So It Goes... - A Romanogers Oneshot
Artwork by @faith2nyc Read on AO3 Never compromise your client. If there was ever a golden rule in private security that should not be bent, it’s this one. When it comes to the person you’re assigned to serve and protect, you are not to touch. You are not to get too close. And you are definitely not to wonder what her cherry-lacquered lips taste like.
Those are the rules, and the point of rules is to follow them. It’s a value that was instilled in Steve during his time in the Army, and it’s this same value he’s founded his company upon – a company he’s not only proud of, but also one that’s responsible for the livelihoods of dozens of employees. If only for that reason alone, he knows that he must remain steadfast. A professional.
As he enters the elevator, though, every reason he’s just ruminated on becomes that much more difficult to remember. Next to him, Natasha stands silently, looking every bit the sight that she is in a black silk dress and a crisp white coat draped over her shoulders. The doors whizz shut, and as the car begins to ascend to her penthouse, the familiar scent of her lavender perfume fills his senses, and he has to clench both his hands into fists to fight off every urge he has to reach out to her.
Natasha Romanoff is his job. Ensuring she’s safe and that she remains safe is his mission, and because of that, he can’t be thinking of her this way. And, more saliently, he can’t take any of the events this evening personally.
Only problem is, everything about this job has felt personal from the outset. He couldn’t explain it, but from the moment her parents had approached him, seeking his company’s services to protect their daughter from the stalker who had already evaded security once, deftly slipping past them to hold Natasha at knifepoint in the very elevator bank they were just standing in, all he’s ever thought about is never again. Never again would someone get the opportunity to harm her. Not if he had anything to do about it.
Then he met her. Just as he had done for every new client, he had done his research. As one of the children adopted by Alexei and Melina Shostakov, she was one of the heirs to Red Guardian Realty, the largest real estate conglomerate in the country. It didn’t come as a surprise that she had attended the most prestigious schools, graduating top of her class at university and adding accomplished ballerina on top of an already impressive resume. In his experience, when it came to dealing with society’s upper echelon, that merely came with the territory. What did catch his attention, though, was the fact that he couldn’t find much else. Unlike the rest of her siblings whose faces were plastered across the tabloids every week, details about Natasha’s personal life remained elusive. He had seen pictures of her, of course, mostly next to her parents at official events, but none of those quite did her justice – none of them quite capturing how captivating her smile actually is or how her presence could command the attention of an entire room despite her petite frame. And that’s not to mention her eyes, verdant as the forest in the Summer and bright as day. He wishes he could say it was something as rudimentary as instant attraction, but even that didn’t feel encompassing enough to describe the need he felt to protect her the second his eyes met hers.
And it’s what he’s done for the last three hundred and eighty-nine days since. For more than a year, he’s been by her side, getting to know her. Keeping her out of harm’s way. Uncovering the various layers of Natasha Romanoff – the woman, who despite growing up in extreme privilege and largesse, has never treated anyone as anything but her equal. Who would go out of her way in a heartbeat to take care of those she cared about.
The more he got to know her, the more personal his mission became. And as much as he hates to admit it, she’s become more than just his job. At the very least, he had come to see her as a friend. A confidant. He convinces himself that that’s why the events of tonight have felt so personal, the ire from what he had seen unfold slowly but surely clawing its way under his skin. That’s the thing about being by Natasha’s side as often as he is. It’s like getting a front row seat to everything that happens to her. Sometimes it’s as joyous as the children at the orphanage she frequents running into her arms the second she drops by for a visit. Other times, like tonight, it’s watching the unfair way she’s treated, and hearing the vile things spewed her way.
His thoughts are interrupted by a touch as light as a feather. He stills, looking forward at the reflection on the brushed metals doors to see that Natasha’s stepped closer to him, her fingers working to unclench his fist.
“Natasha,” he whispers, but whether it’s in warning or relief, he’s unsure. Luckily, he doesn’t have to linger on the question for too long as the elevator dings, signaling their arrival on her floor. He gestures to the doors as they slide open. “After you.”
This isn’t her. The thought rushes through Natasha as she leads Steve down the hall and to her suite. If there is one thing she didn’t do, it’s get involved with the people on her payroll. And that’s what Steve Rogers is – a person paid to keep her safe.
If only that were the whole truth.
In reality, he’s also the person she’s spent the most time with in the last year, his ever looming presence giving her the peace of mind she’s had to go without for longer than she cares to admit. Gone were the days of her looking over her shoulder, of her stomach feeling unsettled over the idea that there were unwanted eyes on her. Not that the scrutiny ever went away, of course. For as long as she can recall, that’s been part of her life. The unintended consequence of her privilege. Now, though, she could rest easy knowing that she also had Steve’s eyes, his sharp, watchful gaze looking out for her.
