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There is a storm brewing. It’s been stewing, curdling the air with mist for a while now.
For five years, all you’ve had is radio silence. The first year and a half left you in tears. Hours upon hours spent driving out to the middle of nowhere to visit a man who acts like you don’t exist. Rejections at the door, guards pitifully telling you that he isn’t interested in seeing anyone, including you. Your calls to his closest confidants go unanswered. Your trips to his house disregarded.
So the second year, you spend wallowing in the bitterness of time wasted on a man who apparently could so easily let you go. The third and fourth are for all the people you turned back to, coming back to them with your tail tucked between your legs. Rebuilding pieces of you that you lost. Misplaced. In the fifth, you allow yourself the chance to move on.
However, the skies have not been clear for months now. Clouds have circled the air like vultures, with the threat of thunder casting a shadow over your days. You should have known that lightning would strike.
—
Second dates tend to be your favorite. While first dates are for introductions — small talk and appetizers and drinks, second dates hold the promise for something more. It’s a bit more intimate, an opportunity to take this new potential partner in a direction of your choosing.
Your latest second date has his arm tucked around your waist, hoisting you up as he whispers filthy promises in your ear. The buzz from the champagne lingers in your veins and gives him the perfect lubricant to prime you for the night to come. He narrates what he plans to do when you get to his place, your pleased hums and stumble into his chest emboldening him to be more honest. While you don’t usually give in to a fuck so quickly, you are feeling a little reckless tonight.
It’s something in the air. Something that has had you tense from the moment you woke up. You can’t put a finger on it. Nothing in the news nor your messages indicates any signals that could ruin your day. But your gut hasn’t ever been wrong.
That something materializes in the way shivers snake up your spine, a sudden change that has your toes curling. Not in a pleasant way.
Your entire body immediately seizes as your eyes dart around the deserted street. The two of you had dinner in a quieter neighborhood. A few cars speckle the sidewalks, but only one stands out to you. And it’s not the metallic blue Audi your date picked you up in for the night.
No, it’s the black SUV. Tinted windows. It’s the man who stands by the vehicle, sharp black suit draped over his tall frame.
Fuck.
Your date — Kyle or Ken or whatever his name is, your brain is blanking — notices that you have stopped moving. He is yanked back when you remain rooted where you stand, the pinch of your heels barely noticeable when your feet go numb. He seems mildly irritated, smirk falling away as he turns to look at you. “Babe, you good?”
The pet name might have had warmth tingling in your bones two minutes earlier. Now, they have worry prickling your skin with goosebumps. Your eyes flick over to the man in the suit again, whose face is still shrouded in darkness. However, that stature, the composure, is familiar. You know exactly who it is — and it’s the last person you expect to see tonight.
You turn a sickly sweet smile to Kyle (you think) and nudge him in the direction of his car. “Um, listen, you should go. I think I’m going to head home.”
Kyle raises an eyebrow, his hand sliding down to take yours. “It’s no big deal if you changed your mind. I can take you home still.” Your gut is telling you that this man is still hoping to get lucky, whether it’s your place or his.
“I’ll get myself a ride, don’t worry,” you say slowly, gaze shifting over to the man again.
“Don’t be silly, I can—”
Your body stands to block Kyle from the man’s line of sight. Tugging your hand out of his hold, you nod up at him. “You should go. Now.”
“Why—”
The sound of your name rolling off another tongue in a familiar drawl has you stiffening. You haven’t heard that voice in a while. Five years, to be exact. When you turn, you finally see that the man has appeared next to you. His footsteps are quiet as always. Tongue pressed against the inside of your cheek, you bite back your annoyance.
“Don’t fuck with me, Steve. Not tonight,” you nip curtly.
Unsurprisingly, Steve brushes off your words. “He wants to see you.”
“Over my dead body.” Your response is swift, a crisp snap in the cold, still evening air. Your arms cross over your chest defiantly as an evening breeze unforgivingly whips across your exposed legs and open toes.
Steve’s lips quirk up, the first sign of any humor. “That wouldn’t stop him.”
“Excuse me,” Kyle interrupts, now directing his vexation towards Steve. You mentally groan. That’s a mistake. “Dude, you need to chill the fuck out. She’s my date.”
Steve towers over your date, his broad frame is oppressive even in the open space. You are fully aware that he could break Kyle like a twig. Before Steve can act, you press a hand against his firm chest with a glare. A silent instruction to stand down. Steve narrows his eyes at you, briefly flicks over to Kyle, before clenching his jaw and taking one step back.
“Kyle—”
“It’s Kevin,” he corrects with extreme indignation now.
“Right, Kevin, sorry,” you wince. “Tonight is not a good night. You should go. I’ll be fine. My friend here will give me a lift home.”
