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chalantness · 7 years

Text

fic: I've Got You on My Mind, All the Time

Rating: NC-17 Word Count: ~5,100 Characters: Steve/Natasha Prompts: CEO Steve/Personal Assistant Nat au for sassaspazz + morning sex photoset by sleepygrimm + text edit by otptilltheend + photo (nsfw) Summary: AU. CEO Steve and Personal Assistant Nat. Also, just smut. – "Your boss expects you in his office by the time his meeting is over."

For: @loictalon, @sleepygrimm, @evanzski, @sassaspazz, @xo-stardust720, @otptilltheend

A/N: There are quite a few people that this is being dedicated to because: first of all, Happy Birth Month to loictalon and sleepygrimm, and Happy Belated Birthday to evanzski! Maybe one year I'll have my shit together and get your birthday presents out on time. But I hope some smut will make up for me being perpetually behind.

And second of all, I had planned to have a little smut week, but then belatedly realized that, hey, I have over thirty prompts to get to for my holiday giveaway and tacking on seven more so close to December probably isn't a tangible goal. But I was still wanted to thank sassaspazz and xo-stardust720 for giving me prompts for my would-be smut fest!

Excerpt:

"We don't have time for this, Steve. We have the meeting."

He arches an eyebrow. "I can make it quick."

Her heart stutters in her chest at the sparkle of challenge in his eyes. Oh, she knows he can make it quick and still oh so good. She knows quite well, actually. But, she glances at the clock and shakes her head. "We have to be in the office in an hour. Tony and Pepper are expecting us." Steve smirks, kisses her stomach. "I worked really hard on this presentation."

"I know, baby," he tells her, sliding further down the mattress, hooking her leg over his shoulder. "Which means you deserve a reward."

Read on: [ ffnet ] [ ao3 ]

The first thing she senses is him: his large, calloused hand on her hip, squeezing gently; his thigh pressed between her legs, almost innocent as it brushes against the delicate folds of her sex; his mouth nibbling on the curve of her neck, tongue teasing against her skin, lips gently sucking at her pulse.

Not the worst way in the world to be woken up.

She feels her lips curl into a smile, a warmth unfurling low in her stomach as she blinks her eyes open, vision blurring into focus on the digital clock on Steve's wall. Fuck. They really don't have time for this – not when they have to be in the office in an hour so they can prep for their client meetings. She has slides to proofread and handouts to print, and Steve has numbers and pitches to review with Tony. They don't have time, yet, her body seems perfectly content to lay here with Steve in a tangle of sheets and limbs as he slowly, lazily kisses his way down her neck, over her collarbone, lips sealing around one of her breasts and sucking with a gentle moan. She sucks in a soft, sharp breath, feels him smile against her skin.

"Good morning," he murmurs, rolling her onto her back and sucking at her again. Her fingers tuck into his hair and he glances up at her, smiling. "Ma'am."

"Hi," she says with a breathy laugh. "We don't have time for this, Steve. We have the meeting."

He arches an eyebrow. "I can make it quick."

"I know, baby," he tells her, sliding further down the mattress, hooking her leg over his shoulder. "Which means you deserve a reward."

"Celebrating something before it's happened is bad luck," she argues, voice thin and quivering and weak, because she can feel his breath against her slick heat. He'd gently and expertly wound her up in the haze of her sleep, because she's already wet, almost embarrassingly so.

Not that it takes much effort from him to get her wet in the first place. But still.

"Since when did you believe in luck?" he asks, dipping his head down before she can respond and sliding his tongue through her folds, just barely brushing her clit.

Her moan is broken and breathy as she twists her fingers in his hair, feeling him groan against her as he licks a little harder, teasing his tongue at her entrance with every stroke. He loves it when she gets a little rough – tugs at his hair, digs her nails into his back, nips at his skin with her teeth. He remembers when he told her this for the first time, during a late night in the office, her pencil skirt hiked up to her hips as she straddled him in his desk chair and took him in deep and hard, her nails pulling at his hair and scratching at his scalp for support. He'd guided her hips over him with his hands, stared up at her with an almost dazed, drugged expression, and told her how much he loved it when she was a little greedy.

I love when you're so lost in your pleasure that you just take and take from me. You're always composed, always perfectly presented, and only I know what you look like when you're undone.