But it’s not only Steve’s presence that’s allowed her to revel in safety. She was still reeling from her brush with her stalker when her parents had hired Steve, and even with him shadowing her, she knew that if she was ever going to live without fear ever again, she needed to learn to defend herself. To never feel the helplessness she felt that night as that mad man pressed a blade to her skin. Her parents were less than thrilled with the idea (let Steve do his job, her mother had insisted), but much to her surprise, Steve was very much all in. And so began their weekly ritual. Every Wednesday after work, Steve would train her to fight, teaching her all the ways she could protect herself.
If she had to think of the moment she felt her relationship with Steve begin to shift, it was here. Maybe it was the late hour or the exhaustion from the day, but she found that Steve was more willing to let his guard down after those sessions. It’s as they were sitting on the mats, trying to catch their breath between sets at the gym, that she learned all the details about him that she’s grown to admire, like how big an influence his father was in his choice to join the Army. How much he missed his mom. What a little shit he could be with a quip.
Before she really knew it, Steve had become more than just her bodyguard. He had become her sounding board, and she trusted him implicitly – which was more than she could say about some people she called family.
Families were complicated, but hers was a little more so. Their parents had loved them fiercely, of that there was no doubt. But she and her siblings were all cut from different cloths, and after that fateful car crash that had suddenly taken their parents, the very glue that held them together, that couldn’t be more apparent. Those differences were on full display tonight at the first board meeting since their parents’ passing. Weeks of anticipation had ended with the board announcing that they had selected her to be the next CEO, her father’s successor. Her sisters were practically apathetic – Yelena shrugged, and while Antonia rolled her eyes, she said nothing more. Her brothers, though, were incandescent. Helmut had branded her a manipulative snake. But it was John who had the most to say, all but accusing her of sleeping her way into the position. Not that she was the least bit surprised. Of all her siblings, their relationship had always had the most friction. They had been adopted practically at the same time, at the same age, and knowingly or not, were pitted against each other for the same things. So when he had the audacity to level such accusations at her tonight, it hadn’t come as a shock.
What did come as a shock was Steve’s reaction. He was standing by the door of the conference room, but from her periphery, she caught the way his entire demeanor went rigid the second her brothers had voiced their outrage. On the car ride back to her building, he remained silent, only speaking into his ear piece to alert the rest of his team of their impending arrival. Otherwise, he gazed out the windshield pensively, his jaw set. The tension that had found its way to his shoulders had never subsided either, and she’s certain if she looked back at him now, she could still find it in his stance.
She couldn’t lie. The idea of this man, who she had come to know as the very epitome of composure and level-headedness, getting incensed on her behalf… it did things to her. While she prided herself in being a consummate professional, with Steve, she found that to be an arduous task. As anyone with a pulse and a pair of eyes could deduce, with his broad shoulders, strong arms, and blue eyes so intense it made you feel as though you were being swallowed whole by the ocean, Steve Rogers was a specimen. Couple that with the fact that she has never felt safer in someone’s presence than when she’s around his, and well. It’s no wonder that this man has been the star of her filthiest dreams for months.
As they near her door, she reaches for her keys in her coat pocket, letting her mind wander back to Steve’s reaction to her touch in the elevator mere moments ago. She bites her lip as she recalls the way he had said her name, as though he was at odds with himself, trying to keep himself together. She wonders how quick he would be to keep his composure if he knew every which way she has thought of his lips on hers, of his hands on her body, and his weight holding her down.
Lost in her thoughts, she doesn’t realize that her keys have slipped from her grasp until she sees a flash of movement as Steve reaches out in front of her, catching them in his palm. Not that she’s surprised. His eyes are never not on her, watching her, and though she knows he’s just doing his job, secretly, she savors it. When she finally looks up at him, the concern that’s been pooling in his eyes all night has somehow intensified, and she finds herself holding in a breath at their sudden proximity. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” she says, but the tightness in his expression tells her he doesn’t quite believe her. She mumbles a thanks as she takes her keys back from him, and as they make it to her door, she waits. If all the nights he’s walked her to this very spot were anything to go by, this is where he leaves her. But as she pushes the key into the lock, he remains rooted in place, and a rush of excitement fills her chest as she opens the door to her suite.
He should turn around now. The idea gnaws away at him even as he nods at Bucky at the opposite end of the hall, officially passing the night shift onto his colleague. But even so, like a moth to a flame, he finds himself following Natasha inside.
“Thank you,” she says as they cross the threshold and he helps her shrug out of her coat. He nods in acknowledgement, stowing it away. “Can I pour you a drink?”
He looks to see that she’s made her way to the living room, glancing at him from over her shoulder as she stands by the credenza, one hand already on the decanter. “I’m still on the clock.”
“That’s what you always say,” she says cheekily, turning her attention back to the crystal before her. It could end here, he tells himself. He could bid her goodnight, turn around, and make his way back home the way he’s done every night. Instead, he pads forward still. “Besides, I saw James out there. As far as I’m concerned, you’re off duty.”
“Is that an order?” he asks as he comes to stand next to her, eyeing the two tumblers she now has in her hands.
The corner of her lips turns up in a sly grin. “It could be.”
He shakes his head, biting back a groan. “Natasha-”
“Please?”