Kevin looks far from convinced, sizing up Steve as if he has any chance. He clearly realizes that he does not because his resolution falters in his eyes. That still does not stop him from running his mouth though. “Is this guy bothering you or something? Are you some kind of stalker? Do I need to call the cops?”
Jesus Christ. Way to escalate. You are quick to step in between them, facing your date who clearly has zero survival skills. “Kevin, I’m fine. I promise. I’ll text you.”
It’s a lie. With the direction this whole situation is taking, you’ll be lucky if you even have your phone by the end of the night, let alone his number.
His apprehension is palpable as he peeks over your shoulder at Steve. You don’t even want to know what face Steve is making, but it clearly does the trick because Kevin surrenders. He only gives you a slightly hopeful, yet also knowingly hopeless, look. “Text me?”
“Yes,” you nod. Sometimes, a lie is better to prevent more questions.
You have to give this man credit. While he looks timid, he does have some balls to him; it’s probably why you were unknowingly drawn to him in the first place. Curse you and your shit taste in men. It’s what got you into this mess to begin with.
Kevin still leans over and kisses you quick and deep, pulling away with a small smile. “I hope to see you again.” He does not wait for a response and does not look at Steve again before turning on his heel and slipping into his car.
Once his car roars to life and peels down the street, you finally whirl around to glare daggers at Steve, who does not flinch at your expression. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me, right?”
He only shrugs. “Come on, get in.” He clinches your elbow and maneuvers you towards the car.
“Is he in there?” You ask, pulling away slightly.
The thought of the door being the only thing between you and the man you’ve chased in your dreams, the bane of your existence, the target of all your curses, seizes you. Your heart rate picks up, oxygen catching in your lungs.
Steve has the audacity to look partially amused. He glances back to where the three of you had been before, then returns his gaze to you. “If he were in there, do you really think that he would’ve let all of that happen?”
Fair point. Kevin’s brain would likely be splattered across the pavement before he could even take another step, let alone escape in his car.
With a deep sigh, you reluctantly slip into the car and Steve closes the door behind you. What a waste of a perfectly good dress, you look down at yourself. You could have had a nice fuck after a nice date, maybe even a nice midnight snack. Instead, you’re on the highway to hell with the devil’s right-hand man. The hell that you have spent the last five years agonizing over. The last of which you spend trying to forget, to move on. All that effort vaporizes into the wind as you’re being dragged straight back into the pit.
In the silence, you let yourself focus on the blurry city before you. “I didn’t know he got out,” you mutter. “Wasn’t he meant to be there for a minimum of ten years?”
“Appeal worked out. Evidence wasn’t strong enough and he’s on parole for good behavior.”
At that, you can’t help the snort that leaves your lips. If there is anything that man isn’t, it’s well-behaved. From the moment you met him, you always knew he was trouble.
“House arrest,” Steve adds, “ankle monitor.”
A laugh rises from your throat. “Oh, bet he loves that,” you drawl, “did he manage to find his way out of it yet?”
“Working on it.”
Another exhausted exhale leaves your lips.
“You know he would be the one here if he didn’t have it. Outside his perimeter unfortunately.”
When you sink back into the leather seat and close your eyes, you can still see his face. The brush of his lips against your neck. The ghost of his breath hot against your skin. The scratch of his sparse beard against your jaw. The coolness of his fingers pressed into your waist.
All this time, you tried to bury your emotions for him. You dug a grave, held a funeral, and condemned them. That effort is futile. They come rushing back in waves that wash over you. They pull you under as you fight for air, but you suffocate in the pressure of the current. Your feelings for him had been clear once upon a time; the last few years have changed that.
Tears prick your eyes as the memories vividly materialize behind your eyes. God, you haven’t felt this pathetic in a while. The last thing you want to be is emotional around him. After everything he has put you through — the devastation, the loss, he does not get your tears. He doesn’t deserve them.
The car pauses before the looming gates, the ones you have seen time and time again. They feel like a stranger now, one that guarantees the dangerous crossroads ahead. Before you can even consider leaping out of the vehicle, they whirr open and Steve drives up across the gravel towards the entrance.
You hear the soft click of the car door. Steve looks at you from the rearview mirror. “I have to park the car and run through security. You go on ahead. He’s in the study.”
“Steve…” Your voice is barely above a whisper. It is your final plea.
He only shoots you a sympathetic smile. “If it’s any consolation, he has never lost sight of you.”
Your body reacts much too quickly to the thought. Your heart stutters behind your ribcage. Somewhere inside of you, a small part of you always hoped that he still cared. You hoped that, even if he wasn’t there, he would still be watching over you. A guardian angel of sorts, even if he is the furthest thing from heaven. That hope had died with parts of you that loved him a long time ago.
It only took one confirmation from Steve to put you right back at square one. Weak is what you are.
