Work Text:
Steve would hardly classify himself as a prude.
But as he reads the tagline the marketing team had inserted on the packaging mockups for their upcoming release, he finds himself arching a brow at the words. “It can do you all day?” he clarifies as he swivels his chair away from the image of the royal blue device standing proudly on his screen. “That is quite a promise to make, don’t you think?”
“Which is why we’re making it,” Carol says from where she’s sprawled out on his office couch, her eyes trained on the email she’s typing up on her phone.
He tilts his head to the side. “But is it one we can deliver on?”
“I’ve already spoken to OB down in R&D and he’s completely vouched for it,” Carol assures him, moving to sit up. “The battery is powered by a new technology. Temporal something-”
“Just what our customers like to hear,” he interjects. “Our devices run… on something.”
Carol sends an icy glare his way, to which he only smirks. “As I was saying,” she says, “testing shows that this bad boy can run a full twenty-six hours on the highest setting.”
“In a single charge?”
“Mhmm,” Carol confirms. “And believe me when I say that the battery isn’t even the best part. Because with eight different settings? Dear God, the things I could tell you-”
“I’m good,” he says before Carol can continue. “In fact, I’ll sign the production slip right now.”
“Years of running this business together and you choose to turn squeamish on me now?”
“Oh, I’m not squeamish at all,” he says. “But given how much lobotomies cost these days, I’d rather not have thoughts about my little cousin and our latest product flashing in my head.”
Carol rolls her eyes. “Well, if you don’t want to hear about my personal experiences with The Captain,” she says, pointing to their latest thrusting vibrator sitting on the coffee table, “you can always listen to the feedback from our focus group.”
“Does it include tales about seeing stars and discovering new galaxies?”
“Obviously,” Carols says. “We’re not called Cosmic Pleasures for nothing.”
He chuckles. “You always did have a crystal clear vision for this.”
Dissatisfied with the options and the quality of the toys in the market, Carol had started Cosmic Pleasures out of her garage in Brooklyn seven years ago. The name is a nod to her days as a former Air Force pilot, and while she’s poured her heart and soul into the company, she’s never been too enthused by the business end of it, preferring instead to focus on the more creative aspects. It was only serendipitous that he had finally left the Army just as she was gearing to expand, and while the private sector didn’t particularly appeal to him then, the idea of working with his cousin and nurturing a family-owned business certainly did.
Thinking back to when he would spend countless nights wondering how his life would pan out, he doesn’t think he could have ever envisioned his transition from soldier to CEO. Now that it’s become his reality, though, he can’t think of anything else he’d rather be doing. The combination of his business acumen, Carol’s endless pursuit of innovation as Creative Director, and the recent erotica boom across the globe that encouraged people to invite a third party in the bedroom – battery-operated or otherwise – made for lucrative business. Add to that Cosmic Pleasures’ extraordinary commitment to producing models only of the finest quality, it’s no wonder that their products are quickly becoming the industry’s gold standard.
It’s in that excellence that he and Carol take so much pride in. And if he has to put a finger on what it is that continues to open doors for their company, it’s that. It’s certainly what’s led to his meeting tonight with the owners of The Velvet Hex, the ritzy shop in Chelsea that sells luxury pleasure products at their storefront by day, before transforming into an ultra-exclusive BDSM club by night. Admittedly, the latter has never been his cup of tea, but he’s hardly one to judge what goes on between consenting adults. In any case, if such practices encourage people to experiment with more toys, then he’s only too glad to provide them with the best tools possible.
Carol rises from her spot on the couch, grabbing The Captain as she makes her way across his office and sets the toy down on his desk. “You should take this to your meeting with Agatha and Rio.”
“That’s still technically a prototype,” he says, waving off the idea. “Besides, they’ve already selected their SKUs. We’re only meeting to finalize their first shipment. Trust me, we’re way past the Show and Tell stage now.”
“Doesn’t mean they won’t appreciate a sneak peek of what’s in the pipeline,” Carol retorts. “They are attending the Love and Sex conference at The Elysium, aren’t they?”
“Agatha mentioned that they might drop by a few lectures in the afternoon,” he confirms. “But it is The Elysium, Care. I think I’d prefer not to brandish a 9-incher on their mahogany bar.”
“Then clearly, you don’t understand what that hotel is for,” Carol says before tossing the toy at him. “Just take it, will you? You never know if they’ll want to take it for a spin.”
“Not after you’ve tossed it around!”
“That’s what the anti-bacterial cleanser is for,” Carol says, picking up the sample bottle displayed on his desk before tossing that to him, too. He catches it mid-air, narrowing his eyes at Carol, only to earn a smirk in return. “Tell the ladies I said hello.”
As Carol strolls out of his office, he can only shake his head. It’s not that he’s embarrassed to take their products along with him. But when it comes to business, shock and awe has never been his style. Neither have stuffy, structured meetings where everyone types furiously away on their laptops. There’s a time and place for that, he knows, but where closing deals are concerned, he likes to keep things simple. Conversational. And he certainly didn’t need any props for that.
He sets the items back on his desk, and as he stands, he reaches for the slate gray tie that’s slung on the back of his chair before looping it in a neat knot around his neck. Contrary to what Carol thinks, he is aware of The Elysium’s reputation. But just because the line between business and pleasure tends to blur within their art-deco walls, doesn’t mean that it’s not still regarded as a New York institution. As such, he wouldn’t be caught dead not dressing accordingly.
He's just thrown on his suit jacket when Carol suddenly slips back into his office. “I almost forgot,” she says, the playful expression on her face when she had first left replaced by a more serious one. “Don’t forget about your appointment tomorrow.”
This time, he’s the one that can’t resist rolling his eyes. “I know,” he grumbles. “You’ve only reminded me every single day this week.”
“This is important, Steve,” Carol says, her hands coming to rest on her hips. “It’s been two years.”
It’s not as though he needs another reminder of how long it’s been since his life had indelibly changed. That is, since his engagement had come to an abrupt end. But while his mind had recovered from that tragedy, he hasn’t had the same luck when it comes to the damn thing in his chest that to this day, still feels irretrievably broken – something Carol never misses the opportunity to point out. He sighs. “I know.”
Sex is top of mind for Natasha Romanoff.
Specifically, the hurried, dirty, can’t-wait-to-have-you kind. The type you have in the backseat of a town car or a nightclub bathroom where the possibility of getting caught leaves a tingle across your skin, causing your post-coital high to linger just that little bit longer.
But at the moment, as the salacious images flash in her mind, she can’t say that the sensation running through her is all that positive. In fact, as her client recounts her philandering husband’s transgressions, it’s only through years of practice that she’s able to school her face into a neutral expression as the disgust creeps into her veins.
In truth, it’s with every fiber of her being that she wants to tell her client to leave the man. She wants to shout it, empathically. Beg her to pack her bags, take their dogs, and go. Hell, at this point, she’ll settle for writing the words across her office walls in the brightest red paint she can find if that means it’ll open Sersi’s eyes to the situation. Only that would be doing her dear client a disservice, and she knows it. If Sersi is ever to kick this man to the curb once and for all, it needs to be a decision she comes to on her own terms.
“I keep dreaming about the chalet,” Sersi says with a sigh, referring to the large estate she and her husband own in Aspen. It’s where he had proposed to her, and it’s the same place she had caught him sleeping with his business associate just last week. “It has these glass windows that overlook the mountains. It’s absolutely magical in the daylight... It’s where we made love for the first time.” Sersi scoffs, wiping the fresh tears that roll down her cheeks with the back of her hand. “Back when I could stand Ikaris’ touch, anyway.”
She pulls a few tissues from the box on the console table before handing it to her client, watching as the woman who occupies this exact spot in her office nearly thrice a week pats away the evidence of her despair. It’s only when Sersi settles further back into the couch, looking up at the ceiling fan, that she continues to prod. “What exactly about this situation weighs on you the most, Sersi?” she asks softly. “Is it that he slept with someone else or that he slept with someone in a place you thought was sacred to both of you?” She lets her questions hang in the air between them, but when moments pass and they remain unanswered, she adds, “Or perhaps it’s something else entirely?”
Sersi remains frozen in silence before her, her hands curled into fists at her sides as if she’s channeling every ounce of strength she has to keep from spilling her deepest darkest fears. This part of her job is never pleasant, and as much as she wishes she could wipe away her clients’ pain, she knows that it’s her duty to guide them to the other side of it, towards healing – even if sometimes, that means forcing them to pry open a wound they’re desperately trying to keep closed.
“Sersi,” she repeats gently, waiting until the woman finally looks her way. “Do you fault yourself for his infidelity?”
“I don’t see how I can’t not,” Sersi says so quickly that she’s certain her patient has had more than this session to ponder the question. “Since the first time I caught him, the idea of having sex with him… I- I simply can’t bear it.”