The way she’s looking at him from underneath the fan of her darkened lashes is just not fair. The spark in her eyes is Goliath, and his self-restraint, what little remains of it anyway, is merely David. He sighs in concession. “One drink.”
“One drink,” she parrots, her expression lighting up in victory as she extends the other drink towards him. It wasn’t a secret to him that she’s fond of winning. What is novel is the effervescent feeling that rushes through him knowing he’s letting her, and it’s one he finds he could dangerously get addicted to. They clink glasses before taking a sip, and he relishes the familiar burn of liquor down his throat. “Besides,” she says a beat later, “if a nearly hundred year old scotch can’t turn that frown upside down, what will?” His lips press into a hard line at that, and he watches the way she tilts her head to the side. “Want to tell me what that’s about?”
He wants to. God knows the words have been hanging on the tip of his tongue the entire night, begging to be said. He so desperately wants to tell her that her brothers are low lives. That she deserves better. That it kills him that he couldn’t say or do anything in her defense because not only does she not need him to fight her battles, but also it’s simply not his place. This isn’t a discussion a bodyguard has with his client, which is why he settles for, “Your brothers are a piece of work.”
She hums in agreement. “You knew that, though.”
He did. Her brothers may have never had the audacity to speak to her the way they did tonight when their parents were still around, but the animosity has always been palpable from their backhanded comments to the outright callousness with which they viewed the situation with her stalker, practically ridiculing Natasha for needing round-the-clock security. The latter makes his blood boil – the idea that they think their sister’s safety is something to trivialize, and this time, he isn’t able to hold back. “I should’ve beat John to a pulp.”
The regret sets in the second the words leave his mouth, and he admonishes himself internally. His lips part to apologize, but before he can, Natasha chuckles. “Believe me, he isn’t worth the bruised knuckles or the assault charge.”
“Maybe I’d like to be the judge of that.”
“Such a man,” she says teasingly, taking another sip of her drink.
For the first time since they entered the conference room this evening, he feels his lips lifting into a little smile. If Natasha could find levity in the situation, shrug it off, surely he could, too. And perhaps it’s the liquid courage giving him the audacity to do so, but before he lets the subject go completely, he finds himself finally asking the one question that’s been eating away at him all night. “Natasha, why didn’t you say anything?”
She’s silent for a while, her eyes studying his face. What she’s searching for, he’s unsure. Nevertheless, he holds her gaze, waiting, because none of the events tonight made sense to him. He’s been with her in countless meetings this year, some of which have bordered on incendiary, and while she’s not one to be prone to an outburst, she also doesn’t turn the other cheek the way she did in front of her family tonight.
Eventually, Natasha shrugs. “Because there’s no point.”
“No point?” he asks. “Natasha, I don’t understand.” He’s overstepping now, he knows, but the words slip from his lips just the same. “They shouldn’t be able to speak about you that way! None of what they said is true. The board chose you because you earned it. You submitted the best proposal to take the company forward, not them! And they have the audacity-”
“What choice do I have, Steve?” Natasha interrupts, and for a moment, he can only stand there, frozen, taken aback by her question. As she stares at him, the playful mood she’s been intent on upholding dissipates, and she sighs. “I know none of what my brothers say or think about me is true, but what choice do I have but to take it?”
His brows furrow in confusion. “Natasha, you’re allowed to defend yourself.”
“I wish that were true,” she says, smiling ruefully. “I want this job because I care about continuing my parents’ legacy. But the board?” The resentment in her tone is clear as day she adds, “all they care about is making it seem like there was a clear succession plan so our stock price doesn’t dip.” Her shoulders lift as she scoffs. “If I react… If I so much as show them that my brothers get under my skin, I’m too emotional. Too soft to run this company. But if I respond in kind… I’m a bitch that’ll run it to the ground out of spite.” She shakes her head. “Much as I’d like to wipe that smug look off John’s face, I have to play the long game.”
“Natasha…” he says, placing his drink down on the credenza. He’s been so lost in his anger tonight that he forgot, momentarily, that the stakes are, and have always been, different for her. It wasn’t fair, but the bar for her has always been higher, the fall from the top always steeper. It’s why she’s careful to keep as much of her private life out of the press. Why she meticulously plans her every move, demanding perfection of herself even as her siblings – her brothers, especially – are given seemingly endless leeway for their transgressions. He steps closer to her, putting a hand on her arm. “I’m sorry. I can’t imagine how exhausting it must be.”
Her eyes go from the hand he has on her arm to his face. “It is,” she says, agreeing to the sentiment without any specifics. Somehow, that pulls even more at his heart strings. Because it’s all of it, all the time, he realizes.
He sighs. “I wish-”
He doesn’t get to finish his thought as she pushes on the tips of her toes, pressing her lips to his. The kiss is soft, sweet, tender. She pulls away a moment too soon, but not soon enough for him not to catch a taste of the heady mix that’s her lipstick, the scotch, and something uniquely Natasha.