Taking one last final breath, you pull open the door and let your feet land on solid ground. The house before you used to be a home, bleeding light and laughter. Now, the sight of it sends chills straight to your bones.
The front door swings open to reveal a man you do not recognize. He holds onto his ear, clearly listening to the commands Steve is likely providing him. He doesn’t say a word as you step past the threshold. Any other person would have been struck on sight, a bullet between their eyes.
You? You have always been safe here. Perhaps the safest place you could ever be.
The house is ridiculously extravagant for a man who wishes to stay under the radar, but you suppose you cannot pick your parents and their architectural tastes. The grand staircase spreads across most of the entrance, lit by the crystal chandelier that hangs above your head. You can hear the distant sounds of bullets ricocheting through the glass, an echo from the past.
As you continue down the halls towards one of the rooms buried further in the back, you pass a few familiar faces. They only nod at you in acknowledgment. No surprise, no questions. No one asks questions here. No risk of getting their tongues sliced clean out of their mouths.
Your heels resound clearly down the quiet hall, the tips ticking against the marble like a clock counting down to your demise. With every step you take, your heart beats a little louder, a little faster. Your veins pulse to demand attention. The blood that rushes to your brain screams at you to turn back around, to run as fast as you can far away from this place, but your heart is involuntarily drawn forward.
The thunder you have been waiting for for months is here. It’s in the deepest, most intimate caverns of your heart. You feel the magnetic pull of the sound. Even if you know you will be swept away by the flood, you can’t help but walk headfirst into the storm.
The door you seek is now right in front of you. Everything stills. Your heart quiets. Dim light filters out from under the door, reaching the short length to your toes.
You swallow and raise your hand, preparing to knock, only to be greeted by a voice — the voice — on the other side of the door.
“When have you ever knocked?”
Your body immediately responds to him. Your muscles freezing, your hand hanging uselessly in the air. Dread and excitement combine in a hazardous chemical reaction in the pit of your stomach.
It’s been so long. Too long.
With trembling fingers, you twist the knob and slowly push the door open.
Your gaze falls on him and your breath hitches in your throat. Even after all these years, he never fails to get a rise out of you. That recognizable magnetic pull is irresistible, but you try anyway. He is as gorgeous as ever. His hair is longer, silky midnight strands brushing against his shoulders. His jawline is peppered with neatly trimmed hair, enough to give him a rugged, not ragged, look.
There are deeper shadows under his eyes, but his icy blue irises are no less sharp. His lips curl into a slow, sexy smile as he leans back comfortably in his chair. The sleeves of his shirt are rolled up to his elbows, revealing one tan muscular arm and the metallic shine of the other one. A couple of his top buttons are popped open to give you a good glimpse of his broad chest.
Saliva pools in your mouth as your pussy clenches at the sight of him. Curse you and your hormones. Ones that respond all too instantly to him, even with the loathing that is rooted in your heart.
You nearly miss the two men standing guard by the door, who are now moving towards you, likely ready to toss you out for intruding. You wonder if he has had other mistresses tucked away somewhere that need to be taken out the same way these men are looking to do with you right now.
However, he raises his hand and they halt, frozen in time. “Leave us,” he orders curtly. They do not question the order, steely gazes in place, and step outside with the door slamming shut behind them.
Your eyes lift back up to him. It’s different now that it’s only the two of you. He appraises you more carefully, softly. There is a heat to his gaze that is only present in the privacy of your company.
“Hey, doll,” he murmurs with a small smile.
Bucky Barnes. Damn him and his stupid baritone voice and his annoyingly good looks.
Ignoring his greeting, you instead jut your hips to the side. “When did you get out?”
His eyes twinkle, clearly entertained by your attitude. Still, he humors you. “A few hours ago.”
“They should’ve kept your ass in there. Better for everyone.”
A soft snort leaves his lips. “Lucky for me, they don’t listen to you.”
Your lips twist together in displeasure as you peruse the room. You hate how familiar everything looks. The bookshelves are still stacked with countless titles that Bucky has read over the years, sprinkled in with a few of your guilty pleasures that you keep whenever you want to read while he’s working. The couch to your left, where you have spent hours sprawled, falling asleep with a book open on your chest until Bucky lifted you back to your shared bedroom. His mahogany desk is in pristine condition, paperwork organized and stacked, not a single speck of dust in sight. There is a photo frame close to his laptop. One that stores a memory that has your hope jumping.
Bucky shifts in his chair slightly, rolling back to make space for you to come around the desk. To him. “C’mere,” he says, voice softer than you’re used to.
Ever the headstrong one, you stay rooted by the door. The closer you are to him, the stronger the temptation — and that is one thing you refuse to give in to tonight. “I’m good.”
“Doll,” he says, the pet name curling so easily on his tongue. It slithers all over you like a serpent. It is simple. It says nothing and everything all at once.
