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Tassels

Bucky and the Thunderbolts go to a burlesque show, not realising they know one of the performers.

Bucky Barnes x f!curvyQueen Reader

Warnings: burlesque, stripping, oral (f receiving), unprotected p-in-v, Bucky breaks the bed (see gif)

Word Count: 5.2k

Bucky Barnes Masterlist

He had no idea how Yelena had found the place - he wasn't sure he wanted to know. It was not his scene, he knew that much.

“You never seen a bunch of strippers before, Buck?” Walker had asked with a snigger.

Yelena sighed, about to interject.

Alexei slammed a hand on the table. “No! This is classy joint, with classy ladies -”

“Who are still strippers.”

“It's an art, Walker, something you know shit all about.” Ava rolled her eyes.

The host leaned into the mic, grinning at the dimly lit round tables like he had a secret.

“There's a funny thing about live shows… sometimes we’re a performer short. But lucky for us, a very dear friend of mine was willing to slip into something… inappropriate,” he let that linger with a lascivious wink, “and help us out tonight.”

The crowd whooped, the lights dimmed, and an expectant hush settled over the room.

Bucky didn’t think twice - he sipped his drink, half-distracted by Alexei’s running commentary about the high end establishments he'd been to. And then the spotlight hit the stage.

And his whole body stopped.

Stopped thinking, stopped everything.

Because that was absolutely not the same woman who had spent the afternoon in sweatpants, trying to lick chocolate off the inside of her elbow.

The same woman who'd raced Bob down the hallway, sliding on the polished floor in her socks to see who could skid the furthest (and had nearly broken her wrist in the process).

This version of her? This was glitter and silk and confidence. A coy smile painted across her ruby red lips, a huge feather fan in each hand.

The music swelled behind her. She looked like she owned the stage.

Bucky couldn’t breathe.

The fans fluttered, he could feel the breeze from the movement.

He stole a glance at Yelena, hardly daring to look away for longer than necessary.

“Lena-”

“I know, right?!” She breathed.

“You knew?”

“I found the flyer in her room. Ssh!”

The crowd leaned forward as she sashayed to the center of the stage, the feathers hiding most of her body. She peeked over them, mock-shy, then snapped them open with a flourish for the quickest second of his life before closing them again.

The sequins on her bejeweled corset caught every light in the room.

Legs wrapped in stockings and garters, the curve of her waist pulled tight, and the swell of her breasts peeking out over the top of the corset. The mould of an hourglass.

Bucky’s jaw clenched. He couldn’t look away.

She strutted toward the front of the stage on what were potentially the highest heels he'd ever seen.

The centre of the stage gave way to a few steps and she teetered down them, still holding the strategically placed feathers. With each step, she exaggerated the swing and sway of her hips, plush, soft flesh occasionally peeping out through the fans.

Her curves weren’t something the costume tried to disguise - they were the act itself, deliberate and dazzling, the kind of body that didn’t ask for attention so much as demanded it.

She extended one arm, and used the other to shield her body giving a table at a time a glimpse of what was underneath - sand slipping through everyone’s fingers, not just his.

At their table, heard before they'd been seen thanks to Alexei, she did the same, giving no indication that she'd been caught off guard by them being there.

The music curled around her like smoke, sultry and playful in turns. She fluttered the fans, letting them slip just far enough apart to flash a glittering edge of sequins before snapping them shut again with a cheeky grin.

A wolf-whistle rose from the crowd. She pretended to scowl, wagging a finger, before giving the smallest shimmy of her hips that shook the feathers. Laughter rippled through the room, easy and delighted.

She held the fans open with Yelena trapped in between, the only one able to see the corset up close. Yelena whooped loud enough to make the next table jump.

And then she turned back, covering herself up, her gaze sweeping the room - until it landed right on him.

Bucky went stock-still.

She sauntered closer, one fan in front, one behind, teasing the crowd with little half-turns, never quite revealing more than she wanted. Every sway of her hips hit like a bullet. She was in absolute command, the kind of control he had never seen her wield - not in training, not in battle, not in the Tower hallways.

Every movement seemed to celebrate the fullness of her - the curve of her thighs, the generous line of her hips, the soft strength of a body that owned every inch of itself.

When she reached his side of the table, she paused deliberately. Smiled down at him like he was just another face in the crowd.

