice shook, iit pushed you over the edge.

You came hard, crying out his name as your walls clenched and fluttered around him. Lewis’s hips stuttered, a loud, broken moan tearing from his chest.

“Fuck—yes—good girl. That’s my good fucking girl,” he gasped, thrusting up through your orgasm, chasing his own. “I’m so close… you feel so good baby. Shit, I can’t— I’m gonna—”

He came with a raw, guttural moan, burying himself deep as he spilled inside you. His hips jerked, fingers digging bruises into your waist while he rode it out, moaning your name in a way that made you dizzy.

For a long moment, the only sounds were your ragged breathing and the faint creak of the leather seats. Lewis’s forehead dropped to your shoulder, arms wrapping tight around your waist like he couldn’t bear to let you go yet. He was still twitching inside you, both of you trembling.

“Fuck…” he whispered against your skin, voice hoarse. "Every single time it gets better than the last, angel.”

He pressed a slow, open-mouthed kiss to your collarbone, then another to your throat, almost tender now that the desperation had burned through.

But the warnings were already creeping back in, you could feel them in the way his grip tightened, like he was holding on and letting go at the same time. His hands stroked slow, soothing circles over your back, but he didn’t pull out. Not yet.

Eventually, he lifted his head and caught your mouth in a kiss – slow, deep, and devastatingly tender. His lips moved like he was trying to memorise the taste of you, tongue sliding against yours in lazy, wet strokes. You moaned softly into his mouth and he swallowed it, kissing you harder, longer, like he couldn’t bear to stop.

When he finally pulled back just enough to speak, his voice was rough and cracked with emotion.

“I wish I could give you everything you want, baby…” He kissed you again, slower this time, lips brushing yours between every word. “I wish I wasn’t so fucking broken.”

Another long kiss followed. Deep, wet, and full of quiet ache. His tongue slid against yours like an apology he couldn’t quite voice.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispered against your mouth, thumb gently stroking your cheek. “My gorgeous girl… always so perfect for me.”

He kissed you again, and again, slow, open-mouthed kisses that tasted like salt and longing. Each one deeper than the last, until you were both breathing into each other’s mouths, tongues gliding, lips slick and swollen.

You could feel him starting to harden again inside you, thick and heavy, stretching you open once more. A soft, needy sound escaped your throat. Lewis groaned quietly, hips giving one slow, shallow roll.

“Feel that?” he murmured, kissing the corner of your mouth, then your jaw, then back to your lips. “I could never get enough of you.”

He kept the pace devastatingly slow. Gentle, deep thrusts that dragged against every sensitive spot inside you. The car rocked with the lazy rhythm, windows completely fogged now, the air thick and humid between you.

You moaned softly into his mouth, fingers threading through his braids as you kissed him through every thrust.

“I could love you so good, Lew…” you whispered against his lips, voice trembling with emotion. “I could give you everything… if you’d just let me in.”

Lewis’s breath hitched. His eyebrows drew together with something that looked painfully close to regret. He kissed you deeper, slower, tongue sliding wetly against yours as he rolled his hips in the same unhurried rhythm.

“I know, baby… I know you could,” he groaned, the words breaking into a low, reverent moan as he sank deeper. “You aren’t the problem. You never were. It’s me… fuck, it’s always been me.”

He kissed you again,  long, messy, and heartbreakingly tender, while his cock dragged slow and thick inside your soaked heat. Every thrust was purposeful, sensual in its gentleness.

“But god… you feel like heaven around me,” he rasped, voice thick with awe. “So warm… so good… taking me so beautifully even after I’ve already filled you up.”

His hand slid between your bodies, fingers gently stroking where you were joined, feeling how wet and full you still were.

“Look at us…” he murmured against your lips, voice full of wonder. “You’re still letting me stay inside you like this. My gorgeous girl… so soft and open for me.”

You whimpered, clenching around him. Lewis answered with a low, shaky groan, forehead resting against yours as he continued those slow, rolling thrusts.

“That’s it… just like that,” he whispered, kissing you deeply again. “You feel so good, baby. So perfect. I don’t deserve how good you feel.”

His praise stayed soft and worshipful, matching the lazy drag of his cock.

“You’re everything I want and everything I’m terrified of,” he breathed between kisses. “I could stay buried in you forever, just like this. My beautiful girl, mine.” He rolled his hips again, grinding gently so you felt every inch, every slow drag. His mouth never left yours for long, wet kisses that grew messier as the pleasure built, tongues sliding, breaths mingling. You were both moaning softly into each other’s mouths now, the sound low and intimate in the fogged-up car.

Lewis’s hand cupped your face, thumb stroking your cheek as he kissed you again, slow and deep. “My perfect angel,” he whispered, voice trembling with how good it felt. “I don’t know how I’m ever supposed to let you go…”

You both came at the same time, lips still touching, mouths falling open against each other, damp eyes locked in the dim glow of the dashboard lights. The pleasure rolled through you in long, shuddering waves, pulling soft, broken sounds from both of you. Lewis’s forehead pressed to yours as he spilled deep inside you again, hips stuttering with each pulse, his quiet moan vibrating against your mouth like a secret only you were allowed to hear.

For a few minutes neither of you moved. All you could do was feel each other breathing, trembling, still connected in the tight space of the car. His hands stroked slow, soothing lines up and down your back, grounding you as the high gently ebbed.

Lewis was the first to speak, voice hoarse and impossibly soft.

“Stay right here, baby,” he murmured, pressing one last lingering kiss to your lips before carefully shifting beneath you.

He reached into the glove compartment with one hand, still holding you close with the other, and pulled out a small packet of wipes. The gesture was so quietly thoughtful it made your chest ache. He warmed one between his palms before gently cleaning you, his touch feather-light and reverent, like he was handling something precious he knew he didn’t deserve to keep.

You watched him in silence, heart twisting at the contrast. The same man who had just fucked you raw and desperate now wiping you down with such careful tenderness.

When he was done, he cleaned himself quickly, then pulled your dress back down over your thighs with gentle hands and tucked himself back into his trousers. He didn’t let you climb back into the passenger seat right away. Instead he kept you in his lap a little longer, arms wrapped around you, nose brushing your temple.

“You okay?” he asked quietly, voice low and warm against your skin.

You nodded, fingers playing with the chains around his neck. “Yeah… I’m okay.”

He let out a slow breath, pressing a kiss to your hair. “Good. That’s all I care about right now.”

The silence that followed wasn’t uncomfortable. It was heavy, but familiar, the same quiet that always settled between you after moments like this. Eventually Lewis kissed your forehead, then your cheek, then the corner of your mouth, each one softer than the last.

“Come on, angel,” he whispered. “Let me take you back before they start wondering where you are.”

The drive down the hill was quiet. His hand rested on your thigh the whole way, thumb tracing patterns against your skin. Neither of you spoke much. There wasn’t really anything left to say that hadn’t already been said with bodies and kisses and half-finished warnings.

When he pulled up near the venue, the bass from the party still thumping faintly in the distance, he killed the engine and turned to you. The streetlights painted soft gold across his face, catching on the diamond chains and the faint sheen of sweat still on his skin.

He leaned over and kissed you one last time. Slow, deep, and full of everything he couldn’t promise. When he pulled back, his forehead rested against yours for a beat.

“If you ever need me,” he murmured, voice rough but gentle, “you know where to find me, baby. Day or night. No questions asked.”

You nodded, throat tight. You both knew what that really meant.

Lewis watched you step out of the car, eyes following every movement like he was trying to memorise it. Before you could close the door he spoke again, softer this time.

“You looked beautiful tonight. You always do.”

You couldn't bring yourself to reply to him. Your eyes lingered on his, the way he frowned ever so slightly, and then you closed the car door. You walked back toward the lights and the music on unsteady legs, the cool night air brushing against skin that still carried the warmth of him. Back to Marco. Behind you, the low rumble of the Ferrari faded as Lewis drove away.

What you didn’t see though, is that he didn’t pull off immediately.

Instead he sat there in the dark, engine idling, one hand still gripping the steering wheel. A heavy sigh left him as he ran his palm over his face, dragging it down until his fingers covered his mouth. His chest ached. A dull, familiar throb right behind his ribs he’d started to associate with you. He wasn’t the man you deserved. Not even close. He wasn’t ready for you yet, and he wasn’t sure he ever would be.

He didn’t want to be cruel. He didn’t want to keep hurting you. But he kept doing it anyway. Because every time he saw you, every time you let him touch you, every time you said yes when you should have said no… he fell for you all over again. He needed you, he needed you like he needed air.

Lewis leaned his head back against the seat, eyes closing as a tired, bitter laugh escaped him.

“Such a fucking dickhead,” he muttered to the empty car, voice thick with self-disgust and a deep, aching, longing.

He was going to keep hurting you, and the worst part was that he already knew you were going to keep letting him back in.

There were shirts you hadn't thrown out. Couldn't. You'd press your face into the collar on bad nights and breathe until the tears came, hot and useless, because even the scent felt like betrayal now. Cedar and smoke and the faint sweetness of whatever cologne he wore when he wanted to feel untouchable. Proof that once, you'd been allowed to want him without punishment.

The goodbyes had never stuck. That was the thing nobody outside the two of you ever understood. Every ending was just a pause, a held breath, a door left barely ajar. You'd sworn it off a dozen times. Packed feelings away like seasonal clothes, told yourself you were done, that this time the silence would hold. Then three weeks later, or two months, or once almost a whole year…a text. A look across a room. His hand finding the small of your back like it had never left. The door would swing open again and you'd both walk through it like you hadn't spent weeks learning to breathe without each other. Like the leaving had never happened at all. It was never really goodbye, it was always wait for me to get better for you. Until now.

