You were realllly getting tired of taking cold showers.
They’d become a necessary evil once you’d started dating hot, horny, and completely conflicted Steve Rogers. His body urged him to do one thing, his mind another and his heart was torn between both. His old fashioned ways clashed with the modern rules he was so quickly adapting to.
Steve wanted you as much as you wanted him. There was no denying it. However, every time the two of you started to heat up --and taking things to the next level seemed imminent -- the boy scout in him would appear and slam on the brakes to save your (non-existent) virtue. Even after you assured him that it was natural, that you wanted to be with him, he would hold back and you’d be forced to say goodnight and return home to take things into your own hands.
Tonight, though, tonight you were ready to turn the tables on him. There was no way that Steve wasn’t suffering the same sexual frustrations. Today, it had occurred to you that perhaps he wasn’t quite as desperate as you were because he was the one in control of how far things went. That needed to change.
After a pasta dinner at his apartment, you’d both retreated to the sofa for some snuggles and a movie.
As usual, things didn’t remain all that innocent, and the movie was simply background noise.
You pulled out all the tricks. You kisses were passionate, your hands roamed over the upper half of his body.
When Steve tried to lay you down, you pushed back and took control, driving up his desire. The change seemed to spark something in him. He was touching you in ways he’d never done before, and grinding himself up against your body as you straddled him on the sofa.
You had him right where you wanted him.
With a large, eye level, bosom-heaving sigh, you said to him, “I hate to do this, Steve, but I need to stop.”
You climbed off of him and shifted your position so that you were seated on the sofa. You were adjusting your clothes as he reluctantly sat up, too.
He was bewildered, and completely thrown off his game. Perfect.
“Is everything okay?” he asked with concern, his hand reaching out to touch you even as his body shifted closer.
“Absolutely. I just remembered that it’s Good Friday, that’s all.”
He stared at you in confusion, not grasping why that was important.
You added to the explanation, “And I’m Catholic.”
His lust filled mind was still not connecting the dots when you went in for the kill.
Leaning forward, you wrapped your hand around the thick erection that was visible beneath the pants he was wearing. Giving it a squeeze, and a few strokes up and down, you explained, sadly, “I can’t have any meat today.”
You placed a chaste kiss upon his lips, then stood up and quickly smoothed your clothes, running your hands over your curves just for show.
Your purse was on the table beside the sofa and, as you picked it up, you said with a barely hidden smirk, “I’d better get home. Maybe we can have dessert tomorrow?”
The slight jump you noticed in his pants told you he knew exactly what you meant, and that he couldn’t exactly stand up right now. You bit your lip, sent a sexy smile his way and said, “Goodnight, Steve,” before sauntering your way to the door. You knew his eyes were on you, best to make it count.
If you plan worked, you wouldn’t be leaving tomorrow. And tonight would be the last cold shower you’d have to take for a very long time.