Even months later, even so established into their (albeit clandestine) relationship, the memory of that night and those words still makes her shiver.

He sucks at her little bundle of nerves, presses her leg to the mattress and dips his tongue into her, and her mouth parts in a mewl. It's ridiculous how well this man knows her and her body, ridiculous how quickly she unravels at his touch, at his lips, at his kiss.

"Steve," she moans, tugging at his hair. She's not sure if she wants to pull him deeper or pull him up and over her so she can feel him before she goes crazy.

"So wet," he murmurs, lapping at her clit. She gnaws on her lower lip, rolls her head and presses her cheek into the pillow. "You're always so wet and ready for me, love."

"Come here." Her command is breathy and a little too desperate for her preference. But she hardly cares. She yanks at his hair. "Steve, come here."

He breathes out a chuckle, presses a little kiss to her folds before sliding his lips back up her body, settling over her. He hooks her leg around his hip, opening her up to him, his length brushing teasingly against her slick heat. She digs her nails into the muscles of his back, scratching, trying to bring him closer, and he chuckles again as he presses at her entrance.

His lips are tugged into a smirk. "Got to love a quickie in the morning before work," he says, and a laugh bubbles out of her.

Steve Rogers, ever the romantic.

Her laugh dissolves into a moan, though, when he rolls his hips and thrusts into her, hard and deep. Her lips part, her spine arching off of the bed, and Steve's head falls forward to press into her pillow, his lips right next to her ear as he lets out a low and rumbling groan. That groan – that first moment of pure, absolute pleasure – always makes her shiver, her body practically vibrating in delight. They have sex on a very, very regular basis, but somehow, that first thrust feels almost as perfect as their first time together. She thinks that it should worry her more, how much she feels for him. One careless, tipsy night out of town for a conference had turned into late nights in the office, making love bent over his desk, against his bookshelf, on his office lounge chair. And fuck, she thinks that should've been the first sign. She's slept with guys before this job, but it had never felt like making love.

Not until Steve. He may be her boss, and she may be just a personal assistant, but he's always treated her like something precious.

Even now, with his thrusts rough and hard and deep, he's murmuring sweet words into her skin, peppering soft kisses over her neck, gently sweeping his fingers over the dip of her curves. He brushes over the sensitive spot just under her ribs that always, always makes her body tingle and her stomach flutter and her mouth part in a plea.

He cups her cheek, smooths his thumb over her flushed skin.

"Look at you, love," he says, breath tight with exertion and arousal. "I love watching your face, watching your desire spread across your skin, watching you gasp for breath."

Her heart flutters, nails digging even harder into his back. But he doesn't even flinch. If anything, his eyes flash at her desperate, greedy touch.

"Remember that first time?" His hips snap, the angle changing as he slides his arm under the bend of her knee and presses it up higher so he can slide in deeper. She lets out a keening moan, lips parting, body arching. The memory alone is enough to make her whimper. The taste of champagne on his tongue, the floor biting into her back because they were too impatient to stumble their way onto the bed, the pretty, shimmery dress bunched carelessly over her hips and Steve kneeling in front of her, still in his suit, lips wet with her heat as he loosened his tie. Months of repressed attraction had burst in a flurry of heat and breaths, ending with a broken lamp and a torn shower curtain and the linens pulled from the bed.

"Y-Yes…" Her eyelids flutter closed. "Why do you—" She whimpers as he reaches between them, circling lightly over her clit. She's close, and she can tell he is, too.

"Because I think about it every time I'm in you. Every damn time, Nat." He groans, ducking down to kiss her, hard. "God, I'm—"

"Me too," she whines against his lips.

He presses just a little harder on her bundle of nerves, and she sucks in a gasp as her vision goes blurry and white, her desire bursting over her. She can feel how hard Steve is as her walls flutter around his length, and he moans into her ear, hips jerking harder and without rhythm as his orgasm follows on the heels of hers.

A few long moments later, once they've caught their breaths, Natasha twines her fingers into his hair and glances over at the clock again, feeling herself smirk.

"I think we've beat our record, Rogers," she says, and she feels him chuckle against her neck before lifting his head to meet her gaze, his eyes twinkling. "I'm impressed."

