Oooooh! Ok. Steve & Nat. Greek island, early evening. 9, 27, 78. Thank you for treating us so well with all your writing!
9. I want you to watch me + 27. Hair fallen softly across the pillow. + 78. Fuck me like there’s no tomorrow.
(six sexy secret words meme)
She’s pretending to still be asleep, and he’s going along with it because, after the last two days, he thinks they need to squeeze in a little rest.
Pepper had been the one to insist that they take the time off. She booked the flights and the villa, and she probably would’ve had their bags packed for them if Natasha hadn’t found out before the woman could surprise them. And Steve hadn’t realized how much they needed it – not just the time off, but the time off together – until Natasha plopped herself onto the living room couch, her limbs spread and her lips tugged into that coy little smile of hers, and it felt as if he every muscle in his body was being drawn to her.
He took his time undressing her, kissing every inch of skin, every curve, every scar, and every sigh that left her lips sounded like relief. He can’t remember the last time they didn’t have to rush, trying to make the most of what days or hours in their overlapping scheduled allowed them. Their kisses have been desperate and their touches rushed, and no, he’s got no complaints about it like that.
But still.
He likes it more like this: when they have the time to savor, to cherish, to tease.
He likes getting to take his time, getting to draw out her pleasure, getting to wind her up and let her dance on that fine edge for as long as possible. And he sure as hell loves it when she does the same to him.
“Can’t let a girl sleep, can you?”
Her voice is slurred slightly in sleep, but it’s obvious that she didn’t just wake up. She probably felt him stirring in bed a few minutes ago.
He chuckles softly and she glances over her shoulder to arch an eyebrow at him, lips quirked in a smile. He knows she can feel him with the way they’re pressed together, legs tangled, hips flushed. Not that he’d tried to hide it. It’s natural in the morning, yes, but also, he just fucking loves waking up to her. He loves how warm and pliant and completely relaxed her body is, how her curls are fanned out softly over the pillow, how sensitive she is to his touch and his voice.
And he supposes this is the part where he really does let her try to go back to sleep. The last two days have been a blur of pleasure and blissful ache, and it seemed as if nothing they did ebbed their desire. It was more than just physical. He missed being with her like this, and he craved to drag it out as long as possible, craved to be connected with her in every way.
But, fuck. He’s selfish, and he loves his wife.
“We’ll sleep when we’re old,” he says, rolling his hips, grazing his lips over the column of her throat and then smirking when he feels her pulse pick up.
“You’re already old,” she retorts, and he laughs, slides his length against the folds of her sex and groans lowly as a warmth shoots down his spine. His grip tightens on her hips as he rolls and rolls his hips, and she pushes her back even harder into his chest, twisting her fingers into the sheets as she sighs.
Fuck, he loves how sensitive she is when she wakes up.
He glances over her and feels the pressure tighten at the bottom of his spine as he catches their reflection in the floor mirror propped on the wall. Her eyes are closed, her lips parted ever so slightly, their bodies tangled in the sheets – and there’s that tingle of desire again. That crave to burn her into his memory over and over.
He rolls them over before she can quite catch her breath, lifts them onto their knees and pushes into her from behind, slowly, feeling every press and flutter of her folds. She moans, her spine arching, and he winds an arm around her and draws her onto his lap, her back pressing against his chest again, letting him sink in even deeper. They both groan at this, and Natasha tosses her head back against his shoulder, reaching to cup a hand over the back of his neck.
“Open your eyes,” he whispers into her ear. She lets out this little noise from the back of her throat, her thrusts starting to quicken, her breath growing short. He clenches his jaw as she squeezes around him, and fuck, it’s so easy for him to get lost in her that this alone is almost enough to tug him under that blissful haze. He stills her hips, kisses her pulse when she lets out a noise of protest. “Open your eyes, love,” he repeats, circling his thumb over her skin as if in encouragement. “I want you to watch me. Watch us.”
His gaze is locked on the mirror, watching as her eyelids flutter open, a hot pulse shooting down his spine as she meets his stare in the reflection.
She smiles, eyelids heavy, cheeks flushed, lips wet.
He’s never going to forget this look. He’ll make damn sure of it.
“As long as we’re making requests,” she says, voice breathy, fingers curling a little tighter in his hair. “I want you to fuck me like there’s no tomorrow.” Her lip tugs at the corners, one eyebrow arching, and, fuck. That little smirk of hers is the death of him every single time. “You know that I can handle it, Captain.”
He groans out a laugh. “Yeah, but I don’t think I can.”
She starts to chuckle, but it tapers off as she watches his fingers sliding over her hip, dipping between her legs, and then they’re both moaning as he rubs at her clit.