“I’m sorry,” Natasha says a beat later when the silence between them lingers. “I thought-”
A growl rips from the back of his throat, and before he can stop himself, his hands come up to cup her face as he pulls her into a searing kiss. The tumbler in hand falls from her grasp, hitting the ground and shattering into a million pieces by their feet, but neither of them pay it any mind as he backs them towards the nearest wall.
“I want you,” he confesses, exhaling deeply as he leans his forehead against hers, “so much I can barely think straight. Barely breathe.”
Her hands wrap around him, pulling him closer. “It’s the same for me.”
“Fuck,” the curse falls unbidden from his lips as he hears her confirm their mutual longing. As absurd as it seems at this moment, he could still put a stop to all this. They’re both toeing the line, but with one step back, he still could pull them away from it. Go back to what they were, what they ought to be. Client and bodyguard. Business associates. Friends. He could tell himself that what they’re doing is wrong, verboten. But as he looks down at her, he finds that he can’t. He doesn’t want to. Because there is nothing, absolutely nothing, that feels wrong about having Natasha Romanoff in his arms. Whatever line there is, he’s sprinting well and truly past it.
“What do you want me to do, Nat?” There’s a part of him that already knows the answer. Even so, he wants – needs – to hear her say it.
Her eyes twinkle, and her response is the gush of wind that sends the house of cards that’s his restraint crumbling. “Kiss me.”
With that, he finds her lips again, kissing her passionately as if one kiss could make up for months and months of not having her. He doesn’t hold back, and based on the way she gasps, her hands finding purchase on his arms, squeezing tightly, he suspects that she doesn’t want him to. It’s when he takes her hands, pinning them above her head with his own as his lips find their way down to her neck that she cries out, voicing her approval when he pushes his pelvis flush against her, letting her feel the effect she has on him.
“Been wanting this for so long,” she says, and when he looks back up at her, her eyes are dazed as she tries to catch her breath.
He lowers one hand to her face, running his thumb over her cheek as he, too, forces air into his lungs. “Yeah?”
She nods, swallowing hard. “Every night when you go home, I keep thinking you’ll come back. Bring me to bed.”
His hands slide down to her waist, digging into the silk of her dress. “Then what do I do, Nat?”
“You take me hard and dirty,” she says without an ounce of hesitation. “So much that every time I move, all I can think about is you.”
He groans her name, stealing the breath right out of her lungs with another bruising kiss. “You’re all I think about when I come home, too.” He trails his lips up her jaw, to the shell of her ear to whisper, “I spread you out on my bed, kiss every inch of your skin until you’re begging me to let you come.” His words elicit a moan from her, and he feels her nails dig into his biceps through the material of his button up. “I’ll take you any way you want me to, Nat. Hard, dirty, rough… All you have to do is tell me.”
She shudders in his hold, and he pulls away just enough to see her expression drunk with unadulterated lust. There’s a mischievous glint in her eye as she contemplates the possibilities. “I don’t want to think. I just want to feel.” She brings her arms up, wrapping it around his neck. “Tell me how I want to be fucked, Steve.”
Months of wanting, months of wondering… They’ve all led to this very moment, and as she looks out into the expanse of the room, illuminated only by the glow of the skyline filtering in from the panel of floor-to-ceiling windows right across, she feels her heart race in anticipation.
“Quite the view you’ve chosen here,” she says, her voice sounding breathier than usual even to her own ears. She wasn’t sure where they were headed when Steve had scooped her up into his arms, and in all honesty, she didn’t quite care. But the second he had crossed the hall into her office, it’s as if a fresh wave of desire shot straight through her veins.
“Hadn’t noticed,” Steve says from where he stands behind her, crowding her against the desk. His hands find the thin straps of her dress, and she can’t help the shiver that runs down her spine when he pushes them off her shoulders.
“Why are we here, Steve?” she finds herself asking, sucking in a breath as he begins to pull on her zipper. As it reaches the end, the garment slinks down her body, the material shimmering in the dark in a pool by her feet. He mutters a curse under his breath, and feeling emboldened, she turns around. The first thing she notices is that he’s shed his suit jacket, draped it on the back of her chair, but she can only glance at it fleetingly because the second she looks at his face, her stomach flutters. His typically bright eyes have gone dark, the hunger evident in them as he takes in the sight of her standing before him in nothing but a lacy black thong and heels. “You know, if you keep staring at me like that, I’m going to start feeling a tad obscene.”
“You don’t stare at a work of art,” he counters. “You admire it.” Heat rushes to her cheeks, and inwardly, she marvels at the irony. Here she is, standing before this man in nearly nothing, and somehow, it’s his words that have her blushing. She bites back a smile, trying to busy herself by stepping out of her heels when she feels his fingers encircle her wrist. There’s a devious glint in his eyes when she looks up. “Leave them on.”
She arches a brow in intrigue, but doesn’t question the request. “You still haven’t answered my question.”