"I'll keep that in mind the next time you veto sex during our fifteen-minute meeting breaks," he says, and she's laughing as she rolls her eyes.

... ...

The meeting had gone spectacularly, of course. It always does when she and Steve work together on a presentation. He and Tony have been asking her to head a few marketing campaigns on her own now that she's been working with Steve long enough, and she loves it, of course. She's always been just an assistant, there to run errands and manage schedules so her bosses would be free to focus on their jobs. But with Steve, she had been more involved even in the beginning, when she had known virtually nothing about the marketing business. Steve asked for her opinions after meetings, wanted her input on their campaigns, let her edit presentations and handouts when she felt more comfortable.

She's not going to pretend that their relationship had nothing to do with the way he treated her like more than just an assistant. But she knows Steve, and she knows that he wouldn't have asked her to become more involved simply because he'd been attracted to her.

"I saw genuine interest in your eyes. From that very first day, I'd had a hunch you'd be amazing at it," he'd told her once, with a proud grin. "I like it when I'm right."

She does miss working with him, though.

Her official title may not have changed, but now that he's asking her to head some of his campaigns, she doesn't see him every second of the day anymore. She finds herself missing him a little when he can't make it to lunch with her, or when she can't attend a meeting with him because she has one of her own. It's ridiculous and she knows it, but still.

"Have I lost your thoughts to Steve again?" Pepper asks, tone colored with amusement as she snaps her fingers in front of Natasha's gaze.

Natasha blinks, lips quirking at the corners as she picks up another slide of her flatbread. "I was just thinking that I should've grabbed Steve some breakfast before his second meeting. He's got to be starving by now."

Pepper laughs. "You always worry over him."

"Well, considering I'm his personal assistant, I'd say worrying over him is my job."

Pepper tilts her head. "Right. Because that's all you are to us," she teases. "After all, every personal assistant is entrusted to head their own marketing campaigns."

"Sarcasm isn't really your thing," Natasha retorts, tossing her crumpled napkin at Pepper's plate. The woman grins, arching her eyebrow expectantly. "Fine. I miss him."

"I know you do," Pepper tells her, and Natasha knows she's being sincere. If anyone were to understand Natasha's position, it would be her. She'd gone from being Tony Stark's personal assistant to being promoted to a partner in his company, and it seems as if they've seen less of each other since they've gotten engaged. "You two will find your balance," Pepper promises, reaching over to squeeze her fingers gently, reassuringly. "It took Tony and me a month to figure out how to find time to make it to the dinner table every night."

Natasha nods, and then her phone buzzes on the table, her screen lighting up with Steve's name. She'd texted him before going to brunch with Pepper after he'd left for his second meeting of the day – just a simple I want coffee – but his response makes her nearly spit out her mimosa.

I want your legs wrapped around my head.

Her heart flutters.

"Oh my," Pepper chuckles, not at all trying to hide the fact that she's reading Steve's text across the table. "Well, someone's obviously not paying attention to his meeting."

Natasha feels herself smile, feels her cheeks warm. He's managed to fluster her through a text? God, that's pathetic.

She types back, Fuck the coffee, and takes a long sip of her mimosa. Pepper smirks. "Would you like me to excuse yourself to the restroom?"

"Shut up," Natasha laughs, her phone buzzing with Steve's response.

I'd rather fuck you instead.

And then, Or better yet, you should fuck me. I know you love being in charge.

It should be crime for a text to sound so fucking tempting. She replies with: Is this my reward for a job well done?

No, babe, you got your reward this morning. This is for ME, and your boss expects you in his office by the time his meeting is over.

Coming from anyone else, she suspects Steve would sound demanding and controlling, but she knows better. She knows he's unapologetic about asking for what he wants. And he wants her not simply because he's attracted to her or because he just wants to fuck her, but because he adores her. Because he craves her, craves her pleasured desperation.

She glances up when Pepper waves her hand to motion for their waiter. "I think she'll need an iced water," Pepper tells him, her expression perfectly innocent.

Natasha just smirks.

... ...

"Quite bold of you to keep your boss waiting, don't you think?" he asks, lips tugged into a bit of a smirk when she lets herself into his office. She'd taken her time coming back from brunch, knowing it would mean he would get there before her despite his request. He hardly seems to mind, though. She presses her lips together, the lock into place behind her before strolling toward him, her stilettos clicking against the floor. His eyes trace down the front of her coat, arching one eyebrow. She hadn't been wearing it when he last saw her.