She turned her back on him, lowering the fan to reveal the ribbons lacing the corset to her back. At the bottom, they formed a wide bow - a gift begging to be opened. With a flick of her wrist, she moved the fan completely revealing the full effect of what was left of her costume.

His hands curled into fists on his thighs.

She peeked over her shoulder, faking exasperation, then shimmied her ass in front of him, the bow flicking against her skin.

It wasn’t dainty; it was deliciously decadent - the kind of shimmy that could stop hearts and start trouble.

The audience giggled. “Get over here, honey, I’ll take it off with my teeth!” A voice shouted.

She frowned in mock disapproval, placing a finger in front of her pouting red lips to quiet the heckler - then turned back toward Bucky, her lashes low. She was close enough that he caught a whiff of her perfume and dangled the ribbon between her fingers, cocking her head. An invitation.

“Be a doll,” she purred, pressing the end into his hand like it was nothing at all. “Hold this for me.”

The crowd roared as she spun away, but Bucky didn’t hear them. He only felt the weight of the word slam into his chest, the satin sliding through his fingers as she tugged the ribbon loose with every swinging step.

The word cracked through him like a gunshot. Doll. His word, his habit, thrown back at him like it was a private joke.

He didn’t breathe as she turned away, sashaying back to the stage with one feather fan behind her back and one in front while the ribbon unfurled, loop by loop, tug by tug.

The ribbon slipped free with the last tug, the corset collapsing in a glittering heap at her heels.

She froze mid-step, eyes going wide, feather fans clutched to her chest in an exaggerated gasp. A perfectly over-the-top oh no! expression spread across her face.

The crowd howled.

She shuffled back and carefully took a step away from the structured garment, fanning herself as though scandalized, then peeked coyly over the plumes. And just when the laughter peaked, she dropped the act with a wicked little grin.

The fans snapped open, then lowered - just enough to reveal the gleam of jeweled nipple tassels. She gave a playful shimmy, once, twice, enough for the sequins to catch the spotlight.

The movement made her curves ripple like silk - full, soft, and gloriously alive - and the audience couldn’t get enough. They erupted in cheers.

She leaned into it, biting her lip in feigned surprise at the reaction, then winked as if to say oh, you like that?

Bucky’s knuckles were white around the ribbon still trapped in his hand. He could barely process the noise of the room - all he could see was the line of her smile, the tease in her eyes, the impossible, intoxicating way she made the whole stage her own.

He couldn’t move. Couldn’t think.

Because she wasn’t just the woman he’d been trying not to want since the day she'd moved in - she was fire, control, comedy, sex, everything.

And she’d just called him doll.

She was as good as naked in front of him - and he’d been the one to unwrap her.

The crowd was still laughing, still clapping, when she shifted again. The fans rose, fluttering higher this time, then, with a flick of her wrists, she tossed them aside.

The spotlight kissed every jeweled edge of what little remained. Gilded knickers glittering at her hips, stockings held tight with delicate garters, the swell of her breasts crowned with glittering tassels that winked like they had secrets of their own.

The light traced the lines of her body - the generous slope of her waist, the plush curve of her thighs, every contour catching gold. She wasn’t sculpted thin; she was carved soft, radiant, utterly woman.

She dragged one finger slowly down the curve of her body, from the dip of her throat to the sparkle of her waistband. A sharp snap followed - her garter tugged and released, the sound cutting through the roar of the room.

Bucky’s throat went dry.

She turned slowly and deliberately bent at the hip to touch her toes. The line of her back, the endless stretch of her legs in those impossible heels, the curve of her ass - everything about her wrapped in silk and sequins set his skin alight.

There was nothing fragile about her beauty - it was lush, powerful, and real, the kind that made restraint feel impossible.

She could topple empires. She was so perfect that he don’t know whether to get on his knees for her or bend her over until she forgot her own name.

And then, just like that, it was over.

She straightened, blew a kiss toward the ceiling, and shimmied offstage with a grin that said she’d known exactly what she was doing the whole time.

The host bounded back into the spotlight, beaming. “God, I love that corset trick. Gets me every time. Ladies and gentlemen, wasn’t she incredible?”

The room erupted, the noise thundering in his ears.

But Bucky barely heard it. His pulse was still stuck back there - at the ribbon in his hand, at her voice purring doll, at the moment she’d looked right at him and burned the floor out from under his feet.

He sat frozen, the roar of the crowd nothing but static. Wanting everything.