“Don’t fucking call me that,” you snap as your arms wrap defensively around you. “You, of all people, do not get to call me that anymore. You do not get to send Steve to pick me up whenever it’s fucking convenient for you. You don’t get me anymore, Bucky.”
The light in his eyes flattens into something dark, something much more serious. He presses his tongue into his cheek, a habit that you picked up from him. The look he gives you is dangerous, and you stand in trepidation as you anticipate his response.
You know that he knows it’s true. When he severed you clean years ago, he chose to exclude you from his life. He chose to let you go. This is merely the consequence of his actions.
Bucky’s fingers stroke his armchair thoughtfully as his eyes remain on you. You hold your ground, refusing to move a single inch for him. Then he rises, and you instinctively take a cautious step back. Not of fear — no, you are never scared of Bucky. But it is of surprise. Bucky never gives in, never makes the first move if he can help it.
Perhaps the time apart has made him a weaker man too, especially when it comes to you.
He rounds the desk and plants himself on it before you. A compromise. Closer, but not too close. Not a full surrender to your unsaid demands. His long legs part and bend slightly to accommodate his height, making space that you know is for you. “C’mere,” he repeats, softer this time, “please.”
Once again, your mind commands you to stay still, to not give in to the impulse, but your heart has other plans. You have never been able to deny Bucky Barnes when he is being soft with you. Only with you.
Begrudgingly, you move towards him. The moment you are within arm’s reach, his hand snaps out to grab you and pull you close, trapping you between his thick thighs as his arms circle your waist. You stumble a little, falling forward until your hands find purchase on his broad shoulders.
He leans towards you and tucks his face into your neck, you immediately let your head loll to the side. He breathes you in, fingers digging into your flesh. You let him have his moment, let him get his fill. You can’t help but savor this brief moment in his arms yourself.
It’s just like old times.
His lips press against your skin hungrily, tongue darting out to lap at your neck where he nips little love bites to mark his possession, a brand seared into your skin. His hands slide down to your ass and give them a squeeze before they slide under your tiny skirt. His fingers graze the tiny piece of lace underneath and the guttural moan that drags from his throat has you tightening between your legs.
“Fuck, doll. Missed you like hell,” he grumbles, still working away on your neck with his mouth. You’d be lucky to escape with only a couple of blooming marks.
“You’re a fucking asshole.” You intended for it to be a curse of spite, but it comes out as a whine.
Weak.
“I know,” he grunts then draws away slightly as his metal hand slides up your body again to cup the back of your neck. His grasp is cool against your heated skin as he tilts your head to get a proper look at you. His eyes examine your face, the way your eyes melt like molten lava, your lips parting almost desperately. He drinks you in like a man who has traveled thousands of miles in the desert and you are the first drop of water he has seen in days.
Your resolution crumbles beneath his gaze. The adoration is undeniable. “Bucky, don’t,” you attempt feebly, hands pushing at his chest with little to no real effort.
He doesn’t budge. “Don’t what?”
“Don’t do this,” you whisper, eyes pleading into his sapphire ones. “Don’t do this to me again.”
“I’m not going anywhere, doll.”
When he dives for a kiss, you duck. The bitterness that has been sitting heavy in your gut rises to the surface again. “That’s a fucking lie. You left me once, you can do it again.”
“Never left you. Could never leave you,” he mumbles into your hair. If you didn’t know any better, you would think that Bucky had learned how to beg in prison.
Your teeth grit together as you push his chest back again, your hand on the base of his neck. You direct your cool gaze upon him. “You fucking hung me out to dry, Bucky. You wouldn’t let me see you. You wouldn’t let anyone take my goddamn calls. It’s been five years. Five years, you prick. Now you’re out and suddenly you want me back? You can go straight to hell.”
The gleam in his eyes only proves to exacerbate your irritation. He’s looking at you like he finds you entertaining. Like a puppet only here for his amusement. You can’t help the flicker of hurt that crosses your eyes, don’t move fast enough to close them before he sees.
Bucky catches it. Of course, he does. He wipes his smile from his face as he looks at you tenderly, his touch gentle yet firm. “I didn’t want you seeing me like that,” Bucky murmurs, “see me in chains.”
“I wouldn’t have cared. The charges were weak against you. They had group visiting hours for god’s sake. We could’ve talked, could’ve hugged. I could’ve touched you.”
A thoughtful sigh escapes him. “Still, that’s not the me I want you to see.”
For the first time that evening, you grant yourself some grace. In the face of the man you thought you lost forever, you let yourself be honest. You can only hope that he opens up his heart the same way you will.
“I want to see everything when it comes to you,” you whisper.
His reaction is instantaneous. His eyes flare with a recognizable flame, the darkness of his pupils taking over the little color that remains in his eyes. “You’re fuckin’ perfect, you know that?”