The city did what it always did, glittered on indifferently, a thousand lit windows full of people who had no idea. You'd been sitting in silence for a while by then. Not the comfortable kind. The silence had weight to it, it pressed down on your sternum and made every breath feel slightly too forced. It was the kind of silence that said you both knew what was coming and were just deciding who'd be brave enough to start.

He leaned forward in the dim light of his living room, elbows on his knees, and reached for your hand slowly. Like he was approaching something that might bolt. Like it was the last precious thing he owned, like if he let go too quickly, the whole fragile architecture of what remained between you would collapse. "I don't want you to suffer anymore." His voice came out low, rough at the edges the way it always got when he was trying not to cry. "Not because of me."

The words landed like a blade between your ribs. The way he said it was so clean, precise, merciful in the worst way. You bit the inside of your cheek until you tasted copper, the same taste that had bloomed every time one of you walked out the door and swore it was the last time. Your eyes slid away to the shadowed corner of the room, to the place where the light couldn’t reach, anywhere but his face. Because looking at him would mean admitting you still wanted to stay,that you'd always want to stay, that wanting had never been the problem. Your fingers still found his on instinct, threading together like they’d never learned another language, like muscle memory was the only honest thing left between you.

His thumb brushed once over your knuckles. The same small, reverent motion he used to make when you were falling asleep against his chest and he thought you wouldn’t notice. You noticed. You always noticed. That was the worst part about all of this. Even now, at the end, he couldn’t stop touching you like you were something precious he was trying to memorise before the lights came up and the illusion shattered.

You wanted to tell him you were both already suffering. That the suffering had started the first time he kissed you like he meant forever and then disappeared for three days without a word. That every reconciliation had only deepened the wound, layering scar tissue over scar tissue until you weren’t sure where the hurt ended and love began. You wanted to scream that letting you go now wouldn’t stop the ache, it would only give it a new shape, a quieter one that settled in your chest like damp rot and never quite left.

But the words stayed locked behind your teeth. All you could do was hold his hand tighter, as if the pressure alone could keep the goodbye from happening. As if your grip could rewrite the ending you both knew was coming years ago. The ending neither of you had ever been strong enough to choose before. 

He exhaled, shaky, the sound almost a laugh but too broken to qualify. “God, look at us,” he whispered. “Still holding on even when we’re letting go.”

Your throat burned. You didn’t answer. You just let the silence stretch, let the city lights flicker across his face like they were trying to light him up one last time before the dark took him away from you for good. Underneath the taste of copper on your tongue, beneath the ache in your bones, you understood that this was the kindest cut he’d ever given you. It still felt like dying.

“Look at me, sweetie. Please.”

You turned. His eyes were dark, rimmed with something fragile and wet. The fragility he rarely let anyone see. But you were always his worst exception. He looked like a man who had already made his decision and was grieving it in real time.

“I love you,” he said, the words cracking just enough to hurt. “You know I love you.”

You nodded. It was all your throat would allow.

“But this—this thing we have, this loop we keep running where one of us fucks up and the other forgives just to fuck up again… I can’t keep watching you hurt because of me. Or me because of you. We give in every few months like it’s inevitable, like the pain we cause is some kind of fucked up foreplay.” He exhaled, shaky. “I care about you too much to let it keep rotting us both. Fuck, babe, I don’t know how else to say it.” His thumb was still slowly moving across your knuckles, barely, like he wasn’t aware he was still doing it. He stopped. Started again, jaw tight, like he was forcing the words out one by one. “I don't want us to end on some ugly hate-filled note, screaming things we can't take back. So I’m trying to do the bigger thing here…I want to walk away while I still remember why I fell for you. While I still—" His voice broke on the last word, just slightly. He steadied himself. "I never want you to hate me, baby."

The silence that followed was enormous. You just stared at him through your eyelashes, feeling your chest constrict in a way it never had before. He meant it. He really, truly meant it. You tracked the tear falling from his cheek, dropping onto his shirt near his collarbone, willing yourself to say something. Anything. 

“Yeah,” you murmured, eyes locked on him, eyebrows furrowing with the strain of trying not to cry. “Yeah, no, I get it.”

You did get it. That was the hardest part about it all, you genuinely did. You could see the love in every line of his face and you could also see the exhaustion underneath it, the same exhaustion you'd been carrying for years. It stung like salt in an open wound, even though you’d seen it coming from miles away. Things had curdled worse lately, sharper words, longer silences, a toxicity that felt almost addictive. You knew you were special to him; he’d said it in hotel rooms at 4 a.m., whispered it against your throat like a secret he couldn’t keep inside. But you were avoidant to your core, always one step back when he leaned in too far. And he was stubborn as hell, feeding off the same chaos you did—the screaming matches that ended in desperate, bruising sex, the way you both got high on making the other cry just to prove you still mattered to each other. You loved knowing he needed you like oxygen. He loved knowing the same about you. Crawling back had become your shared religion.

But he was choosing differently now. The bigger thing. The harder thing. And you couldn't claw at that without looking small, without proving every terrible thing the worst version of yourself had always suspected — that you'd rather burn it down than let it end with any grace.

So you didn't. 

Lewis leaned in closer, eyes impossibly tender, glistening at the edges. “Take care of yourself for me, okay?” His whisper cracked on the last word.

Your palm rose to his cheek before you'd decided to move it, the desperate need to comfort him overruling any thoughts about self preservation. The second your palm touched his skin, he leaned into it like he was basking in sunlight. His eyebrows pulled together, another desperate attempt to stop tears, a wounded breath leaving him.

“Yeah. You too, Lewis.” You said softly. 

He pressed his lips to your forehead, one hand cradling the back of your head like he could anchor you there forever. He lingered—long, slow breaths through his nose, lips warm and unmoving against your skin. A full minute stretched between you, heavy with everything you’d shared. He lingered long enough that you memorised the weight of his hand, the warmth of his mouth, the way he smelled up close. You made sure to memorise it, just in case you never got to experience it again. Lewis was doing the same thing. Memorising how your skin felt under his lips, how soft your hair was in his hand, the feeling of peace he could never find anywhere else but with you. 

You kept your other hand fisted in your lap. If you touched him anywhere else you would shatter. You'd beg. You’d scream. You'd take it all back and ask him to take it all back and you'd both walk back through that door you'd walked through a dozen times before, and in six months you'd be right here again, bleeding in the same familiar ways.

As his lips lingered against your forehead, the old reflexes started to rise. The urge to pull back, to turn the tenderness into something safer and sharper, something that would pull him back into the fight. You’d done it so many times before: a soft moment would crest, and you’d pick a fight over nothing. A missed text, a tone you didn’t like, just to remind yourself the ground could still shift. Better to detonate it yourself than wait for him to leave. But tonight, with his breath warm against your hair, you stayed still. Finally, you let the ache bloom unchecked. For once, you didn’t weaponise the fear. You weren’t going to cause a fight because he was trying to protect you both. 

You both needed more than the wreckage you kept offering each other.

When he pulled back, he tilted his head and gave you a soft smile. His eyebrows were still furrowed in a way that showed he was trying not to cry. And even though your heart was somewhere on the floor, you smiled back. Sad, yes. Broken, maybe. But you smiled back. 

It was the kindest thing you'd ever done for each other.

Weeks bled into months. The silence between you grew until you went no contact. It was for the best, you’d mutually decided.

Across town, in a low-lit booth at some private members’ club where the music thumped like a second heartbeat, Lewis sat with Miles and Spinz, glass sweating in his hand.

“Lewis is sad because he finally lost the stupid game he was playing with that girl… what’s her face? The pretty one he used to giggle aroun—”

Lewis slammed his drink down so hard the ice jumped. “Don’t fucking talk about it like that.” His voice was low, lethal. “I loved her. You fucking know I did. Keep her name out your mouth.”

Miles visibly flinched, eyebrows raising to his hairline. Spinz blinked, stunned silent.

“Bro, I was just—”

“You weren’t just anything.” Lewis’s stare could’ve cut glass. “It wasn’t a game. You don’t know shit about what we were behind closed doors. Keep her name out your fucking mouth.”

Miles waved Spinz off, eyes fixed on Lewis, who was now glaring into his drink like it had personally betrayed him. “You ended things with her, then?” Miles asked, careful, leaning in to catch the averted gaze.

Lewis gave one sharp nod.

“Shit, man. I thought you two were… locked in. Well, not locked in, but—you always circled back. That’s just how it was.”

Lewis lifted the glass again, took a slow sip, shrugged like the motion cost him something. “I couldn’t keep hurting her. And I couldn’t keep letting her hurt me. Most days we were both so far out of line, Miles… I didn’t want us to wake up one morning and hate each other completely. I wanted to keep the good shit intact, you know? The nights that weren’t war zones. The way she’d laugh at my stupid jokes at three in the morning. I wanted to remember that version of us.”

He dragged a hand over his face, exhaling hard.

“It just fucking hurts. I wanted it to be her. God, I wanted it so bad. But you can’t force compatibility. We kept tearing each other apart instead of building anything real.”

Miles frowned and tilted his head at Lewis. “You guys were good when things were… good. I’m sorry, bruv. I know you loved her.”

Lewis stared at the table for a long beat, thumb tracing the rim of the glass. “Yeah. And I fucked it up plenty too. She’d get scared—real scared—when shit felt too steady. Like if we got too comfortable, the floor was gonna drop out. So she’d pull back, start picking at threads until the whole thing unraveled. Little tests, you know? ‘Prove you won’t leave.’ And I’d feel it, that distance, and instead of talking, I’d go quiet. Disappear for a day or two, let her stew, because I was too stubborn to just say I was scared too. Then she’d blow up to get a reaction, and I’d match her energy every fucking time. I'd yell louder, shut down harder. We turned every fight into proof the other still gave a shit. It was exhausting.”

