Terms of Attraction
Pairing: CEO! Bucky Barnes x Female Reader
Warnings: 18+ only. Some fluff. Slight Angst. Mutual Pinning. Mention of sexual activities.
Summary: Long hours, sharp tongues, and unbreakable trust have defined Industrial Inputs CEO Bucky Barnes and his secretary’s dynamic, always walking a fine line. But some lines aren’t meant to be left uncrossed.
Word Count: 13.2k.
notes: This is one of the works I'm submitting for the @avengers-assemble-bingo event for Bucky's 108th birthday, running throughout March. The prompt was "CEO AU".
Also, this piece is to participate in Grem's 20 Characters with 20 Questions for 20 Tropes Challenge by @gremlin-girly Using Bucky Barnes' character, "When were you going to tell me about this?" question, and mutual pining trope.
Bucky Barnes never wanted to be here.
He never wanted to be in this office, suit, or life. But fate had a funny way of forcing people into the things they swore they’d never become.
The room was dim since the heavy curtains were drawn shut to block out the midday sun. The only light came from the glow of his monitor, casting long shadows over the polished surface of his desk. He sat hunched over it, resting his forehead against his crossed arms.
A soft sigh broke the silence.
“Again?”
He didn’t move. Didn’t need to. He already knew who it was.
“This is the fourth migraine this week,” she continued, with an edge of exasperation. “I’m making you an appointment with a neurologist. You like it or not.”
Bucky exhaled sharply, mixing a scoff and a tired chuckle. “You’re overstepping.”
“Oh, it is not in your best interest to start talking about overstepping,” she shot back, arching a brow. “Want me to make a list? Ten years under you, since you were a manager, mind you. It will take a couple of pages.”
Bucky grunted in response, looking for the right words, but she was already moving, pushing the coffee table aside and clearing a space on the plush carpet.
“Come on,” she said, glancing at the clock. “You have the meeting with Schwarz in forty minutes. You know, the one I had to postpone twice already?”
Yeah. He knew. He just didn’t care.
He stayed put for a second longer, staring at the dark wood of his desk. His head throbbed, and the pressure behind his eyes seemed to crush everything. He could still hear his father’s voice in the back of his head “Headaches? You think I got to where I am by whining about a fucking headache?” but right now, George Barnes could go to hell.
With a slow, resigned sigh, Bucky pushed himself to his feet. He shrugged off his suit jacket and draped it over the back of his chair, rolling his shoulders as he made his way over to the open space she’d cleared. Lowering himself onto the rug, he sprawled out on his back, letting his arms rest loosely at his sides. As the exhaustion dragged him down like quicksand, he closed his heavy-lidded eyes for a moment.
She knelt behind him, pressing her cool fingers into the pressure points at the base of his skull. He tensed on instinct, prepared to anticipate pain, even from something meant to help.
“Jesus,” she muttered, working her thumbs into the knotted muscles of his neck. “You’re tense as concrete again.”
He let out a slow breath through his nose, letting her hands do their work. The pain sharpened for a moment before it started to dull, releasing the pressure just enough to make his migraine a little more bearable.
“Speaking of overstepping,” she continued, “you should really hire a professional masseuse, Bucky. Have them come in three times a week and-”
“I don’t want a stranger rubbing me up and down while I’m ass-up and vulnerable on a pansy cot.”
She snorted. “So dramatic.”
His mouth twitched, but he didn’t bother correcting her. If she was talking, it meant she wasn’t hovering with that worried look in her eyes.
She worked his knots, kneading the tension from his neck and shoulders before her fingers traveled upward. With a gentler touch, she started rubbing slow circles into his temples, easing the pressure that had settled deep in his skull.
“Rebecca called, again.” She said casually, but he could hear the warning under her words. “Says you had her bloc-”
“Not now,” he groaned.
She sighed but didn’t stop. “I know you don’t want to, but just meet with the guy for ten minutes, and you’ll get her off your back.”
“I won’t waste even five minutes listening to her new fucktoy ramble about some ‘revolutionary’ idea for industrial inputs,” Bucky muttered. “I know it’s going to be some half-baked high school powerpoint with stock photos and shit. That’s the kind of man she likes to have around.”
She scoffed, still working her fingers against his scalp. “He is cute, though.”
His eyes snapped open.
He didn’t move or say anything right away, but his gaze was locked on her now, sharp, unreadable, and just a little too intense. He didn’t like that. Didn’t like the way she said it.
“Is he, now?” His voice came out pretty even, but there was something underneath it. Something edged.
She smirked, unbothered. “Not my type, but I can see why she’s… fond of him.”
His jaw ticked, and he exhaled slowly through his nose before letting his eyes fall shut again, but the tension in his body didn’t relent in the way it had before.
Yeah. The headache wasn’t going anywhere.
Just as he was starting to relax again, the door creaked open without so much as a knock, and a head popped inside: the new intern. The kid was his father’s friend’s grandson or something, which meant he had about three functioning brain cells and the audacity to use them in the worst ways.
“Sorry to interrupt your… erm-”
“Get out,” Bucky muttered, not even opening his eyes.
“But I just wanted to know-”
Bucky sat up so fast that the guy flinched. “Get the fuck out and close that door before I send you to count staple hooks in a basement, kid.”
The intern squeaked, stumbling back before the door shut behind him in a not-very-subtle way.
"Moody, aren’t we?” she sighed, shifting her weight as she sat back on her heels. “You’re still a Sarge at heart, it seems. Poor kid almost pissed his pants.”
His jaw worked slightly at the title, but he ignored it.
“The door is there for a reason. Besides…” he muttered, rolling his shoulders, shifting his gaze away.
He didn’t say what else he was thinking, but didn’t have to. She already knew. The way the intern had found them -he sprawled out on the floor, and she knelt behind him, hands on his body- it was enough to set off the office rumor mill.
“Don’t worry. Even if you don’t get out of your dungeon very often,” she mused, stretching her arms over her head, “you do know there’ve been rumors for a couple of years now, don’t you?”
Bucky turned fully toward her, narrowing his gaze. “What?”
“Come on, like the one where I was sucking your cock on that video call with that Japanese exec from the thermoplastics deal? With the guy watching it all because the camera was badly angled?”
His face twisted, and he waved his hands. “You weren’t even there that-”
“Or, my personal favorite” she continued, “that a window cleaner saw us on full display as you rammed my ass against the glass one afternoon?”
Bucky’s expression darkened into something truly menacing. “Bullshit. The cleaning crew comes on fucking weekends-”
She snorted. “People who gossip don’t care much about facts, Bucky. That’s just how things are.”
“Why didn’t you tell me anything?” he asked with irritation.
She smirked, unfazed. “What for? It’s not like it was going to change anything. And you firing people left and right over some rumor no one even knows where it started… Not a good look.”
He pressed his tongue against his cheek, ready to argue with her, but before he could, she glanced at the clock.
“Ten more minutes, and Schwarz will be here.” Her tone was all business now, but then her gaze flicked back to him, sharp and assessing. “How’s your arm?”
Bucky pressed his lips into a thin line.
She sighed. “That bad, huh? Lemme see.”
“You don’t-”
“I do,” she cut him off, already shifting. “It’s probably one of the things that’s got you so moody lately. And the reason I’ll probably have to send the Germans a very nice basket of goodies after you mistreat their guy.”
Bucky let out a slow breath, but when she just stood there on her knees, arms crossed, waiting, he reluctantly popped open a few buttons of his expensive shirt. As he slid it off his shoulders, the scent of his cologne -warm, woodsy, with an edge of spice- assaulted her senses.
Beneath, he wore a pristine white tank top. And, his bad arm.
Irregular scars marred the skin in a twisted canvas that sprawled up to his shoulder, a reminder of the Syrian shrapnel that had nearly cost him the limb entirely. Inside, a lattice of titanium plates and screws that held together shattered bones and torn muscle.
Bucky exhaled sharply as he rolled his shoulder, feeling the familiar grind of metal and bone, and the fucking pain. Most days, he could push past it. Ignore it. But some days, like today, it devoured him, made everything sharper, his patience thinner, and his temper shorter.