The grin that creeps onto his lips is trouble personified, and she finds herself holding her breath as he steps forward, erasing what little distance was left between them. “You told me to tell you how you want to be fucked,” he says, reaching for her waist and making her gasp as he hoists her up onto her desk as if she weighs nothing. He nudges her knees apart, standing between her legs and whispering down into her ear. “You want it hard, Nat.” She bites her lip, goosebumps prickling her skin as his breath dances across it, and she’s so entranced by his words that she doesn’t even realize he’s pulled on the pin of her bun until it comes loose at the base of her neck, her hair cascading down her back like a crimson waterfall. “You want it so rough you’ll feel me for days.” Her eyes fall shut when he leans down to press a kiss to her pulse, and as his other hand trails up, cupping her breast and making her nipple pebble underneath his ministrations, she can only throw her head back. “And I think you might even want it to hurt a little.”
He tugs on her nipple, making her gasp, and instantly, she feels herself grow wetter between her legs. “God, yes.”
“Is that what you want?”
She leans further into his touch. “That’s exactly what I want.”
He smiles against her skin. “And that’s what you’ll get,” he promises. “But first, I think you want me to spread you out on this desk…” He pulls away enough to look at her, tucking a tendril of hair behind her ear with his free hand. The gesture is so tender, the complete and polar opposite of what he’s promising to do to her right now, that it makes her head spin. “Eat you out right where you spend your days telling people what to do, making all those important decisions… Tease you with my mouth until you’re out of your mind.” She sucks in a gasp. “How does that sound?”
“Perfect,” she manages to heave out. “That sounds perfect.”
“Then lean back, Nat.”
She does as commanded, moving her palms behind her and watching him take a step back, his eyes never once breaking contact with hers while unbuttons the cuffs on his shirt. As he rolls his sleeves up his forearms, it occurs to her that while she’s all but laid out bare before him, he’s still fully dressed. But even with this imbalance, something about the way his licentious gaze trails up her body, taking her in, makes her feel desired in a way she’s never felt before.
It’s when he slides a hand down the flat of her belly, reaching the lace of her thong and ripping the delicate material away with one flick of his wrist that she feels her sex pulse. “Oh, God.”
“Do you know what it does to me?” he asks as he settles down on her chair. “Knowing that I’ve seen you at this desk, taking all those meetings… Making all those calls.” He hikes her legs up, setting her heels at the edge of her desk and licking his lips at the sight of her arousal glistening between her thighs. “In these shoes.” When he dusts a kiss just above where the strap rests on her ankle, the soft hair of his beard brushing against her skin, she can only whimper knowing his mouth is so close yet still so far from where she’s aching to feel him. “And now here you are, so wet for me…” He brushes a finger teasingly at her entrance, her vision blurring when she hears him groan. “Aching to be touched.”
There’s a part of her that wishes he would tell her. Tell her every single detail of the effect she has on him, to know that he’s as desperate for her touch as she is for his. But then he’s pushing in, her body taking him without any resistance. “Steve,” she whines, her gaze falling between her legs, watching every movement of his hand. For a moment, it’s as though she can’t breathe, too lost in her own pleasure and too mesmerized by seeing everything as it happens to her. Her hips cant upwards when he adds another finger. “Oh.”
He looks up at her, and his voice is tight as he speaks, as though he’s feeling just as inebriated with desire as she is right now. “Good, baby?”
When she mewls out another yes, he dips his head between her legs, his lips grazing her heat, and with his hands and mouth working her in tandem, she falls back on the desk, her arms no longer able to hold her up. Her hands fly to his hair, pulling, needing something, anything, to keep her from drowning in this ecstasy. She’s so turned on beyond words, that when he licks a broad stripe up her center, all she can do is cry out his name. Of all the nights she had fantasized about this, none of them could hold a candle to the pleasure she feels right now. The way he teases her, licking tantalizingly at her folds and sucking at her bundle of nerves until she’s just there, only to pull away before she crests… It’s deliriously good, a high she’s fast becoming hooked on.
“You look so good like this, Nat,” Steve says, easing his mouth off her to press a kiss to the inside of her thigh even as he continues to work her with his fingers. “Look at you, just begging to fall apart.”
“Steve,” she begins to say, only for her words to be replaced by a moan when he nips at the flesh of her inner thigh, the little sting of pain making her back bow off the mahogany. “Yes, yes, yes.”
“Come for me, Nat,” he says, bringing his mouth back to her center, his lips finding her bundle of nerves. She arches against his face, seeking out more contact, more everything, and as white-hot pleasure permeates throughout her every nerve ending, she finds exactly what she’s been craving. All of her worries, her laundry list of things to do… they all fade into nothing, and all she can think about is the heat unfurling low in her stomach, building. Rising.
“No!” She whimpers when Steve pulls his fingers out, tears nearly stinging her eyes as her walls flutter around nothing. Vaguely, she’s aware of him shushing her gently, of his hand moving lower, and then even lower still. “Oh, my God,” she gasps when she feels his finger at her other entrance, teasing. She tenses – unsure of how far he’ll take this, how far she’ll let him. But before she can give it more thought, her body answers for her, a long, needy moan escaping from her lips as his tongue flicks at her clit and his finger presses in. And then her body is trembling, her orgasm washing over her like waves crashing violently to shore.