Miles nodded slowly, no judgment, just listening. “So you both kept feeding it.”

“Exactly. I held on too tight when she needed space. She pushed when I needed her to stay. We were both running the same loop—right person, wrong fucking timing, wrong wiring. I thought if I just loved her hard enough, I could fix it. But love doesn’t fix avoidance, does it? And it doesn’t fix me being a possessive prick when I feel her slipping.” He let out a short, humorless laugh. “I walked away because I finally realised the kindest thing I could do—for both of us. Let the good memories stay good. Let her find someone who doesn’t make her test the exit every time things get quiet.”

Spinz shifted, voice softer than before. "You think she's okay?"

Lewis's jaw tightened. He looked out across the dim room, the low lights catching the condensation on his glass, and was quiet for long enough that the answer felt like its own kind of answer.

"I hope so," he said finally. "That's the whole point, innit. I don't want to hear she's still suffering because of me."

Miles watched him for a moment. It was rare Lewis let people see him like this. He weighed up the right thing to say. "I mean… think of it as a privilege, yeah? That you got to know someone that deeply. Got to experience that kind of love at all."

Lewis didn't answer straight away. He looked at his glass, thumb still against the rim. Something in his face shifted, not quite agreement, not quite resistance. Just the slow, painful process of trying to hold two true things at once.

"Yeah," he said finally, voice quieter than his friends had ever heard. “Yeah, maybe."

He didn't sound convinced. But he didn't sound like he was dismissing it either. Like he was filing it away for some night when he might actually be able to believe it.

Miles reached over, clapped a hand on his shoulder. “You did the hard thing, man. Doesn’t make it hurt less, but… respect.”

Lewis didn't answer straight away. He just nodded once, eyes distant, like he was still replaying that last forehead kiss, the way your thumb had brushed his cheek like you were memorising the texture one final time.

The nights after that blurred. He told himself he could go back to the old ways—bodies without names, nights that ended in someone else’s sheets, drowning the ache in skin and liquor and whatever else promised to sand down the edges of his pain. Rebuild the armour you'd spent years quietly dismantling. Stroke the ego back into shape. Pretend the hollow in his chest was just temporary, just withdrawal, just a thing that would pass if he gave it enough noise to drown in.

It didn't pass.

Every time he tried, your face surfaced behind his eyes at the worst possible moment. Not even the dramatic version of you — not mid-fight, not crying, not any of the moments that should've been easier to file away under we were wrong for each other. It was always you on that last night. The way you'd looked at him so resigned, exhausted, but still so unbearably soft with him, even then. Even at the end. The way your palm had found his cheek like it was the most natural thing in the world, like your hands had never learned to be unkind to him even when the rest of you was falling apart.

He didn’t deserve the comfort you’d offered on the nights the world pressed too hard. And you hadn't deserved the way he'd let silence curdle into something cruel whenever things felt too steady, too good, too close to real. That particular brand of self-sabotage you both did so well:  going quiet, pulling back, letting you feel the distance until you panicked and swung at each other just so something would happen, just so the feeling of the ground beneath you both could be confirmed. He'd hated you for it sometimes. Hated himself more, after.

It was always right person, wrong time. Wrong timing stretched across years until it felt like fate laughing at you both. You used to joke that your star signs were allergic to each other. He’d tease you mercilessly, call it bullshit, flick your forehead and soothe it with a kiss. Now, alone in the dark with the city humming below, he wondered if you’d been right all along. Maybe the love had been real…it was real, he knew it was real, he'd felt it in places he hadn't known could feel anything. But maybe whatever was broken between you was more powerful. Maybe you couldn't have fixed it without dismantling the whole thing.

He turned the word over sometimes, late at night when the noise wasn't enough. Privilege. The way Miles had said it like it was simple. Like it was a comfort.

Because privilege, he realised too late, wasn't money or fame or the glittering life everyone assumed he led. Privilege was having loved you so completely it almost destroyed you both, and still being able to walk away before it finished the job. Privilege was letting you go, hoping you'd finally stop suffering because of him. And hoping, against every instinct screaming otherwise, that one day he'd stop suffering because of you.

He'd prayed, though. For you. For him. For you to find your way back. More than he'd ever told anyone. More than he'd admit even now.

But still, nothing had lined up the way he needed it to.

So he'd chosen this. Chosen to stop the bleeding before it turned into something neither of you could come back from. Some nights that felt like the most adult thing he'd ever done and other nights it just felt like loss with better vocabulary.

He thought about you more than was probably healthy. Wondered if you were sleeping. Wondered if you still pressed your face into fabric that smelled like someone else and cried without knowing why. Wondered if the 3 a.m. was still the hardest hour, or if you'd started to sleep through it yet.

He hoped you had. He hoped you were somewhere warm and laughing and slowly, incrementally, becoming a version of yourself that didn't need to test the ground every time it stayed steady.

He hoped you knew he loved you. He hoped that much had survived the wreckage intact.

The last image he let himself keep — the one he returned to when the rest of it got too heavy — was you, on that last night, sad and broken and still somehow smiling back at him. He held onto that. The fact that it had ended with your mouth curved upward, even slightly. Even through the grief of it.

It wasn't enough. But it was something. And some nights, something was all you got.

“Hey, beautiful,” he murmured, voice low and warm. He set the phone aside immediately and rose, crossing the room in seconds. His hands cupped your face with infinite gentleness, thumbs brushing along your cheekbones. His eyes flitted over your face, cataloguing how you were feeling before he even had to ask. “Breathe for me, you're okay baby.”

“I’m so sorry,” you blurted, already shrugging out of your jacket. “The plane...customs...everything. We’re going to be so late, Lew. They’re probably already seating people and I still look like I’ve been dragged through a wind tunnel and I need to shower and do my hair and makeup and—”

“Shh.” He pressed a slow kiss to your forehead, then another to the tip of your nose. “Not your fault at all, sweetie. We’ll just be fashionably late, yeah? It’s fine. I already sent a message, we’re not the guests of honour. No one’s going to riot if we arrive after the first course.” His dark eyes held yours, steady and reassuring, always grounding you naturally. But beneath that serenity he brought to you so easily, you caught the flicker of heat, restrained but unmistakable. He wet his bottom lip with his tongue as his eyes dragged over your every feature. He hadn’t seen you in seven long days. Seven days of races, meetings, and time zones keeping you apart.

You tried to smile, but the panic still buzzed under your skin, overstimulated and frayed. “My hair is going to be impossible. And my dress is wrinkled and—”

“No no no, stop spiralling. You’re always perfect,” he said simply, helping you pull off your joggers with careful fingers. His touch lingered though, like he couldn’t help himself, the tips of his fingers gently grazing the back of your thighs, up until he gave your ass a gentle squeeze.

You opened your mouth to tell him off...but before you could he gave you a cheeky grin and let go of you with a wink. “Go shower, sweetie. I’ll sort your dress. Take as long as you need.”

You didn’t. You took eight frantic minutes. Scalding water, frantic scrubbing, a quick wash of your hair that left it dripping down your back as you wrapped yourself in the hotel’s thick white robe. When you stepped back into the bedroom, steam curling around your ankles, Lewis was exactly where he’d said he’d be: back on the bed, your evening gown draped neatly over the armchair, already steamed and ready to go. He’d dimmed the lights slightly. The city glittered beyond the windows, but his gaze was locked on you. You could feel his eyes like a gentle caress down your sides.

He looked hungry.

Not obvious. Never obvious with Lewis. But it was there in the slight parting of his lips, the way his fingers flexed against his thigh, the subtle shift in his posture as he took you in. You knew he was obsessed with you like this. Bare faced, damp-haired, smelling of your favourite shower gel. A week apart had clearly tested him more than he’d let on during your late-night calls. 

But you were late. Ridiculously late. So you turned and started sifting through your bag, ignoring how he shamelessly adjusted himself in his trousers.

“You’re staring,” you said, voice still tight with residual stress as you hunted for your makeup bag.

“Can’t help it.” His tone stayed soft, but there was a restless edge underneath. “Missed you, baby. More than you know.” He patted the space beside him on the bed. “Come here for a second. Let me help you calm down.”

You hesitated, glancing at the clock. “Lewis, we really don’t have time—”

“Oh come on, beautiful. Please…two minutes,” he coaxed, a charming smirk tugging at his mouth. You rolled your eyes at him, but that only spurred him on more. He reached out and grabbed your hand, gently tugging you towards the bed. When you sat, he pulled you gently between his spread thighs, your back to his chest. Strong arms wrapped around your waist, anchoring you to him. His lips found the damp curve of your neck, pressing slow, open-mouthed kisses that made your pulse quicken. The heat of his tongue over your skin left you defenceless in seconds. “You’re so tense, angel. Let me take some of that weight, yeah?”

His hands smoothed up and down your arms, then slipped beneath the robe to cup your shoulders, thumbs working into the knots with practiced care. Every touch was reverent. Every breath against your skin was warm. You couldn’t stop the shiver that ran through you, or the goosebumps surfacing your skin. He wasn’t rushing anything, yet you could feel him growing hard against the small of your back, the rigid length of him pressing insistently through the fine wool of his trousers. He didn’t grind against you yet, he simply held you, breathing you in, letting the evidence of his need throb quietly between you.

“Lewis…” Your voice wavered, you were aiming for protest, but it came out more as a sigh. The panic of being late was still there, fluttering wildly, but his presence was slowly muting it, replacing it with a different kind of heat.