She reached out. He could see the way her gaze softened slightly as she took in the limb, hovering her fingers just above the scars. She was softer, yes, but never pitied him.
He let his head tip back against the edge of the couch, closing his eyes as her hands worked their magic over the worst knots of his upper arm, easing some of the strain. He hated how easy it was for her to do this, to get him. To handle him. It should piss him off. Maybe it did.
But he didn’t tell her to stop.
As she gently rubbed on the offending limb, his mind drifted to the hospital bed, to his suspended arm buried in a mix of cast, pipes, and pulleys.
A bitter taste rose in his throat. The sharp sting of antiseptic, the cold bite of metal restraining his ruined arm, the dull pain buried beneath layers of medication. His mother crumpled at the foot of his hospital bed, clasping her hands in silent prayer. And his father… standing rigid, arms crossed, and a voice edged with finality.
"Well, now that you’ve had your share of independence and adventure, I assume you understand that you are meant to be with us. To serve the family the way we prepared you to."
Not a “You’ll be ok”. Not a “We’re glad you made it home alive”. Just “You’ve learned your lesson.” A muscle in Bucky’s jaw twitched as he stared at the ceiling, willing the memory away.
Her fingers pressed into a tight knot near his bicep, bringing him back to the present. He exhaled through his nose.
“Where’d you go?” she asked, softly.
His lips parted, with the instinctive lie ready on them -Nowhere-. But when he turned his head to look at her, he caught the way she was watching him, with that usual awareness, so he let out a breath and closed his eyes again. “Nowhere important.”
She hummed and started pulling his shirt back into place, her touch lingering a second too long on him as she smoothed the fabric over his shoulders.
“Well, master,” she teased, the title laced with mockery, “it’s almost time to see the Germans.”
Bucky huffed, dragging his hands down his face before starting to button his shirt. She moved to stand, but before she could, his fingers wrapped around her wrist. Firm, warm, just enough pressure to make her breath catch.
“Thanks,” he muttered.
She swallowed, willing her face to stay neutral, to ignore the way warmth curled in her stomach at the roughness in his tone.
“You know there’s no need,” she said, carefully measured, as if saying anything more might give too much away.
His grip loosened, and she pulled back, smoothing the imaginary wrinkles from her skirt. If he noticed the way her pulse jumped beneath his fingers, he didn’t say a word. Once she finished straightening her clothes, she turned on her heel and strode toward the office door.
“I’ll let them in in ten, okay?”
Bucky exhaled through his nose, rolling his shoulder once more before nodding. “Yeah.”
----
She had suspected it wouldn’t go smoothly, but even so, when the heavy wooden door finally clicked open, the Germans’ expressions were unreadable, stern and tense.
She cursed inwardly.
Even if the meeting had been rocky, she hoped they’d at least reached an agreement. Otherwise, in ten minutes, her phone would be ringing with George Barnes on the other end, barking at her because Bucky refused to pick up. And, as always, she’d have to endure his tirade until he inevitably demanded she put his son on the line.
With a sigh, she pulled open a drawer, curling her fingers around a blister pack of Tylenol.
Then, smoothing her expression, she knocked gently on his office door.
A low, muffled groan was the only response she got before she stepped inside.
The sight wasn’t unfamiliar. Bucky sprawled on the couch with his shoes off, covering his face with a cushion like it could somehow block out the world. She knew how this went. If the headache was bad enough, it wouldn’t be long before he was hunched over the bathroom sink, pale and nauseous, cursing under his breath. And, as she suspected, he hadn’t brought anything to help.
She leaned against the doorframe, crossing her arms. “Should I expect a call from Barnes Senior in the next few minutes, or can I focus on other chores?”
Another groan. “I think he won’t call, but who the fuck knows? Nothing’s ever enough for him. Maybe he has a few things to say about the deal, things even a fresh graduate should know.” His voice was thick with irritation, but there was something else underneath. Resignation.
She tsked. “Good thing you don’t listen to him. Much.”
“Hmm.”
She stepped forward, holding up the blister pack between two fingers. “Here. I bring an offering that might change your mood.”
“Whatever it is, leave it on the desk. And don’t give me any calls.”
“Are you really rejecting Tylenol?”
A single half-lidded eye peeked out from behind the cushion, scrutinizing her like she’d just asked him to sign over the company. Then, he muttered, “Fuck, what would I do without you?”
She smirked. “Probably chomp the heads off the few people who still have the balls to speak to you.” She leaned against his desk, watching him sprawl across the couch, with the cushion still covering his face. “Speaking of your stellar social skills,” she said, The signing for the Research & Development Collaboration deal with Prescott got moved from Tuesday to Friday. You still haven’t told me which day you want your plane ticket booked.”
Silence.
She frowned. “Bucky?”
He exhaled sharply against the cushion before finally shifting it just enough to mutter, “About that.”
That tone set off a flicker of suspicion in her chest.
“I know a couple of the board members are going just to play court jesters,” he continued, voice still thick with exhaustion. “But…I want you there.”
Her brows furrowed. “Sorry, what?”
He let the cushion fall away just enough to glance at her. “I want you there.” A beat. “I need you there.”
Something in her stomach twisted. Not at his words -no, she was used to being indispensable- but at the tone he used.
“I need to see-”
“You handle logistics, and you filter out unnecessary conversations. I'd rather not waste my time listening to a bunch of suits trying to kiss my ass. You keep people in check.” He sighed, tilting his head back onto the couch.
She raised a brow. “So you need me as a buffer?”
He shot her a dry look. "I need you to make sure I don’t tell the wrong person to go fuck themselves."
A flicker of something -something warm- stirred in her chest before she pushed it aside.
“Fine. I’ll book my ticket too.” she said, trying to sound unaffected. “But I want juicy compensation for being away from home in non-working hours. And, I won't babysit you the whole trip".
Bucky huffed a laugh, still sprawled on the couch, with the cushion resting against his temple instead of covering his face. “You’ll do it anyway, even when it’s not part of your job.” He gestured vaguely toward the blister of Tylenol still sitting in her hand. “You’re like a mother hen.”
And fuck, how did he like that? How much did he like her, always two steps ahead of him, anticipating his worst moods and dealing with them before they could ruin his day completely? It should drive him insane, how easily she handled him, read him, but instead, he was perfectly fine with it. He craved it.
She narrowed her eyes, unimpressed. “Well, this time mama is getting a compensation, James,” she shot back, drawing out his name like a warning. “Because I had plans for Friday night.”
He schooled his expression, pushing himself up onto his elbows. “Yeah? With who?”
“I don’t think that’s relevant.”
Just like that, something in his chest twisted, sharp and possessive.
“Must I remind you that you signed an availability clause two years ago?” His voice was measured, but there was an edge beneath it. “You agreed to be available if the firm needed you.”
If I need you. His eyes seemed to say it, even if he didn’t.
She let out an incredulous laugh. “Wow. This is the first time you’ve ever thrown that in my face. But don’t worry, I don’t need the reminder.” She rolled her eyes. “And I’m pretty sure availability doesn’t mean ownership, Bucky. But it’s fine, I’ll see my godson another day.”
Bucky’s grip tightened on the cushion.
Her godson.
He exhaled through his nose, and his voice came out controlled. “Good. Then it’s settled.”
She scoffed, shaking her head. “You know, you could’ve just asked nicely instead of throwing corporate fine print at me.”
He pushed himself fully upright, ignoring the dull ache still throbbing behind his eyes. “I know.” A pause. His fingers dragged over his temple. “Sorry, I… this is killing me.”
She hesitated for a beat, caught off guard by the unusual admission.
“I’ll approve the extra compensation,” he muttered, reaching for the Tylenol she still hadn’t handed over.
“Nah,” she waved him off. “As you said, it’s already covered in the clause. That’s why my salary was increased in the first place. I was just messing with you.”
Bucky quirked a brow. “Not many people can get away with that, you know.”
“Oh, but this mother hen knows she can.” She smirked. “Just a little.”
He huffed, watching as she poured a glass of water and handed him the blister pack.
“None of that scotch after taking these, you hear me?”
“Yes, ma’am,” he drawled, amused despite himself.
