As a brokenhearted Dominatrix, you run an exclusive sex club. With a whip in your hand you know who you are. Natasha watches Buckys continue to find no relief in his new life. His life as Bucky Barnes and not the Winter Soldier. On a whim Natasha de...
Bucky leaned against the desk watching you disappear into the bathroom. His breath ragged as his grip tightened on the desk behind him. Just moments ago he had you writhing in his arms, in pure abandonment while you came on his knife. He had no idea what came over him.
I could've hurt her.
But he knew he wouldn't. If he could control anything it was a knife. But he felt more out of control now than be did before. This wasn't exactly the type of sex he had back in the 40s and he wasn't sure where to go from here.
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His grip tightened and he could feel the wood crumble slightly under his grasp. He was lying to himself about why he came back. It wasn't something new or something exciting to help him cope or feel something. It was you. Something about you made him come back. He had spent last night thinking about you about this place and what made you create it? He remembered Natasha's words about someone hurting you. He wanted to know what happened and who they were so that he could make them hurt like they made you hurt.
The moment he stepped back into this club he knew exactly what he wanted. Not just this club. He wanted you. All of you. Not just for a moment or a night. He wanted everything. He had felt cold for so long and now he was burning from the inside out.
He didn't expect this to happen. You were like a fucking hurricane barreling through him out of nowhere. Staring at the closed door he wanted you to belong to him. Only him. Be the only one at the end of his touch. But he wasn't sure if you meant your answer or not.
People say a lot of things during sex.
He ran his tongue on the inside of his lips, your sweet taste was still there. Like a dog in the desert he needed more. He'd never wanted much and he couldn't explain now why he wanted you so badly. But he did.
He didn't want to fight it. He always fought. He always denied himself everything. He was undeserving. Except with you. He wanted to let you consume him, no matter what the consequences were. He had never seen anyone let go the way you did. The way you trusted him. Fearless. Beautiful.
He picked up the chair he kicked earlier and he felt his dick twitch remembering the sight of you bent over the desk. He bit his lip liking the way his knife looked against your skin and when you said Sargent Barnes he almost fucking lost it.
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