“I know, I know,” he whispered, lips brushing the shell of your ear. One hand drifted higher, palming the soft weight of your breast through the robe, thumb circling lazily over your nipple until it peaked. You melted further back against him, and you could feel his smug smile against your ear. “We’re late. You’re stressed. I’m being selfish.” He lets out a low, self-deprecating chuckle. “But fuck, angel… a whole week without touching you. Without tasting you. I’ve been thinking about this body every night. Been saving myself for you…” His other hand slid down, parting the robe just enough to expose the valley between your breasts. He groaned softly, leaning forward and pressing his face there, inhaling. “Just need a little taste. Please.”

You glanced toward the mirror across the room, your hair was still soaking wet, no makeup, robe slipping off one shoulder, and you felt the familiar spiral of overwhelm rising again. You were so embarrassingly late.  “Lew, we don’t have time—”

He shifted you effortlessly in his lap so you faced him, straddling one of his thighs. The movement made the robe fall open completely. His suit jacket was still on, the contrast between his polished elegance and your near-naked vulnerability made your stomach flip. His brown eyes were dark now, pupils blown wide with want, yet his voice remained achingly sweet. 

“Please, baby… please.” The words came out ragged, desperate. His hands cupped your breasts, lifting them, thumbs stroking reverently. “Just let me feel you. I’ll be so quick, I swear. We don’t even have to– just let me fuck your tits or something…anything….” He looked up at you with raw hunger wrapped in devotion, pressing hot, open kisses along the inner curve of one breast. “Please… please, baby, please. I’ve been so good. Missed you so fucking much.”

His hips rolled subtly beneath you, his bulge straining against his zipper. 

You were helpless and you knew it. Watching him be reduced to breathless begging because he’d been without you for seven days was enough for you to give him anything and everything he wanted. 

The panic had burned away, leaving only raw, humming need in its place. Your fingers gripped his braids, just enough to tilt his head back. His eyes fluttered, dark and glassy with want as you cupped his jaw in both hands, thumbs stroking the sharp line of it. You held him there for a few long seconds, watching as his chest heaved, as his eyebrows furrowed in desperation. And then you crashed your lips to his.

He moaned into the kiss like a man starving, the sound vibrating straight through you. His tongue met yours instantly, hot and slick and desperate, sliding deep with no hesitation. The kiss was wet, open-mouthed, breathless. He tasted like mint and longing and love. One of his hands gripped your hip, massaging the soft flesh whilst anchoring you on his thigh, while the other stayed devoted to your breast, kneading the soft weight, rolling your nipple between his fingers until you whimpered against his lips.

When you finally pulled back for air, a thin string of saliva connected you for a second before breaking. Lewis chased your mouth, panting.

“Baby…” His voice was shaky, low and rough. “Please. Please let me have you. I’ll be so quick, I swear. Just need to feel you around me. Been dreaming about you every night” His forehead pressed to yours, eyes pleading. He was fixated on your tits, one hand still playing with them as he begged. “Please, please, love. I’m aching so bad it hurts. Let me fuck them. I’ll make it up to you later, I promise. I’ll spend hours between your legs if you want. Just—please.”

You brushed your thumb over his swollen bottom lip, and he kissed it reverently. Automatic devotion. He knew how to get what he wanted.

“Lay me down, Lew.”

Relief and fresh hunger flashed across his face. He lifted you effortlessly, laying you back against the plush bedding with the same care he’d use handling something fragile. Lewis rose onto his knees between your spread thighs, still fully dressed in his sharp black suit. His hands shook slightly as he undid his belt and zipper, freeing his cock.

He was rock hard, thick and flushed dark at the tip, already leaking just from the kisses you'd given him. You watched, mesmerised, as he wrapped a hand around himself and stroked slowly, eyes devouring every inch of your body splayed out for him.

“Fuck… look at you,” he breathed. Obsession dripped from every word. “My beautiful baby. Missed this body so much. Missed you.” He leaned forward, pressing the thick head of his cock against your lips just enough for you to taste the salt of him, then pulled back. Instead, he slid his thumb into your mouth. You sucked instinctively, tongue swirling around the digit, and Lewis’s eyes rolled back, a broken groan tearing from his throat. He kept working himself, mouth parted and panting, eyes locked on the way you were sucking his thumb.

“Shit—baby. I love it when you do that..”

He pulled his thumb free with a wet pop, then gathered spit in his mouth and let it drip down onto your breasts in a warm, obscene trail. He spread it with the head of his cock, painting your skin, before pressing your breasts together himself. The first slow slide between them dragged a guttural moan from deep in his chest.

“Oh my god… yes.” His hips rolled forward, eyes fluttering. “So soft. Perfect—fuck, they’re perfect for me.”

You held yourself for him, pressing your tits tighter around his length as he began to thrust. The slick, rhythmic sound of skin on skin filled the suite. Lewis’s head tipped back, braids falling messily around his face, jaw slack with pleasure. Every few strokes the flushed head of his cock nudged up toward your collarbones, shiny and leaking.

“Talk to me, Lewis,” you whispered, desperate and aching for more. “Tell me how it feels.”

“Like heaven,” he gasped, eyes locking onto yours again. “Better than heaven. So fucking good, baby. Missed how good you make me feel. Only you, angel. You’re so pretty down there… letting me use you when we’re already late. Such a good girl for me.”

You smiled, wicked and soft, and when his next thrust brought him close enough, you leaned your head forward and dragged your tongue across the tip of his cock. Lewis’s hips stuttered hard.

“Fuck—!” His voice cracked. “Baby… oh shit, do that again. Please.”

“You taste so good, baby,” you murmured, licking him again on the next upward glide, savouring the taste of him. “Mmm… so fucking good.”

“Oh my god– thank you, baby… fuck yes, don’t stop—please.” The begging was back, raw and needy, each word punctuated by a desperate thrust between your breasts. His rhythm grew faster, more erratic, you wished you could see the muscles in his abs and thighs flexing. Sweat glistened at his temples. The polished man sat on the bed when you’d arrived was gone, only this desperately in love man remained. You loved watching him dissolve into this version of himself. 

He was getting close. You could see it in the way his eyes kept rolling back, the way his grip on your breasts tightened, the filthy stream of praise and pleas falling from his lips.

“Gonna come so hard for you,” he growled, voice dropping into the dangerous register it did when he was close. “Look at me, baby. Gonna swallow it all for me, aren’t you? Want me to cum down your throat, don’t you? Want to drink every drop while I’m still wearing this fucking suit?”

You moaned around the head of his cock on the next lick, eyes watering with how deep you took him when he pushed forward. The dirty talk sent another rush of heat through you as you nodded eagerly.

“Yes—please, baby, open your mouth,” he begged, stroking himself fast now, the wet head slapping against your tongue. “I’m so close. Please let me fill that pretty mouth. Been saving it all for you. All week. Fuck—take it, baby. Take it—”

His whole body seized. With a deep, broken groan that echoed off the walls, Lewis came hard. Thick, hot pulses spilled across your tongue and down your throat. You swallowed around him, sucking gently, milking every last drop as he shuddered and cursed beautifully above you. His hand stroked your hair through it, tender even in the middle of his orgasm, whispering shaky praises between gasps.

When he finally pulled back, spent and trembling, he collapsed beside you and immediately pulled you into his chest. His suit was rumpled now, tie askew, braids fallen out of his hair tie. He kissed your forehead, your cheeks, your lips, completely unbothered that he could taste himself on your tongue.

“God, I love you,” he murmured, voice soft again, that angelic sweetness returning in full force. “Thank you, baby. You’re incredible. Always make me feel so good.”

You let out a breathless laugh, glancing down at the glossy mess painted across your chest and collarbones. His release and spit glistened on your skin, warm and obscene against the soft light of the suite. “I’m gonna have to shower again, Lew…”

He giggled, a low, boyish sound that melted into something almost guilty. He actually looked a little sheepish as he bit his lip and surveyed the evidence of his desperation. “Shit. Sorry, baby.” The apology was genuine, but his eyes still held a spark of satisfaction, dark and possessive. “Couldn’t help myself. You looked too good like that.”

Before you could swing your legs off the bed, Lewis caught you gently by the waist and pulled you back down, rolling you beneath him with effortless strength. The weight of his body settled over yours, the fabric of his suit whispering against your bare skin.

“You’re not showering yet,” he whispered, pressing a tender kiss to the corner of your mouth. “Not until I’ve taken care of my girl.”

His lips trailed lower—slow, worshipful kisses down your throat, over your sternum. You shivered beneath him, fingers threading back into his braids as he hummed in quiet appreciation.

“Lew… we really are so late—”

“Shh. Two minutes,” he promised, though the wicked curve of his mouth suggested it might stretch longer. “Just let me taste you. I’ve missed this pussy all week. Let me make you feel good, baby. Please.”

He didn’t wait for another protest. Sliding down your body with fluid grace, Lewis settled between your thighs, pushing them wider with gentle hands. He pressed a soft kiss to your inner thigh, then another, working his way inward until his breath ghosted over your soaked core. A low, appreciative groan rumbled from his chest.

“Already so wet for me,” he murmured, almost awed. “My perfect girl.”

Then his mouth was on you. Hot, slow, and devastatingly skilled. His tongue flattened against your clit before circling it with lazy precision, sucking gently as two fingers eased inside you, curling at the exact angle you loved so much. The wet sounds of his devotion filled the room, mingled with your soft gasps and his quiet, hungry moans. He devoured you like a man savouring his favourite meal after starving for days. Long, luxurious licks followed by focused suction that had your back arching off the bed.

One of his hands reached up to intertwine with yours, holding it tightly against your stomach as the other worked between your legs, stroking the perfect spot inside you with every thrust of his fingers. He never rushed. Even now, with the clock ticking, Lewis took his time, lavishing you with love and filthy praise between kisses and licks.