“And that makes you at fault for him being unfaithful?”
“Doesn’t it?”
“Not in the slightest,” she says, her tone firm. “The only person responsible for Ikaris’ actions is himself. You, on the other hand, have the power to hold him accountable for them. That being said, we still need to get to the why for you.” Sersi’s brows rise at her words, so she elaborates. “We’ve talked at length about the things he’s done, and for good reason. But you lost interest in having sex with him way before he started stepping out on your relationship. Why that is, we haven’t been able to uncover.” That is, after all, the onus behind Sersi seeking out her services to begin with. Helping people through their relationship tribulations and their aversion to intimacy is her specialty, and for reasons she can’t quite put her finger on, she’s never been more determined to help a patient overcome their issues than she is with Sersi now. “So, let’s dive into that.”
Later, as Sersi prepares to leave at the conclusion of their session, she finds herself smiling at her patient. Some days, making progress happens at the speed of light. But more often than not, it moves just as it has today – slowly, like water trickling into a bucket, drop by drop. Nevertheless, especially in her line of work, she’s learned that a step forward, regardless of how small, is still a step forward. In the end, all that matters is that she’s helped move the needle in the right direction, which is what she’s done with Sersi today.
She bids Sersi goodbye, and as the door of her office clicks shut, she makes her way to her desk to take a peek at her schedule for tomorrow. As she thumbs through her calendar, she finds a slew of bookings from her regulars and a new patient appointment sandwiched in between. It’s going to be another day that’s booked solid, and as much as she wishes she could use the next few hours to brace herself for another full day, the fact is that her evening isn’t looking any better either. She had committed to a speaking engagement at a conference for the American Therapists Association weeks ago, and tonight she's due to share her research on love and sex addiction. In recent years, she has become something of the leading expert in the matter, guiding afflicted patients towards a path of recovery. And while she had spoken at numerous conferences in the past, this one feels particularly special after being asked to present by Melina Vostokoff, the Chairman of the ATA who also happens to be her former mentor – a mentor who, she reckons, is a stickler for punctuality.
It's with that reminder that she stands, pulling open her bottom drawer to exchange her flats for the black, pointed toe stilettos she keeps in there for these occasions. As she rises to her full height, she grabs her phone from the stash of papers on her desk, slipping it into her purse before making a beeline for the full-length mirror by her door. Studying her reflection, she adjusts the collar of her blush silk blouse and smooths a hand down her pencil skirt before ultimately deciding to swipe another coat of gloss on her lips. Then, with a final once-over, she exits her office.
“Wow!” Billy, the practice’s young receptionist, remarks as she nears the front desk. His lips curl into a smirk. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you’re heading to The Elysium for a little sneaky link.”
“Sneaky link?” she says, shooting him a confused stare.
“A rendezvous, I mean.”
“Right,” she says with a chuckle. “One day, I’ll actually understand a word you’re saying. But today is not that day. Goodnight, Billy.”
“‘Night, Nat!”
As she turns to leave, she finds herself shaking her head at Billy’s antics. As if she, of all people, would have a rendezvous at The Elysium. It had been too long since she had a rendezvous of any kind, let alone one at a hotel infamous for being the city’s designated hookup spot. Her last relationship had ended six months ago, and while Bruce had turned out to be a lovely man, in the end, he had been a little too vanilla for her liking. No doubt, the suggestion of a quickie in a public powder room, even one as nice as The Elysium’s, would have left the Physicist reeling.
Even so, Bruce’s mundane proclivities were hardly what caused their relationship to fizzle out. The real problem was that even when she was wrapped up in his embrace, her mind was always with Reed. Reed is a professor at Columbia, and since they met during their freshman year at college, he has been her best friend, closest confidant… and the man she’s been deeply in love with for the last twelve years. All this time, even as that fact ate away at her, she had kept that bit of information to herself. And, to her credit, Reed had never noticed how much she longed to be the woman by his side. But who knew what and when they knew are all irrelevant, anyway. He’s happily married now, so the time to tell him? Well, that’s well and truly passed.
The irony isn’t lost on her. Here she is, one of the most sought-after sex and love therapists in New York City, helping scores of people through matters of the heart, and yet, when it comes to her own love life, she’s been left perpetually wanting a man she can never have. For months, she’s been doing her best to move on. From salsa dancing with her girlfriends every Thursday to brushing up on her Russian, she’s left no stone unturned in her mission to detoxify her heart from her feelings for Reed Richards. And while she’s never been a gym rat, the Pilates classes she’s signed up for are quickly growing on her, if only for the fact that the sheer concentration needed to keep her on the Reformer nearly makes her forget about the man she’s been pining over for well over a decade.
But of all the activities she’s filled her days with, she finds that there’s nothing quite like throwing herself into her work to make her forget about her unrequited love. More than anything in the world, she loves her job, and helping people through their toughest times has always been her calling and deepest passion. She could think of no greater joy than guiding someone towards becoming a better, healthier version of themselves, which is why the idea of sharing her methods with her colleagues tonight has had her feeling exhilarated all day.
Fifteen minutes later, she’s walking through the revolving doors of The Elysium, taking in the posh surroundings as she makes her way towards the elevators. Soft jazz plays in the background, and to the far right, people congregate around the lobby’s massive, gleaming bar, laughing and enjoying their libations. Add to that the swanky ambiance that’s amplified by its tall white walls, dim lighting, and shining marble floors, she could easily see why this hotel has earned its reputation.
It’s as she’s waiting for the elevator that her eyes zero in on a man leaning casually against the bar, talking animatedly with the two women in his party. Quickly, she takes stock of his features – broad frame, chiseled jaw, sandy blonde hair, and a smile that couldn’t be described as anything other than captivating.
She isn’t certain if her gaze had lingered a little too long. Or, perhaps, maybe just the right amount of time. But as the man glances up, his gaze wandering seemingly across the vast expanse of the lobby, it’s as though his deliciously blue eyes lock with hers. At least, that’s what she tells herself as the elevator dings open and she steps inside, filing away the devilishly handsome man’s face as fodder for later. She’d find use for the image when she’s all alone in bed tonight, steeping in her fantasies, but first thing’s first – she had a group of therapists to wow.
Carol was wrong.
It’s a thought Steve rarely finds to be true, but tonight he’s certain that it definitely is the case. Since their meeting started, he hasn’t had to bring up the existence of The Captain (or anything else that they have in production, for that matter). Then again, it’s not as though he’s gotten the chance to. He hasn’t been able to get a lot in since Agatha and Rio had sat down at the bar, immediately singing their praises about Binary Bliss – their double-ended best seller.
“I thought our stained-glass window was going to shatter,” Agatha says of the last time they had taken the mechanical wonder for a spin. “It cost a fortune to put in and would have cost a fortune to replace, but my God, it would have been worth it!”
He chuckles. “Well, I’m happy to hear it made you both happy.”
“Euphoric, darling,” Agatha corrects, her eyes meeting her partner’s from where she’s sat right next to her. “It made us absolutely euphoric.”
Rio leans over at that, planting a kiss on Agatha’s cheek that lingers long enough to be a promise of more once the night is over. While the sight might seem inappropriate to some, especially in the context of a business meeting, it simply brings a smile to his lips. That’s the beauty of working in this industry, he’s found. People didn’t have too many sexual hang-ups, and that usually meant they were upfront when it came to crafting deals, too.
Of course, he’s crossed paths with people that are only all too willing to share too much. To some degree, he understands the impulse. It’s easy to assume that someone who makes their living the way he does would want to hear, in great detail, about every saucy escapade. Unfortunately, that’s just never been the case with him. Then again, if having to be privy to their customers’ extracurricular activities is his only occupational hazard, given his previous employment, he’s hardly going to complain.
“We really needed it,” Rio says softly, setting a hand on top of Agatha’s thigh as she adds, “especially after the year we had.”
He nods in understanding. Their son had been battling a mysterious illness for quite some time, but by some miracle, he had beat it. “I’m thrilled to hear that Nicky is on the mend,” he says. “I can’t imagine how difficult it must have been for both of you.”
“Thank you,” Agatha says, covering Rio’s hand with her own. “Nicky’s the most precious person in the world to us. To see him so sick like that… well, let’s just say it was hard not to drift apart while we processed.”
“But we found our way back,” Rio says eventually, mischief suddenly glinting in her eyes as she cracks a smile. “Binary Bliss was certainly part of that journey.”
“Which is why we want it on the shelves of the Velvet Hex,” Agatha says, diving right back into business. “Pronto.”
“That can definitely be arranged,” he says, lifting his drink to his lips to take a sip.
Rio leans forward in her seat. “We do have one problem, though.”
“If this is about increasing the numbers on the invoice, let me assure you that we can handle the volume.”
“It’s not that,” Agatha says, sharing a knowing look with Rio before rolling her eyes. “Evanora is running for borough president.”