Wanting her.

~~~~

She reappeared shortly after the interval clutching amber liquid over ice in a glass and fully dressed - a total contrast of jeans and a hoodie combined with the glamorous make-up and hair.

“Girl!”

She tsked at Yelena’s excitement. “Don’t girl me, what the hell are you doing here?!”

“I saw the flyer in your room, I thought it could be a fun night out -”

“It is, when I'm not the one performing!”

“I am happy for our mistake!” Alexei beamed proudly.

John’s jaw shifted, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “You offered to do that?” he asked, and there was a sparkle in his eye this time. “Well… you really killed it out there.”

She settled at the table, sliding into the chair between Ava and Bucky.

“Ok,” Alexei declared, “first, we need details. How you did not tell anyone you were such magnificent performer?!”

“I… It was as past life,” she said innocently. “I didn’t think it would ever come up.”

“A past life!” Ava laughed, “until you offered to give it another go, you mean!”

Yelena clapped her hands, eyes shining. “I knew! I knew there was something in your past! And you were amazing, like… like a queen of feathers and sparkles!”

She laughed, rolling her eyes, but the warmth in her chest couldn’t be denied. “Yelena, you’re ridiculous. I just covered for tonight, that’s all. It was a favour for a friend.”

Bucky shifted slightly in his seat, just enough to be noticed if she looked his way. She didn’t - and he let her not see, even as his fists tightened around his glass. His jaw flexed; the sight of her on stage still burned behind his eyelids.

“Well, I’m converted.” John said suddenly, smiling. “Not that I was judging, but… wow. You were… completely in control. Commanded the stage.”

She shot him a glance, eyebrows raised. “Thanks, I think?”

“Yeah, don’t let him fool you,” Yelena teased. “He was definitely judging at first but now he’s acting all proud.”

Ava turned her attention, leaning over, her elbows on the table. “So, Bucky, what did you think?”

He didn’t answer immediately, eyes narrowing just slightly. His jaw tensed, a shadow of that earlier fire behind his gaze.

Ava pursed her lips. “Guess you’re not a fan.”

She met his stare for the briefest instant before looking away, he heard her heart stuttering. “Uh… it’s fine, you’re quiet. I see how it is.”

Bucky’s attention snapped back to his drink. Not a word escaped his mouth, but every line of his posture, every narrowed gaze toward the stage earlier, screamed the truth.

Ava nudged her gently, sweetly raising her spirits again.

Silence hung heavy between them, full of words neither dared speak. The rest of the table erupted into chatter and teasing, but he stayed still, just watching her, simmering, contained - but the electricity between them practically crackled through the table.

~~~~

He could tell she’d expected him to say something by now. Anything. A joke. A tease. Hell, even voice his disapproval. Instead, he’d walked beside her in silence all the way back to the Tower.

When the others peeled off toward their rooms, she finally snapped. “Alright, Barnes. Out with it.”

He stopped and turned. His face unreadable in the dim hallway light. “Out with what?”

She folded her arms. Defensively. Protecting herself from whatever she thought he was about to say.

“The judging. The moral high ground. Whatever it is you’ve been brooding about since the show.”

That got a reaction. His jaw flexed and he exhaled sharply through his nose. “You think I’m judging you?”

“Aren’t you?” She shot back. Heat crept up his neck. “You didn’t say a word when Ava asked. I saw your face, Barnes. You didn’t laugh, you didn’t clap - you didn’t even blink. I get it, ok? It’s not your thing.”

She turned to go, but his hand closed gently around her wrist. Not pulling - just holding her there.

“Not my thing?” He asked. His voice was low, rough. Dangerous. “Doll, I’ve been trying not to touch you since the second those lights hit you.”

He heard the catch in her breath.

“You wanna know why I didn’t say anything back there?” His eyes burned into her, unflinching. “Because I couldn’t. Because if I opened my mouth in front of them, I would’ve told the whole fuckin’ table how hard it was just to sit there while you -” His hand flexed against her wrist, restrained. “While you looked like that. Like every fucking thing I’ve been trying not to want.”

The air between them pulsed, hot and unsteady.

“Bucky…”

He stepped closer, his voice dropped, ragged and rough. “You called me doll. You have any idea what that did to me?”

She didn’t answer.

“I don’t think you do.” His thumb traced the inside of her wrist, feather-light.