She squeezed his good shoulder before heading for the door, and the warmth of her touch persisted where her fingers had pressed against him.
----
The lobby was a mess of tired travelers and frazzled staff, as the storm outside cast long shadows through the floor-to-ceiling windows. The wind howled, rattling the glass as Bucky ran a hand down his face, exhaling sharply.
“This is ridiculous,” he muttered. “A place with this many stars and a price tag that could feed a small country, and they can’t even keep track of reservations?”
She sighed, rubbing at her temple. “It’s just one night, Bucky.”
He shot her a look. “That’s not the point.”
“No, the point is that we’re exhausted, it’s almost midnight, and I’d rather not spend the next hour arguing with the poor guy at the front desk when we both know they’re fully booked because of the storm.” She gestured toward the rain hammering against the glass. “Unless you’d rather sleep in the lobby, in which case, be my guest.”
His jaw ticked, but he didn’t argue. Instead, he grabbed the key card off the counter with a glare, muttering under his breath as he turned toward the elevator.
She sighed again, following. This was going to be a long night.
Bucky leaned against the doorframe, watching as she took in the room with wide eyes. The Renaissance-style decor, the heavy carved furniture, the ridiculous four-poster bed with actual curtains… it was over the top, even for a place like this.
“Well, this is… something,” she murmured, slowly turning in place before making a beeline for the bathroom.
He heard her sharp inhale, then -God help him- a pleased little hum that was dangerously close to a moan.
His bad mood tempered just a little.
Shoving his hands into his pockets, he stepped further inside, glancing at the coffee table stacked with neatly packaged luxury treats. He had no doubt they came with a price tag steep enough to make even him scoff.
She poked her head out from the bathroom, grinning. “You think they’d notice if I just sat in the tub and refused to leave?”
For the first time since the airport delays, he almost smiled. Almost. Then he sat in an oversized armchair. The long flight, the delays, and the cold air outside had worsened the stiffness in his arm.
She eyed him knowingly, arms crossing. “Speaking of the tub, why don’t you take a shower? Or an immersive bath? Heat those bones a little. You’re tensing the arm a lot, you know.”
He seemed to consider it for a second, rolling his shoulder slightly. But then he shook his head. “After you. You’re cold too. Ladies first.”
She arched a brow. “I appreciate the chivalry, but you need it more-”
“All I hear right now is a hen clucking.” He cut her off, smirking as he kicked off his shoes and sank deeper into the chair.
Her eyes narrowed. “Endearing.”
He shrugged, looking entirely too pleased with himself.
“Well, since you offered,” she huffed, “I’m going to test the tub. And don’t expect me to be out in less than thirty minutes because I won’t. If you need the bathroom, I don’t know, use a vase or something.” She said as she started to rummage on her suitcase, looking for her nightgown.
Bucky snorted, “So regal, just what this place needs.”
As soon as the bathroom door clicked shut, she let out a long breath, and her shoulders slumped as she finally dropped the facade. Out there, she had to keep up the usual push and pull, the teasing deflections, the confidence that made it seem like sharing a room with him -sharing space with him- was just another minor inconvenience.
But alone in here, she could let herself feel the weight of the situation.
She set her nightgown on the counter, running her hands over the silky fabric before reaching for the faucet. The deep tub groaned as steaming water rushed in, the sound filling the room as she braced herself against the edge of the sink.
This shouldn’t be affecting her so much. It wasn’t the first time they’d traveled together, and it wasn’t even the first time she’d seen him this exhausted, this raw from the day. But something about tonight, about his request for her to be here, about the way his voice softened when he said he needed her there -it’s killing me- stirred something deep and restless inside her.
She swallowed hard and reached for the buttons of her blouse, undoing them slowly. He didn’t mean it the way she wanted him to. He never did.
She reminded herself of that fact as she slipped the blouse from her shoulders, shivering slightly at the rush of cooler air against her skin. Bucky was… Bucky. Intense. Guarded. Possessive, sometimes, in ways he didn’t even realize.
But never hers.
She sighed, pushing down the stupid, persisting ache in her chest as she reached for the zipper of her skirt. This wasn’t new. She’d spent years training herself not to hope for something that wasn’t there. And yet, every now and then, he’d let something slip -a look, a word, a need- and it would take everything in her not to lean into it.
The tub was nearly full now, and the steam curled in soft ribbons toward the mirror. She inhaled deeply, letting the warmth settle over her body, soothing and distracting all at once.
Bucky wasn’t doing any better.
He sat in the oversized armchair, socked feet planted firmly on the carpet, drumming his fingers idly against his knee. The tension in his shoulder hadn’t eased, not even a little. He rolled it again, flinching at the dull throb radiating from his arm.
Maybe he should’ve taken the damn bath first. Maybe the heat would’ve helped more than sitting here, stewing, staring at the closed bathroom door like some lovesick idiot.
Not that it mattered. She wasn’t into him.
He knew that much.
Women who wanted something more -who wanted him- they left hints, like breadcrumbs leading straight to their intentions. He’d seen it a thousand times in the circles he frequented. The way they gravitated toward him, playing coy with soft laughs and lingering looks. Subtle touches under the table, fingers tracing patterns on his thigh. The way they’d beam at the expensive gifts, their smiles slipping the second he showed more interest in his bed than in whatever designer bag they were parading around.
And then there was her.
She didn’t play coy. She didn’t bat her lashes or leave accidental touches to test the waters. Instead, she petted him. Nursed him. Brought him Tylenol like it was her goddamn job -which, technically, it was-. And he liked it. At first, it had been enough, her dependable presence that kept him from losing his mind when everything else was chaos.
But eventually, it wasn’t.
Eventually, he started watching for the crumbs, the hints, waiting for something, anything, that told him she saw him as more than just her boss or her friend.
And he found nothing.
Because a woman who wanted something more wouldn’t massage the knots from his arm like it was second nature, without hesitating, without blinking. Wouldn’t press her fingers into the scarred muscles like she wasn’t touching the part of him that made most people flinch.
He huffed, rubbing his palm over his face.
She was comfortable with him. Too comfortable.
And fuck, it was funny, in a twisted way, how every other woman he’d been with tried not to look at his arm -careful not to let their revulsion show- but she touched it like it was just another part of him.
Because that’s all he was to her. Just another favor.
Nothing more.
----
After exiting the bathroom in her red silk nightgown -a gift from her friends- she thanked her past self for not just throwing in an old cotton camisole.
“Well, I emptied the tub and started filling it again,” she said, leaning against the doorway. “Maybe you should go check the temperature. It’s one of the last things I don’t know about you.” She tried to keep it light, casual.
Bucky stared at her longer than necessary. He had seen her in professional clothes, casual clothes, even bundled up in thick sweaters during late nights at the office, but never in something like this. It wasn’t even that revealing, but the way the silk fell against her body, catching the dim light, made his thoughts go places they shouldn’t.
He forced his gaze away, scoffing.
“Bucky, don’t tell me you didn’t even unpack pajamas.”
“Don’t use ’em,” he said, watching her expression shift.
She blinked, clearly caught off guard. “You’re joking.”
His smirk deepened. “Nope. I’m more of a… natural type of guy.”
She pressed her lips together, visibly trying to suppress a reaction. Interesting.
“Well, I hope you at least brought sweatpants or-”
“Wasn’t supposed to be sharing a room, remember?” He shrugged, stretching out in his chair. “Didn’t think about it. But don’t worry, I still have underwear. Are boxers still scandalous to you?”
She crossed her arms, tilting her head. “I can manage a slutty pair of boxers, thank you very much”
Bucky huffed a chuckle, turning to his suitcase. He rifled through his things, pulling out the garment in question. “Relax. I was planning on wearing a robe -there are always robes in these places- to protect your maidenhood.” He smirked, but his fingers tightened around the fabric.
She rolled her eyes, ignoring the heat creeping up her neck.
“Take the bed. You’ll probably be dead asleep by the time I get out.” He suggested.
“Nonsense.” She waved her hand in a dismissive tome. “That couch is too damn small for you. You take the bed.”
