Your Ivy Grows

Chapter 17

Bucky

"Until next time, princess." He calls out to her as she practically runs away from his apartment.

He closes the door so that he can rest his head against it as he groans loudly. Annoyance is still working its way through him. That didn't go well. He's supposed to be wrestling back control of whatever this thing is between them. But then she shows up looking like that - with her flushed cheeks, windswept hair and that little sundress he's almost certain she wore to torture him. How is he supposed to maintain any level of control when she pulls shit like that?

All he can hope for is that she left here more rattled than he feels. So much for gaining the upper hand. He couldn't even last five minutes before finding an excuse to touch her, any excuse to get her to moan like she did that night. That noise almost snapped his very last thread of self-control, the one that was keeping him from taking her right there against the door. But now that she's no longer here, he's regretting not giving in to what he knows they both wanted. She can deny it all she wants, but he sees through her.

He still has the taste of her on his tongue. What the fuck was he thinking? If he was even thinking at all. As soon as he did it, he knew it was a mistake. It made him want to drop to his knees and bury his head between her legs so he could get another taste. He couldn't stop himself from wondering what noises she'd make as he made her come on his tongue. Fuck! Thoughts like that are really not helping. He needs to get the taste of her out of his mouth. Needs to wash the scent of her off him before he loses his mind.

He walks into the bathroom, stripping off his clothes as quickly as he can. Ignoring how hard he is, he steps under the cold spray. Hoping to wash her off of him, to wash away all the thoughts running through his head that shouldn't be. But it doesn't work. His mind can't seem to focus on anything but her.

He sees her pressed against his door, as his fingers move inside her. She's beautiful and his eyes lower to her lips as he remembers how soft they felt against his. He can't help but wonder how those lips would feel wrapped around his cock, his fingers tangled in her hair as he helps guide her...

Shit! Well, that hasn't helped to ease his erection in the slightest. Giving in, he finally wraps his hand around it, stroking himself as he lets his mind go where it wants to. To that night in the gallery, the night he can't stop thinking about, no matter how hard he tries.

His frustration has been building since he arrived and saw her. It's easy to convince himself he knows what he's doing when he's alone. But it all goes to shit as soon as she's anywhere near him. Especially when she looks how she looks tonight. His eyes don't focus on anything in the room but her. Does she realise she's the work of art here? She always looks beautiful, but tonight the sight of her stole the breath from his body and he knew he was fucked. E very single plan and strategy quickly exited his mind, leaving him floundering, trying to figure out how to play this.

It shouldn't surprise him how dismissive she is of him, how in denial she continues to be about this chemistry between them. And he shouldn't press it, he should leave it alone. But he can't do that. Yes, getting one over on Walker would feel good, but he can't pretend that's why he keeps pursuing her. She draws him in, like he's trapped in her gravitational pull; unexplainable and inescapable. A better man would leave it alone. He's not a better man.