One second he was hovering, the next his mouth was on hers, hard and desperate, months of control snapping like a frayed wire.

She gasped, startled, and he swallowed it, tilted his head and deepened the kiss like he’d been waiting his whole life. His hands framed her face, careful even as his chest pressed into hers, even as he crowded her back against the wall.

And Christ - when she kissed him back, soft at first, then fierce and greedy - it nearly undid him.

The taste of her, the little noise she made in her throat, the way her fingers fisted in his shirt - he’d imagined it, dreamed it, but nothing had ever come close to this.

“Been driving me crazy,” he rasped against her mouth. “Ever since - hell, since day one. But tonight…” His hand slid down, caressing her waist, her hip. “You on that stage - sweetheart, I thought I was gonna lose my goddamn mind.”

She tugged at his collar and pulled him back in, insistent.

He groaned, low and broken. His metal hand braced the wall beside her head, vibrating with the effort not to just lift her, pin her, take everything he wanted.

“Tell me to stop,” he muttered, forehead pressed to hers. His chest heaved like he’d just sprinted a mile. “If this isn’t what you -”

“Don’t you dare,” she whispered back, breathless, her eyes blazing.

That was it. The permission he needed, the dam breaking.

He caught her mouth again, kissed her deeper, harder, hands finally roaming - down her back, over her curves, memorising every inch. She arched into him, and he nearly groaned out loud at the feel of her body pressed flush to his.

She reached behind, fumbling with the door handle. When it pushed open, he held her upright, pulling her tightly against him.

“Can't believe I had to take my clothes off on stage for you to finally do something,” she muttered against his mouth.

“Would you believe me if I told you I preferred you like this?” He asked, letting her go only to reach for the hem of her hoodie.

She lifted it over her head. “That so?”

The tassels she still wore glittered under the lamplight of her room as she gave a little wiggle.

“You didn't like these then?”

Her wicked grin felt like a challenge. He swallowed hard, his eyes dragging down to the remnants of her costume.

“I liked them,” he said hoarsely. “Didn’t like not touching you while you were wearing them.”

He reached out, finally, tracing the circular outline with the back of his knuckle, slowly enough to make her shiver. His other hand stayed planted on her hip.

“Bucky…” she whispered, half a plea, half a dare.

He bent, his mouth finding her throat, her collarbone, nipping lightly, then soothing the spot with his tongue. Her breath hitched, and he felt her fingers slide under his t-shirt, twisting into his belt loops and tugging him closer.

He lost a ragged sound against her skin. “Christ, doll.”

She arched against him, the tassels brushing his chest. “Stop holding back.”

Something in him cracked. His hands circled her hips, lifting her with ease and hauling her toward the bed. She stumbled a little, laughing breathlessly, but he caught her, lifting her high enough to lay her back on the mattress without breaking the kiss.

Her thighs framed his. Her hoodie was gone, her tassels glittered, her grin dared him to keep up.

He groaned, head falling to her shoulder for a second, trying to remember every reason he’d told himself to wait. All gone now. Just her, real and writhing under him.

Warm skin met warm skin once she’d dragged his t-shirt over his head. He skipped over the gift wrapping of her breasts and moved further down, pulling her jeans with him.

The plain black lace panties were a stark contrast to the sequined underwear she'd been wearing on stage, but were no less of an invitation.

He swallowed hard, letting his palm skim along her thigh, every nerve ending on fire at the heat and softness of her skin under his hand.

She caught his wrist. “Still holding back?”

His laugh was rough and breathless. “Trying to remember how.”

She looked at him with absolute certainty. “I don't want you to.”

Her fingers slid up his arm, encouraging him closer, he ran his hand over the threads of one of the tassels, taking it into his fist and pulling it taut.

The swell of her breast rose away from her body.

“Will it hurt when I pull these off?”

She grinned. “Like pulling off a band-aid.”

He pulled harder, the sensitive skin around her nipple stretching against the adhesive on the tassels before it started to give.

The sting made her hiss, but with each press of his mouth tracing a line from the underneath of her breast towards the peak, the hiss gave way to sighs.

With a soft pop of skin, the first tassel came away in his hand and his tongue wrapped around her finally uncovered nipple.

And with it, a helpless sigh that melted his brain. He needed to hear it again, the tower could burn to the ground as long as she was making those sounds because of him.

Bucky hadn’t meant to lose control.

He’d promised himself - if it ever happened, if she ever wanted him like this - he’d be gentle, careful.