Bucky frowned, standing up straight. “How the fuck could I send you to the couch? It’s irritating that you could even consider me capable of that.”
Her brow furrowed. “Don’t be stubborn, your body-”
His expression darkened, and his voice cut in sharp. “I’m not crippled, doll. I let you play mama all you want, but at the end of the day, I’m a grown man who can sleep on a damn couch without whining like a bitch.”
The moment the words left his mouth, he regretted them. He saw her expression shift. Surprise, hurt, and something more guarded sliding into place. He had sounded exactly like his father just now, and the realization made his stomach churn. He exhaled sharply, running a hand down his face. “Just… don’t be stubborn, okay?”
Without waiting for a reply, he turned on his heel and strode toward the bathroom, shutting the door behind him.
And as soon as he was alone, he cursed himself.
----
As she slipped under the covers, feeling the crisp hotel sheets' cool against her skin, her mind replayed the moment over and over.
The sharpness in his tone. The way his eyes darkened, his jaw set tight like he was bracing for a fight that wasn’t even there. She had only meant to be practical; his body did take more strain, whether he liked it or not. And yet, the way he snapped felt like she had crossed some invisible line she hadn’t even known existed.
She stared at the ceiling, exhaling slowly. I’m not crippled, doll. Had she made him feel like that? She had never pitied him, and he knew it. Bucky was the strongest person she knew, even when he was constantly grumpy and in pain.
Maybe that was why she did it. The taking care of him. Because no one else did. No one else noticed the stiffness in his shoulder after long days hunched on his desk or the way he rubbed at his temple when a migraine was creeping in. People either feared him, admired him, or wanted something from him. But who was actually in his corner, making sure he was okay without expecting anything in return?
Maybe that’s the problem.
Maybe, to him, she was just another person putting him in a box he didn’t want to be in. She had assumed he liked it, the way she doted him, the way she noticed him. But what if, in his mind, it only confirmed that she didn’t see him the way he wanted to be seen?
----
The water lapped at his collarbones as he sank deeper into the tub, letting the heat work through the persistent tension in his muscles. His head tipped back against the cool porcelain, and he closed his eyes.
He shouldn’t have snapped at her. She hadn’t meant anything by it; she never did. She was just looking out for him, the way she always did, and he’d thrown it back in her face like an ungrateful asshole.
With a sigh, he dragged a hand over his face, water dripping from his fingertips and wetting his scruffed face. He wasn’t mad at her, had never been mad at her. He was mad at himself. Mad at the way the frustration curled in his gut over things that weren’t her fault. She didn’t deserve that. He’d make it up to her in the morning. He wasn’t sure how yet, but he would.
----
At 3 a.m., she stirred awake, blinking against the soft glow of the city lights seeping through the curtains. Her gaze landed on his silhouette, sitting rigid on the couch, outlined by the streetlights below.
She frowned, pushing the covers aside and padding toward him. “Hey.”
He startled slightly as if he hadn’t heard her coming, too lost in his thoughts. “Hey.”
An awkward silence stretched between them.
“Rough night?” she asked, quirking a brow, trying for nonchalance.
Bucky glanced at her, then quickly averted his gaze. “Yeah.” A beat passed before he exhaled heavily. “Didn’t mean to snap at you.”
Normally, she would’ve brushed it off, waved away his apology like she always did. But this time, she stayed quiet, letting him speak.
“You don’t deserve to be on the receiving end of my tantrums,” he admitted, his voice quieter than before. “Seems like it’s becoming a habit lately, having to apologize for them. But really, doll, I’m sorry.”
Something in her chest softened. It was unfair how easily those simple words soothed the discomfort that had been eating her since their argument. She wanted to reach for him, reassure him. “I know you’re nervou-”
“No.” He cut her off, shaking his head. “I’m nervous and frustrated by this deal, yeah, but that’s not an excuse to be an asshole. At least not with you.” He let out a humorless chuckle, running a hand down his face. “So don’t do that. Don’t… justify me the way my mother did with my father when he beat her up on a weekly basis.”
She sighed, crossing her arms. “Well, you were kind of an asshole, if that’s what you want to hear.”
He huffed out something like a laugh, shaking his head, but she wasn’t done.
“But you also know we have the kind of relationship where I call you out when that happens. How many times have I told you to fuck off?”
His lips twitched. “Never.”
“Okay, not in those exact words, but you know what I mean. Don’t be a smartass now.”
Bucky bit his lip, letting her continue.
“I know you’ve been working on this deal for over a year. I also know your father’s been breathing down your neck about it, just waiting for you to slip up so he can shove his twisted version of ‘tough love’ down your throat. And on top of that, I know this damn weather is making your arm and shoulder miserable. So, I’m letting it pass. You already apologized; why wouldn’t I accept it?”
His face was unreadable now, all traces of amusement gone as he nursed his glass of scotch.
She quirked a brow, aiming for levity. “Or what? You got some kind of kink? Want to be punished for being a bad boy?”
Bucky choked mid-sip, coughing as the liquor went straight up his nose.
“Oh my God, you do!” she gasped, grinning like she’d just uncovered some deep, dark secret.
“No!” Bucky spluttered, still coughing, his face red as a beet. He barely managed to set his glass down without spilling it.
She knew he was probably telling the truth, but she also knew how easily he embarrassed over certain things, and there was no way she was letting this pass.
“You couldn’t sleep because you were craving a spanking? A little pinching, maybe?” she cooed.
His head snapped toward her, eyes wide with horror. “My God, woman, stop it.”
She smirked. “Tell you what: I’ll stop if you take the bed.”
“I told you I-”
“I’m still taking it too.”
That shut him up. He blinked at her, clearly thrown back.
“It’s so big my whole damn living room could fit on it,” she pointed out. “We can share, so you don’t have to hurt your masculine pride, and mother hen here gets to be happy knowing you’re not miserable on that fancy couch.”
Bucky exhaled, scratching the back of his head. “I don’t know…”
She crossed her arms, tilting her head. “Tell me one good reason why this is a bad idea. We’re both exhausted, and there’s enough space on that mattress to fit two more people between us.” She raised a brow. “I promise I won’t steal your virtue.” She winked, and he nearly groaned.
Oh, but he wanted her to take it, not his damn virtue, but something else. And that was the problem.
He couldn’t even use the excuse of propriety, he was already sitting there in just his boxers, and it wasn’t like she hadn’t seen him shirtless before. Hell, she’d been massaging his arm and back for years without batting an eye.
So, really, what was he holding onto?
“Will you shut it if I say yes?” he muttered.
“Just for tonight.” She grinned.
----
She climbed into bed, doing her best to act casual, like this wasn’t anything out of the ordinary. Like she wasn’t hyperaware of the fact that Bucky was standing just a few feet away, wearing nothing but a pair of boxers, no robe in sight.
“We have to be there at nine,” she said, adjusting the blankets around her. “So we’ve got, what… maybe four hours of sleep?”
The mattress dipped as he sat down, and she felt the shift beneath her. She told herself not to look. But when he moved to lie down, she turned her head, catching his gaze, and ended up on her side.
He hesitated for a moment before mirroring her, rolling onto his side so they were facing each other in the dim glow of the streetlights filtering through the curtains.
For a moment, they just looked at each other. Even with the shadows softening his features, she could still see it, the stress in his brow, the weight pressing down on him. The doubt.
So she leaped.
Hesitating, she reached across the space between them, palm up. “You’ve got this, Bucky,” she said, in a soft but firm tone. “You’re going to do great.”
His eyes flicked to her hand, and surprise flashed across his face, but it only lasted a second. Without hesitation, he reached out with his scarred hand, wrapping his fingers around hers, and gave a small squeeze. “Thanks.”
----
The deal with Prescott went just as expected, some rough patches here and there, but overall, both sides walked away satisfied.
As requested, she had sorted through the attendees beforehand, making sure Bucky knew exactly who he could afford to ignore and who required his attention. Not that he always followed her lead, but to her surprise, he was in a much better mood than the night before.
Maybe it was the decent night’s sleep. Maybe it was the fact that, despite his nerves, he had handled the negotiations flawlessly. Or maybe it was just that he finally let himself lean on someone for just a little.