"My apologies," she says, shrugging out of her coat slowly, relishing in the way his lips part, his eyes growing dark and hungry. She's still in the same blouse from earlier, but she'd removed her camisole and bra underneath, and now her nipples were hard from brushing against the material. Hard, and very clearly visible through the lace.

She drapes her coat over his desk, and it takes a long pause before he pulls his gaze back up to her face.

"Wardrobe malfunction, I'm assuming?"

She hums in acknowledgment, walks around his desk, drumming her nails on the wood as she comes to stand in front of his chair. His gaze slides down again, taking in the fact that she's hiked her skirt up a little more, enough to expose the clips of her garter belt holding up her stockings. "Unfortunately, yes," she answers, playing along, leaning over his desk to busy herself with rearranging the stack of folders. "I'd felt too warm after our meeting to continue wearing satin," she tells him, glancing over her shoulder and catching the way his eyes flash in understanding. She'd been wearing a satin bra and the matching underwear; lingerie that Pepper had gifted to her for her birthday just last week. "But I feel better now."

"Do you?" He gets up, bracing his hands against the desk as he presses against her, leaning over her. She bites on her lower lip, feeling how hard he is through his dress slacks.

He grasps her leg just above her knee, making her suck in a soft, shallow breath as he gives her a squeeze, then trails his fingers up higher. Even with her stockings as a barrier between her thigh and his fingertips, his touch sends ripples of tingles over her skin.

She shouldn't be this aroused this quickly, but she always is with Steve. The fact that she's been reading his texts over and over again hadn't helped. She'd thought of them as she undressed, picturing him typing those out to her during his meeting. She knows he must've been imagining her spread out on that conference table, dripping onto the oak wood with his face buried between her legs and her heels digging onto his back as she rolled her hips up to meet the teasing licks of his tongue, craving more friction, more pressure, more.

His hand slips under her skirt, meeting her smooth, bare skin, finding her wet. Finding her soaked.

"Fuck," he mutters, dropping his head onto her shoulder and licking at the clasp of choker on the back of neck. He glides his fingers through her folds and she makes this noise from the back of her throat, pushing back against him.

He feels harder, if possible.

She reaches behind her, grabs at the collar of his shirt and yanks his head forward as she twists her neck around to kiss him, hard and hot and heavy, her hips rolling against his hand. It's hard not to indulge if even for a little, not with the gentle, almost torturous way he's circling her clit, not with the way the lacy detail of her shirt is rubbing over her nipples.

He groans, kissing her deeper, his other hand grasping at her chin to keep her in place as her hands fumble and grasp for the desk.

She manages to slip her fingers into her coat pocket, grasping onto the cool metal, and then she catches him off guard by yanking her lips away, spinning him around and pushing him back down into his chair, moving to straddle his lap. He blinks up at her in surprise and a touch of amusement, and then she holds her hand up, dangling the handcuffs from her index finger. His eyes widen ever so slightly, lips twitching at the corners. She knows he's trying to keep his expression schooled for their little game, but she doesn't miss the hunger in his eyes, swirling and storming. She leans forward, hovers her lips over his, her hair falling around them, and he lets her grasp his wrists as she kisses him, winding them behind his chair.

He chuckles into their kiss as she clasps the handcuffs around his wrists, binding him in place.

"I thought having a personal assistant meant my hands wouldn't be tied," he points out, arching an eyebrow.

She smirks, shakes her head ever so slightly at his joke as she eases off of his lap. "Maybe that means you'll appreciate your lovely assistant more," she teases, lifting herself to sit on the edge of his desk. She tugs him by his tie, rolling his desk chair closer as she sets a heel on each of the chair arms, spreading herself for him to see.

She's wet. She can feel it.

"Fuck," he breathes, staring at her slick sex. She reaches over and threads her fingers into his head, tugging him between her thighs. He glances up at her, eyes flashing.

"Feel like giving your assistant some help for once?" she asks, relishing in his breathy laugh against the inside of her thigh.

