Words: 6.5K
Warnings: SMUT, language, thigh riding, dirty talk
It's a lazy Sunday at the tower. I'm alone since Bucky's been gone so long on that mission in Egypt. We're not technically together, but we're well on our way there. My feelings are certainly strong enough. To distract myself from how much I miss him I've set to baking cookies. I'm so focused on my task and the music that I don't notice someone coming into the kitchen from the archway a bit behind. I don't hear him as he leans against the frame and watches me for a few silent minutes before ultimately joining me by the counter. Warmth takes over my back, confusing me at first, and then I feel a hand slip to my waist. Cool metal fingers brush against the strip of exposed skin of my stomach where my Rolling Stones t-shirt has ridden up.
I grin.
"Hey angel," Bucky greets in a low, lethargic hum. I feel his face press into the crook of my shoulder. His damp lips press to my neck where he kisses me simply.
I reach up and back to hold the side of his head. "Hey," I reply softly. I forget all about my baking for a minute—simply basking in the warmth of his embrace as both arms move to engulf me now. "I missed you."
"God, I missed you too." He sounds so tired, I notice. He nuzzles his face farther into my neck—making me giggle as it tickles quite a bit with the scruff he's grown. He smirks and then sighs, "I missed you so much, doll." His voice is muffled as he's still got his face stuffed into the curtains of his hair. His lips move against the soft flesh of my throat with each word he speaks.
I decide to turn around on my bare toes to see the beautiful face of the man who holds me. Bucky's hands flatten against the small of my back.
"Oh my god," I gasp. I quickly take him by the cheeks and tilt him down closer to me. A dark purple color is splattered on the underside of one of his eyes. There's a small cut on the bridge of his nose that's been shoddily repaired with a few scraggly stitches—almost as if done on the back of a moving vehicle.
My fingertip dances over his wounds. Bucky doesn't move away, letting me drink up his appearance with a worried frown on my face.
"I'm fine."
"You don't look fine," I point out.
"It doesn't hurt."
"I'm sure that's a lie," I say.
Bucky only shrugs.
I sigh, wrapping my arms around his neck. I let him pull me closer until I'm flush against his chest and I can feel his heartbeat against my cheek.
"I thought I told you not to worry about me," I hear and feel the words radiating from his chest.
I toy with the collar of his red Henley. "I've never been good at following directions, Sargent."
Bucky chuckles. He reaches up with his warm hand to grab my chin between two fingers. Then before I can think about it, his lips are on mine. This kiss is different than the other one's we've had. This one is harder—hungrier, even. He's always been gentle before, and that's not to say he's being rough now, but it's certainly not as cautious of a kiss as the others. His tongue eagerly swipes across my plump bottom lip. I let him in and let him lead like I know he wants to. I feel his hands gripping my waist and keeping me caged between him and the counter. He still tastes like candy cane, only his smell is slightly different this time—more like musky forest and rust.
"Jump."
I do as I'm told. Then the next thing I know, our mouths are clashing twice as intensely and my body is being cradled mid-air in Bucky's embrace. He's got the one metal hand clasped around my ass to keep me in place while the other hand is tangled in my hair. My legs have found their place knotted around his waist with my fingers digging into his shoulders.
Bucky's turning around. I don't know where we're going until I feel sheetrock against my back. He's got me pinned between him and the wall. The weight of his body presses into me until I'm gasping for breath and dizzy in all imaginable places.
With his hold on my hair Bucky tilts my head back—exposing my neck to him. From there his mouth removes from mine. He leans away, smirking like a smug son of a bitch, and then goes straight for my neck with his lips. I can hardly breathe. The only word my brain can comprehend is his pretty little name as his hot mouth moves from my jaw to my neck. Then his mouth moves to the softer, untouched part of my throat. His teeth just barely graze the skin as his kiss moves downwards towards my collarbone. Without ever meaning to, my mouth lets out a breathless moan—eyes shut and head pulled back by his tender hold on my hair.
At the sound of my pleasure Bucky stops in his tracks. He grins against my skin, pausing between kisses to ask, "You like that, sweetheart?"
I laugh a little, a bit embarrassed, and run my fingers through his hair. I nod and bite my bottom lip as I realize he's actually expecting me to respond. Once I've done this he seems pleased, so then he goes back to kissing me again. His mouth trails upwards again this time before stopping on the mirrored spot of skin on the opposite side of my neck that had me moaning before. He hesitates—breathing hot air against me—before just barely dragging his teeth along my flesh. I whimper and arch towards him: totally unable to stop myself.
"That's my girl," he hums—sounding very damn pleased. Then he's madly kissing and sucking at that same spot of skin, being very careful it seems not to leave any marks. He's told me before that he never plans to leave me bruised.
I feel as if I've caught on fire with how hot my body's become. Bucky's metal arm, which is always so cold, is the only thing keeping me from evaporating it seems. I can feel the coolness of it against my bare back where the shirt has risen up and the low rise jeans don't reach.