He watches as an amalgam of emotions – none of which are particularly pleasant – cross the faces of the duo before him, causing his brows to furrow in concern. “Should I know who that is?”
Another round of drinks later, the shipment for The Velvet Hex is officially finalized. Agatha and Rio had left for the evening, but not without promising that Cosmic Pleasures’ products would both receive its own gondola at their store front and feature prominently in their after-hours club. In return, he’d sworn to personally see to it that they’d receive a special package for their personal stash.
He checks his phone, and seeing that his schedule is clear for the night, he decides to stay put for another drink. As he ruminates on his evening, he can’t help but shake his head at how different his expectations for this meeting had been when he first walked through the hotel’s doors. By every measure, he thought he’d have to work a little harder to close out this deal. Negotiating with Agatha and Rio has always been a pleasant experience, but he knows that when it comes to their business, the two women are as meticulous and shrewd as owners come. If they had any concerns about their partnership, he had come prepared to alleviate all of them tonight.
What he hadn’t anticipated, however, is that his biggest hurdle would come in the form of politics. The thought alone causes him to grimace. As he learned, Evanora Harkness is a local pastor running for Manhattan borough president. She also happens to be Agatha’s estranged mother, and with a platform that’s built on a devotion to safer streets, responsible spending, and traditional family values, she’s set her sights on eliminating anything in her path that goes against those tenets – even if that means squashing her own daughter’s livelihood in the process.
He huffs out a loaded breath at the last thought. Sure, he had dutifully served his country for years, and just like the average civilian, he follows the news to keep informed. But such is the extent of his interest in the matters of the state. Local politics or not, he has no desire to get involved in what he already knows is a slimy arena. Nevertheless, he’s come to care for Agatha and her little family. They’re good people, and having known the hell they’ve been through recently, he knows that he can’t just turn a blind eye when it’s clear that Evanora’s using her campaign to turn her daughter into an example.
In that regard, his participation in the matter seems all but inevitable. But if he’s to act at all, he knows that anything he does will need Carol’s stamp of approval – which is why he had asked Agatha and Rio for a day to explain the situation to her before he truly starts to roll up his sleeves. Passionate as he is about protecting those he cared for, at the end of the day, he and Carol are a team, have been from the start, and he won’t dare do anything to jeopardize what they’ve worked so hard to build together.
As if on cue, his phone lights up from where it sits on the bar before him. Carol’s name flashes across the screen, and as he picks it up, he opens up the notification to see a link to a post on the New York Star along with her note:
Guess who’s on op of the list of Manhattan’s Most Eligible Bachelors? 🤪
With a roll of his eyes, he takes another sip of his drink before typing out a reply.
Don’t know, don’t care.
He sets his phone on airplane mode, placing it face down on the bar before Carol can respond. While he knows she means well, her determination to get him back into the dating scene comes second only to her passion for their business. Tonight, though, he isn’t in the mood for yet another reminder of how long it’s been since he’s been involved with someone else. In fact, he could do without any reminders at all. Not of the appointment he had tomorrow that’s leaving his stomach in knots. Certainly not of the woman he lost, or the invasive way the tabloids like to speculate about who he is or isn’t dating, or even the number of women who have tried to proposition him, clearly only interested in Cosmic Pleasures’ success.
Perhaps he’s jaded. Or maybe he's just a touch too old-fashioned. But when he does decide to get back into the dating scene, he’d like it to be with a woman who actually cares for him, rather than someone who’s only interested in the bottom line of his bank account or in getting an inside scoop on his past.
Or, as luck would have it, maybe with the breathtaking redhead who’s just sauntered past him – the very same one he’d spotted across the lobby earlier tonight.
His eyes follow her as she settles down across the bar, taking her in now that she’s in close proximity. Her hair is twisted up into a neat bun atop of her head, showing off the long column of her neck, while the sky-high stilettos she has on accentuates her strong, muscular legs. But it’s the combination of the pencil skirt and silk blouse she’s sporting, making her exude this buttoned-up on the outside aura, that has him wondering if she’s all that buttoned up on the inside, too.
Natasha didn’t expect to stay as long as she had at the conference. But as she walked away from the lectern at the conclusion of her presentation, she was surprised by the onslaught of follow-up questions that she received from her fellow therapists. They fired off one inquiry after another regarding her methods for treating patients stricken by their addiction to love, and only too happy to share the research she’s deeply passionate about, she did her best to address each one.
It's when she finally manages to slip away from her eager colleagues and step out into the lobby that she hears the familiar ping of her phone, and reaching into her purse, she pulls it out to find a text flashing on the screen:
You free for drinks tonight?
The message from Reed immediately elicits a pang in her chest. It’s Wednesday evening, and historically, it’s the day she would typically have drinks with him and their closest friends. The tradition they had started back in their undergrad days occurs few and far in between now that Reed and Sue have tied the knot, and as much as that saddened her, she couldn’t really blame them. They’ve settled down, and try as her wounded heart might to convince her otherwise, she simply could not despise Sue. She’s a wonderful woman who cares deeply about Reed, which is all she could really ask of the person that gets to spend the rest of her life with the man who’s unknowingly always held her heart. Even so, that didn’t mean that seeing them wrapped up in marital bliss has become any less of a difficult sight for her.
She bites her lip as she contemplates her response. Between hearing from Reed and the weariness from being on her feet for the last hour, the urge to stop by the bar for a night cap feels all that more appealing. And, if not for the fact that she had a full day ahead of her tomorrow, she just have might given into it.
It’s then that the bubble reappears on her screen, and in a second, another text follows.
Sue has a new Martini recipe that she’d love your opinion on.
Her eyes fall shut as she inhales deeply, giving her heart a moment to work through the ache. For while she’s learned to dull the sensation most days, there’s still times like tonight where it comes in at full force, demanding to be felt. Oh, what the hell, she thinks to herself when she finally huffs out a breath moments later. She had absolutely knocked her presentation out of the park tonight, after all. As far as she’s concerned, she’s earned a drink. Or two.
With that, she follows the music into the lobby bar, taking a seat on one of the tall stools as she types out a response.
Tell Sue thank you for the invite, but I can’t tonight.
She reads her words one final time. This wouldn’t be the first time she’s turned down drinks with them, and while she’s unsure if Reed has caught on to her sudden absence, for her sake, she can’t find it within herself to care. She may miss his company dearly, and that of their friends’, but if only for her sanity, she knows that the distance is a necessity.
“Can I get you something?” she hears someone ask just as she hits send.
“Vodka-” she begins to say, only to pause when she hears another voice say the exact same thing. She looks up from her phone, and sure enough, the bartender isn’t standing in front of her, but instead before the man two seats away – the very same man she had locked eyes with from across the lobby earlier this evening.
“Jinx,” the man says, his lips curling up in a grin.
“Does that mean I owe you a drink?” she quips, only to wince the second she realizes what she’s said.
The man’s expression lights up in amusement, and from where he stands behind the bar looking between them, the bartender simply chuckles. “I’ll go get your drinks,” he says. “If you need anything else” – he points towards his name tag – “I’m Wong.”
“Thanks, Wong,” the man says.
“Sorry,” she says when it’s just the two of them. She blames the man’s dazzling stare, for now that she’s closer, she realizes that she’s severely underestimated just how blue his eyes are. They’re impossibly oceanic from where she’s sitting – like the crystal waters of Capri – and clearly, it’s done a number on her brain’s filter. “That’s about as cliché a pickup line as they come, isn’t it?”
“All good,” the man says. “But just so I understand, does that mean you’re trying to pick me up?”
Heat suddenly rushes to her cheeks. Her only objective for being at this bar is to unwind from her day. At least, that’s what she tells herself as she shakes her head at him. “No.”
“That’s a shame.”
“Is it?” she prods, not missing the slight tingle in her spine from hearing the velvet rasp in his voice. It’s then that she notices his suit jacket hanging discarded on the back of his chair and the tie hanging loosely around his neck. If she were a gambling woman, she’d bet on him being a businessman seeking respite from a day of mergers and acquisitions.
“It’s more than a shame, actually…” he says, pausing to mouth a thank you just as Wong returns with their drinks before looking back at her. “It’s an absolute catastrophe.”
“That’s truly unfortunate,” she says, bringing a hand to her chest to underscore her albeit artificial concern. “I’d hate to be responsible for precipitating such an event.”
“I mean, you don’t have to be,” he says with a shrug. “You could just as easily save us both from this disaster.”
She hums in response, taking a sip of her drink and watching as he does the same with his. She can’t tell if it’s the events of tonight or her alcohol tolerance not being what it once was, but either way, as his lips meet the brim of his glass, her imagination starts working in overdrive. Because from her vantage point, those lips of his look absolutely delicious, and she finds herself unable to think about anything other than how soft and kissable they are – a stark contrast to the rest of his frame, which looks strong. Solid.