He hums, inhaling her scent, and she swears she almost lets out a strangled noise when he tentatively licks up her center, flicking at her bundle of nerves with the tip of his tongue. He groans as if he's tasting her for the first time, the chair straining ever so slightly when he leans in closer, licking her a little harder and a little harder with every stroke.

"Oh," she moans, bracing her free hand on the desk behind her as she tips her head back, trying to roll her hips off of the table. The sweet irony of the situation is that she wishes his hands were free to touch her, to grasp her hips so he can roll his tongue in deeper, sink three fingers into her, rub at her clit. She wants his calloused, gentle, desperate touch all over her, and she digs her nails into his scalp, barely biting back a whimper as his lips close around her clit, giving a gentle suck once, twice, three times, making her hips jerk on the desk.

He turns his head, kisses the inside of her thigh. "Lay down, baby," he urges her. "Open yourself up for me."

She nods and does as he asks, laying herself back against the desk, letting her legs fall open. His tongue laps at her clit before circling, over and over, making her body tremble. Her breaths are broken, whimpers falling from her lips as she tries to roll her hips in time with the strokes of his tongue, but he's purposefully throwing her off, driving her crazy.

When she comes undone, her walls flutter, aching, her body still craving to feel him even as she's in the midst of her high and unraveling at the seams.

She grips onto his hair, scratches her nails over his scalp as she rolls her hips, riding out her orgasm. He keeps licking at her, gently sucking at her little bundle of nerves until she's shaking and trembling and gently pushing at his forehead.

He licks at her once, twice, three more times, before pulling away, and she blinks her eyes open to find him staring at her, mouth wet and hair pulled in different directions.

Fuck, that's a good look for him.

"I really want to touch you," he says, voice gruff. He looks as disheveled as she feels.

She lifts herself up and kisses him, presses her tongue against his. She teases him by sliding back onto his lap, reaching around to run her fingers over the smooth, cool metal of the cuffs around his wrists, giving the chain a gentle tug. Then she smiles against his lips, pulls her hands away as she meets his gaze and shakes her head.

"Tease," he murmurs, grinning like an idiot. Like he'd known she wouldn't let him free just yet, and he doesn't want her to, either.

She laughs as she straddles his thigh and rolls her hips, feeling the material of his slacks brush against her slick folds, making her shudder. She hooks a hand over the back of his neck to anchor herself, grinding down on his thigh as her free hand slides down his chest, cupping where he's hard for her. He groans, head falling back, and she licks up the column of his neck and nips at the underside of his jaw. Seeing her dressed the way she is had gotten him hard, but eating her out? That had turned him positively rigid. She knows that he's aching.

"N-Nat—" He swallows, tries to jerk his hips up, but she pulls her hand away and fists the material of his dress shirt instead. He groans out a laugh. "You're killing me, darling."

She tips her head up to lick the shell of his ear. "I love you."

"I love you, too," he replies, voice gravelly, almost pained with his desire. It makes her smile, her stomach flipping.

"I miss you," she says, barely above a whisper as she places a line of wet kisses along the line of his jaw.

"Nat, stop for a second," he tells her. She does, leaning back to meet his gaze. He tips his head forward to kiss her, gently at first, almost tentatively as he licks the seam of her lips before pressing inside. He takes his time kissing her, tasting her, and she feels herself grow wetter just from the sound he makes when she nips his lip. Then he parts their kiss and brushes his lips to the corner of her mouth, the apple of her cheek, the bridge of her nose. "I've missed you, too, Nat." Grinning, he kisses her forehead. "It's been a tough week."

Her chest tightens, just a little. Yes, it has. Though it had been quick, this morning was the first morning in a while that they've gotten to enjoy each other.

It's been hard lining up their schedules. They're in and out of meetings at different times, take their lunches at different hours. More often than not, one of them has to stay late and the other has to go in early. If not for the fact that she'd basically move into his apartment, there would probably be days where they'd miss each other completely.

It's strange for her to go from seeing him all the time, every moment of the day, to catching him for ten, maybe fifteen minutes at a time. She still sees him around the office all the time, of course, but it's different. She can't remember the last time they sat down and had a cup of coffee together.

"But if this"—he rattles the handcuffs—"is how you cope with missing me, I don't have any complaints."