She’s not sure how long she revels in bliss. Seconds, maybe, but with the intensity of the aftershocks, it feels like an eternity. It takes her a moment, but eventually, she recognizes the telltale sound of a zipper being pulled. Her eyes flutter open, and with what strength she still has, she sits up just as Steve brings a hand to his length, stroking.
Her mouth falls open, and despite the earth-shattering climax he’s just wringed out of her, she feels her nipples already tightening at the sight before her. She’s not entirely certain how her body could still crave more, but as she watches Steve’s hand shuttle up and down his hardness, his gaze trained on her and only her, it does. The scene playing out before her feels like a cut straight out of her dirtiest fantasy, and she couldn’t look away if she tried.
It’s when Steve’s hand slows at the head, his thumb gathering the bead of liquid, that their eyes meet. He’s always been adept at anticipating her needs, and when it comes to her base desires, it seems it’s no different. He brings his thumb to her mouth, slowly sliding his arousal over her lip, and as the salty taste of him hits her tongue, she moans, taking his hand between both of hers and drawing him all the way in.
“Christ, Nat,” Steve says, groaning when she nips at the skin of his thumb only to soothe it over with her tongue, sucking. She’s lost count of the number of nights she’s spent wondering what he tastes like, and now that she knows, she's ravenous with how much she wants more. With a pained groan, Steve pulls his hand away, his lips finding hers before she can so much as blink. The kiss is intoxicating – tasting of her, of him, of them. By the time they separate, she’s practically writhing, the heat between her legs once again unbearable. “Going to bend you over this desk now.”
With a smile, she slides off, stands, and turns. Behind her, she can hear the tearing of foil as he pulls out a condom and rolls it on, and then his hand is between her shoulder blades, pushing her down. She rests her cheek against the wood, and as he presses against her entrance, she cries out in need. In need of the rightness of this very moment. The covetousness. The tabooness of them, together, as Steve widens her stance, spreads her open, and sinks right into her in a single thrust. Her name falls from his lips, his tone gravelly. Intoxicated. She feels it just the same, her nails scratching at the wood as he bottoms out.
Steve curls his body over hers, and as he sets a rhythm with his hips that’s as delectable as it is punishing, she lets her eyes fall shut, the glow of Manhattan below them disappearing as she loses herself in the sensation. The sensation of finally having the man she’s been fantasizing over, of him buried deep inside of her, of him letting her indulge in her wildest desires right in her office, not a single soul knowing what they’re up to.
His lips pepper every inch of her skin that he can find, every kiss like another one of their dirty little secrets that she’ll keep. He’s not the least bit gentle, and when he slides his hands around her, cupping her breasts, she yelps when he pinches at her nipples.
“Tell me if it’s too much,” he says, because even when he’s doing exactly as she’s asked, she knows him, knows he could never live with himself if he hurt her.
“It’s not,” she assures him, letting out another whimper when he repeats the motion and she basks in the sharp tingle that follows. “It’s so good. So fucking good.”
Her moans fall freely now, if not a little muffled by the desk, but she couldn't care less. As she tethers between pain and pleasure, pleasure and pain, the seesaw of sensations is like gasoline slowly but surely dripping into the fire of her lust.
“What do you need, Nat?” Steve asks not a moment too soon, sensing her longing before she does in that uncanny way only he can.
She wishes she knew. She can feel the pleasure coiling at her spine, threatening to burst over her, and yet it’s as though she’s searching for that little extra spark to set her ablaze – a spark that she hadn’t even known she wanted, much less needed, until Steve had shown her tonight. As the frustration of tethering on the edge begins to set in, she whimpers. “Steve,” she breathes out, moaning at a particularly delicious thrust of his hips. “More.”
In her haze, she doesn’t quite catch what Steve murmurs in response, feeling only the kiss he presses to her cheek as his hands let go of her breasts, traveling down her sides, until they’re past her waist.
“Ah!” she cries out when his palm collides with her backside, the sound reverberating across the room. The burn dissolves into pleasure, and she keens. “Again,” she says, hearing Steve growl in response, hips driving deeper into her as he raises his palm and swats her once more. “Oh, just like that.”
He obliges her request, once, twice. And then another time, until soon, all the sensations brew into one outrageous storm, and as Steve reaches around her and down to where they’re joined, circling her bundle of nerves, it breaks. With a litany of incoherent sounds falling from her mouth, she falls apart, taking Steve right down the edge with her.
Just once. That’s what he had told himself when he decided to throw caution to the wind and kiss Natasha senseless. When he slipped that dress off her body, hoisted her up on that desk. One time to get her out of his system. One time to make him stop wondering.
But now that he knows what it’s like to have her in his arms, knows what she sounds like just as she’s on the brink of falling apart, he doesn’t think he can ever get enough.