“I suppose I could,” she says, hyper aware of the fact that her gaze had lingered on his face longer than it should have. “If I were so inclined to avoid what’s shaping out to be a travesty.”
“And are you?” he asks. “Inclined, that is.”
“I could be persuaded,” she says much more playfully than she’d intended. But with the way their banter is causing her stomach to flutter with butterflies, she’s hardly going to admonish herself.
“Let’s try that then,” he says, as if taking it on as a challenge. “Tell me, how’s your night going?”
She shrugs, pondering the question. “It’s… good,” she says, trying that on for size. “I had a productive day and a riveting evening. All things considered, it’s shaping up to be a pretty good night.”
“And what would you say would take your night from pretty good to excellent?” he asks.
“I wouldn’t mind some stimulating conversation,” she says – challenges, really. She watches the way his stormy gaze rakes over her, and suddenly, she finds herself hoping that he approves of what he’s seeing.
“All right, then,” he says, sitting up straighter. “Let’s see… I guess I could ask you what you do for a living, but that’s really Making Conversation 101, isn’t it? I could also ask you what brings you here to The Elysium, but that’s cliché and we’ve established that you abhor clichés.” She shakes her head at that, prompting him to smile. “So, let’s try a topic completely from left field. For example, what’s your favorite body part?”
She’s not sure if it’s the unusual nature of or just the deadpan way he had asked the question. Regardless, she can’t help but burst out in laughter, finding herself thankful that she hadn’t been in the middle of sipping her drink. Quickly, she clears her throat, composing herself as she raises her hands out in front of her. “Personally, I’ve always thought I had great thumbs.”
“They are great thumbs, I’ll give you that,” he says, nodding along as she wiggles the fingers in question. “They look strong, reasonable in length... I’ll bet you’ve even won your fair share of thumb wars.”
“I might have a medal or two,” she says, smiling. “My second choice, though, would be my left ass cheek.”
He rolls his lips, presumably to stave off a laugh. “And what, pray tell, has the right one done to lose out on the important distinction?”
“Nothing really,” she says with a shrug. “Objectively, they’re both pretty nice.”
His brows lift in appreciation. “I’ll bet.”
She feels her skin heat up at the smirk that paints his lips, and she shifts in her seat in search of some reprieve. “And you?” she says after a beat. “What is your favorite body part?”
“You know, I’ve been told I have great elbows,” he says, his face filling with faux bewilderment that causes her to chuckle. “Yeah, it’s really strange, but people have outright stopped me on the street to tell me how nice they are.”
“Well, they are nice and pointy,” she concedes, making him laugh as she cranes her neck as if to check out his arm. She takes another sip of her drink before adding, “Though if I’m being honest, if I were to stop you on the street, it’d be for your eyes. They’re pretty breathtaking.”
“Thanks,” he says, gesturing towards her. “So are yours. But then again, so are your lips. And your arms. And legs. Anyway, here’s my next question-”
“Hold up,” she says, laughing. “Did you or did you not study up on interesting things to ask someone at a bar?”
“I didn’t major in Interesting Things to Ask Someone at a Bar, if that’s what you’re asking.” She narrows her eyes at him, causing him to chuckle. “All right, so what if I did?”
“Did you?” she presses, eyes imploring.
“Nope.”
“These questions just come naturally to you then?”
“You’d be surprised by the things that just come naturally to me,” he volleys back, his tone and expression filled with so much confidence that it almost toes the line of arrogance. Surprisingly, though, she finds herself drawn to it. It’s a look he wears well, and as he leans back into his seat, his entire demeanor laid back, she surmises that this trait of his likely helps him succeed in his profession. It certainly helps in random bar banter. “You know what, I’m not being much of a gentleman by monopolizing this conversation. Why don’t you take the reins?”
“I guess I could give it a shot,” she says. “Hmm… Okay, if you had an extra hour in the day to do something fun, what would you do?”
“Draw,” he says almost instantly. “And you?”
“Read more fanfiction,” she says simply, leaving that up for his interpretation. His response is a single approving nod, and as he reaches to take a swig of his drink, she knows that he understands what the past time is good for.
“Tell me, what’s the over under on me persuading you to revisit that pick-up line of yours?”
She catches the devious glint that shines in his eyes. “The one where I buy you a drink?”
“Or I could buy you one,” he counters, his tone so direct that she can’t help but feel like it sparks a line right to her desire to learn more about him.
Before she can respond, though, there’s a rustle as the man picks up his drink and rises from his seat. For a moment, she thinks he’s about to turn and leave. But then he picks up his jacket and moves closer, giving her just enough time to admire him at his full height – over six feet, easily.
His hand lands on the back of the stool right next to hers. “Mind if I take a seat?”
“I’d be disappointed if you didn’t.”
“Well, we can’t have that,” he says with a smile, extending his hand out to her. “I’m Steve, by the way.”
“Natasha,” she responds, shaking his hand as he sits down next to her.
“Nice to meet you, Natasha,” he says. “I hope you don’t mind me being brutally candid for a second here, but you seem like the type of person that doesn’t mind a straight shooter. I saw you at the lobby earlier this evening, and I couldn’t help but notice how sexy you are.”
“Sexy, huh?” she says, her lips twitching into a grin. He hadn’t called her beautiful. Nor had he called her gorgeous. He had chosen sexy, and at this very moment, she’s more than willing to take it. With the way he’s been watching her, she doesn’t see how she can feel anything but. “Am I to take this as an admission that you were objectifying me, Steve?”
He leans in closer, his voice dropping. “Guilty as charged.”
The words send flares through her body, igniting something inside of her that’s been dormant for far too long. She sighs contentedly. “Good to know it wasn’t just my imagination,” she says. “But you’re right, I do appreciate a straight shooter, and I try to be one as well, so I’ll have you know that I also saw you in the lobby. And I was definitely objectifying you then, too.”
He smiles, lifting his glass to clink with hers. “To mutual objectification then.”
“And to another round,” she says, eyeing their empty glasses. “Since it looks like we’re ready for one.”
“I won’t say no to more,” he says, reaching over to tuck a loose tendril of hair behind her ear. His fingers brush against the side of her face, and instantly, it’s as though he sends sparks through the rest of her body with a single touch.
“I’d be up for more,” she whispers.
“How much more?”
She swallows at the question, his deep voice slowly and tantalizingly threading its way through her, settling between her legs and causing the heat that’s been pooling there to rise so much that all she wants to do in this moment is pull him in by the tie around his neck and taste his lips.
Before she can, though, Wong reappears from behind the bar. “Can I top off your drinks?”
“Two more Vodka martinis, please,” Steve answers without looking away from her. It’s when she reaches for her purse that he places a hand firmly atop of hers. “And I was only kidding about you paying.”
Her lips purse into a pout. “And if I want to pay?”
“I appreciate the gesture, Natasha,” he says. “But I’m not going to let you.”
She wants to argue. Truly, she does. But as she looks down at the bar and at his much larger hand covering hers, taking in his long, strong fingers, her imagination kicks into gear once more, her mind immediately conjuring images of him pinning her. Of him holding her down. She inhales sharply at the thought, but his mind seems to follow hers because he doesn’t let go even as he moves to grab his wallet from his back pocket. Instead, he laces his fingers through hers, keeping her hand in his.
Perhaps she’s simply taken touch-starved to a whole different level in the last six months. Surely, there should be no reason for a gesture as simple as this to feel so erotic. And yet, she can feel it – the charge in the air between them that sends a hum straight to her core. But then his thumb moves towards her palm, absentmindedly drawing circles across her skin, luring her in with a promise of what else he might be able to do with his hands, and it’s as though her body nearly combusts.
Her eyes fall shut. She doesn’t know much about Steve outside of the fact that his bar conversation is top notch and that he looks like he’s cut straight out of every woman’s wet dreams. Even so, she can’t deny the way lust runs hotly through her veins in this very moment, making her unable to focus on anything but the now. And for the first time in what feels like forever, her mind is completely in the moment – on him – and nowhere close to her past, the heartbreak that she always carries, or that pesky text she had received.
Right now, she can only think of the present, and of the utterly delicious sensations running through her, that she finds herself hoping with everything that she has that the feeling lingers and knits itself into the rest of the night. Into a hot and rapturous night with someone who’s practically a stranger. And while that’s never been her M.O., she could think of no better night than one that isn’t held back by inhibitions or the suffocating weight of past emotions.
That’s the type of night she wants, she decides as her eyes flicker open. The type she needs. And she can’t think of anyone better to share it with than the man staring right at her.
Steve has been going through a dry spell.