“Well, one of us has to be.”
He laughs, a genuine laugh. The kind that rises from his belly and has his shoulders shaking. Your heart traitorously somersaults at the sound. Bucky has few reasons to laugh so, when he does, it’s almost like a reward. You’re a trained pet, waiting for your master to give you a treat.
Your smile fades as quickly as it comes. You can’t do this again. The next time he changes his mind, the next time — god forbid — he lands himself behind bars again, the next time you lose him — you barely survived the first time. A second go-around may destroy what is left of your heart and soul.
His name leaves your lips again as your hands wrap around his, trying your hardest to get him to release you. He unsurprisingly refuses. “I can’t do this, Bucky. Not again.”
“Never letting you go again. Destroyed me the first time. I’ve learned my lesson.”
It feels as if you have been slapped. “Destroyed you? How do you think you made me feel? A year of your stupid promises, a year of you making me your everything, and you threw me away like I was— like I was nothing! Do you know how humiliated I was to be turned away week after week? The fucking embarrassment of even Steve ignoring my fucking calls? A whole fucking year of that, Bucky.”
His hold never loosens, even as he looks away. “I know. I know.”
“And now you’re out and suddenly you want me back here? Just when I was starting to move on, when I found someone else—”
Oh. That was the wrong thing to say. You crossed a line you never even knew existed. Bucky sneers at you as his eyes go stone cold, his grip tightening. You could feel the sting of his fury burrow into your skin. You have only seen this look a few times before. The look is typically followed by him instructing you to leave, that whatever happens next isn’t anything he wants you to witness.
Bucky’s voice is calm, but your blood runs cold. You know better. “The man you were with today?”
“Bucky—”
“Thought you had better taste.”
A gasp tugs from your lips involuntarily. “The fuck is that supposed to mean?”
“It means you deserve better than a boy who can barely look Steve in the eye, who’s willing to let you get into a car with someone he doesn’t know to be safe.”
Fucking Steve. Of course, he talked.
You squint at him. “It’s not as if Steve — you — gave him a choice. I don’t want someone else’s blood on my hands.”
“Oh, doll,” he chuckles low, “he isn’t even worth spilling blood.”
“Fuck you.”
A slow smirk slides onto his face as his eyes twinkle with something treacherous. “Waiting for me to offer? Or you gonna take it for yourself?”
Cocky motherfucker. You’re about to give him another piece of your mind, but he is quick to interrupt.
“You’re going to keep running your mouth? Do I need to gag you? Almost forgot how pretty you look with your lips wrapped around my cock.”
The effect his words have on you is immediate. Your thighs press together as you feel wetness pool in your core.
You hate how easily your body responds to him. Trained. Obedient. “You’re such a fucking prick.”
“At least I know how to fuck you properly,” Bucky snarls right back. “Did you miss me? Miss me bending you over my desk to sink my cock into you? Miss my fucking handprints on your ass until you can’t walk for days?”
Bucky buries his hand in your hair, giving a sharp tug back to expose the vulnerable column of your neck to him, ripe for the taking. He drags his lips up along your jaw and to your ear where his breath has you shuddering slightly. Your heart feels as if it’s about to burst out of your chest. You barely pay any mind to the sting in your head as he nips your earlobe, breath warm.
“If you wanted me, doll, all you have to do is ask. I am at your mercy.”
Your mouth moves faster than your brain as you let a small moan escape. “Bucky.”
“How do you want me? Tell me. Do you want me to press you up against the door? Fuck you until everyone outside can hear you screaming my name. Want me to spread you across the desk? Just like I used to, have my cum dripping out of you and onto my papers. Or do you want your tits against the window for everyone to see? My gorgeous slut with my cock buried inside you.”
Fuck, heat pools between your legs as your knees wobble. Bucky’s grip doesn’t relent, holding you up against him. You can feel the press of his erection straining against his slacks, against your exposed thigh. His other hand is on your ass, kneading the soft flesh. Every time he does so, he parts your pussy lips, and the brief touch of cool air has you clenching.
“Tell me. Whatever you want, I’ll give it to you.”
Your last attempt at resistance — “I want you to let me go.”
“Not gonna happen,” he grunts, nudging his clothed clock against your skin again.
You can’t say you didn’t try. Gently drawing away his hand in your hair, you crash your lips against his and drink in his hungry groan. His hands are immediately all over you. Hiking up your dress, callouses against the softness of your skin. He yanks down the top of your strapless dress, exposing your breasts to him. Your nipples pebble in the coldness of his office, but mainly under his hardened, starving gaze.
He raises his metal hand and his thumb tenderly strokes the nub, eliciting a little shiver. “Missed these pretty tits, thought about them every day. Couldn’t stop thinking about your tits wrapped around my cock, or sucking on these nipples until you’re crying underneath me. Jerked off to this picture burned to the back of my brain, but could never compare to the real thing.”