“That’s it, baby… let me hear you. Fuck, you taste so sweet. Missed making you fall apart for me.”

Your free hand tightened in his braids as the pleasure coiled tighter, hips rolling against his talented mouth. He groaned in encouragement, the vibration sending shivers up your spine. When you finally came, it crashed over you in deep, shuddering waves, his name spilling from your lips in a gasped moan. Lewis stayed with you through every pulse, licking you through it until you were trembling and oversensitive, only pulling back when you gently tugged at his braids.

He crawled back up your body, face flushed, lips shiny with your arousal, and kissed you deeply so you could taste yourself on his tongue. The kiss was slower this time, full of love, gratitude, and quiet promise.

“There,” he whispered against your mouth, smiling his soft, boyish smile again. “Now we can both shower. Quickly.” He pressed one last kiss to your forehead. “Though I wouldn’t mind being a little later if it means getting to do that again.”

You laughed, breathless and glowing, and let him pull you toward the bathroom, his hand warm and steady in yours. The gala could wait another ten minutes. Nothing mattered more to him than this.

He'd spent months on this look with his stylist Eric McNeal and Grace Wales Bonner. Every detail meant something—the ivory color denoting purity and status, the cowrie shells as ancestral protection, the baobab flower motifs, the garnet-colored diamonds in his brooches. His custom Stephen Jones beret sat perfectly on his head, Manolo Blaniks on his feet, rings heavy with meaning on his fingers.

This was important. This mattered. Using fashion to honor Black dandyism, to tell stories through clothing, to shine a light on the culture.

But right now? Fuck all of that.

Because she was three interviews down from him, and even with a hundred other people on this carpet, Lewis couldn't take his eyes off her.

The dress was incredible. Champagne-colored silk that moved like liquid gold, all 1920s Art Deco beading and fringe that caught every camera flash. The neckline plunged—not obscenely, but enough. Enough to make his mouth go dry. The waist was cinched tight, emphasizing those curves he'd been thinking about for weeks, and when she moved the fringe swayed, catching light like water.

Her hair was in finger waves, sleek and shining. Very Josephine Baker, very intentional. Diamond chandelier earrings swung when she laughed at something the interviewer said, and that laugh—that sound carried over all the noise straight to him.

Lewis felt it low in his stomach. In his chest. Everywhere.

"Lewis? Can you talk about the symbolism in your outfit?"

He blinked, brought his attention back. Smiled—that easy, practiced smile he'd perfected over years of interviews and press conferences. "Yeah, absolutely. Eric and I, we spent three months on research alone. Every detail has meaning—the cowrie shells, they're protective talismans in African culture. The garnets reference January birthstones. Even the cufflinks, they're shaped like African Daisies, which felt like a beautiful metaphor for growth and heritage, you know?"

The interviewer was nodding, eating it up. Good. He was saying the right things.

But she was turning now, showing the back of her dress to the photographers, and Christ—the back was even better than the front. Completely backless, dipping low, showing smooth brown skin that he wanted to put his hands on.

"—really hope people take the time to research and think deeply about what they're wearing tonight," he finished, and honestly he had no idea if that made sense in context with what they'd been talking about.

The interviewer seemed satisfied though, moved on to asking about Ferrari's season, his goals for the championship, the F1 movie with Brad. Lewis answered on autopilot—he'd been doing this long enough that he could talk about racing in his sleep.

All while tracking her movement down the carpet with his peripheral vision.

Focus, Hamilton. For fuck's sake.

He'd been chasing this woman for weeks. Actual weeks. And she was playing him—giving him just enough to keep him interested but never enough to actually get anywhere.

It was maddening. Honestly? He fucking loved it.

Three Months Earlier

Lewis had been lying in bed at 2 AM, scrolling through TikTok like a bored man in his early forties that he was, when her video came up on his For You Page.

It was from some late-night talk show appearance. She was telling a story about accidentally texting the wrong person some wildly inappropriate message meant for her best friend, and the way she told it—animated, self-deprecating, with perfect comedic timing—had him laughing out loud in his empty bedroom.

Then the camera cut to a close-up, and Lewis's laughter died in his throat.

She was stunning. Not in that conventional, safe way that Hollywood usually promoted. She was striking. Deep brown skin that glowed under the studio lights, natural hair styled in soft curls that framed her face, deep dimples that appeared when she smiled—and God, that smile. Wide and genuine and a little mischievous, like she knew secrets you wanted to learn.

And her body. The dress she wore was modest by industry standards but couldn't hide the curves underneath. Thin waist, wide hips, the kind of proportions that made a man's brain short-circuit.

Lewis sat up in bed, immediately clicked on her profile, and fell down a rabbit hole.

She was an actress, singer, and dancer—triple threat didn't even begin to cover it. At twenty-eight, she was the youngest person ever to be one award away from an EGOT. She had an Emmy for a limited series, a Grammy for a soundtrack album, and a Tony for a Broadway revival. All she needed was the Oscar, and people were already predicting she'd get nominated for the film she'd just wrapped.

Her interviews were gold. Funny, quick-witted, charming without being fake. She talked about her craft with genuine passion, made interviewers laugh, had this way of being completely herself that felt rare in an industry of carefully managed personas.

And every single video had comments from men losing their minds over her. Celebrities, athletes, regular guys—everyone was in love with her. Some rapper had written a whole song about wanting to wife her up. An NBA player had publicly said she was his dream woman. Even some British actor had mentioned her in an interview as his celebrity crush.

Lewis understood the hype completely.

He'd watched video after video—talk show appearances, red carpet interviews, behind-the-scenes footage from her projects. There was one clip of her dancing at some industry party, really dancing, and Lewis had watched it maybe fifteen times before he realized how obsessed he was acting.

"Fuck it," he'd muttered, and texted Spinz.

Lewis: Need you to do something for me.

Spinz: It's 2 AM, bro.

Lewis: I know what time it is. I need you to reach out to someone's talent agent. Get them to the Australian Grand Prix.

Spinz: Who?

Lewis sent her name, a link to her Instagram.

There was a long pause before Spinz responded.

Spinz: THE [her name]??? Bro, she's literally the most sought-after woman in entertainment right now. Every man with a pulse wants her.

Lewis: Good thing I'm not just any man with a pulse.

Spinz: You're serious about this?

Lewis: Dead serious. Reach out. Offer whatever we need to offer.

Spinz: Alright, man. I'll try. But don't get your hopes up. She's known for turning down these kinds of invitations.

Lewis didn't respond. He didn't do "don't get your hopes up." He'd built a career on manifesting what he wanted, on believing things into existence when everyone said they were impossible.

He wanted her. Simple as that.

Spinz reached out. Offered everything—VIP paddock access, travel arrangements, accommodations, the full Ferrari experience.

She declined. Prior commitments. Schedule conflicts. Maybe another time.

"Maybe another time" in celebrity-speak meant never.

But Lewis didn't give up easy. He'd gotten her number from a mutual friend in music, crafted a text that was casual but clear.

Lewis: Heard you turned down my GP invite. Can't say I'm not disappointed. Would've been good to meet you properly.

Two days of radio silence.

When she finally responded: Sorry, been swamped. Maybe next time you're in LA?

Maybe. Next time. As noncommittal as it gets.

Lewis grinned at his phone anyway. It was something.

Lewis: I'm in LA next week actually. Thursday work?

Another day: Thursday's tough. Maybe the week after?

He showed up the next week regardless. Made sure their mutual friend mentioned it. She texted with a coffee shop and a time.

He arrived early. Ordered her favorite—he'd done his homework. Waited.

She showed up twenty minutes late in an oversized hoodie and leggings that somehow still made her look incredible.

"Traffic," she said, sliding into the seat across from him. Not apologetic at all.

"You live ten minutes from here." He'd maybe looked that up.

She smiled. Those dimples. "Okay, fine. I was hoping you'd get bored and leave."

"Why would I do that?"

"Because most men do when you make them wait."

"I'm not most men."

"So I'm learning." She studied him, took the coffee he'd ordered without asking how he knew. "You know every man in Hollywood wants to date me, right?"

"I'm aware."

"And you think you're different because...?"

"Because I want to know you," Lewis said, leaning forward slightly. Not crowding her space but making his interest clear. "Not just date you. Not just sleep with you—though I absolutely want that too, let's be honest. But I want the real you. The one behind what you show cameras."

She blinked. Clearly hadn't expected that level of directness. "That's smooth."

"It's honest."

Two hours they talked. She was smarter than her bubbly persona suggested, more guarded than her openness in interviews implied. Passionate about creating opportunities for other artists of color. Funny in ways that surprised him. Sharp enough to keep him on his toes.

When they finally left, Lewis walked her to her car—a practical SUV, not the flashy sports car he'd expected—leaned against the driver's door.

"When can I see you again?"

"I don't know. I'm busy."

"Make time."

"You're confident."

"I know what I want." He let his eyes drop to her mouth. Back up. "And I want you."

She looked up at him. For just a second her guard dropped. He saw interest. Heat. Real attraction.

Then she smiled, patted his chest, slid past him into her car.

"We'll see," she said, and drove away.

Six weeks ago.

Since then it had been a game. He'd text, she'd respond eventually. He'd call, she'd let half of them go to voicemail. He'd send flowers—expensive, excessive arrangements—and her assistant would post them but she wouldn't mention them to him directly.

He sent gifts. First editions of her favorite books. Custom jewelry from a Black designer she'd talked about wanting to work with.

Each gift carefully chosen. Showing he paid attention.

She'd send polite thank you texts. Nothing more.

It was frustrating as hell. Made him want her even more.

Lewis been around beautiful women who'd been happy to fit his schedule, make things easy. He'd never been anti-relationship exactly—just never actively looking for one. Liked keeping things simple. Fun. Uncomplicated.