Over the past two years, Carol has made no secret of her crusade to change that, his cousin seemingly never running out of friends or connections to introduce him to in an effort to get him to loosen what she had deemed his self-fastened chastity belt. That’s not to mention the slew of women he’s met at industry events. Much like Carol, they hadn’t bothered to be subtle about their intentions. They were persistent, but he never wavered. For what both Carol and these women failed to understand was that his current monkhood is by design. Guilt still eats away at him, depriving him of precious sleep, and he doesn’t need a professional to tell him what he’s already certain of – he’s a mess in the head, and he doesn’t even want to get started on the state of his heart. To know all of that and still drag someone into it would be the height of selfishness, and so he doesn’t, opting instead to stay away from the dating scene. Which by some extension, also meant staying away from the bedroom.
Tonight, though, there’s nothing he wants more than to change that.
Immediately.
There’s a part of him that still can’t quite believe his luck. Sure, Carol had warned him about The Elysium’s reputation. But to cross paths with a woman who’s as sharp, witty, playful, and hot-as-sin as Natasha? He isn’t a believer in stars aligning and all that jazz. But after tonight, he thinks that he just might give the theory some credence.
From where she sits next to him, his eyes fall back to the blouse and pencil skirt Natasha has on. The ensemble has been taunting him all night, and he can easily envision her at the head of a conference table, crossing her legs as she leads a board meeting. While he had dodged the question of their jobs earlier this evening, if he had to guess, he’d say that she probably ran her own business. And though he didn’t think it would be possible, somehow the thought makes her ever sexier to him.
More than anything, though, he likes that Natasha has no clue of who he is outside of the walls of this hotel. Here, he isn’t the soldier turned CEO of Cosmic Pleasures. Nor is he the man with the haunting past and all the heavy baggage. Tonight, he’s just a man completely beguiled by a woman he happened to lock eyes with, who desperately wants to learn more about the things that make her tick, and he’d be lying if he said that didn’t feel extremely liberating. As though, for the first time in ages, he’s free to be himself.
And that’s exactly who he’s been since he had turned in his seat at the bar for the one right next to Natasha. They finished another round of Vodka martinis as he held her hand, running circles around her palm with his thumb not only because he’s quickly become addicted to the softness of her skin, but also in hopes that the gesture, coupled with their scintillating conversation, is driving her just as mad with lust as it is him.
Time seemed to pass with her. Gone were his worries about the political issue that had seemingly fallen into his lap, as was his annoyance at the article Carol had sent him. The only thing on his mind now is how much he enjoys talking to Natasha, the range of topics they’ve touched on running the gamut from the wonders of the world they were yet to see to their shared love of baseball (she isn’t a Mets fan, thank God). He’s completely charmed by her in a way that makes him want to share more about himself with her, so much so that he can’t help but come clean about an earlier fib – that the question that had her giggling was, in fact, borrowed from his best friend, Bucky.
“Oh, thank God,” she says of his confession.
For some reason, her relief causes him to chuckle. “Good to know you’re not mad that I lied.”
“God, no,” she says. “Not about that, at least. In fact, I’m actually glad you confessed. For a second there, I was beginning to worry that you were too perfect.”
“Too perfect?” he says, picking up his drink to take a sip. “Hardly.”
“You’re kidding, right?” she volleys back. “That question was bordering on Ethan Hunt levels of smooth. It had all the hallmarks of trouble.”
“Ethan Hunt, huh?” he says, pondering the juxtaposition. “I suppose there are worse people to be compared to. He’s debonair, dangerous… Definitely daring.”
Her voice drops to an alluring whisper. “Why do I have a feeling that you’re all three?” she asks, leaning back into her seat with a smile when he winks at her. “So, Steve, tell me. What is it that you do for a living?”
He remains silent for a moment, swirling his drink. He had hoped to sidestep this very discussion, but it seems all roads inevitably lead to that very place. “What do you think I do, Natasha?” he asks, hoping to deflect.
“You did not just answer my question with another question,” she says, narrowing her eyes when his only response is to arch a defiant brow up at her. She scoffs. “Fine, then. Well, you’re in a suit, in this hotel...” She lets her eyes scan the room before her gaze falls back to him. “Which could mean that you’re either the hottest gigolo in Manhattan” – she beams at the rumble of a laugh he lets out – “or simply a businessman working on a deal.” She shrugs. “For kicks, I’ll go with the latter.”
Despite the wide smile that makes its way across his face, threatening to all but split it in two, he can’t help but feel as though he should breathe a sigh of relief. Businessman. It certainly toes the line of being a half-truth, but it’s something he could work with. “Perceptive.”
“I kind of have to be,” she says. “At least for what I do.”
“Ha. I knew you were too sexy not to be a spy.”
She throws her head back, laughing. “Not a spy, but some days, it can feel like I am.”
“Is this the part where I ask you what you do in return, even though we decided that that question was too mundane for tonight?”
“Mundane can be subjective,” she counters. “I, for one, find what people do for a living fascinating. It gives me some insight into who they are.”
“Well, I’d hate for you to walk away from this evening thinking you don’t know anything about who I am,” he says, and despite his initial hesitation to breach the subject of their jobs, he finds that he means every word. He could, after all, share without sharing too much. “So, yes. You’re right. I am a businessman. I sell products online. Though after tonight, we’ll be in stores soon enough, too.”
“What kind of products?”
“The kind that helps people feel better.”
“You’re not one of those people selling those supplements that claim to make you eternally twenty on the inside, are you?” she asks, her nose scrunching in obvious disdain.
He chuckles, shaking his head. “I sell toys, Natasha.”
“Toys,” she repeats, her brows lifting in amusement. “That’s actually really adorable.”
“Adorable isn’t really what I was hoping you’d call me,” he says.
“What were you hoping I’d call you then?”
“Just my name, but at the top of your lungs,” he says, catching the way his words cause her breath to hitch ever so slightly.
“You have a dirty mind for someone who sells toys,” she remarks. In theory, her conclusion isn’t wrong. He does sell toys, and while it’s probably not the kind that she has in mind, he doesn’t see the need for a correction. Before he can respond, though, she leans in closer. “So, if I’m hearing this correctly, you want me to call you Steve.”
His name falls like a euphoric little cry from her lips, and the sound is like a shot of adrenaline straight to his groin. And despite the dim lighting in the bar, he swears he sees her verdant eyes darken. “Keep looking at me like that and I won’t care what you call me.”
She bites her lip in response, as if to hold herself back, and it takes all his restraint not to reach over and pull her to him. “Well, Steve, I guess we run in the same circles since I’m also in the business of helping people feel better.”
She reaches for her drink at that, seemingly ending the conversation as she tilts her head back to down what’s left of her cocktail. A brief silence lingers before them, and as she sets her glass back down, he uses the opportunity to segue into the one question he’s been dying to ask all night. “If that’s the case, do you think that you’d let me help you feel better, Natasha?”
“What makes you think I feel bad?” she asks.
“Nothing in particular. But I don’t think it’d hurt if I did this,” he says, leaning in close enough to feel her breath against his skin, but not enough to make them touch. He waits a few seconds before bending towards her neck, dusting a feather-light kiss right where he feels her pulse reverberating against his lips. It’s then that he’s hit with the sweet smell of her – the scents of jasmine and honey filling his senses and making him crave even more of her delicious skin. Then he pulls away, assessing her reaction, liking the way her eyes have gone hazy with desire.
“Come to think of it,” she breathes out, lifting her hand to point at the same spot on the opposite side of her neck. “This here might need some treatment, too.”
“I can fix that,” he says, leaning in to kiss the spot where her hand had just been and groaning as he gets another whiff of her skin. The heat in his body rises, his mind overcome with the desire to know what she tastes like from the top of her head to the tips of her toes. When he finally pulls away, he brings his hand to her face, running his thumb over her bottom lip. “What about here? Any chance I could make this feel better?”
“It could stand to feel so much better,” she says, her voice coming out in a needy whisper.
“Good,” he says, watching her lips part in a silent gasp as he traces his thumb over her jaw. Her breath dances softly across his face as he leans in, sealing his lips over hers. She tastes faintly of vodka and whatever it is that’s been making her lips shimmer underneath the bar’s lights, and the heady combination is one he finds himself quickly getting addicted to as he runs his tongue across the seam of her lips. He teases her at first, priming her for how he truly wants to kiss her. Hard. Breathlessly. The type of kiss that would leave her distrusting of her knees and completely dazed by the end of it.
The type of kiss that would leave her ravenous for more.
Her body follows as she melts further into his kiss, her breasts brushing up against his chest as her hands snake their way into his hair. The temperature in the room reaches levels of inferno, but that only seems to make them both want more. They become a tangle of teeth and lips and mouth and tongue, and he can only groan as she lets out another moan against the lock of their lips.
When he can no longer take the burn in his lungs, he pulls away, his mouth travelling towards her ear. “If you went home right now, would you touch yourself?”
“Obviously.”
“How so?”
“Because you’ve really left me with no choice.”
He licks the shell of her ear, feeling the way the act makes her shiver against him. “Would you think about me as you did?"