Without wasting a breath, he ducks his head and takes one into his mouth. The strike of heat sends lava straight to your core. Your body instinctively arches into him and your hands fly to tangle in his hair. His groan reverberates into your skin when you pull on the strands, he loves it when you do that. You know.
Meanwhile, his warm hand slinks between your thighs and forces them to part. You barely register when he rips the flimsy fabric off your body, letting it slide to your legs. “You wore these for someone else?” He grumbles, not once pulling away from your body.
Instead, when you allow your hazy eyes to drop to where his face is pressed against you, you find him already looking up at you. His sapphire eyes are keen, observing every twitch with every stroke of his tongue, the way your lips part in a gasp when he sucks, and how your eyelids shutter closed with the graze of his teeth.
“Tell me, were you going to spread your legs for him tonight?”
God, you can barely process the moment, let alone his words. Were you going to— probably. It’s been a while. You knew that Kyle or whoever the fuck his name was wouldn’t be able to satisfy you, but you still wanted to try.
“Does he know that you can’t cum with anyone else? That it’s only my hands, my mouth, my cock that can get you there.” He growls low, the sound deep from his stomach. “Your cunt’s shaped to my cock, doll. No one else is ever going in there again. It’s mine.”
You whimper softly, only managing a short nod.
“Wanna hear you say it.”
“Bucky…”
He pulls away from your tit with a pop, instead giving it a quick pinch that has your teeth catching your bottom lip. “Use your words, doll.”
“Yours,” you rasp.
“What’s mine?”
Heat rises to your neck at the humiliation that sinks into your bones. “You know what.”
Bucky stops his movements, the little fires he has set across your skin flickering. “Not gonna give it to you until you say it.”
Your tongue darts out to wet your lips as you throw a frail glare his way. Possessive motherfucker. “My cunt. My cunt is yours.”
His lips curl into a proud smirk, one that has your stomach twisting again. He looks good like this. Lips shiny with saliva that match the wetness around your tits, hair slightly frazzled from your ministrations. If only his men could see how many times this man has gotten on his knees for you. Their all-powerful, terrifying boss pliant in a woman’s hands.
“That’s my girl,” he grins and dives back in to capture your breast as his hand gropes the other. His free hand slides back between your legs and his fingers immediately catch on the lips, gathering the liquid between. You can feel it running slightly down your legs, before he spreads it all over and dips a finger in.
You jerk against his hold, your pussy tightening. You missed this. Missed his touch, missed his thick finger sliding into you. It’s been so long that even one finger feels like it could have you coming apart embarrassingly fast. Luckily for you, Bucky looks no less affected. There’s pre-cum leaking from his cock still tucked inside his pants, but there is dampness that you can feel against your legs.
“Bucky, please,” you whine, nails scratching his covered shoulders. “Want your fingers in me.”
“Desperate little thing aren’t you,” he grins, lifting his head back up to meet your lips. His fingers are slick with the signs of your arousal. You watch his eyes turn a shade darker as he slides a second finger into you, stretching out where your thighs are clamped together. “So tight, doll. Have you let anyone else in here? Let anyone else touch you like this?”
You could lie but Bucky would know. He’s always had eyes on you after all. Probably had Steve spy on you this entire time. “One.”
He twists his fingers inside with that bit of knowledge, one that you know he already has. “Hm, you let someone else’s filthy fingers touch you like this?”
Fuck. You can feel him slowly extracting his hand and your hand immediately wraps around his wrist to keep him in place. “Only one, I promise. Nobody else,” you gasp when he plunges his fingers back in. You can hear the lewd squelching as he slowly pumps his fingers in and out of you, sliding it out and spreading your wetness all over your cunt whenever he drags them out.
“Didn’t you say this cunt is mine? And yet, you were willing to let someone else in here? You let someone else finger fuck you like this? Or did you have a cock in you, hm?”
Bucky is relentless. He knows exactly where to brush his fingertips inside you, knows the rhythm that you like — slowing down to a maddening pace when you climb a little too fast, swiping the sensitive lips of your pussy and pressing his thumb against your clit. Your knees buckle underneath you but that only serves to sink you deeper into his fingers. You’re hanging on with your hands on his shoulders and his fingers buried to the knuckle inside your pussy.
“Maybe I should’ve brought that date of yours here. Showed him what it’s like to fuck you properly. Show him what he’s missing out on, what he will never have. But I’ll kill anyone else who’s ever seen you like this — naked, vulnerable, mine.”
“M’sorry, I’m sorry,” you babble incoherently, desperate to say anything at this point to keep him going. Pride be damned. You’ve sold your soul to the devil and now you’re paying the price for pleasure.
