An Unexpected Engagement

Chapter 91

Steve

“I'm in control,” I repeat to myself as I examine my image in the mirror after taking a shower.

Maybe if you repeat this to me over and over like those silly self-affirmation books, I can believe that everything will be okay. That I'm not in one of those ridiculous Christmas movies Hope made us watch when she was a teenager, where a guy tired of his life wakes up in another reality.

However, it's pretty hard when I've just found out that I'm married to a possible psychopath with murderous tendencies.

How could Natasha tell me about those atrocities about poisoning and suspicious falls down stairs laughing? By now I'm feeling my stomach churning in fear that she's put something in my food. I should have eaten less, but the truth is that Natasha cooked really well and it was hard not to repeat it. But if she had told those culinary horror stories earlier, surely I would have been more careful.

And then she invented that she wanted to tell me what had happened in those two years. Not that I wasn't curious, but running off to the office seemed like a good idea, because there was a part of me that was afraid to know.

And now here I am, recognizing my clothes in the closet, as I slip into my pajamas and head back to the bedroom where Natasha insisted we sleep. Together. And she didn't even have to say with all the words we were going to fuck before. And the worst part is, I'm slightly tempted to let it go, because, holy shit, we're married, aren't we?

Maybe I should relax and let that craziness overwhelm me and give vent to the lust that Natasha had aroused in me since she walked into my room with her unseemly proposal.

The problem is, even though a very specific part of my anatomy is already warming up to such a feat, my mind still struggles between right and wrong.

Natasha could be my wife, but I don't remember this fact. I don't remember what our first look was like. Our first kiss. Our first night together. And how come I had fallen in love with her to the point of breaking all my rules and letting myself engender a marriage. I, who put my career above all things to the point of having invented a fake fiancée to quiet my family's demands. That I didn't spend more than one night with the same woman because God forbid I get attached.

Only at some point I had become attached to Natasha Romanoff. And I had no idea how it had happened. Maybe it's not a good idea to have sex with my supposed wife, because I certainly won't be able to put her in a cab after I come.

I sit up in bed, feeling lost. Why is this happening to me? Will I go to sleep and wake up tomorrow, in my single, unencumbered apartment and remember Natasha only as a wildly crazy dream?

— Hi, Steve.

I open my eyes to see Natasha entering the room.

She's smiling, that same mischievous smile she walked into my room with earlier. This time I know exactly what her idea is and I'm prepared. I sit down, willing to communicate my decision.

"Hello, Natasha, I think we should talk about your behavior and..." I start to speak as if I'm talking to some employee who wasn't doing their job well, but Natasha is already climbing into bed and pushing me onto the mattress, until be hovering over me.

“I don't want to talk, Steve. I think I know very well what we should do to make you remember me…” She sits on top of me and starts to unzip her shirt.

Oh my. A white half-cup bra is revealed and I really shouldn't look, but Natasha's nipples are visible under the thin fabric and my mouth waters with the urge to grab it.