This woman was destroying all of that with her complete refusal to make anything easy.

And somehow that made it better.

Back on the Met Gala Carpet

Lewis finished his interviews and made his way inside, nodding at people, stopping for photos, playing his role.

But he was tracking her through the venue like a heat-seeking missile.

She was near the cocktail area, surrounded by people. Other celebrities, designers, photographers. She was magnetic, drawing people in with that laugh, those dimples, the way she made everyone feel seen.

Lewis had watched her do it in interviews. She had this gift of making people feel important, valued. It was part of why everyone loved her.

But he knew better. He'd seen glimpses of who she really was—sharper, more calculating, playing a game most people didn't realize was happening.

She wasn't the "good girl" the media painted her as. She was smart, strategic, in complete control.

And God, it was attractive.

He watched her touch some actor's arm, lean in to whisper something that made him laugh. Watched her adjust her posture slightly when she noticed cameras, tilting her chin to catch the light.

She was good. Really good.

Lewis waited until she was between conversations, then made his move.

"That dress is incredible," he said, appearing at her elbow, offering champagne from a passing waiter.

She turned, and for just a second something flickered in her eyes. Then it was gone, replaced by that practiced smile.

"Lewis. Thank you. You don't look so bad yourself."

His outfit had subtle details that only revealed themselves up close. He'd spent time on this look because he knew he'd see her tonight.

"Law outdid himself," Lewis said, gesturing to her dress. "Very Josephine Baker. I heard you talking about the inspiration."

"You were listening to my interview?"

"I always listen when you talk."

"That's a dangerous admission."

"Why dangerous?"

"Because now I know you're paying attention." She sipped her champagne, eyes never leaving his. "And I'll have to be more careful."

Christ, she was good at this.

"I've been paying attention for weeks," Lewis said, lowering his voice, stepping closer. "You know that."

"Have I?" Playing innocent.

"You're lying." He smiled. "You notice everything."

"Maybe." She looked up at him through her lashes. "Or maybe I'm just good at ignoring things that aren't important."

"And I'm not important?"

"I didn't say that."

"You're implying it."

"I'm implying that you're persistent. And I'm wondering if it's because you actually want me, or because I'm the first woman in a while who hasn't immediately said yes."

Lewis laughed, genuinely amused. "Can't it be both?"

"I suppose." She glanced around, nodded at someone, looked back. "But I'm not interested in being a conquest, Lewis. I'm not trying to be another woman who said yes to you just so you can move on."

"I don't want that either."

"Since when? You've never exactly been relationship material."

"Things change."

"Do they?" She was challenging him now, those eyes sharp. "Or did you just get bored with easy?"

"Maybe I realized easy isn't what I want anymore." He held her gaze. "Maybe I saw your video at 11 PM and realized I wanted something real for the first time in years."

That got her. He saw it—the way her expression shifted, guard dropping slightly.

"That's a pretty speech," she said softly.

"Not a speech. Truth."

"Dinner's starting soon." She broke eye contact first. "We should head in."

"We're sitting together."

"Are we?"

"I'm co-chair. I can make it happen."

She laughed, shook her head. "You're something else."

"So I've been told."

Lewis did make it happen. A quiet word with organizers, some seat adjustments, and suddenly she was next to him at dinner.

She raised an eyebrow at the place cards but didn't protest.

Dinner was elaborate—multiple courses, artistic presentations, servers explaining each dish. Lewis barely tasted any of it.

They talked through the meal. Easy on the surface, but underneath was constant tension. Every time her hand brushed his. Every time she laughed and her leg pressed against his under the table. Every time she looked at him with those eyes that saw right through him.

"Tell me something real," she said during the fourth course. "Something you don't tell everybody."

"Like what?"

"Like... what do you actually want? Not from racing. From life."

Most people asked about championships, records, goals. No one asked what he wanted from life.

"I want to build something that lasts," Lewis said after a moment. "Beyond racing. I want to create opportunities for people who look like me, who come from where I came from. I want to be remembered for more than just driving fast." He paused. "And I want someone to build that with. Someone real."

She nodded slowly. "I get that. Sometimes I feel like I'm performing so much—for auditions, for interviews, for cameras—that I forget which version is actually me."

"They're all you," Lewis said. "Just different parts. But I think the real you is sitting here right now, not this good girl persona thing....nah."

Her eyes flashed. "Who says I'm not a good girl?"

"Everything about you. The way you move, talk, look at me right now like you're deciding whether to let me in or shut me out." He leaned closer. "You're not a good girl. You know exactly what you want and how to get it. And right now, you want to make me work for it."

"Maybe I just want you to prove you're worth my time."

"Haven't I?"

"Not yet." But she was smiling, real this time. "But you're getting closer."

"What do I have to do?"

"I don't know yet." She took a sip of wine. "Surprise me. Show me something I haven't seen. Stop trying so hard and just... be yourself."

It was the most honest thing she'd said, and it hit him harder than expected.

"Alright," he said. "I can do that."

After dinner came dancing. The Met transformed into something between nightclub and art installation, music heavy, famous people letting loose in million-dollar outfits.

Lewis found her at the edge of the dance floor.

"Dance with me."

She looked at him, tilted her head. "Why?"

"Why not?"

"Because I don't need people talking about me being another one of Lewis Hamilton's girls."

"What if you're not?" He kept his hand extended. "What if we just have a good time tonight?"

She studied him for a long moment, like she was weighing whether he was worth the potential headache.

Finally, she took his hand. "One dance. You step on these Louboutins, I'm leaving."

"Deal."

The song was slow, heavy bass that you felt in your chest. Lewis pulled her close—one hand settling on her waist where fabric gave way to bare skin, the other holding hers. She fit against him like she was meant to be there.

They moved together easily. She followed his lead but also challenged it, made it a back-and-forth instead of just him leading.

"You're a good dancer," she murmured, close enough that he felt her breath on his neck.

"So are you. But I already knew that."

"From stalking my Instagram?"

"From doing my research." He grinned. "I'm thorough."

"That's one word for it." But she was smiling, those dimples appearing. "Most people would call it obsessive."

"Most people don't know what they want badly enough to go after it."

She pulled back slightly to look at him. In the low lighting, she looked different than she did in interviews—less performed, more real. "And what do you want, Lewis?"

"Tonight?" He let his eyes drop to her mouth, back up. "You. Just you."

"For what? A good time?"

"For whatever you'll give me." His hand splayed across her bare back, thumb brushing her skin. "I'm not picky."

She laughed, throaty and real. "You're trouble."

"So I've been told."

"I don't do trouble."

"Liar." He pulled her closer as the song shifted to something with more bass, more rhythm. "You love trouble. You just like being in control of it."

"You think you have me figured out?"

"Not even close. But I want to."

The song changed again—something more upbeat now, something that had people moving differently on the dance floor. She turned in his arms, her back to his front, and started moving in a way that made his breath catch.

"You good with this?" she asked over her shoulder, grinding against him to the beat.

Lewis's hands found her hips, fingers gripping that thin waist. "More than good."

She moved like she did in that video he'd watched too many times—confident, sensual, completely in control. Her ass pressed back against him, her body rolling with the music, and Lewis had to focus on keeping his breathing even.

"You're a bad, bad girl," he said in her ear, his mouth close enough to her neck that he could smell her perfume.

"And you like it."

"Never said I didn't."

She turned back to face him, hands sliding up his chest, over his shoulders. "What's your endgame here, Hamilton?"

"Right now? Convincing you to come back to my place in SoHo."

She raised an eyebrow, still moving against him. "Does that usually work? That line?"

Lewis made a face—slight grimace, sheepish almost—that silently admitted yes, it usually did.

"Thought so." She laughed, shaking her head. "I'm not some ho you can sweet talk into bed."

"Never called you that." His voice was serious now. "Never even thought it."

"Then why you trying to get me to your place?"

"Is it so bad to say I want you all to myself?" He leaned closer, his forehead almost touching hers. "No crowds, no performance, just you and me?"

She studied him, those sharp eyes looking for the lie.

"Plus," he added, grin returning, "my view is incredible. Can see all of Manhattan lit up at night. It's something else."

"Using your expensive view to lure women home now?"

"Is it working?"

"Maybe." She bit her lip, still moving with him. "But first, Colman's throwing an afterparty. You coming?"

**************************************************

Colman Domingo's afterparty was everything the Met Gala wasn't—looser, wilder, people actually letting go instead of performing for cameras. The music was loud, the drinks were flowing, and Lewis found himself in a corner with her, their bodies close in the packed space.

"I love this song," she said when something with a dirty bassline came on.

"Yeah?"

"Mm-hmm." She turned around again, pressing back against him, her hips moving in a slow grind that had his hands tightening on her waist. "You gonna keep up again?"

"Always."

For the second time that night, she moved on him like she was trying to drive him crazy—slow rolls of her hips, her ass pressing back against him, her head tilting back against his shoulder. Lewis's hands roamed—her waist, her hips, splaying across her stomach to pull her closer.

"You're really bad," he said in her ear.

"You already said that."

"Worth repeating."

She turned her head, lips close to his jaw. "You're not so innocent yourself. I can feel exactly what this is doing to you."

"Not trying to hide it."

"Good." She ground back against him harder, deliberate. "Don't start now."

The song shifted, something with more tempo, and she spun to face him. Her hands were on his chest, his neck, in his hair—touching him like she had every right to, like she'd been doing it for years instead of hours.

"What are you doing to me?" Lewis asked, his hands on her hips, pulling her flush against him.

"What you've been doing to me for weeks." She smiled, wicked. "Driving you crazy."

"It's working."

"I know."

"So come home with me."