He'd lay her out and take his time with her, slowly learning every delicious curve and dip of her body.

He’d hold back the way he always did, keep the soldier caged so he wouldn’t break the only person who made him feel like this.

But the moment she gasped his name in his ear, nails digging into his shoulders, all of the restraint burned away.

The second tassel came off far more quickly in his eagerness to taste every inch of her. With each hitch of her breath, he buried deeper into her softness, his stubble scratching down the valley of her breasts until her fingers threaded through his hair and she arched into him.

Slow down, Barnes. Don’t hurt her. He told himself over and over, even as every sound she made dragged him closer to the edge of reason.

“So soft,” he whispered against her hips, his teeth scraping the waistband of her underwear. “Christ, you're so fuckin’ soft everywhere.”

His tongue pressed against the already damp spot of the black lace, dragging the material insistently against her clit. Her hands gripped tighter in his hair, pulling hard. It sent a shockwave through his body straight to his cock, still straining against the seam of his jeans.

He ground his hips into the bed, rutting into the mattress to the sound of her cries and moans. Unable to stand it any longer, he tore the lace from where they clung to her hips and pushed her thighs wider apart.

“God, Bucky -” her voice broke on another cry as she rocked against his mouth with the force of her orgasm. He savoured every drop, sucking until he felt her keening again, hands restlessly twisting in the sheets.

“So soft, sweetheart,” his voice rumbled through her core, vice like hands holding her firmly to his mouth.

“Wanted it to be you,” she murmured breathlessly. “Needed it to be you.”

He couldn’t stop touching her, couldn’t stop learning the shape of every sound she made. Each sigh drew him closer, every tremor a thread he wanted to follow until he knew her by heart.

He let go of her thighs, only the imprints from his fingertips left behind, and traced two long fingers through her slit, following the same path his tongue had already taken.

They sank into her wet heat, her back arching off the bed to meet his hand, trying to find friction on her clit.

“You need more, sweetheart?” he whispered against her thighs, his teeth dragging on the sensitive skin.

“Bucky, please -” she begged beautifully.

Her hands found him blindly - shoulder, hair, anything she could hold on to - and every time she whispered his name it sank a little deeper under his skin.

She was heat and heartbeat and the taste of trust, and he couldn’t tell where control ended and need began.

He circled and flicked at her clit with his tongue while his fingers drove into her slick cunt.

Her voice broke on his name, half a plea, half disbelief that she was coming again so soon.

He lifted his head just enough to meet her gaze. There was nothing playful left in it now; just want, open and unguarded.

“C'mon beautiful girl, I want to hear you.”

She clenched around his fingers, the repetition of his name giving way to a jumbling stream of curses and praise.

The grip on his shoulder loosened and she sank boneless into the mattress.

He pushed his jeans down and crawled back up the bed to her.

His thumb brushed along her jaw, lingering until her breath evened, until he felt her relax against him again.

“Wanted it to be you,” she repeated softly, almost like a secret she hadn’t meant to share, as if she wasn't sure he'd heard her the first time. “Needed it to be you.”

Something in him stilled. For all the months of teasing and restraint, her words undid him more than anything else could have.

He bent his forehead to hers, breathing her in, the world narrowing to the space between them - the quiet, the warmth, the way she fit against him like she’d been made for it.

For a long moment neither of them moved.

He stayed close, letting his touch soften, steadying her as the tremors faded. She caught his wrist, anchoring him there, her thumb drawing slow circles against his wrist.

“Hey,” he murmured, voice low, roughened by everything they hadn’t said. “You ok?”

Her laugh was breathless but sure. “More than ok.”

He brushed a strand of hair from her face, tracing the corner of her smile with the back of his fingers.

She caught them in her mouth, holding his eye as she licked them clean.

The air between them changed again, giving way to something inevitable. What had been care turned into pull, what had been gentleness sparked back into want.

The look she gave him said everything - that she wasn’t finished, that neither of them were.

Easy, he told himself. Don’t lose it now.

He’d spent months pretending control was the same thing as peace. If he just kept his hands still, his voice quiet, nothing inside him would come apart.

But she moved again, a slow drag of her fingers through his hair, and the sound she made - soft, content and trusting - undid every careful knot he’d tied himself into.

He felt it hit low in his chest, that quiet knowing that she wanted him. That in handing him the end of the ribbon, she was telling him to undress her. Telling him to take her.