Bucky stepped out of the conference room, rolling his shoulders as if shaking off the tension from the negotiations. His gaze landed on her instantly, curled up in one of the lounge chairs, with a coffee cup in her hands, looking perfectly calm. She raised a brow when she noticed him watching her.
“We have a cocktail party tonight,” he announced, coming to stand beside her chair.
She took a sip before answering. “We?”
“Me. The board jesters. A bunch of industrial guys.”
“Right. So, you,” she corrected, setting her cup down.
He huffed. “I want you to come.”
She frowned, caught off guard. “Are you sure it’s not just for you and the board members?”
“I’m sure.”
She leaned back, studying him. “Bucky, I don’t exactly have cocktail-party-appropriate clothes lying around.”
He shrugged. “Neither do I.”
That made her snort. “Yeah, somehow, I doubt that.”
“No, really,” he said. “I didn’t pack for this, which means I gotta go get something to impress a bunch of snobs. You might as well come with me.” He caught the hesitation in her body language instantly, his sharp blue eyes narrowing. “That’s your only reason for doubting, right?”
She exhaled, knowing there was no way to wiggle out of it. “Yeah, that’s the only reason. But…” She opened her mouth, then hesitated. How was she supposed to explain that their budgets were galaxies apart? That the tie he’d pick out probably would cost as much as her monthly groceries?
“But what?” he pressed.
Fuck it.
“But, we are almost at month’s end, and I still have to pay the-”
“Wait. No, no,” he cut in, shaking his head. “I’m not expecting you to buy a fucking dress, doll. The company will.”
She frowned. “Bucky, I don’t think that’s appropriate-”
“I, the director, am the one making you attend this shitty event,” he interrupted, crossing his arms over his chest. “Obviously, it’s a company expense that my secretary looks good there, because if she doesn’t, the company image looks bad too.”
She gave him a flat look. “Did you just say I dress poorly in a roundabout way?”
His jaw dropped. “That is not what I said.”
A smirk tugged at her lips. “Mmhmm.”
Bucky groaned, running a hand through his hair. “Can you just let me do something nice without fighting me on it?”
She sighed. “Fine.”
“Great,” he said, already dialing a number. “We leave in an hour.”
----
The last thing she expected when he said they were going shopping was to find herself standing inside a Prada store. She had anticipated something fancy, sure, but Prada? This was a whole different level. She was almost afraid to breathe too hard, worried she’d somehow stain or break something just by existing.
A perfectly dressed clerk approached them, and the moment the woman’s eyes landed on Bucky, her posture shifted: poised, interested, appreciative. She on the other hand, might as well have been invisible.
“What can I do for you?” the clerk asked, with a voice all smooth with professionalism and something more.
Bucky barely glanced at her. “We need a cocktail dress for her and a suit for me.”
Immediately, the woman waved over a co-worker, passing her off while keeping Bucky’s attention firmly on herself.
“Were you looking for something specific?” the second clerk asked her while signaling her to follow.
“Uh, yeah. I was thinking an empire dress with a V neckline.”
“Let me show you what we have.”
----
After trying on two options that didn’t feel quite right, she slipped into the third dress. The fabric hugged her in all the right places, elegant but not over-the-top, and when she pulled the curtain open, she froze.
Bucky was standing there, dressed in a black suit so well-fitted it might as well have been tailored for him on the spot. His ivory dress shirt contrasted against his sharp features, and there was something about the way he wore the suit -confident and powerful- that made her stare.
What she didn’t realize was that he was staring right back, caught off guard as he discreetly bit at his bottom lip.
“Guess that’s the dress,” he said, his voice just a little rough.
“You think so?” She did a slow spin, letting the fabric swirl around her.
“Definitely.” He managed to say.
She grinned. “Guess that’s the suit?”
He didn’t say anything, just gave her a pleased half-smile that sent warmth curling into her chest.
After purchasing the medium heels and the purse that she tried hard not to think about the cost of, they had lunch at an upscale restaurant.
----
By the time they reached the hotel, she was still reeling a little from the whole shopping trip. The Prada bags felt almost radioactive in her hands, she could barely process the fact that she now owned something so expensive, let alone the fact that Bucky had made the entire thing seem as casual as buying a cup of coffee.
As they approached the front desk, the receptionist greeted them with a polite smile. “Good afternoon, Mr. Barnes. We have the second room available now if the lady would like to move in.”
Before Bucky could respond, she beat him to it. “Good. Can I take it now?”
“Of course, ma’am,” the receptionist said, eyes flickering to Bucky for a moment, then back to her. “I’ll send someone up to move your belongings.”
“Oh, there’s no need,” she replied quickly, trying to play it off with a small smile. “It’s just a small suitcase and is already upstairs.”
“Very well, ma’am. Please enjoy your stay,” the woman said, giving her the magnetic card.
As the elevator ascended, Bucky crossed his arms and shot her a dry look. "That was fast."
"Huh?" she blinked, shifting the shopping bags in her grip.
"You practically threw yourself over the door card." He chuckled, but there was something almost edgy beneath it.
"Well," she shrugged, "I was supposed to be there from the start, Bucky. Now you won’t have to miss my… how do you call it? Clucking?" She winked.
Bucky scoffed, but his jaw worked like he was trying to stop himself from saying something. And maybe he was. Because the truth was, he would miss it.
He had no business getting used to her presence, to the way she looked after him. But those few hours they’d shared in the same bed? Dreamless. The first time in a long time his mind had given him peace. And now, standing here, the thought of losing that -even just the simple comfort of her being near- felt… wrong.
He glanced at her and found her watching him with an amused tilt of her head. He swallowed down whatever mess of thoughts he was having and shrugged instead. "I’ll survive."
----
The message came through: "Ready?"
She took a breath, smoothing her hands down the dress that still didn’t feel entirely real. "Yeah, coming out now."
Stepping into the hallway, she turned and promptly forgot how to breathe.
Bucky stood there, waiting, a few doors down. The same suit from earlier, yes, but now fully put together. His hair was neatly combed back, his scruff freshly trimmed, and the addition of a sleek watch and cufflinks only added to the devastating effect. He looked like he’d stepped straight out of a high-end catalog, the kind of man people turned to look at the moment he entered a room.
Her pulse stuttered.
He caught her staring, but he didn’t call her out for it, probably because he was doing the exact same thing.
She looked stunning. That dress had already been perfect in the store, but now, with her makeup done, her hair styled just so, and the soft glow of the hotel lighting catching on her skin? He was fucking dying to close the space between them, to inhale and find out which perfume she’d chosen tonight. Would it be the one he liked the most?
His eyes briefly dipped to her neckline before he could stop himself, and his traitorous cock twitched in interest. Damn it. He forced his gaze back up, schooling his face into something composed just as she started toward him.
"You look good, sweetheart," he managed to say.
She smirked, sliding her hand into the arm he offered. "You cleaned up good yourself, boss."
----
The ride in the limo was... interesting.
The board members who had come along were in high spirits, congratulating themselves and Bucky on the deal, clinking their glasses of expensive whiskey as they rehashed key moments from the negotiation.
And yet, somehow, she was left out of the conversation entirely.
Not just the business talk, that she understood. She wasn’t part of the board. But even the petty, circumstantial chatter, the kind of polite small talk that people filled silence with, never once included her. It was as if she were just there, a piece of decoration beside Bucky, an accessory rather than a person.
Of course, to them, that’s exactly what she was.
Just his secretary. The one everybody knew he was fucking.
Now, he’d simply taken it a step further and brought her to the cocktail party, dressed up in Prada and heels, just like a good mistress should be.
Bucky didn’t seem to notice. Or if he did, he didn’t care.
He was fully engaged in conversation with the others, discussing projections, potential expansions, and other things that weren’t meant for her ears.
She knew this would happen. The moment he asked her to come, she’d known she’d feel out of place. And yet, some naïve part of her had thought -hoped- it wouldn’t be this bad.
She wasn’t sure why, but something about the way the man across from her kept glancing up from his phone, barely acknowledging her except for those quick, assessing looks, made her stomach turn. His fingers moved smoothly over the screen, typing something, then pausing -another glance, another smirk- before resuming.