“I was going to do that even before I walked into this bar,” she says, eliciting a groan from him. “What more now?”
“Tell me what you’d picture,” he says, taking one step back to look at her.
She shoots him a heated stare, and he catches the dark, naughty glint that flashes in her eyes. “I would picture you finishing what you started, however you saw fit.”
It’s in that moment that he feels as though his heart completely stops. Everything from the air around them, which suddenly feels charged with promise, to the sound of the room, all congeals into this singular moment – of the beat of the jazz music playing around them, of the splash of drinks being poured into crystal. And then of Natasha’s chest rising to fill her lungs with much-needed air, and of the dark, stormy look in her eyes that underscores her desire.
Her desire for him.
One thing’s certain – his self-imposed dry spell? That ends tonight.
Natasha nearly does not recognize the reflection staring back at her through the brass doors of the elevator. The woman standing before her has cheeks flushed nearly the same shade of red as the tendrils of hair slipping from the hold of her clip, and she’s almost certain that the only way to save her blouse now from the wrinkled state it’s been manhandled into, is to press it. The look she’s sporting is unmistakable – one of a woman about to engage in hot, dirty sex with a man she had just met at the bar. And though it’s one she hasn’t donned in God knows how long, it's one she reckons she likes seeing on herself.
It had taken nearly everything in her not to jump for joy when Steve told her to wait by the elevator bank while he booked a room for them. It’s too soon, she had reasoned with herself. Even though he had her body humming with just his touch as he held her hand at the bar, there’s still plenty of things that could go wrong tonight. He might need instructions in bed. She doubts it, but stranger things have happened. He could, perhaps, even have a small package. Surely, that would be the biggest tragedy of the night. The thought has her crossing her fingers, sending a little prayer up to the God of Endowment – if such a deity exists – that they’d blessed Steve more than adequately.
It's then that she chuckles to herself, all but scandalized by the thoughts that had run through her head just now. When she had walked into this hotel this evening, she was an esteemed therapist whose only objective was to wow her colleagues. Now, here she is, living for the moment and judging a man by his potential size. It’s nearly dizzying, how crazy a turn her night has taken in a span of two hours. Even so, she realizes just how good it feels to give this side of herself command of the wheel. For too long, she had been all work and no play, and now that she’s unleashed this part of her, she can only hope that Steve is able to live up to the images she’s had swirling in her head from the moment she locked eyes with him.
The sound of wingtips against the marble floors breaks her out of her reverie, and she turns to see Steve approaching. He looks just about as disheveled as she does, with his white shirt rumpled, his tie hanging loosely around his neck, and his pants… Her eyes linger in that area a second longer than she’d intended them to, and she snaps them up just in time to see Steve smirk and brandish the key card at her.
“Were you objectifying me again?” he whispers in her ear once he’s near, the sound of his voice sending a shiver down her spine.
She bites her lip, nodding. “Seems I was.”
“I like that you can’t look away.”
“That so?”
“Yes,” he says, smiling just as the elevator doors open with a swish. “Because it’s the same for me.”
Heat rushes to her cheeks for the nth time this evening, and as they step inside the elevator, the mirrored walls flash their reflections back at them. The ambient lighting casts them in a warm glow, and as moody music plays from a speaker somewhere up above them, she’s reminded of what this hotel has come to be known for outside of its status as a New York landmark. She turns to him as the doors close and the lift begins to ascend. “Are you sure you were here to close a deal?” He arches a brow up at her question, to which she shrugs. “I heard from the grapevine that this is the city’s premier hookup spot. It’s probably the main reason people choose this hotel.”
“Far be it for us to tarnish that reputation then,” he says, reaching for her and spinning her around to face the wall before she can eke out a response. He crowds her into the corner, pressing his chest flush against her spine and eliciting a contented sigh from her when she feels the hard and thick length of his erection against her lower back. She pushes back against him, grinning at him through the mirror as she watches him bend down towards her ear. “I’m glad you like.”
“Seems I do,” she says, completely intoxicated by his voice.
He pulls her even closer as the elevator continues to rise, his lips leaving a hot trail of kisses from her ear to the back of neck that makes her belly clench. The hands he has on her waist slip lower, caressing her hips and then her thighs. “What do you want me to do to you when we get into that room?”
A gasp slips from her lips when she feels his hands against the bare skin behind her knees. “What’s on the menu?”
“Taste you, finger you, or fuck you,” he says, rattling off her options. “Lady’s choice.”
Her eyes fall shut, his words making the heat between her legs ramp up to levels of unbearable. “And if I want all three?”
“Then you’ll have all three.” She grips the bar harder as his hands continue their journey up the backs of her thighs, her knees nearly wobbling as his palms settle on her rear. “These are glorious, by the way,” he says, giving each of her cheeks a squeeze. “Both of them.”
“Thank you,” she says, relishing every compliment.
“Almost there,” he whispers just as the elevator begins to slow down as it approaches the top floor. His fingers tease the lace at the edge of her panties, and like a reflex, she shifts to widen her stance, giving him more access to where she’s aching for him even as they move closer to their destination. She isn’t sure if it’s possible to crave a touch she’s just become privy to tonight, but she couldn’t care less. She wants to feel his fingertips against her skin – so badly it almost feels like a madness. An addiction.
It’s when his thumb dips underneath the lace that she lets out a whimper. “Steve.”
“You’re so wet for me already,” he says as her back bows, her body seeking out more of his touch. “Is this from when I kissed you downstairs?”
“It’s from you trying to fuck me in this elevator,” she says, her response eliciting a growl from him. She might have been on the short end of an unrequited love for years, but that didn’t make her some blushing virgin. When it comes to matters of her own body, she knows what she wants, and she’s certainly not going to play the role of some prim, shy thing – especially not tonight.
“Good,” he says, making the breath catch in her throat when he slides a finger through her slick flesh. “Because I do want to fuck you in this elevator. And up against the door. And on the bed. And in the shower.” He pulls his hands away, and she nearly cries out at the loss of contact. “I’ve wanted you since I saw you in this fucking skirt of yours.”
The elevator stops before she can even catch her breath – before she can even process the implication of his words. But even as the doors open and they spill out of the lift, she only gets a second to see that the hall is deserted before he pushes her up against the nearest wall, grabbing her wrists and pinning it to her sides as he slants his lips over hers so hard that she’s not sure how she hasn’t disintegrated into a million specks of lust. For the way she feels now – so wanted and so craved – is a sensation unlike any other she’s experienced before. When she woke up this morning, she could never have imagined this turn of events. And yet, now that she’s in the midst of it, she doesn’t know what she’d do if it ends right at this very moment. Not when her entire being is pulsing for Steve as he devours her lips, and certainly not with her blood pounding in her ears, blotting out every thought but that of the delicious sensations running through her.
She somehow manages to peel her lips away from his greedy ones that all but threaten to consume her. His eyes meet hers then, waiting for her to speak, but the act is proving difficult underneath his intense stare. Words continue to evade her seconds later, but somehow, she finds the most crucial ones. “Need to feel you inside me,” she says. “I’ll go crazy if I don’t.”
“You and me both,” he says, taking her hand as he leads her out of the hall and straight into their room. As he slides the key into the slot, hearing the whirl of the air-conditioning as it starts up, he turns and pulls her close, his lips finding her skin once more as if he just can’t help himself. As if he’ll simply go mad if he doesn’t touch her right now and get a taste of her. First of her neck, and then of her jaw, and then of her lips – kissing her with so much passion and fire that she’s surprised the smoke alarm doesn’t sound off.
Not that one pesky alarm could make her pull away at the moment.
Nothing could.
The bed is too far away.
At least, that’s what Steve tells himself as he pushes Natasha against the closest wall. Beds are for the next time, anyway. For lingering, all-nighters between paramours that want to rediscover the contours of their bodies. But when a sexy vixen has you practically hard and aching for her all night, the wall will do.
It will have to do.
He reaches behind her to unclip her bun, and as her scarlet waves cascade down her shoulders, he can’t help but lean down to dust a kiss to her hair. “Gorgeous,” he says, inhaling the sweet scent of her shampoo. “Do you mind if I call you that?”
She shakes her head. “Not at all.”
“Then stand with your feet spread, gorgeous,” he says, watching her eyes widen in surprise as he kneels before her, his hands pushing her skirt up. “Because I’m starting at the top of your list.”
“So thorough,” she quips back, the smirk that paints her lips only stroking his desire for her.
He reaches for her panties, pulling the wine-colored lace down to her knees before leaning in. Every molecule in his body implores him to lap away at her glistening core, to spread her open and taste her arousal. But he holds back – to drive him or her crazier, he isn’t sure – and opts instead to run his nose along her thigh, feeling her quiver against his cheek as he inhales her scent. “I can’t wait to taste you.”