He's grinning again, eyes sparkling in mischief, and it makes her laugh. She reaches down and palms the front of his slacks, feeling her pulse thrum as his eyelashes flutter closed and he lets out a low groan. "I'm trying to be serious here and all you can think about is sex?" she asks, teasing, giving a gentle squeeze the way he likes it.

"Shit," he mutters through a laugh, squirming under her touch. "Can't exactly blame me, can you? Not when you come in, wearing that, cuffing me to my own chair."

She hums, starts rolling her hips again, harder, squeezing her legs around his thighs and throwing her head back at a particularly rough brush of his slacks against her bundle of nerves. She can practically feel him responding under her hand, pulsing against her palm.

She digs her nails into the back of his neck, holding onto it like a lifeline as she grinds her hips faster, almost erratically, feeling her orgasm rapidly coiling in her stomach. She knows that she can barely concentrate on her own hand, that her fingers are fumbling around him, uneven and tormenting, and she hears it in the rasp of his voice when he says her name. But somehow, despite how much he must be aching, it doesn't surprise her when he pushes his mouth next to her ear and tells her, "Touch yourself." Her gaze snaps onto him from underneath heavy eyelids, his expression pulled tight with his arousal. Still, he commands, or maybe pleads: "I know you're close. Let go of me and touch yourself the way I would."

She pulls her hand off of his length and slides it through her slick sex, circling her clit, accidentally brushing it once, twice, three times, the same way he teases her.

"I think I'll come just from watching you, Nat," he says, his voice heavy and thick. He sounds like he could. He sounds as breathless as she feels.

And that alone is almost enough to send her over the edge.

She reaches between them and all, somehow, gets the buckle of his belt undone and pulled from the belt loops despite how much she seems to be shaking. He groans as she touches him, pulling him from his boxers, and then she's lining him up at her entrance and sinking over him, taking him in deep.

Their moans vibrate through the air, filling the wide, open space of his office, that's how loud they are, how relieved yet desperate they sound.

She digs one hand into the muscles of his shoulder, the other grasping at his tie in her fist as her spine arches, and she tosses her head back when he shifts beneath her and brushes against that sweet spot that sends a burst of white-hot desire through her veins. She can hear him murmuring her name over and over again, his phrases broken and barely coherent over the haze of her approaching orgasm as he tells her how much he loves her, how amazing she feels, how perfectly they fit together. And then, when she's right on that edge, she tugs his lips to hers and kisses him. She thinks she nips his lip when her orgasm bursts over her, but if she does, he doesn't notice. He's too busy falling over that edge right with her.

She curls forward, clinging onto him for support as his body goes limp beneath her, their bodies riding the last tremors of their orgasms as they come back down to Earth.

"It's possible," he says after a long moment, through labored breaths, "that the entire floor might have heard us."

"I think the entire building heard us," she rasps out on a laugh, reaching into the pocket of her skirt for the key to the handcuffs. Her fingers fumble with it a few times, but she finally gets them unlocked, and he tugs his hands free.

She grasps one of his wrists, placing a kiss to the red lines that had been rubbed into his skin, and then repeating the gesture to the other wrist.

"I'm alright," he promises, waiting for her to nod in acknowledgment before gently prying from her grasp so he can tuck his hands into her hair, pulling her in for a soft, sweet kiss. She hums against his lips, her body melting into his. She feels sated all the way down to her bones, in the way only making love to Steve can do. "I could've done it, you know."

"Hmm?" She leans back to find him giving her that crooked, almost boyish grin of his.

"I could've come without being inside you, just from watching you," he clarifies. "I think, even if you weren't touching me, I would've come. Just because it's you."

"I know," she says, meaning it, feeling a flutter of pride and complete adoration unfurl in her chest. She's known that she has that effect on him, but it's still a little exhilarating every single time he tells her as much. "That's what made me want to reward you," she admits, kissing his dimpled cheek before drawing back to smirk. "But we'll get to that next time."

His eyes sparkle. "Whatever you say, boss."

#romanogers #steve rogers #natasha romanoff #chanty writes #chanty's smut #loictalon #sleepygrimm #evanzski #sassaspazz #xo stardust720 #otptilltheend #p.s. what is editing? what is proofreading?? tell my mind to do these things once in a while

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chalantness · 7 years

Note

Hi, I don't know if you're still taking those six sexy word prompts but if you are CaptainHill #5.