He hums as his lips move down your neck again, no doubt leaving more marks for you to find and hide tomorrow. Though, he never lets you hide it for long, instead imprinting more bruises into your skin to stain you with his touch. “Why are you sorry? Tell me.”
“I-I’m sorry—” your breath hitches when he reaches that particular spot that has you fumbling, “—sorry for letting someone else touch me. Touch what’s yours.”
“Are you ever going to let someone else into this pretty little cunt of yours?”
You can’t process his words right now, not this question that requires an answer. Your brain has melted into mush under his expert hands. You’re leaking all over his pants, dripping a wet mess on the floor, but neither of you seem to care. Not when Bucky rubs that sensitive bundle of nerves just right, not when he has you chasing after that high after quitting this drug for so long.
When it comes to Bucky, you’re an addict. You were never meant to rid yourself of him. It was never a question. One look, one touch, and you’re right back where you started.
Obsessed, in love, adored.
It’s in his eyes, the way they darken and soften for you all at once. The way he watches your every move to memorize how your face transforms with every strike of lightning inside of you. He learns what makes you tick, what makes you squirm, what makes you so eager for him. It keeps you coming back.
“Is my baby too fucked to answer? Finger fucked ‘til you’re too dumb to speak? I asked you a question, doll.”
“W-what? What question?” You gasp and slump forward into his hold, your teeth sinking into his neck for more support.
His growl vibrates through his body. “You’re a smart girl, you can figure it out, can’t you?”
Then he stops. His hands stop moving. You’re left in the cold, pushing yourself down for more, but it isn’t the same. You want him. You want his touch.
“Bucky, please.”
“Answer the question.”
“I d-don’t know the question!” You cry out, frustrated as you shove at his chest. Tears leak from your eyes and you must look right a mess. Still, Bucky looks at you like you hold the world — his world — in your hands.
“Yes, you do, baby.”
Your brain is a mess and you wrack through it to find whatever stupid fucking question he wants answered.
“Are you ever going to let someone else into this pretty little cunt of yours?”
“No,” you immediately say, “I won’t. I won’t let anyone else in.”
“In where?”
Blood rushes to your face again in embarrassment. “Into my pretty little cunt.”
“Good girl,” he smiles and he actually had the audacity to look proud.
However, you don’t have time to argue against the patronizing look on his face, because Bucky is sliding his fingers into you again. Except now, he’s not as merciful. He pulls out all the stops — the curl of his fingers inside you, abusing your overly sensitive clit, and the filthy promises in your ear for you to come apart more than once tonight.
The ride to the top is fast and the crash comes in hot. Your orgasm shatters your entire being as you can feel your pussy clench around his fingers, milking him and yourself as you breathe out heavily. Your stomach twists in that delicious, familiar way, a feeling so familiar yet so foreign.
Bucky presses a kiss against your damp temple, sweat from the intensity of your orgasm. You barely process him flipping you around and bending you over the desk. He shoves your dress up further around your hips. Using a foot, he kicks your legs open.
“Look at you,” he hisses, his fingers stroking your outer lips. You whine against the wooden surface, unconsciously shifting away from him. He grabs your hips and pulls you towards him again. “Can’t escape me, doll. You’re mine.”
“So sensitive,” you complain in a moan. It’s your first orgasm in a while. You’re ashamed to say that you haven’t been able to achieve the same level of pleasure since Bucky left you. None of your toys or your hands or that singular man have been able to accomplish what Bucky did for you in one night — over and over again.
“I know, baby, but we’re not done yet.”
Behind you, you can hear the clinking of his belt as he unbuckles it and unzips his pants. You can’t even see him but you can feel the heat radiating off his body, the desire that rolls off him and ripples throughout the room. Your body thrums in anticipation, knowing the thrill to come.
But when Bucky begins to press his tip against your core, your body flares in panic.
“Wait, Bucky,” you gasp, twisting around to grab his wrist where he’s holding onto his cock. He looks irritated at the interruption but looks at you. “I don’t think— I’m not sure if I’ve been consistent with my birth control. I haven’t, um, I haven’t really fucked that much so I don’t know if I’ve been good with it. We should be safe and use a condom.”
You should’ve known that Bucky wouldn’t take that piece of information the way you wanted him to. You wanted to rummage around his office for a condom, but you know full well Bucky stopped carrying around condoms a long time ago. Not since he had you raw, skin directly on skin.
“Doll, I don’t have a condom,” Bucky says matter-of-factly. In the mess of it all, you miss the way he looks at your gaping pussy even hungrier, his eyes darker. The only thought going through his mind is breed her.
“We sh—”
Without warning, Bucky’s grip is firm on your hips as he yanks you backwards and sheathes himself inside you in one quick move. The tightness has your belly seizing. He’s so thick and big and long inside you, filling you up all the way to the hilt. You can almost feel the tip of his cock in your stomach. It burns, but it burns so good.