She forced herself to sit still, to smooth her dress over her lap, to ignore the creeping feeling at the back of her mind that something about this moment would come back to haunt her.
----
As they stepped into the reception, they blended seamlessly into the elegant crowd. The board members exchanged greetings with familiar faces, shaking hands and making small talk. A few acquaintances took notice of her, flickering their gazes between her and Bucky before curiosity got the better of them.
“And who’s this lovely lady?” one of them asked with a polite smile.
Bucky barely hesitated. “My dutiful secretary.”
There was always a beat after that -just a split second of realization- before the inevitable, knowing oh followed.
If he noticed the shift in people’s expressions, he didn’t show it. Either he was oblivious to it or, more likely, he just didn’t care. He was too used to these circles, to their assumptions, to their judgments. But she felt it. Every curious glance, every subtle flick of the eyes that said, so, he finally brought her along.
At some point, he made a passing joke “Ten years dealing with me, just for that, someone should give her an award,” which earned a few chuckles from the men around him. She mustered a polite smile, but inside, she could already feel the exhaustion creeping in.
She needed a drink. Or a few.
Slipping away, she made her way toward the bar and ordered a Gancia cocktail, sitting in one of the fancy stools.
Meanwhile, Bucky was still deep in conversation when a firm hand landed on his shoulder. His brows furrowed immediately -he wasn’t fond of being touched- but as he turned, his irritation sharpened into something heavier.
His father.
George Barnes stood there, exuding effortless charm as always, but he knew better. He braced himself for whatever was coming.
“Good job, son.”
For a moment, it almost sounded… honest, proud. But then, just as predictably as the sun rising, he leaned in ever so slightly, voice lowering so only Bucky could hear the next part. “You managed not to ruin it.”
Bucky's jaw ticked. But he exhaled slowly through his nose, keeping his expression neutral.
George straightened, turning back to the small group with a practiced smile. “Gentlemen, if you don’t oppose, I’d like to steal my son for a moment.” The group murmured their good-natured agreements, stepping aside as the older man clapped a hand on Bucky’s shoulder again, making his muscles coil with irritation.
"What are you doing here?" Bucky asked, words laced with aggression but softened enough to avoid drawing attention.
His father’s smile didn’t falter as he tilted his head slightly. "It's a corporate party. Why wouldn’t I be here?"
Bucky’s brow furrowed, and his tone grew colder. "Because it's three states away, and you have no business here."
George chuckled lightly, as if this conversation was little more than a minor inconvenience. "Oh, but you are wrong, I do have business here. I have shares in Prescot & Co. Surprised?"
"In the bare minimum," Bucky replied with a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. He took a flute of champagne from a passing waitress, keeping his expression carefully neutral, tightening his grip around the delicate glass as his eyes remained fixed on his father.
George’s lips quirked into something like a smirk, clearly unfazed by the tension. "I know I gave you the industrial input branch to play with, James. And you’ve been doing a decent job. But it’s never bad to be aware of what’s going on there."
Bucky’s gaze flickered momentarily to the crowd around them, trying to gauge how much of this was being overheard. He wasn’t sure if his father’s presence here was meant to make some kind of point or just another round of his usual subtle power moves. Either way, he hated the feeling that his every step was being watched and scrutinized.
"Well, I’m doing just fine without your input," Bucky said, taking a sip of his champagne, trying to sound controlled.
His father’s eyes never left him, and the faintest smirk played on his lips. "Hm, and speaking of knowing what’s going on the firm..." George drawled, glancing toward the bar where she sat. "When were you going to tell me about this?" he asked, with a casual tone but loaded with implication.
Bucky’s body went rigid at the mention of her. His eyes shot toward her, but he quickly masked the tension creeping through his body. "What is it to tell?" he shot back, trying to downplay the situation.
George sighed, like he was explaining something to a child. "Some little birds keep me informed about your affairs on the firm, son. And they’ve been signing songs about you two for years now." His gaze flickered over to her, still perched at the bar, before he looked back at his son with a smug expression.
Bucky’s jaw clenched. He could feel the familiar sting of being patronized, and it fueled his growing irritation. He leaned in slightly, keeping his voice calm but laced with the growing sharpness of his frustration. "It’s all bullshit, Dad. Maybe you’ll need to pick better your little spies." He hated the insinuations, the familiar condescension that George always slipped into conversations like these. The man always had a way of making his son feel small, of making everything seem like some petty game.
George didn’t flinch. His smirk only deepened. “Oh, I know about your escapades, James. Those bimbos you dated, the ones you dared to bring home. That last one, Mandy, or Marney...” he waved a hand. “But always, always, the songs about you and that ‘secretary’ of yours remained.”
Bucky’s eyes narrowed, but he fought to keep his composure. “Jesus, Dad. It’s my fucking secretary. At this level, it’s like having a work-wife. We never asked or told you anything about Esther in what, forty years working with her?” his voice was tight, defensive.
The old man quirked a brow, looking almost amused. “Exactly.” He leaned in slightly, lowering his voice. “I’ve been fucking Esther on my desk for the last thirty of those forty years, and no one had said a word or suspected anything. Why? Because I have brains, son.” His expression hardened. “It seems I keep overestimating you, thinking you could mask an office affair as it should be.”
Bucky’s stomach twisted.
“You don’t know shit about me,” he said, his voice dangerously low.
His father smiled. “I know more than you think.”
Bucky let out a dry chuckle, shaking his head. “Then you’d know that if we were a thing, I wouldn’t hide her,” he stated in a low but firm tone. “I’d parade her at every opportunity, make damn sure everyone knew she was mine.” His lips curled into something that wasn’t quite a smirk, more like a warning. “Who knows? Maybe I’ll surprise you one day.”
George scoffed. “You wouldn’t dare. You’d be the talk-”
Bucky cut him off with a sharp smile. “Your last name would be the talk. And that’s what concerns you, isn’t it, Father?” His voice was smooth, but there was steel beneath it. “But since you know me so well, you already know that I couldn’t care less about the tabloids, your social circle, and, lastly, your opinion on this matter.”
His father’s expression flickered, and something dark flashed in his eyes, but Bucky didn’t give him the satisfaction of a reaction. Instead, he drew on that well-practiced smile, the kind that could fool any onlooker into thinking this was just a polite conversation between father and son. Then, without another word, he turned on his heel and strode into the crowd, leaving George standing alone in the wake of his words.
----
As she nursed her drink at the bar, she became aware of someone approaching. A tall man with a confident, almost cocky stance settled beside her.
“Didn’t think I’d see you here,” he said, flagging down the bartender without even glancing at her.
She turned slightly, taking in the sharp suit, the perfectly styled blond hair, the smug air about him. John Walker. She recognized him from a few previous company functions, one of George Barnes’s people. He wasn’t part of Bucky’s branch of the company, but he had enough pull to be a nuisance when he wanted to be.
“Well, here I am,” she replied coolly, lifting her glass to her lips.
John smirked. “Must be nice. Traveling in style, all expenses paid…” His gaze flicked briefly to her dress, then the Prada bag she’d set down by her feet. “Guess it pays to be the boss’s favorite.”
Before she could respond, another voice cut in.
“There you are.”
Bucky.
His presence was commanding. He stepped between them, close enough that John had to shift back, barely masking his irritation. Bucky didn’t acknowledge him, his eyes were only on her.
“I need you to reschedule the Montgomery call for next week, now.” he said smoothly, the words rolling off his tongue easily. A perfect excuse, a simple reason to pull her away.
She blinked, catching on quickly. “Of course, boss.”
John chuckled, shaking his head. “Damn, Barnes. You really don’t let her out of your sight, huh?” He took a slow sip of his drink, then added, “You should loosen the leash a little.”
Bucky went still.
It was subtle, the tic on his jaw, the way his fingers curled slightly at his sides but she could feel the shift in the air.
John had no idea how close he was to getting his teeth knocked in.
He exhaled sharply through his nose, forcing a little smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “Funny. I was just thinking about tightening yours.” His voice was deceptively light, but there was no mistaking the threat beneath it.