"You don't give up, do you?"

"No, I don't."

She looked up at him, her expression shifting—something softer underneath all that bravado. "Don't waste my time, Lewis. I'm not interested in games."

"Neither am I."

"No?" She challenged. "Because from where I'm standing, you're very good at playing them."

"I told you that I know what I want." His thumb brushed her hip bone through the dress.

She was quiet for a moment, swaying with him even though the song had changed to something slower. Around them, people were dancing, drinking, laughing. But it felt like they were in their own world.

"Okay," she said finally.

"Okay?"

"Your place. But I'm not making any promises about what happens when we get there."

Lewis grinned, pulled her closer. "I'll take my chances."

************************************************

The elevator ride up was charged—Lewis backed against one wall, her against the other, the air between them crackling with want and anticipation.

"You're staring," she said.

"Can't help it."

"You've been staring at me all night."

"All six weeks, actually."

She smiled, shook her head. "You're persistent."

"Just a little bit."

The elevator dinged, doors opening to his penthouse. Floor-to-ceiling windows showed Manhattan lit up like a photograph, the city sprawling out in all directions.

"Okay," she admitted, walking toward the windows. "The view is pretty incredible."

"Told you." Lewis came up behind her, close but not touching. "You want something to drink?"

"Water's fine."

He went to the kitchen—sleek, modern, barely used since he was always traveling—grabbed two bottles of water. When he came back, she was still at the window, the city lights reflecting in her eyes.

"It's beautiful up here," she said softly. "Quiet."

"My favorite thing about it." He handed her the water, their fingers brushing. "Being up above all the noise."

She took a sip, then turned to face him. "So now what?"

"Now?" He set his water down, stepped closer. "Now we stop pretending we don't want this."

"Who says I'm pretending?"

"You are." His hand came up to her face, thumb brushing her cheek. "You've been playing hard to get since the coffee shop."

"And you've been eating it up."

"Never said I didn't like the chase." He stepped closer, his other hand finding her waist. "But I think we're done chasing now."

"Are we?"

"Unless you want to keep playing games."

She set her water down, both hands coming to his chest. "I don't play games, Lewis. I just don't give myself away easily."

"Good. I wouldn't want you to."

"No?" She tilted her head up, their faces close now. "What do you want then?"

"Right now?" His thumb traced her bottom lip. "To kiss you. To see if you taste as good as I've been imagining."

"And what have you been imagining?"

"A lot of things." His voice dropped lower. "Want me to show you?"

She studied him for a long moment—those sharp, intelligent eyes looking for any sign this was a game, a performance, anything but real.

Whatever she saw must have satisfied her, because she smiled—small, genuine—and said, "Show me."

Lewis didn't need to be told twice.

He kissed her like he'd been thinking about for weeks—deep, thorough, taking his time. She tasted like champagne and mint, her lips soft and responsive. When she opened for him, when her tongue met his, Lewis felt it everywhere.

Her hands were in his hair, messing up the careful styling. His hands were on her waist, her back, pulling her closer until there was no space between them. The kiss went from exploratory to desperate fast—six weeks of want pouring into it.

When they finally pulled apart, both breathing hard, Lewis rested his forehead against hers.

"Fuck," he breathed.

"Yeah." Her hands were still in his hair, her chest rising and falling against his.

"Worth the wait?"

"Maybe." But she was smiling, dimples out. "Kiss me again and I'll let you know."

So he did.

And again.

And somewhere between the third kiss and the fourth, between her laugh when he lifted her slightly off her feet and his groan when she bit his bottom lip, Lewis knew he was absolutely fucked.

Her fingers tugged at his shirt, pulling it free from his pants, while his hands roamed up her sides, thumbs brushing the undersides of her breasts through the fabric of her long dress. The dress was a nightmare—layers of buttons down the back, zipper snaking along the seam, all designed to tease and torment. He wanted her skin, bare and hot under his palms, but every time he fumbled with a button, it slipped or stuck, frustrating him more.

She laughed into his mouth, low and breathy, as his fingers worked at the top button near her collar. "Patience," she murmured, nipping at his jaw. "This dress isn't made for quick undressing."

"Fuck patience," he growled, his lips trailing down her neck, sucking at the pulse point that made her gasp. His hands slid lower, gripping her hips and pressing her against the edge of the couch. She arched into him, her body molding to his, and he could feel the heat of her through the layers. One hand slipped under the hem of her dress, fingers tracing up her thigh, finding the lace edge of her panties. She moaned softly when he cupped her ass, squeezing firmly.

Her hands weren't idle. She yanked his shirt open, buttons popping free and scattering across the floor. Her nails raked down his chest, over his abs and tattoos, making him hiss. He shrugged the shirt off his shoulders, letting it fall, and captured her mouth again, tongues tangling in a wet, messy kiss. His dick strained against his pants, throbbing as she ground against him, her thigh slipping between his legs to rub just right.

He tried the zipper at her side next, tugging it down an inch, but it caught on the fabric.

"This thing," he muttered against her lips, "is going to be the death of me."

His other hand moved from her ass, fingers dipping under her panties to stroke her slick folds. She was wet already, her pussy clenching around his probing finger as he slid it inside her.

"Oh God," she whimpered, her head falling back. Her hands clutched his shoulders, nails digging in as he pumped his finger slowly, thumb circling her clit. He added a second finger, curling them to hit that spot that made her buck against him.

But he wanted more. Needed her naked, spread out, taking him deep. Impatience surged through him like fire. With a frustrated grunt, he hooked his arms under her thighs and lifted her fully, her legs wrapping around his waist. She yelped in surprise, laughing as he carried her toward the living room rug, the soft expanse of it calling to him more than the bed right now.

He lowered her onto the rug, following her down, his body covering hers. The dress bunched up around her waist, buttons half-undone from his earlier efforts, but still in the way. He kissed her fiercely, one hand shoving the fabric aside to expose her breasts. No bra—thank fuck for that. He palmed one, thumb flicking her nipple until it hardened, then leaned down to suck it into his mouth, tongue swirling.

She arched beneath him, fingers in his hair, pulling him closer. "Lewis…"

He switched to the other breast, biting gently, while his free hand yanked at the zipper again, finally getting it to give way partway. The dress parted like a reluctant flower, revealing more skin. But it wasn't enough. Growling, he sat back on his heels, grabbing the front placket and ripping the remaining buttons open with a sharp tug. They pinged across the room, forgotten.

Her eyes widened, a playful spark in them. "Impatient much?"

"You have no idea."

He shoved the dress off her shoulders, down her arms, exposing her completely from the waist up. Her brown nipples pebbled in the cool air. He leaned over her again, kissing her deep, his bare chest pressing against hers. His hands explored everywhere—squeezing her tits, tracing her ribs, dipping back between her legs to finger her pussy harder, faster.

She writhed under him, her own hands working at his belt, unbuckling it with frantic tugs. The zipper of his pants came down, and she palmed his dick through his boxers, stroking the hard length. He thrust into her hand, groaning into her mouth.

But then she pushed at his chest lightly, feigning a gasp of disapproval as he settled more firmly between her thighs, the rug soft under her back. "You're fucking me on the rug? I'm not good enough for the bed?"

Lewis grinned down at her, his eyes dark with lust, dick nudging against her through the thin barrier of fabric. "I fuck you all over this penthouse."

She arched a brow, her fingers tightening around him, squeezing just enough to make him hiss. "Don't make promises you can't keep."

He leaned in close, his lips brushing her ear. "You wanna bet?"

Her laugh turned into a moan as he ground against her, the friction of his dick against her soaked panties sending sparks up her spine. Lewis's patience snapped like a taut wire. He pulled his boxers down then shoved her panties aside, not bothering to remove them, his fingers slick from her arousal as he positioned himself at her entrance. Her pussy lips parted eagerly, glistening and swollen, begging for him. He didn't think about protection—didn't want to. He craved the raw slide of her heat gripping him bare, nothing between them but sweat and need.

With a low grunt, he thrust forward, burying his dick deep in one smooth stroke. She was tight, so fucking tight, her walls clenching around him like a velvet fist, hot and wet, sucking him in deeper. Every inch stretched her, her pussy fluttering as it adjusted to his thickness, juices coating him until he was slick with her.

"Fuck, baby," he rasped, pulling back slowly before slamming in again, bottoming out against her cervix. "Your pussy's gripping me so good, like it never wants to let go. So wet for me, dripping all over my dick."

She cried out, a sharp whimper that melted into a moan, her body arching off the rug. Her nails dug into his shoulders, then slid down to brace against his pelvis as he started a brutal rhythm, hips snapping forward with deadly precision. Each thrust punched the air from her lungs, her pussy squelching around him, the obscene sound mixing with her gasps.

"Lewis—oh god, slow down," she whimpered, her hand pressing firm against his abs, trying to temper the force of his strokes. Her thighs trembled, inner muscles spasming as he hit that deep spot over and over.

He grabbed her wrist, pinning it to the rug above her head, his other hand hooking under her knee to lift her leg high. "No, take this dick, baby girl," he said, voice rough with lust. He draped her leg over his shoulder, opening her wider, the angle letting him drive even deeper. Her pussy stretched impossibly around him, walls rippling in protest and pleasure.

She moaned louder, head thrashing, her free hand clutching the rug fibers. "It's too much—fuck, you're so deep," she panted, but her hips bucked up to meet him, betraying her words.

Lewis leaned in, his mouth finding the delicate skin of her ankle, kissing it hot and open-mouthed before trailing licks down to her calf. He sucked at the muscle there, teeth grazing as he pounded into her relentlessly. His thumb found her clit, swollen and slick, rubbing tight circles that made her jolt.

