We stared at one another for some time. He leaned back against the counter, his hands firm at my waist.
I pressed closer into his chest, solid, unyielding, like an immovable wall. My hands slid down his torso, his breath catching when my nail grazed along his collarbone before coming to rest at his heart.
I felt the beat there, unsteady, fast. Our breath all but turned to steam, heat pressed against heat. Suddenly, his forehead rested against mine, his eyes searching me as if exploring an entire world hidden inside.
In that moment, I felt he could swallow me whole, and I wouldn't protest. His tongue slipped out, wetting those sweet, pink lips that had only moments ago tasted me.
At my waist, I felt his flesh hand tremble. Not a shiver. Fear.
"Bucky," I whispered.
He nodded.
"It's okay. Do it."
His forehead lifted from mine, his head snapping back as he drew in a deep breath. His eyes wavered, almost asking again.
"I'm sure. Now hurry before I change my mind."
With that green light, his mouth claimed mine, his tongue delving hungrily, searching me for answers. His hands slid down and hoisted me up effortlessly.
He carried me to the couch, stepping over the brown hair still scattered across the floor. Laying me down gently, his lips never left mine. My legs wrapped tight around his waist, and I felt the heavy pulse from below.
I remembered it being big. It had hurt before. But this time was different. This time we were free. This time, we chose. This wasn't for breeding. This was something else. Maybe… maybe this was love.
He pulled my T-shirt up and off, unzipped my sports bra. My breasts burst free, welcoming him. He stared for a moment.
"What is it?" I asked.
"You're so beautiful," he murmured, a smile both pure and lustful curving his lips.
I ripped his tank top open revealing his glistening chest and firm abs, mapped with scars, each one a story. His hands closed over my breasts, massaging, toying, his tongue came down, circling my peaks between small nibbles.
His flesh hand traced down my frame, slipping beneath my shorts. Fingers circled my pearl, drawing a moan from me. His mouth worked my breasts, while the cool vibranium against my bundle of nerves sent lightning through my body.
Then I felt it, a finger slowly pushing into my folds. My hands shot down to his wrist.
"It's okay, I'll go slow," he whispered, his face lifting to meet mine, our mouths colliding again. His finger moved in and out, my moans swallowed into him.
A second finger pushed in. Pain and pleasure, tangled into a cocktail I had never tasted, that now had me drunk. They curled, spread, his thumb never leaving its circles.
"I feel something," I whispered between breaths when his mouth finally released mine.
A pressure was building in my stomach, foreign, urgent, growing with every movement of his hand.
"It's okay. Ride it out," he said.
What does he mean?
My hips started moving on their own, trying to take him deeper. I wanted more. Needed more.
His other hand pinned my hips down.
"No. I've got this." A devilish grin cut across his face.
His fingers, once slow and deliberate, suddenly raced, curling, spreading, striking every angle inside me. The pressure surged. I covered my mouth, moans growing louder, higher, until finally, ecstasy hit like an explosion. My mind blanked as it tore through me, soaking his hand, my shorts, everything.
He didn't stop, drawing every last tremor out of me. My eyes rolled back, my body undone. I had never felt anything so good.
The had heard about orgasms before in passing but never had one. I didn't want to admit to Bucky that the last time I did anything like this was when Mira was being conceived.
When his fingers finally withdrew, he spread them, glistening with me. We were breathless, both of us, but I wasn't done. I wanted more. Deeper.
I wanted him.
He knew. Without a word, he stripped my shorts and underwear, tossing them aside with his boxers. Positioning himself between my legs, I saw it, the monster of a thing that had once torn through me and now would again. Huge, red, veined. Alive.
His metal hand cupped my cheek, thumb brushing tenderly. "It might hurt for a minute," he whispered.
I nodded. "Pain is an old friend," I chuckled softly.
His flesh hand pumped himself, then guided in. The tip slid inside, and a moan escaped me, swallowed instantly by his kiss.
Deeper he pushed, tearing me open, pain sharp but laced with pleasure that outweighed it all. He stopped, then began a rhythm, slow, steady. Pulling almost out, then driving back, each thrust deeper until he was fully inside.
His hand circled my pearl, his mouth devouring my moans. His groans vibrated into my tongue.
Faster. Harder. Until he hit a spot. My head snapped back, a cry escaping me.
What did he just do?
He slowed, teasing that place, each tap drawing louder sounds from me. His mouth moved to my neck, licking, kissing, biting along my jaw and skin.
"You're going to want to stay quiet," he whispered, taunting. "Don't want to wake her." Mischief lit his clean-shaven face.
I bit my lip, nails digging into the couch, trying to contain myself.
"Want me to help?" His pace quickened.
I nodded desperately. He snatched something from the floor.
"Open," he ordered.
A moan slipped free as I obeyed, and he shoved my underwear into my mouth. Bitter taste of myself filling me. I bit down, muffling cries as he drove harder, faster, the couch groaning beneath us.
He bit his lip, blood beading, growls low. Each thrust hammered that spot, and I shattered again and again, body releasing until his voice broke through:
"I'm about to—"
I clung tighter, pulling him deeper, his groans hot in my ear.
Then his arms hooked under my thighs, lifting me easily. Deeper, impossibly deeper, as he bounced me on him, my eyes rolling, body convulsing. I looked down, to find his bulge pressing through my stomach with every bottom-out.
Another wave hit. My nails tore at his shoulders, foreheads pressed together, his teeth sinking into my neck to cage his groan. The pain of his bite mingled with the rush tearing through me, until my body spilled again, soaking us both.
His warmth poured into me, again and again, thrust after thrust, until he finally emptied, releasing his bite.
He lowered me gently onto the couch, sliding free. My body twitched at the emptiness, aching already. Our mess pooled beneath me, soaking the grey upholstery.
He plucked the underwear from my mouth, replacing it with one last searing kiss, before collapsing against the couch, chest heaving.
We lay there in silence, catching our breath. Then, a creak. A snap. The couch tilted sharply beneath us.
One of the sides legs broke.
We looked at the wreck for a moment, then burst into laughter.
"I'll get a new one tomorrow," he said between chuckles.
I tossed my torn panties at his head. "Get me a new pair of these too."
He caught them, eyeing the damage. That grin spread wide, part pride, part promise. Probably both.