“Oh, God,” she moans. He looks up just as her head falls back against the wall, her hands reaching for his hair and her nails scraping against his scalp. Heat courses through him at her reaction. He hasn’t even touched her yet, not really. And yet, she already looks lost to her pleasure. He leans forward once more, brushing his lips closer to her center, and she gasps when he presses a single kiss to the rise of her clit. “Oh, please.”
“You have no idea how much that makes me want to tease you,” he practically growls, letting his lips brush against her inner thighs again. “You make me want to make you beg for it when you say that word.”
The grip she has on his hair tightens. “Please don’t.”
“Not tonight,” he promises. “But I will.”
“Touch me,” she whimpers. “God, I need you to touch me.”
The need in her voice is so desperately clear that it causes his lust to tear right through him. Even so, teasing is a game he can hardly resist. “Tell me what you want, gorgeous,” he commands. “Tell me where you want my mouth.”
“Please, Steve,” she cries. “Lick me, taste me, fuck me with your tongue.”
He hisses at her words, diving back in between her legs to put them both out of their misery. He licks at the seam of her slit first, groaning at the intoxicating taste of her. And then he’s flattening his tongue against her, licking her again as she whimpers. Her grip on his hair loosens, and the image he sees as he looks up – of her fondling her own breast – makes him even more ravenous for her.
“Do something for me?” he asks, watching as her eyes open to meet his. He smiles. “Don’t hold back.”
It seems that the simple instruction is all she needs. For the second he leans back in, kissing her core once more, she rocks her hips into his face. He narrows in on her bundle of nerves, sucking it between his lips until she cries out, arching into him and the sweet torture of his ministrations. He sneaks a glance up at her again to see her lips parted as her other hand cards through her hair, gripping tightly. In that moment, he can picture her alone in her bed, the look of complete and utter ecstasy on her face as she brings herself to climax. And perhaps that’s why he does what he does for a living, but there’s something about a woman so in touch with her own pleasure that quite literally brings him to his knees.
“I think- Oh, fuck,” she pants as he continues to lavish attention on her clit, bucking against him when he flicks his tongue against her. “Stop, you have to stop. Oh, please stop.”
Immediately, he pulls back, his brows furrowing in concern as he looks up at her. “You all right?”
She nods. “I’m close,” she breathes out, her chest still heaving. “I just- I want you inside me.”
With confirmation that she’s okay, there’s nothing he wants to do more than disregard her plea, spread her legs wider, and lap her up until she’s crying out his name. Nevertheless, he rises to his feet. “I’m stopping because you asked,” he says, his hand pulling at the zipper of his pants “But since you robbed me of the pleasure of tasting you as you come, know that the next time I’m on my knees for you, I don’t plan on being such a gentleman.”
“Promises, promises,” she teases even as he watches his words elicit a shiver down her body. She reaches for his tie, finally unknotting it from his neck before starting on the buttons of his shirt. Her fingers brush against his chest, and he can’t help but hiss out a breath from feeling her touch against his bare skin for the first time. She smiles at his reaction. “Tell me you have a condom.”
“Didn’t when I walked into this hotel,” he admits, grinning as she unfastens the final button on his shirt. Then he’s reaching forward, returning the favor as he undoes the buttons on hers. “The lady at the front desk didn’t even seem the least bit fazed when I asked for some, though.”
She giggles. “Perks of hooking up at a hookup hotel.”
“So it seems,” he says, the sound of her laughter dropping to his heart so quickly that it catches him off guard. Luckily, he doesn’t have time to linger on the feeling for too long as Natasha’s hands slide further down his body, her eyes never leaving his as her hands dip past the elastic.
“Now this,” she says, biting her lip as she presses her palm against his erection, making him groan. “This, I like.”
“Good,” he says, pulling the condom out of his pocket and moving her hands back to the waistband. “Now, take these off.”
“Scratch that,” she says, pushing his pants and underwear down to his knees and running her tongue across her lips as his length springs free. “I like this very, very much.”
She wraps her fist around him, her thumb brushing over the tip to collect the wetness that’s pooled there before sliding her hand down. He groans as she strokes him once, twice, and then another time before he reaches for her, his fingers encircling her wrist to still her hand. “You made me stop,” he pants. “So now, I’m going to make you stop.” She only smirks as he presses the condom into her palm, leaning down to dust kisses up her neck en route to her ear. “Put it on me.”
She tears open the foil, tossing the wrapper onto the floor as she slides the rubber on him. Then, in a move that causes a wave of heat to lick across his veins, she tugs him closer, rubbing the tip of his length at her entrance. “I want you,” she says. “So much.”
“Were you worried you wouldn’t come twice if I finished you off with my tongue?” he asks, making her gasp as he reaches for leg and grips her thigh.
“Yes,” she whispers, wrapping her leg around him.
He smiles. “You know that only makes me want to prove you wrong.”
There is a God of Endowment.
It’s a fact Natasha can no longer doubt as Steve slides into her. In fact, as a moan slips from her lips, she makes a promise to the universe that from now on, she’ll be making a regular offering to her newfound deity. For not only did Steve not lack in length, but apparently, he’s also been blessed in the girth department, too. And, to sweeten the deal, it’s obvious that the man knows exactly what to do with the gift that’s been bestowed to him – filling her slowly, inch by inch, so she can relish being stretched in a way she hasn’t been in far too long.
“I can take it,” she breathes out when she notices him pause, presumably to give her a moment to adjust to him.
“Good,” he says. “Because I don’t plan on going slow. Not after you’ve been teasing me all night.”
A quip makes it to the tip of her tongue, but the words quickly dissolve into a gasp when he thrusts the rest of the way into her. “God, yes.”
She reaches for his shoulders as he begins to move, wanting nothing more than to run her hands all over his perfect body, to explore the plains and dips of his muscular chest, and to feel the warmth of his skin underneath her fingertips. But as he pumps into her, setting a pace that’s punishing and dizzying all at once, all she can do is hold on. The room is dark, illuminated only by the glow of New York City in the evening streaming through the space where the curtains don’t quite meet. Even so, she doesn’t need to flick on the lights to know that here and now, she and Steve make quite the delicious picture. Him with his shirt hanging open, his pants pulled down to his ankles, and his shoes still on. Her, with her skirt hiked up, her bra straps falling off her shoulders, and her panties only God knows where. Put together, they comprise a sensuous portrait of unrestrained lust – one she’d like to commit to memory forever.
“I hate that you denied me earlier,” Steve says, making her moan as he grips her leg tighter, thrusting deeper into her. “But I love that it only makes me crave you more.”
“I just needed you inside me,” she says, feeling the warmth of his breath against her skin as he growls against her throat. “You feel so good, Steve.”
He groans. “You’re perfect.”
Her only response is a whimper, feeling a burst of molten heat radiating throughout her entire being as he reaches his other hand around her to cup her ass, giving her cheek a hard squeeze. Her entire body feels like it’s been set ablaze, as though it’s being utterly consumed by an inferno of pleasure as he drives into her hard and fast. Gone is the spicy banter that had sustained them all evening, replaced instead by a cacophony of moans and pants and the slap of flesh against flesh. He fills her so completely, stretches her out just that little bit more, that it obliterates her senses. For a moment, nothing exists outside of the euphoria of feeling him inside of her.
“So fucking perfect,” he growls, still gripping her as he bends down to nuzzle her neck. She can feel the pleasure that’s been simmering away low in her belly quickly coming to a rolling boil, the press of his lips to her shoulder as he pumps into her making her muscles clench tightly. And then he’s biting down, sharp teeth against soft, flushed skin, causing an intoxicating mix of pain and bliss to rampage her body from the top of her head to the tips of her toes.
“Steve,” she calls – screams – out as her vision goes white. She can hardly recognize her own voice, but she couldn't care less. Not when it feels as though she’s floating through a sea of infinite pleasure, one Steve has pushed her right into as he continues to thrust so hard and so deep that she swears another orgasm bursts over her hot on the heels of the first. That next wave hits her out of nowhere, making her claw her nails into his shoulders so hard that she’s almost certain to break skin. Even so, all she can do is revel in the sensation. It’s a high she never wants to come down from, even as Steve races to join her, groaning her name as he follows her right into the delicious abyss.
“I’m in no condition to be doing math right now,” Steve says when they finally make it to the bed moments later, their clothes still half on as they lay a tangled mess of limbs atop the duvet. “But if my head is even a little functional, by my count, that was twice.”
He feels Natasha’s chuckle against his chest, her eyes still hazy when she looks up at him. “First time that’s happened to me.”
“And it doesn’t have to be the last,” he says, running his hands through her silky locks as he smiles down at her. “Assuming, of course, you’d be up for another go.”
“I should hope you’re planning for another go in, say…” – she lifts her head to glance at the clock on the bedside table before looking back at him – “twenty minutes?”