He caught her hand and pressed a kiss to her wrist, trying to slow the tremor that had started there. Don’t rush her.

But when she curled her fingers around his jaw and guided his mouth to hers, there was no mistaking the message: stop holding back.

His hands took purchase again, kneading her thighs, spreading her legs.

She let her hand drift down between them, her knuckles running up the length of him. He felt his breath shudder with anticipation, amazed he hadn't already spilled into the sheets just from being able to touch her, taste her.

His pulse thundered, his breath came rough, and somewhere between restraint and need, the lines blurred completely.

She curled her hand around him, leaking and hard, and gripped gently.

“Need more, Buck,” She breathed against the shell of his ear, “please -”

It was enough, the pleading, her hand stroking his cock.

He batted her hand away, making her giggle, and lined himself up. His blunt head nudged through her aching core, splitting her open an inch at a time.

She bared down, trying to rush him but he resisted, each inch dragging another pretty whine from her throat, higher and higher.

When he'd filled her completely, he stilled, letting the heat of her cunt surround him.

“You feel so good, sweetheart - made for me,” he groaned into the base of her throat.

Her skin was soft against his palms, her legs locked tight around his waist, and finally, finally when he moved, every roll of her hips drove him deeper into the fire. His vision tunneled, breath ragged, caught between worship and hunger.

“Bucky - harder,” she whispered, voice hoarse, daring.

He froze. For a second, he thought he’d imagined it. But then she tugged his hair, dragged his mouth back to hers, and moaned into the kiss like she wanted him to ruin her.

Something snapped inside him.

He slammed into her, harder than he meant to, and the headboard creaked against the wall. She cried out - not in pain, never pain - but in pure, desperate pleasure, and he couldn’t stop himself. His right hand shot up, bracing against the wooden bedframe for leverage -

CRACK.

The headboard splintered under his grip.

He froze instantly, heart plummeting. “Shit. Doll -” His voice was raw, panicked, already pulling back like he’d done something unforgivable.

But her hands fisted in his hair, her thighs squeezed him closer, and her laugh was ragged, breathless, wrecked. “Bucky, please don’t fucking stop.”

His chest squeezed tight. “I could hurt you -”

“You won’t,” she cut in, dragging her nails down his back. “Bucky. Don’t you dare stop.”

And just like that, every last barrier fell.

He drove into her with everything he’d been denying himself - raw, desperate, his. The bedframe groaned, splinters of wood littered her hair. Her body arched up to meet his again and again.

She wasn’t afraid. She was pulling him deeper, whispering his name like a prayer, like she wanted all of him - man, soldier, monster, everything.

And for the first time in forever, he gave it, pistoning into her, harder each time. She hooked her ankles around his thighs, a litany of curses tumbling from her mouth.

“Fuck, Bucky - oh, god -” Her walls fluttered around him, tightening until she pulled him as close to the edge as she was.

The muscles in his thighs tensed as he shattered with her name on his lips, spilling into her with a guttural moan.

She stilled underneath him, her breath coming in ragged gasps.

For a long moment, neither of them moved. Only the sound of their breathing filled the room - uneven and hot.

Bucky stayed above her, still buried inside her, his head bowed, his chest brushing hers with every stuttering inhale.

He hadn’t realised he was trembling until she reached up and cupped his face, her thumb tracing along the edge of his stubble.

“Hey,” she whispered. “Still with me?”

He nodded, barely, his lips brushing her palm. “Didn’t mean to -”

She shook her head before he could finish. “Don’t. I wanted it. Every second.”

He lowered himself until their foreheads met, letting the weight of him settle, the heat of her skin grounding him.

When they finally eased apart, he collapsed beside her, lining his body up alongside hers, his eyes and hands still wandering.

He plucked splintered shards of wood from her hair and glanced up at the headboard behind her.

“Guess we’re gonna need a new bed,” she murmured with a smile.

Bucky looked a little guilty, “I'm sorry, I -”

“Don't be. I'm not.”

On the pillow, tangled in her hair he spotted one of the nipple tassels. He picked it up between two fingers, twirling it so it caught the light. “I should’ve known these’d be nothing but trouble.”

She smirked, rolling onto her side to face him. “Oh, I’m keeping them. For private performances.”

His grin was pure joy, his eyes lit up. “I’ll start clearing my schedule.”

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