It burns like the afternoon sun. Blistering, searing, but you bask in it all the same.
“Bucky, please,” you attempt a weak protest. Your words fall on deaf ears as Bucky thrusts his hips forward, meeting your ass in a smack each time. Your concern about getting pregnant mixes with the surge of desire of Bucky’s recklessness.
He doesn’t care. He doesn’t care that he gets you pregnant. He wants you pregnant.
The realization hits you like a freight train and knocks the wind right out of you. Bucky fucks you like a deprived man. His pace is unceasing, hitting you at all the right angles every single time. His name falls from your lips over again like a prayer to a god that doesn’t listen, that doesn’t exist.
Cries rise from your throat, ricocheting off the walls and serving as fuel to Bucky’s persistent thrusts. The delicious jerk of his hips, his fingers digging into your flesh. Your worries are quashed under the weight of his carnal need.
Then Bucky starts speaking and your mind spirals all over again.
“Gonna fuck a baby into you, doll. Gonna make sure I cum so deep in your cunt that you’ll never get it out. If it doesn’t work out this time, I’ll chain you to my bed until I get you pregnant. Would you like that? You want my baby in you?”
Your breath stutters in your chest as panic flares through you again. You try to push him off, your best effort futile against his strength. “Bucky, please, no. Not yet. No.”
“You’re always going to have my cum in you. Wanna see you walking through these halls, cum leaking down your legs for everyone to see. Everyone will know you’re mine. No one else will ever touch you,” he grunts as he plunges deep inside you, his thrusts punctuating his every syllable.
There is no energy left in you to protest, your body experiences the strange cocktail of fear and desire mixing inside of you. The war between your heart, your mind, and your cunt lights a flame that you can’t quell.
“Better yet, I’m going to cream inside of you and stick a plug inside of you to make sure none of it comes out. I’m gonna keep coming inside you until you’re filled with me,” Bucky groans, his own words seeming to incite him further.
“N-no, not yet, it’s too soon,” you cry out, “we should talk about this. Bucky, oh god, p-please.”
“Does it feel good, doll? Do you like my cock inside you?”
“Yes, oh god, yes. Mmm, please, Bucky. Fuck, feels so good. So full of you.”
“My pretty little cunt, only mine to fuck and to fill. You’re squeezing me so tight, baby, practically choking my cock. It’s been too long, hm? Nobody could satisfy you like I can.”
“Nobody,” you echo as your heart hammers against your ribcage.
You can feel that feeling again, like a familiar friend chasing after you. Your body goes taut as you can feel the beginnings of another orgasm crawling through you, blood rushing between your legs, your stomach tight.
“Bucky, please. I’m gonna cum. Please.”
Bucky feels you clench as you say it. He ignores the sweat on his tongue, focusing on how good his fingers look buried into your skin. How he can’t wait to see those marks tomorrow.
“Say you won’t leave me.”
You gasp when he fucks you particularly deep. “Bucky, fuck.”
“Say it.”
“I’ll never leave you. Never.” Your words come out in a desperate cry, but it’s the god honest truth.
You’ve lost Bucky once. You won’t lose him again. This is it for you. He’s your endgame. You know it and he knows it.
Bucky presses down, chest against your back as he sinks his cock into you over and over again, that friction infuriating as you chase after that light. His teeth bites down on the back of your shoulder, hard enough to draw blood towards the surface.
“You’re mine.”
It’s not only a fact, it’s a promise. You’re his. Now and forever.
“I’m yours.”
“Cum for me, doll,” he grunts and his hips stutter.
You fall apart for the second time that night, the orgasm no less intense than the first. This time, your pussy is overstimulated to a point where you feel as if it’s thoroughly bruised. Molded to the shape of Bucky Barnes. Your body wrestles through the quakes of your high as you feel warmth spill into your insides.
Bucky groans against your shoulder and manages to thrust one last time into you, pushing his cum even deeper inside of you. You can almost feel it in your belly, so full, so thick.
He releases a deep sigh as he tenderly kisses your skin where he had left an imprint of his teeth. “You’re still milking me,” he chuckles softly. Your pussy is still pulsing around him, dragging out every drop from him.
“Fuck you,” you groan, trying your best to shove back at him with your shoulder. “I don’t think my birth control works right now.”
“Doll, I cannot begin to tell you how much I don’t care,” he says and you can feel his smug smile against your skin. “I’m going to keep fucking you until you get pregnant.”
“Bucky!”
“What? We’re in this forever, baby.”
“But kids now?”
“I’m going to have at least five,” he huffs another laugh.
“I’m going to kill you.”
“You love me too much for that.”
It’s the unfortunate truth. But fortunately, he’s stuck with you too.