5. Teach me something new. I’m ready. (six sexy words meme) (also for @romanovascap because I still owe you your Steve/Maria request)

It’s something they don’t do very often, though not for lack of wanting. Their schedules are simply too crazy, too unpredictable, and what little time they manage to steal for themselves is almost always spent in a tangle of limbs, a blur of hot breaths and frantic touches and sweet whispers from underneath the sheets. They both have important roles to play out in the world.

But the ones they find together, in the safe haven of her apartment?

Those are her favorite. And oh, is he good at following her lead.

They never really have a plan, never follow some kind of script. Playing a role is second nature to both of them, and yet, this is different. She never feels most like herself than she does with him, even when she slips into another persona.

Like tonight, when she’d come home to find him sitting at her desk chair in the spare room, still dressed from the meeting he and Tony had to attend a few hours earlier. His blazer had been shrugged off and draped over the desk, his tie loosely draped around his neck, the first few buttons of his shirt undone. He was sitting with his ankle resting on the knee of his other leg, a pencil held in his hand and his sketchbook opened in his lap. His forehead had been creased in concentration, eyebrows furrowed, lips parted ever so slightly.

And every nerve in her body had tingled to life.

He’d lifted his head to when he noticed her in the doorway, of course, lips starting to move in a greeting, but she pressed a finger to her lips. And he blinked, eyes darkening in immediate understanding as he nodded once.

And now, here she is, sitting on top of the desk while he sits in his chair and sketches her. Her legs are spread, her Burberry skirt bunched around her waist and her unbuttoned blouse falling off of one shoulder, exposing the burgundy lingerie she’d worn underneath. He’d had her hitch one heeled ankle up on the desk, had her tip her head back just so. She knows she’ll be at least a little sore in the morning from holding this pose, but she hardly notices it right now. Not when her skin feeling this flushed. And definitely not with the slick ache between her legs.

“You doing alright there, Miss Hill?”

She licks her lips, nodding once, her hair falling over her shoulder.

“Because there are other ways we can go about handling your art grade,” he goes on. His voice is perfect: smooth yet firm, patient yet slightly teasing. Like a man who knows how to indulge in what he wants. “Not that I mind you as my muse.”

“What… other ways?”

He raises an eyebrow. “Do you want to find out?”

“I just really want to impress you,” she tells him, voice soft, as if admitting a secret. She tilts her head, glances at him from under her eyelashes.

She swears she sees his lips twitch in barely-restrained amusement. Not that she blames him. They may both be reserved, yes, but neither of them have ever been timid people. It should be ridiculous for this to turn her on, except it does, and she can’t quite help it.

“Get off,” he orders, setting his sketchbook aside so he can stand. She slides off of the desk and onto her feet. “Turn around and bend over.”

She follows, bending at her hips and slowly folding herself over the desk. It’s just slightly too short, causing her to bend at an angle, and she slides her hands over the wood and grips the edge of it for support. She glances out the window overlooking the parking lot of her complex, and a side of apartments from the building next door. She realizes it’s very unlikely that someone would be able to look over and make out her face from this distance, or ever make out the two of them in this room, but still. The thought alone makes a shiver roll down her spine.

Then Steve slips his hand between her legs and slides over her clit, making her hips jump.

“You have the perfect curves to your back, Miss Hill.” He’s standing close enough that she can practically feel his legs against the backs of her thighs. But not enough for him to actually touch. “Has anyone ever told you that?”

She shakes her head. “No, sir.”

“That’s unfortunate. Would you mind showing me?”

He’s circling gently, almost lazily, over her clit, over and over, making her mind hazy, and it takes a moment for her to realize the command he’s hidden under his question. She peels herself out of her blouse, tosses it aside. He uses his other hand to sweep her hair over one shoulder, baring her back to him, and he leans over her and presses a kiss just above the band of her bra.

“I could spend hours on the curve of your back and never perfect it,” he murmurs into her skin, then snatches the clasp of her bra between his teeth and snaps it off. It falls from her shoulders, and he spreads a hand over her back and gently pushes her down, making her nipples graze the cold wood.

She bites down a whimper.