He should leave, put as much distance between him and the temptation that is Natasha Romanoff. But as he pulls his pants up and disposes of the condom, he finds that he can’t just yet. “Come on, gorgeous,” he says as he lifts her into his arms, mindful of her pinkened skin. “Let’s get you cleaned up.”
A sated sigh slips from her lips as she settles against his chest. He pads out of her office, making his way to the other side of her suite enroute to her bedroom and right into the ensuite bathroom. When he reaches the large soaking tub, he sets her on the ledge, watching as she winces. He frowns. “I told you to tell me if it was too much.”
“It wasn’t,” she says firmly as he turns on the tap, adjusting the temperature. She leans forward, running her hand under the running water. A smile breaks out on her face. “Just how I like it.”
“I know.”
“I’m not going to lie,” she says, yawning. “I think I might just doze off.”
“I’ll turn this off,” he says, already reaching to shut the water. “The last thing we want is for you to drown in your own tub.”
“No!” she says, her lower lip jutting out in a pout, effectively stopping him in his tracks. “You know I can’t turn down a good bubble bath.”
“That I also know,” he says softly, biting the inside of his cheek to keep from smiling. He shouldn’t feel such joy at knowing these things about her. In fact, he shouldn’t even have all these little details in his brain, like the fact that she loves daisies and that her guilty pleasure is watermelon-flavored Sour Patch Kids, so much so that she always keeps an emergency stash of them in the bottom drawer of her desk. Or the fact that she got her love of candy from her mom, who would always have a pack in her bag ready for them to share. It’s also why she makes sure to carry some with her when she goes to visit the kids, sneaking them treats even though she knows the staff at the orphanage frowns upon the sugary delights.
But that was Natasha. Ever caring, ever kind-hearted. Always trying to do good with the privilege bestowed upon her.
There isn’t a goddamn thing that he doesn’t like about this woman, he realizes. Mind, soul, and now body – it attracts him all.
Which is why he shouldn’t be privy to all these things about her. None of it has to do with him doing his job. With keeping her safe.
He has to leave.
“Steve.” Natasha’s voice breaks him out of his reverie, and when he looks at her, he finds her brows furrowed in concern. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah,” he says, shaking his head. “I’m okay.”
“Are you sure?”
“All good,” he assures her. He wishes he could give her more than a few words, but he doesn’t trust himself not to crack open now, to confess to her that the absolute last thing he wants to do is leave.
“Well, then…” she begins, a sheepish expression suddenly painting her features. “Do you mind stepping out for a bit while I use the little girl’s room?” Despite his thoughts being at war, he finds that he can’t help but chuckle at her request. She gasps, shoving his arm even as she tries desperately not to crack a smile. “Don’t laugh! Everyone pees.”
“Really? I never knew,” he quips, prompting her to roll her eyes.
“You just fucked me into oblivion,” she adds. “Peeing is not optional.”
He arches a brow at her. “You’ll say things like that, but God forbid I watch you pee?”
“A little mystery never killed anybody.”
He shakes his head. “I can just go.”
“No,” she says, reaching out to catch his arm again. “I only need a minute.” She looks up at him, eyes wide. “Come back, please.”
He’s not sure if it’s the please she added at the end of her request or the vulnerability in her eyes as she said it, but either way, it renders any thoughts he had of walking out of her front door right now moot. With a nod, he makes his way out of her bathroom, leaving the door just ajar.
As he waits, he paces her bedroom, his hand rubbing at the back of his neck. He stops by her windowsill, looking out into the glimmering city. Below, he finds the crowds still bustling, going about their night, the image only serving to highlight his current solitude. Here he is, standing atop one of the tallest skyscrapers in town, alone in the bedroom of the woman he’s just slept with. A woman who also happens to be his client, his assignment. A woman he had no business touching, much less having.
He leans his forehead against the glass, sighing. It’s when he finds himself at a crossroads like this that he truly missed his mom the most. What he would give to be able to pick up the phone and give her a ring again. But even though that’s no longer a possibility, he still knows what she would tell him – the only answer she deemed right and universal to every predicament.
When in doubt, do the right thing.
Guilt washes over him from the top of his head down to his toes. If there’s one thing that’s crystallized for him tonight, it’s that being with Natasha impaired his judgment, and that’s just not something he could afford, given his job. The very same job that not only requires him to make decisions on the fly, but that also demands that he make the right ones. Mistakes didn’t come cheap in his field. At best, they led to injury. At worst, they were fatal. The last thought brings a chill down his spine, and he reminds himself of the file he has in his office, the very same file Alexei had brought to him way back when, filled with stolen pictures of Natasha that the maniac had coveted, and letters that he had written to her. The endless reports that detailed every which way that poor excuse of a human being used to subvert security. He reminds himself that if not for that one detective who had gotten there in time, he may never have gotten the chance to meet Natasha.
He implores himself to remember all of that. To sear into his memory what was at stake if he chooses to be selfish right now, and what the consequences could be. With that, he moves away from the window, rapping softly on the frame of the open door.
“All clear!”