John’s smirk faltered, but before he could respond, Bucky turned to her and offered his elbow. “Walk with me.”
She didn’t hesitate.
He barely spared Walker another glance as he guided her toward one of the balcony doors. The noise of the party dulled as they stepped outside, and the cool night air contrasted with the heat simmering beneath his skin.
"What did he tell you?" His voice was low and measured, but she knew better. He was seething.
She let out a small sigh. "Ah, just some silly banter we usually have," she tried to deflect, stepping closer to the railing.
Bucky stayed near, and his gaze flicked to hers. “Which consists of…?” he pressed, his voice quieter now but no less sharp.
She sighed, realizing there was no way he was going to let it go. “God, Bucky, it’s just stupid.”
“If it’s stupid, you can tell me.” He pushed.
She hesitated, but under the weight of his stare, she relented. “Some stupid thing about being the boss’s favorite.”
Bucky raked a hand through his hair, and the muscle in his jaw ticked again. "That fucking bastard," he muttered. He started to turn back toward the party, and she recognized the intent in his posture. He was going to find Walker and probably, without subtlety, give him a piece of his mind.
She reached out instinctively, wrapping her fingers around his inner elbow. "Don’t you dare cause a scene over some juvenile taunt."
"He disrespected you," Bucky bit out with restrained anger.
She exhaled, trying for humor. "Did he lie? Am I not your favorite employee?"
Bucky’s scowl deepened. “You know what he meant by that.”
She smiled a little. "I do. But I just don’t care, Bucky." Her fingers lightly curled against his arm. "I know who I am and the place I occupy. John Walker’s opinions are not relevant to me."
His eyes flickered with something unreadable. "The place you occupy?"
“Yes. As your secretary, as a friend.” She said it so matter-of-factly, like it was the simplest truth. “You and I both know there’s nothing between us. It’s just so stupid. He’s seen the women you associate with; how could he even presume-”
Bucky’s chest did something stupid. He wasn’t sure what, only that it felt tight and hot and made him irrationally irritated. “What kind of women?”
She let out an incredulous laugh. “Oh, come on, Bucky. The Vogue cover type.”
Bucky stared at her. “The Vogue cover type?” he echoed, like he was tasting the words and finding them bitter.
She let out a small laugh. “You know what I mean. The ones with the perfect hair, the designer wardrobes, the endless legs-” She gestured vaguely, like that explained everything. “The ones people expect a man like you to be with.”
Bucky scoffed. “A man like me?”
She rolled her eyes. “You’re rich, successful, powerful, and on top of that, handsome. It’s not exactly shocking that you’d go for-”
Bucky let out a sharp breath. “For what?” he interrupted, voice edged with something dangerously close to frustration. “A goddamn mannequin?”
She blinked at him, momentarily caught off guard. “Bucky, that’s the only kind of woman I’ve ever seen enter or exit your office in ten years. The only kind you arrange dates with. The only kind you send flowers to,” she pointed out, her tone laced with incredulity. “Did you never notice a pattern in your partners?”
He said nothing. Because she wasn’t wrong.
He couldn't deny it. Couldn’t, because that was the kind of woman that always approached him. The kind of woman that fit neatly into the world he operated in. The kind of woman he was expected to have perched on his arm. The kind of woman who made sense.
And the kind of woman who was so different from her.
Because he couldn’t dare to be with someone who even resembled her. To be what? A cheap replacement for the luscious body and sharp tongue he really wanted in his bed? No. That would’ve been pathetic. Even for him.
And maybe he was delusional, but he could’ve sworn there was something there, an edge in her voice when she spoke about his so-called type, as if she had already decided for the both of them that they could never be a thing.
And God, he was tired.
So tired of this stupid dance that had lasted years of what-ifs, blurred lines, untold truths, and all the office gossip that never seemed to die.
His patience snapped.
“What, do you think it’s so impossible for us to be something more?”
She froze, and her eyes widened with surprise. “Well, I never perceived anything resembling -um- interest from you,” she stammered.
Bucky let out a sharp, bitter laugh, shaking his head. “Do you think I would let anyone touch me the way you do if I didn’t feel something?”
She went speechless for a second, parting her lips, scrambling for an answer. “Well, maybe-”
“No,” he cut her off, low and heated. “And you know it. Tell me one person you’ve seen me with who has that level of intimacy with me. One person who can approach me, who can touch me, who can nurse me like a fucking child and I let them.” His chest rose and fell with the force of his words, the frustration thick in every syllable. “You won’t find anyone.”
Because there was no one else. Only her.
Bucky moved in, crowding her against the cool balcony railing, his body was a wall of heat and tension. His hands weren’t on her -yet- but he was close enough that she could feel his breath, the scent of his cologne mixed with champagne, wrapping around her like a slow burn.
His voice was low, almost rough. “The question here is… do you feel anything else besides ‘friendly’ empathy when you touch me?” His blue eyes were searching, desperate for something he wasn’t sure she could give. “Have you ever wanted this to be something more?”
She opened her mouth, but nothing came out.
His jaw flexed, and his fingers curled into fists at his sides like he was barely holding himself back. “Am I the only one who thinks that- fuck.” His head dipped for half a second, as if frustrated with himself, before he looked at her again, with a dark, unreadable gaze. “The only one of us that feels like us could be a thing?”
His words were a shock to her system, leaving the air thick, charged between them. His hands found the railing on either side of her body, bracketing her in without touching her.
And she was also tired, so goddamn tired.
Tired of pretending.
Tired of thinking about what was proper.
Tired of believing she could be nothing more to him than his dutiful secretary.
Tired of swimming through dates and relationships that, even with effort, never felt fulfilling.
She looked up at him, the man she had spent endless hours working for, hours that seemed to pass in a blink. The man marked by scars, both physical and psychological. The ruthless wolf who ruled a company he never truly wanted, yet refused to let go of. The man who, in the deepest corner of his mind -even if he never admitted it- wanted to be seen by his father.
The man she had learned to read so many years ago, whose moods, silences, and tells she knew by heart.
The man she couldn’t stop caring for because no one else did. Not even himself.
The man she was in love with.
And she couldn’t deny him.
"You are not the only one who feels all of those things," she heard herself say, the words slipping out before she could stop them.
She averted her gaze quickly, suddenly aware of the distant noise of voices and clinking glasses behind them. But before she could step away, he leaned in, still caging her against the balcony railing.
Bucky turned his head slightly, scanning their surroundings. There was no one. And fuck if he cared if there was.
His intense gaze snapped back to hers. "Do you mean it?" His voice was low, almost rough. Then, after a beat, he exhaled sharply and took a fraction of a step back, and his hands ghosted over her arms as if forcing himself to give her space. "Aren’t you feeling pressured right now? By my position? By our… dynamic?"
She scoffed, shaking her head, "You know me well enough to know I don’t let myself be pressured. I think my first week under you made that clear."
A dry chuckle left his lips. "God. You dared to lecture me about not being a servant just for asking for a coffee."
Her lips parted in disbelief. "Oh, don’t you dare play the victim here," she shot back, jabbing a finger lightly against his chest. "You barked at me to walk eight blocks in those fucking heels just because you wanted that petroleum filth they called gourmet espresso. You had five excellent coffee shops between here and there, but no, you had to have that one, which charged you double for dirty water."
Bucky let out a low, amused hum, catching her hand before she could retreat. His grip was firm but soft, and his thumb glided absentmindedly over her knuckles. His gaze dropped to her lips for a fraction of a second before snapping back up.
"I thought of firing you on the spot," he admitted, almost reflectively.
Her brows lifted. "Oh, how gracious of you not to."
His smirk deepened. And then, slowly, deliberately, he lifted his other hand, tracing the curve of her cheekbone with the rough pad of his thumb.
"But then I realized," he murmured, tilting his head, "I got so fucking turned on when you didn’t cower and spoke your mind."
Her breath caught as his fingers slid back, cupping lightly the base of her neck.
"It’s so goddamn rare," he continued, dipping his voice into something huskier, "to find someone in these circles who actually says what they mean. Who doesn’t just… bend."