"Kiss me again—Bucky, please." I tug on the collar of his shirt in hopes to coax his lips upwards again. I want to taste him.
Bucky's taking to my request immediately. He's come back up, like a man starved of air, and eagerly claimed my lips with his. Then our hungry kiss resumes and I'm once again dizzy with the passion of it.
He's pressed so tight to me that I can feel every bit of his body. I've never been so engulfed by someone's presence before, but I've never craved closeness to someone so damn much. I want more of him—constantly. My fingernails dig into his shoulders. I pull him closer and he somehow reads my mind. The hand of his, with the long pretty fingers and rough knuckles, moves away from my hair. The curls fall against my shoulder as his hand does the same. But his hand, unlike my hair, travels down the curve of my side to my hip. His fingertips hesitantly drag over the little bit of exposed skin there until I decide to speak.
"Touch me, Bucky. Please baby." I open my eyes between kisses and see him blinking back at me. He nods, biting down on his bottom lip. With the kiss resuming I'm almost too distracted to feel his touch dip beneath my shirt to my bare stomach. But as his hand travels farther there's little I can do to ignore the burning path that erupts in his wake. His fingers find the clasp of my bra before swiftly unlocking it with one little tug at the front between my breasts. I shiver in anticipation, but don't have long to think too much about it because it seems Bucky is just as eager as I am. He takes a firm hold of my left breast—kneading it in his warm palm—while his lips move expertly across mine. I let out a whimpering moan. Gathering the courage, I gently bite down on Bucky's bottom lip. I tug it away. I hear some sort of noise come from the back of his throat: a growl maybe? Then I'm letting his lip snap back. I come to lick the slight sting away with the tip of my tongue, hearing this time as he lets out a moan for me. I'm rewarded with a firm squeeze to my breast and a sharp, sexy pluck of my nipple.
"Fuck," I gasp.
Bucky's mouth is by my ear. "Is this okay?"
I nod—a bit too eagerly, might I add. He chuckles a bit at me as I respond, "Yeah, yeah it is."
"Good," he hums. His lips drag across my jaw before he speaks again. "Because I haven't stopped thinking about you all week; how sweet you taste, what I wanna do to you, and how I'm gonna get you to make those pretty little noises."
Fuck—Bucky likes dirty talk? Apparently he does, and I'm sure as hell not complaining. It's hotter than hell; especially in his thick voice that almost takes over some sort of accent when he gets all hot and bothered.
"Then what are you waiting for?" I try out my sexiest voice; hoping it still holds some sort of effect on him with as breathless as he's leaving me. Actually, the breathlessness seems to help me now—making my voice raspier and wispier than it normally would be. Bucky likes it, anyway.
Bucky opens his mouth to respond. He's gently holding my cheek, looking rather irresistible with that floppy long hair and devilish smirk. Just as he's about to say something delicious, though, Friday interrupts him.
"Sargent Barnes, you're being requested for a post mission briefing in office 139B."
Bucky groans distastefully. His head dramatically falls to my shoulder. I giggle, combing his long brown hair with my fingers.
"I don't wanna go," the man whines like a child.
"Oh come on, don't be that way." I want to whine, too. I thought we were actually getting somewhere here...
Bucky looks up at me from my shoulder with a pout making his pink lips pucker. "I don't wanna leave you," he mutters. Then he kisses me slow and sweet—tongue staying in his own mouth but still leaving me flustered. Just barely pulled away, he whispers, "Wanna meet me upstairs, baby?"
I want to moan. I curl my fingers into his hair. My bottom lip gets captured under my teeth as I bite down on it. "Yeah, I think I can probably fit you into my schedule Sargent Barnes." He grins at me. "But the real question is; does the Sargent have time for me?" I tap his chest with my fingertip.
Bucky chuckles. "I'll always have time for you, angel."
"Good." I kiss his nose and he laughs again. He helps me to my feet, steadying me with a hand on my waist as I swagger a bit in place. Then he's blushing—fucking blushing like a schoolgirl—when I have to reach up under my shirt to my fix my bra.
"I should probably keep this on," I say, "For now, anyway." I shoot him a wink.
Bucky leans over to kiss the top of my head. His lips linger, and I can hear his heavy breathing. He always says that he likes my strawberry shampoo. "I should only be a few hours. Then I'll meet you up in my room." He steps away with a frisky grin. "You know the code?" He's started to back out of the kitchen as he's probably already late for the meeting.
"Nope." I lean back against the counter.
"Okay—I'll just text it to you since its kinda long."
"You don't think I'll remember it?" I feign hurt.
"Oh honey, I know you won't remember it," Bucky teases. He pauses in the doorway with half of his body in and the other out. He's hesitant to leave, even I can tell as much.
"Go on," I laugh. "I'll see you soon."