"Feel that? Your little clit throbbing under my fingers," he murmured against her skin, nipping her calf.

Her whimpers turned to broken sobs of pleasure, body shaking as the pressure built. "Yes—oh fuck, yes, don't stop," she gasped. The rug burned against her skin, but she didn't care, lost in the raw stretch and rub of him inside her, his thumb relentless on her clit, his lips branding her leg.

Lewis kept his rhythm punishing, hips driving forward as her pussy clenched around his bare dick, her juices slicking every plunge. He leaned down, capturing her mouth in a nasty kiss, tongues tangling wildly, saliva spilling between their lips. He sucked on her tongue, devouring her like he owned her, spit trailing from the corner of her mouth as she kissed back just as fiercely, moaning into him.

He broke away, trailing wet, open-mouthed kisses down her neck, across her collarbone, to her exposed chest. Her breasts heaved with each breath, nipples hard and begging. He latched onto one, sucking hard, teeth nipping the peak until she arched with a gasp. Switching to the other, he bit down lightly, rolling the bud between his lips, tugging until it throbbed red and sensitive.

"Fuck, these tits," he muttered against her skin, giving one a final sharp suck before pulling back. But he wasn't done. His thrusts slowed to a halt, dick still buried deep as he slid down her body, hooking her legs over his shoulders. He pulled out with a wet pop, her pussy gaping slightly, pink and glistening.

She whimpered at the loss, but he dove in, mouth covering her folds, tongue plunging into her heat. He lapped at her entrance, tasting their mixed arousal, sucking her clit between his lips with firm pulls. Her hips bucked, thighs clamping around his head, heels digging into his back as she writhed beneath him.

She definitely tasted better than he imagined, and he was becoming a fein for her already.

"Oh shit, Lewis—you're such a munch," she gasped out, half-laughing through a moan, her fingers twisting in his hair.

He chuckled against her, the vibration making her jolt. "Damn right I am. Gonna eat this pussy till you break."

His tongue flicked faster over her clit, two fingers curling inside her, stroking that spongy spot relentlessly. She thrashed, legs squeezing tighter, body coiling like a spring.

Her orgasm hit like a storm, pussy convulsing as she screamed, a raw, guttural cry echoing off the penthouse walls. Clear fluid gushed from her, squirting in hot spurts over his chin and tongue. He drank her down, licking every drop, prolonging the waves until she shuddered bonelessly.

Only then did he lift his head, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, eyes dark with hunger. He stood briefly, shoving his pants and boxers down his thighs, kicking them aside. His dick stood rigid, veined and slick with her essence, balls heavy.

"Come 'ere," he rasped, reaching for her. His arms wrapped around her waist, pulling her up into his embrace. She melted against him, their mouths crashing together in a deep kiss, tongues sliding slowly and thoroughly, sharing the taste of her release.

As they kissed, his dick nudged her entrance, slipping right back in with ease, her walls welcoming him home. He sank to his haunches on the rug, settling her in his lap, her legs straddling his hips. No hesitation this time—she took every inch without a plea to slow, rocking down to meet him like she was built for this, for him.

Lewis gripped her ass, guiding her as he thrust up hard, really fucking her now. Her pussy gripped him like a vice, milking his length with every withdraw and slam, inner walls fluttering in perfect rhythm. Each plunge felt better than the last, her heat pulling him deeper, refusing to let go. He never wanted to leave this—her body molded to his, taking his dick like it was hers to claim.

Bhat. Bhat. Bhat. Bhat. The wet slaps of their bodies colliding filled the room, her pussy so juicy it soaked his thighs, the sounds obscene and rhythmic. Grunts escaped him with every drive, matched by her deep groans, nails raking his shoulders as she rode the intensity.

Pressure built low in his balls, coiling tight. He managed two more brutal thrusts, then a third, burying himself to the hilt as he came. Ropes of cum flooded her, thick and hot, filling her pussy until it overflowed, trickling warm down his thighs and onto the rug.

He yanked her close by the back of her neck, crashing their lips together in a messy kiss. She wrapped her arms around his neck, holding tight, both of them breathing raggedly, chests heaving. The kiss slowed, turning languid, tongues brushing softly as aftershocks rippled through them.

They broke apart, foreheads resting together, and she pulled back just enough to meet his eyes. A sly smile curved her lips, that teasing glint returning. "So.... are you gonna keep that promise or not? All over this penthouse, was it?"

Lewis felt heat shoot through him despite the fact that they'd just—

"You're insatiable," he said, but he was already pulling her closer.

"You complaining?"

"Never."

She kissed him, deep and slow. "What are we doing then?"

Lewis grinned against her mouth. "You're getting that tour, sweetheart."

***********************************************

Lewis woke slowly, awareness returning in pieces. Sunlight streaming through the floor-to-ceiling windows. His body sore in the best way. Sheets tangled around his legs. The scent of her perfume on his pillows.

And memories. God, the memories.

Her on the living room rug, Manhattan glittering behind her. Her on the kitchen counter, his name falling from her lips. Her in the shower, water cascading over both of them. Finally, to the bedroom where they'd finally collapsed, exhausted and satisfied and—

Lewis reached out, expecting warmth, expecting her.

The bed was empty.

He sat up, fully awake now, his heart starting to race. The bedroom was a disaster—sheets half on the floor, pillows everywhere, his Wales Bonner jacket draped over the chair, her dress in a puddle near the door. Evidence of last night everywhere.

Except her.

"No," he muttered, running a hand over his face. "No, no, no."

Had she just—had she fucked him and left? Just bounced without a word?

He leaned over to grab his phone off the nightstand, ready to call her, to text her, to figure out what the hell happened—

The toilet flushed.

Lewis froze.

Water ran in the bathroom. The sink. Someone washing their hands.

Then the door opened, and she came padding out wearing one of his t-shirts—the old Mercedes one he'd worn yesterday before changing for the Gala. It hung to mid-thigh on her, making her look smaller, softer. Her hair was an absolute disaster—the finger waves completely destroyed, sticking up in every direction, a proper bird's nest.

She looked perfect.

She caught him staring, paused. "What?"

"Thought I was gonna have to send out a missing persons report," Lewis said, relief flooding through him so intense it made him lightheaded.

She rolled her eyes, but she was smiling as she climbed back into bed. "Dramatic much? I had to pee."

"You scared me."

"Good." She settled in next to him, curling into his side like she belonged there. "Keep you on your toes."

Lewis leaned over, cupped her face, and kissed her. Sweet this time, gentle, morning soft.

"Good morning, baby girl," he murmured against her lips.

She smiled—a real smile, those dimples appearing, her eyes soft in the morning light. "Morning."

They lay there for a moment, just breathing together, the city waking up outside the windows. Lewis traced lazy patterns on her shoulder, down her arm, not wanting to break the quiet peace of the moment.

"So," she said eventually, her voice still sleep-rough. "Last night was..."

"Incredible?" Lewis supplied. "Mind-blowing? The best night of my life?"

"Cocky." But she was grinning. "I was gonna say 'a lot.'"

"A lot good or a lot bad?"

"Definitely good." She pressed a kiss to his chest. "Very good. Though I don't know if I can walk properly today."

"That's the goal." He was absolutely not sorry.

She laughed, swatted his arm. "You're ridiculous."

"You like it though."

"Maybe." She propped herself up on her elbow to look at him properly. "So what happens now?"

"Now?" Lewis tucked a piece of her disaster hair behind her ear. "Now I make you breakfast. And then maybe we spend the day in bed. And then—"

"I meant with us, Lewis." Her voice was softer now, vulnerable in a way he hadn't heard before. "What is this? What are we doing?"

Lewis looked at her—really looked at her. This woman who'd made him chase her for weeks, who'd driven him crazy, who was now in his bed wearing his shirt looking at him like she was scared of the answer.

"I don't know," he said honestly. "But I know I don't want this to be just one night. I know I've been thinking about you for weeks and now that I've had you, I want you again. And again." He cupped her face. "I want to see where this goes. For real."

"No promises though, right? No expectations?"

"Just us figuring it out as we go." He kissed her softly. "That work for you?"

She studied him for a long moment, those sharp eyes looking for any sign he was playing her. Whatever she saw must have satisfied her because she nodded.

"Yeah. That works." She bit her lip, that teasing look returning. "So... about that Grand Prix invitation. Is that still on the table? Or was that just part of your game?"

Lewis felt his face break into a huge smile, so wide it almost hurt. "You want to come to a race?"

"Maybe. If the offer still stands."

"Baby girl, the offer always stood." He was already planning it in his head—getting her paddock access, making sure she had everything she needed, showing her his world. "When can you come? We've got Monaco in a few weeks, then Barcelona—"

"Monaco sounds good." She was smiling now too, those dimples out in full force. "I can probably clear my schedule."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah." She kissed him, slow and sweet. "Besides, I need to see what all the fuss is about. See if you're as good on the track as you are in bed."

"I'm better on the track."

"Impossible," she said, and the way she looked at him made Lewis's chest tight.

"Come to Monaco," he said. "Let me show you around."

"Okay." She settled back against his chest, her hand over his heart. "But you're explaining to Spinz why I'm suddenly accepting his invitations."

Lewis laughed, wrapping his arms around her. "Deal."

They lay there as the morning sun climbed higher, Manhattan coming alive outside the windows, and Lewis thought about how six weeks ago he'd seen her on a video and decided he wanted to know her.

Now she was here, in his arms, in his shirt, with his marks on her skin and her laugh in his ears and the promise of more tomorrows.

He'd chased her. He'd caught her.

And somehow, impossibly, it was even better than he'd imagined.

"Hey," she said softly, tilting her head to look at him.

"Yeah?"

"For what it's worth?" Her dimples appeared. "You were worth the wait too."