“What was that, Miss Hill?” He gently nudges her ankles further apart with his foot before she can even think to respond, dips two fingers inside of her, and she bites down even harder to muffle a mewl. “I don’t think I quite heard you.”

She lets out a shaky breath, rolling her hips back into his hand.

He slides a hand between her body and the desk, cupping one of her breasts and tugging at her nipple. Her forehead drops to the desk, a quite but harsh breath hissing from her lips, and then he’s curling his fingers, pulling back out and sinking a third in, and she lets out a long, low moan.

She can practically hear his smirk. “You’re doing so well, Miss Hill.”

“Maria,” she breathes out, voice surprisingly steady.

He pulls his hand away, and her heart skips when she hears him undo the buckle of his belt, letting it clatter to the floor as he unzips his slacks.

“Given our relationship, I don’t know how appropriate that would be,” he says, leaning over her until his chest flushed to her back. She can feel him between her legs, brushing against the inside of her thigh. “Wouldn’t you agree?”

She opens her mouth to respond, but he pushes into her without warning, and she’s so slick that he slides in easily, bottoming out and causing her to toss her head back and moan his name. She curls her fingers over the edge of the desk as he starts thrusting, slow and steady at first, and she’s not sure if it’s to give her time to adjust to how much deeper and fuller everything feels at this angle, or if it’s to tease her, but if she’s being honest? She thinks it’s a little bit of both.

But he doesn’t keep the pace for long. He only lasts a few more thrusts like this before his hips grow more frantic, sinking in deeper and harder and faster, and he grasps her hips with both hands to bring her body to meet his thrusts.

“O-oh, oh, god.”

He presses a hot, open-mouthed kiss over the pulse in her neck, suckling gently, and her eyes flutter closed.

“You have no idea how often I draw you, Miss Hill,” he groans out. “How many different times I’ve pictured you. How many different ways.”

He hooks a hand behind her leg and bends it, hooking her knee onto the edge of the desk and opening her up wider, sinking in even deeper. She moans a little louder, a little longer, her every thought dissolving into a haze of white-hot pleasure. She can feel her stomach tightening, tightening, her walls fluttering.

“You, bent over this desk, like right now.” He cups one of her breasts again to tug at her nipple, making her mewl as he rolls it between her fingers. “Or you completely bared and spread out, so I can use your perfect skin as my canvas.”

“S-St…” She can’t think straight. She can’t think at all. “Sir.”

“Me sitting at my chair with you above me, riding me, taking your pleasure,” he goes on, reaching between her legs to circle her clit, once, twice, three times. “Your thighs wrapped around my head, not caring that everyone can hear us.”

Then he finds her clit, rubbing it over and over and over, a little harder and a little harder, and she unravels at the seams with a whimper, dissolving into a keening moan as he keeps thrusting, keeps circling over her clit, making her chest squeeze, her lungs burn, her body writhe. She flutters around him and jerks her hips back, trying to keep up, but she’s overwhelmed with pleasure.

“Fuck. Fuck.”

It only takes a few more thrusts and he’s right there behind her, falling apart with a low groan as he presses his body over hers, peppering wet, sloppy kisses to her back. He’s still circling her clit, but there’s no rhyme or reason.

It takes a long moment for them to start to come back down, and then his forehead drops to her shoulder, his body leaning more against hers, sated.

“You alright, Maria?”

God, yes. She’s more than alright.

And they’re nowhere near done.

She hooks her hand over the back of his neck, twists her head and brings his lips to hers in a deep kiss. Even with the last tremors still rippling through her body, she feels her sex pulse, her heart thrum. She’s already craving more.

��I thought that was inappropriate, sir?” she asks, one eyebrow raised.

Steve’s lips quirk, and she taps his hips, whimpering ever so slightly as he pulls out. Then she turns around and hitches herself on top of the desk again, tugs open the side drawer he’s commandeered for his art supplies and fumbles for a moment until she grasps onto a few tubes of oil paints and pulls them out.

“There’s something else I’ve had trouble with,” she tells him, holding up the paints for him to see. He smirks. “Maybe you can show me how it’s done?”

#captain hill #steve rogers #maria hill #chanty writes #chanty's smut #otptilltheend #romanovascap #six sexy words meme #six sexy words meme round 2

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