His grip tightened at the back of her head, and his fingers fisted in her hair, undoing part of her hairstyle as he tugged just enough to tilt her face up toward his. His pupils were blown wide, dark and consuming, the pale blue of his irises nearly swallowed by the heat behind them.
"But I'd be lying," he murmured, as his breath brushed against her lips, "if I said I haven’t thought about bending you in other… more pleasurable ways."
A tingle ran down her spine, her body reacting before her mind could catch up. The heat rushed to her face, completely unaccustomed to this side of him, this raw, unveiled hunger. The daily life they shared, the comfort they had built over years of working side by side, had nothing to do with the way he looked at her now.
Like a predator.
A handsome, fucked-up predator, ready to consume her whole.
And she was going to let him.
Far in the back of her mind, the worries of what this would mean, of the implications of crossing this line, of the scandal and gossip if anyone found them like this, all of it faded into irrelevance. The only thing that mattered was the way his fingers tightened in her hair, the way his body crowded hers against the railing, and the way his gaze locked her in place like she was something he had no intention of letting slip through his fingers.
She tried to feign a little nonchalance. "Is this your pickup line for fancy cocktail parties? Telling a lady you want to bend her?"
His low chuckle rumbled against her, his amusement laced with something far more dangerous. He didn’t pull away when she tried to call him out. No, he attacked.
"Oh, I think this lady enjoyed it very much," he murmured, brushing the shell of her ear with his lips, his voice thick with satisfaction. "The way she squirms under my gaze tells me everything I need to know."
The warmth of his breath made her shiver as his manicured stubble grazed her cheek, rough against the softness of her skin. Strands of his loosened hair tickled under her chin as he slowly turned his face, skimming his lips over hers, just the ghost of a touch, but it set her entire body on fire. Without thinking, she pressed the softest peck to the corner of his mouth.
And that was all it took.
He let go.
To hell with the party. To hell with his father, the endless charade of appearances, and whoever might walk through those balcony doors.
His other hand fisted the fabric at her lower back, yanking her against him as his lips crashed onto hers. It wasn’t gentle. It was a claim, deep, possessive, and unrelenting. His expensive suit wrinkled under her desperate grasp as her fingers clawed at his lapels.
Her purse tumbled from her shoulder, hitting the ground with a dull thud, but she couldn’t bring herself to care. Not when Bucky was pressing her against the railing, caging her in, one large hand tightening its grip on her hair to hold her exactly where he wanted.
He kissed her like he was trying to ruin her for anyone else. Like he was sealing something between them, something untold but inevitable. His tongue parted her lips and swallowed the soft gasp that escaped her own.
Her knees weakened, but he was there, securing his grip as if daring gravity to try and take her from him. A deep, satisfied groan vibrated against her mouth as she arched into him, digging her nails into his shoulders.
Without even thinking, he pressed a thick thigh between hers, forcing a sharp gasp from her lips.
Bucky felt it, her body’s reaction, the way her breath hitched, the way her fingers tightened their hold on him. His grip on her waist grew firmer, his fingers pressing into the fabric of her dress as if he wanted to imprint himself on her, to make sure she felt him everywhere.
"That’s it, doll," he murmured, his voice thick with satisfaction, his lips barely leaving hers as he spoke. "I can feel how much you want this."
His thigh flexed, pressing up against her just right, and she bit down a whimper, tilting back her head against the railing. Bucky took advantage, latching his mouth onto her exposed throat, scraping over the delicate skin with his teeth before soothing it with his tongue.
Her hands fisted his suit, wrinkling the pristine fabric even further, but he couldn’t care less. Not when she was trembling against him, not when she was letting him take control, letting him push, pull, and claim in ways neither of them had dared to acknowledge before tonight.
His breath was uneven when he pulled back just enough to meet her gaze, his pupils blown wide, hunger and something far more dangerous swirling in that stormy blue. “Let’s get the fuck out of here,” he growled, his grip constricting on her waist as if he might just drag her away.
For a moment, she teetered on the edge of saying yes, of letting him whisk her away and finish what they started. But then reality seeped in: the clinking of glasses, the sound of conversation just beyond the balcony doors, the weight of eyes that could turn at any moment.
She swallowed hard, forcing her hands to press against his chest, feeling the hard muscle beneath the expensive fabric of his shirt. “We… we can’t.”
“Like hell we don’t,” he countered, as he dragged his thigh between hers again. The friction made her bite her lip, shifting her hips instinctively toward him, betraying her resolve.
“Don’t be a brat,” she murmured. “You’re here to make connections, to pretend you give a damn about these people. Not to mention your father’s just waiting for you to slip.”
“I don’t give a fuck-”
“Bucky.” She exhaled, calming herself. “This is good for you. A couple of hours, and then we can go.”
His exhalation was sharp, and his grip faltered for just a second before his forehead came to rest against hers. He felt dejected. She let her fingers trail down his lapels, smoothing out the wrinkles she had put there.
“Honey,” she murmured, softer now, “I want this as much as you do.”
His lips parted, ready to argue, but she pressed a finger to them, shaking her head. “No. You told me you wanted me on this trip as a buffer, to help figure out who you can be a dick to and who you can’t.”
A muscle in his jaw ticked. “Maybe I just wanted you close.”
Her heart stuttered, but she didn’t let herself dwell on it. Instead, she dragged her hands down his arms, squeezing his wrists before stepping back just enough to force some distance. “Shush. I’m doing what I’m supposed to.” She smirked, playful now, tilting her head. “Don’t be stubborn. Be a good boy and talk to those people. We have plenty of time for ourselves once this ends.”
His nostrils flared, and for a second, she thought he might argue. But then, with one last lingering touch along her waist, he huffed a quiet curse and pulled away.
She was right. He knew she was right. But seeing her all disheveled against the railing, lips swollen from his kisses, breath coming in uneven little gasps, none of it helped his restraint.
Which was exactly why, instead of stepping back into the party like a man with self-control, he grabbed her wrist and tugged her toward a darker corner of the balcony.
“Bucky! What-”
She barely had time to protest before her back met the cool stone wall, and his body caged hers in, shielding her from view.
“I’m being a good boy,” he murmured, his voice low and edged with amusement. “You failed to perceive how you -and probably I- look right now.” His fingers brushed the curve of her cheek, tilting her chin up, and his eyes swept over her face and down her neck, to where her dress was slightly askew from his hands. “We can’t walk back in there looking like two horny teenagers who made out while the adults were talking,” he said, ghosting his lips over her temple, in a teasing but firm tone.
She swallowed, barely suppressing a shiver as his hands roamed her body, smoothing over the wrinkles in her dress and fixing his own tie with a frustrated sigh.
“And whose fault is that?” she muttered, smoothing out the lapels of his suit jacket before reaching lower to straighten the part of his shirt that had somehow come untucked during their little ordeal.
Bucky chuckled, watching her fuss over him with narrowed eyes. “Don’t you dare throw this on me when we both know you were pretty damn excited a minute ago,” he teased.
Her hands stilled, lips parting in protest, only to be cut off by a sharp gasp as one of his hands abandoned its pretense of decorum and slid down to cup her ass, squeezing with deliberate firmness.
She yelped, smacking his chest, but his smirk only widened.
“Now stop being so bossy and help us look mildly demure,” he murmured, all mock innocence, though the way his hand rubbed slowly at her rear said otherwise.
She huffed, rolling her eyes as she batted his hand away, not that it did much, considering he was still crowding her against the wall like he had every intention of misbehaving again, and his scent clung to her like a second skin.
“Demure? After what you just pulled?” she scoffed, attempting to smooth out the wrinkles on her dress. “The nerve you have,” she muttered, running her fingers through her hair, trying futilely to regain some composure.
Bucky chuckled, slow and smug, brushing a thumb across his lower lip as he watched her. “And yet, you let me and enjoyed it. And… you’re still here,” he murmured, his voice dripping with satisfaction.
She exhaled, somewhere between exasperation and amusement. “For now.”
His eyes darkened, and his amusement flickered into something deeper as he leaned in, fanning his warm breath against her temple. “For good.”
Taglist: @civilbucky
Dividers by:@/cafekitsune