“That’s a given,” he says with a laugh. “I did promise you could have everything on the menu, so I fully intend on making you come again in, say... fifteen minutes.” As he says that, though, it’s hard not to feel like he’s unintentionally created a deadline for them – be that when they’ve exhausted all the options he had given her for the night, or when they inevitably have to check out of this room. Either way, it’s as if he’s placed an expiry date on their time together, and much to his surprise, the thought just does not sit right with him. He may not be ready to dive head-first into anything serious, but he finds that he also doesn’t want this to be just a one-time thing. So he looks at her, expression turning more serious. “But I would also love to see you again outside of this room. Maybe this weekend, if you’re free?”
Her lips curl up in a smile. “Are you asking me out on a date, Steve?”
With a grin, he leans in for a quick kiss. “I suppose I am, Natasha.”
“I don’t think that’s how this place works,” she says, giggling at the withering look he shoots her. “Well, if you’re going to take me on a date, you should probably be more than Toy Salesman Steve. Feel like adding a last name to that?”
His lips part to answer, but before her can get the words out, a loud ring echoes across the room. The sound causes Natasha to twitch in his arms, her shoulders tensing. Then, in a blink of an eye, she’s springing out of bed, searching for her purse and fishing out her phone.
“This is Natasha,” she says, her tone crisp and business-like as she picks up.
He sits up in bed, watching as she tucks her phone between her ear and shoulder to button her shirt back up. Instantly, it’s as though the euphoric little bubble they had found themselves wrapped in bursts, his mind racing with infinite possibilities that make him feel as though there’s a pit in his stomach.
“I understand,” Natasha says, nodding even though the person on the other end of the line can’t see her. She walks over to the wall, stuffing her feet back into her heels before smoothing a hand down her blouse. “It’s not a problem. Please tell her I will call her in five.” She hangs up, letting out a long and winded sigh before turning back to face him. “Steve, I am so sorry, but I need to go. One of my patients is having an emergency, but I would also love to see you again-”
“Look, Natasha,” he interrupts before she can finish, shaking his head. “If you just want this to be a one-night thing, that’s completely fine. Or if you’re actually married and you need to rush home, it’s- I mean, it’s not fine, but maybe let me know that too so I’m not surprised when some guy decks me on the street tomorrow.”
She quickly crosses the room, bending down to kiss him. “I’m not married, nor have I ever been,” she says as she places a knee on either side of his to straddle him. “In fact, it’s been forever since I’ve been involved with anyone. Trust me, no one’s coming to deck you.” She cups his face with one hand, running her thumb over the stubble on his jaw. “And I would like nothing more than to see you outside of the walls of this hotel, too. So here.” She hands him her phone. “Put in your number and I’ll give it a ring so you’ll have my number as well.”
Despite his initial skepticism, he takes her phone. At face value, the facts all seem to add up – she has a patient with an emergency, and given what she had said down at the bar about helping people feel better, it shouldn’t take a genius to deduce that she’s a doctor. With that, he types in his number, handing the phone back to her and looking on as she presses call. In a second, his phone buzzes in his pocket, and he shifts to pull it out and show her. “Got it.”
Her eyes light up as she takes in her screensaver. “Please tell me that’s your dog.”
“That’s Mac,” he says with a nod. “It’s short for Macaroni.”
“I have so many questions,” she says, grinning. “But I really do have to go. Text me tomorrow?”
“I will,” he promises as she stands.
She begins to make her way out of the room, only to turn back just before she makes it to the door. “Hey, Steve?”
“Yeah?”
“Thanks for the two best orgasms I’ve ever had.”
He smiles. “We’ll aim for four next time.”
“I’ll be counting,” she says, leaving him with one final smile before she turns to leave.
The door shuts with a clang behind her, like a signal of a night ending way too soon. He plops back down on the bed, tucking his hands behind him as he watches the shadows dancing across the ceiling. A siren echoes in the distance, a reminder of the bustling city still raging outside as he lets out a sigh. Suddenly, it’s as though the room begins to close in on him – feeling all too small and all too empty without her company.
“I know this is looking a little desperate, and I know I also asked if you’re free this weekend, but any chance we can bump that up to tonight?”
A sly grin paints its way across Natasha’s lips as she hears Steve’s question on the other end of the line. He had made good on his promise to text her, and while their back and forth had kept her entertained throughout her morning, evidently it seems the man has had his fill of typing. “Looking to deliver on the foursome of orgasms you promised me so soon?”
“You have no idea.”
She shakes her head. “Did I mention that I woke up this morning thinking about what you did to me up against that wall?”
“Did you touch yourself?” he asks, the deep rasp in his voice causing her to bite her lip.
It’s not as though the memory had given her any other choice. Then again, maybe he didn’t need to know that. “What do you think?”
“I think that you definitely filled your bedroom with the sexiest moans I’ve ever heard.”
“Perhaps.”
She can practically hear the smile in his voice. “I can’t wait to hear them tonight. But first, tell me… toys or fingers?”
“A lady doesn’t come and tell,” she says, making him laugh on the other end of the line. “But there’s a chance I could be persuaded to share some details with you later. Say, over dinner?”
“I’d love to have dinner with you,” he says. “And then have you for dessert.”
Anticipation bubbles low in her belly at the idea. “You’ll hear no objections from me,” she says. “So how about this, I’ll arrange dinner, and you make plans for dessert?”
“Let me make arrangements for the entire night,” he says. “I don’t want anything getting in the way in case I can’t help myself and need to get a taste of you first.”
“Steve…” she breathes out, flashes of last night filling her brain again. She sighs. “You’re very distracting, you know that?”
“Look who’s talking,” he fires back. “Which is why I have to let you go now. I have a meeting in ten minutes, but I’ll definitely text you after.” There’s a slight pause before he adds, “I can’t wait to see you, Natasha.”
“Likewise,” she says softly, the smile on her face all but permanently etched onto her lips as she ends the call and places her phone on silent.
Immediately, she stashes the device into her desk drawer, pushing it shut. One of her many tenets is to give her clients her complete focus, which means not only making sure her phone never pings during her appointments, but also that it remains out of sight. In any case, Steve has already occupied much of her mental real estate, and he certainly didn’t need to take any more when her day is far from over.
It’s difficult to deny the profound effect he’s had on her, though. Last night may have been their first night together, but she can honestly say that he’s the only man she’s been with whose touch completely eradicated her mind from thoughts of Reed. Steve had been so commanding, so encompassing that not once did she have a moment to think about the big gash in her heart.
But even as Steve proved to be just the medicine she needed last night, as she turns to her tablet to check on the details of her next session, she acknowledges that he’s not some miracle drug. She had been in love with Reed for so long that it would take something akin to fate – if she even believes in that sort of thing – to cleanse her of her feelings for the man. Longing had camped out in her heart for so long that it practically had a mortgage on the damn thing, and she finds herself wishing that there had been someone to warn her about the hazards of unrequited love. Of the pain of loving someone who could never love you back and how much it lingers in your mind even as you try with everything you have to move on.
Then again, at least she always has her work to focus on. The challenges her clients face keep her going, and helping them overcome whatever it is that’s holding them back makes her feel fulfilled in a way she hasn’t experienced in any other aspect of her life. It’s for that reason that a little rush of excitement washes over her as she taps on the tab for her next appointment, reading Billy’s notes on her new patient.
Patient ID: 3298746
Appointment Date: March 30, 2025
Appointment Time: 3:30 p.m.
Counsellor: Dr. Romanoff
Reason For Visit: Intimacy aversion
Notes: Appointment booked on behalf of patient. Declined to share full name. Patient requires added discretion due to having a high-profile profession but has been experiencing difficulties moving on from past events.
“Aren’t we all,” she mutters under her breath as her eyes scan the notes. It isn’t much information to go off of, but that’s par for the course. Rarely did she have the privilege of knowing much about her patients in advance, and in some ways, she prefers it that way. Getting to know the person during treatment is part of the job, and she’d rather not taint the process by having any preconceived notions about them. And while the bit about the patient requiring added discretion is of note, that’s never been an issue for her. Discretion has always been an integral part of her process, so much so that she’s certain she hadn’t even uttered Sersi’s name out loud when she had received the emergency call last night.
A knock comes before she can finish reading the rest of the information. She stands, making her way towards the door with her tablet in hand. She looks down at the screen as she pulls the door open. “Mr… Rogers,” she greets, looking up just as the person standing on the other side turns around, meeting her gaze. Instantly, she feels the breath catch in her throat – not because the man’s eyes are the most beautiful shade of blue, but because they’re a pair she’s already seen.
Last night.
“Natasha,” Steve breathes out, breaking the loaded silence that’s fallen over them. His expression is utterly mortified, and she imagines hers doesn’t look any better. “You’re Dr. Romanoff?”
With a wince, she nods. “And I guess I got my answer to what your last name is.”