Given the clearance, he walks in, and the sight that greets him has him cursing under his breath for the umpteenth time this evening. In the tub, Natasha sits surrounded by bubbles, her hair piled high up in a bun.
“Hi,” she says, her tone soft and her face all but glowing. She pats the space he had set her down on not long ago. “Come sit.” His only response is to nod, making his way over to her to perch on the marble ledge. “We should talk.”
“We should,” he says, resisting the urge to push the strands of hair that have fallen loose from her bun away from her face.
“I can tell you’re wound up, Steve,” she says.
His lips quirk up slightly. “Isn’t that what I usually tell you?”
She cracks a smile, but it lasts but a second as she reaches for his hand. “You regret this.”
“What? Natasha, no,” he says, shaking his head. “Never. Don’t you ever think that.”
She bites her lip. “Really?”
“Of course,” he says without skipping a beat, his hand reaching to cup her face. “Being with you was a dream come true.”
She sighs, relief washing over her face as she leans into his touch. “It was a dream come true for me, too.”
“It was incredible,” he adds, swallowing the tightness that’s suddenly formed in his throat. “I could never regret it.” He sighs, dreading his next words. But he has to say them. Has to be honest. “But, Nat, it can’t happen again.” The sadness that fills her eyes is a dagger straight to his heart, but he soldiers on. Do the right thing, he reminds himself. “My head isn’t clear when I’m with you, and I need it to be in order to do my job. I can’t let anything happen to you.”
“You would never let anything happen to me.”
The way she says it, with so much trust and certainty, floors him. And it’s this, the amount of faith she has in him and in his ability to keep her out of harm’s way, that gives him the strength to remain steadfast. “And it’s going to stay that way,” he promises. “You haven’t a clue what it would do to me if something happened to you.”
“Tell me,” she says, eyes imploring.
He shakes his head, his mind refusing to entertain the possibility. “It’s not going to happen.”
She reaches for the hand he has on her face, clasping it between her own. “Having you by my side this last year… I’ve never felt safer.”
“Good,” he says, allowing his lips to pull up in a little smile. “I’m glad.”
Easily, if not a little too easily, they slip into conversation as if it’s the end of just another night for them at the gym. She talks about the plans she’s made for the upcoming bachelor party of her best friend, and they both laugh at how ridiculous some of the decorations she’s ordered are going to turn out. In turn, he gives her his assessment of what he thinks is blooming between the doorman and the receptionist in her building.
“You suspected there was something going on between those two and you’re only telling me now?” she says, narrowing her eyes at him. “You know I’ve been trying to play matchmaker for weeks!”
“I needed to make sure my intel was- hey!” he exclaims, barely dodging the water she splashes his way. As she sticks her tongue out at him, he glares at her witheringly.
“Serves you right for withholding information,” she says, only to gasp when he suddenly retaliates. “Rogers!”
The image of her cheek and shoulder marred by bubbles causes him to burst out in laughter. “I’m sorry!” he says, and despite her best effort, she too begins laughing. “Here, let me help you.”
“You better,” she mutters, and he rolls his lips to prevent another laugh from slipping.
He reaches forward, gingerly wiping away the suds from her cheek with the back of his hand, doing the same with the ones on her shoulder. “Your skin is so soft.”
“It’s all the bath oils,” she says, taking his hand. “You should try them sometime.” She scoops some water into her palm to pour it over his, massaging his fingers. “Or, better yet… you could come join me.”
As she looks at him, she bites her lip, and he can only groan. “You, Natasha Romanoff, are trouble.” Her only response is to shrug, and it takes every bit of restraint he has left in his body to not lean in and kiss that little smirk off her lips. Focus. “That… person. He could have easily harmed you, and all he got was a measly six months of jail time.”
“And he hasn’t sniffed this place since,” she points out. “You’re exceptional at your job, Steve. As is your team. I haven’t even gotten so much as a suspicious letter.”
“And that’s how it’s going to remain,” he says, adamant.
She huffs out a breath that’s long and winded. “You’re really not going to touch me again, are you?”
He shakes his head no, smiling sadly as his response elicits another disappointed sigh from her. He lifts their joined hands, bringing it up to press a kiss to the back of hers. “But know, in my dreams, I have you every night.” She throws her head back, groaning, and he chuckles. “I should go.”
“Yeah,” she says, tilting her head playfully to the side. “You keep saying that.”
He grins. “Can I get you a towel?”
“Please.”
He stands to retrieve a towel from the rack, grabbing the fluffiest one, and when he returns to her, he finds that smile playing on her lips again. “What?”
“Well, if you’re going to leave, I guess you better turn around.”
It shouldn’t be that hard to do. But when all he wants is to wrap this towel around her, pull her in, and carry her to bed, the effort feels Herculean. He chuckles, setting the cloth down by the ledge before making his way out. “Goodnight, Natasha.”
“Goodnight, Steve,” she says, and though he couldn’t see her face, the amusement in her tone is all the confirmation he needs to know that she hasn’t wiped that smirk off her face. “See you tomorrow.”
Read Part 2: Blinding Lights here