A big, giddy grin like I've never seen him sport suddenly sprouts on his face. "Okay, okay. See you later, doll."
I smile. "See you."
After I've made the cookies and fed them to the rowdy crowd of Avengers I scurry upstairs to my room. Bucky's said he's going to be later than originally planned, so I figure I have time now to change out of my sweaty clothes that I've been in all day and maybe shave too. Hey—don't judge me! You never know what could happen...
I get to Bucky's apartment a bit after eight PM. I open up his texts and read back to the hellishly long code he's got to get into his place.
"Goddamn, Buck. How many digits do you need?" I mutter to no one as I type the code: 4698324008766199844. I think that makes nineteen numbers, but I honestly lost track. I'm never going to be able to memorize this damn thing. Maybe I can convince him to make it shorter.
Once inside his place I'm reminded as to just how pleasant it is here. I've been three or four times before. The first time I was shocked as to how different the apartment was to mine. Mine is so bright, airy, and girly. His is much darker with a lot less clutter and dark leather couches as opposed to fluffy white ones. There aren't any pictures on his wall, only framed newspaper clippings that I haven't yet peeked at.
It's not until I'm about to sit on the couch that I get the idea to rummage through his clothes. I've put on a pair of spandex shorts, Nike ones I believe, and a tank top. Now it's much colder than I'd hoped it would be and I'm too lazy to go back downstairs to my own apartment. Surely he wouldn't mind if I borrowed a sweatshirt.
Bucky's shown me his room only once. I was given a short tour, which included his sleeping quarters. So I know where it is, but I hardly feel comfortable going inside. I worry about breaking some sort of trust between us before realizing just how silly that sounds. This man has made it very clear that he'd do anything for me. What harm would loaning some clothes do?
I find his tall oak dresser and tug open a couple drawers. In the third one I find where he keeps his sweatshirts. There are five or six to pick from, but it's the plain grey one that I pick out to wear. I take off the tank top and tug on the sweatshirt instead. Instantly I feel a thousand times better. I'm not complaining that it smells strongly of him.
I'm making to leave the bedroom when I notice something strange sitting there on his bedside table. It's a leather bound diary—like one I'd used back in high school in my poetry classes. I pause in my tracks, seeing it and the cockeyed writing pen and feeling a knot of curiosity sprouting in my chest.
I take a step towards it.
I take two steps back.
"No, stop it, Y/N. Don't be a snoop," I scold myself. What if he caught me? Oh god, that'd be so awful...
I clench my fists and close my eyes. No. I can't do it. I decide not to do it—I'm going to give Bucky his space. I know it's for the best. Who knows what sorts of demons he's sorting through on those pages? If he wants to talk about them with me, he will. If not? I'll give him his space until I get impatient enough and pry. And he knows me well enough to know I'll pry every secret out of him eventually. I'm very convincing, and he's easily persuaded when it comes to me.
I lead myself back to the living room. My eyes dance across the things on the bookshelf. He's got a lot of dictionaries, strangely enough. There are at least twenty books on international languages and a dozen more about all sorts of historical events in tongues ranging from German to Portuguese. Suddenly my gaze stumbles upon a familiar book binding. There amongst the other things is one of the very same history books I'd read in high school. It's a book about Captain America and World War 2. It's not surprising to see that Bucky has it, but what is surprising is that I'd read this book all those years ago without ever knowing that one day I'd call its main character my friend and the second lead my lover.
Delicately I slide the book out of the dusty arrangement. Then on bare feet I patter to the squeaky leather couch to curl up and do some light rereading. I lay back into the pillows, smiling a bit when I realize how much they smell like Bucky, before turning through the pages. There's a whole chapter just about Bucky. Of course he's mentioned throughout the book in its entirety, but I start with chapter 5—called The Life and Death of Hero Sargent James "Bucky" Barnes.
My fingertip traces over Bucky's face in the very first photo. He looks so... young. He's hardly smiling in any of the photos, but I imagine he did it quite a bit back before the war. I might be wrong. Bucky doesn't really talk about it that much.
I've finished the chapter on Bucky, struggling to stomach the twelve paragraphs about his capture by Nazis and assumed plummeting death, before finally hearing the front door click open. Bucky's footsteps are nearly silent despite the hefty boots he's yet to take off since coming back from the mission. "Y/N?" he calls into the apartment.
I perch up to regard him over the back of the couch. His eyes have found me in half an instant. "Hey you," I greet with a girly grin. He looks so good in those tight jeans and even tighter Henley shirt. He's got the thighs of a beefy Greek god. If only I could get my hands on that plump ass...
His smile is beautiful. "What's up, gorgeous?"
"Just reading," I say and hold up the book. Bucky sees it and lets out a grunt. I can't tell if he doesn't like the idea that I've read it or if he simply doesn't care. "How was the meeting?"
Bucky shrugs. "Boring." He throws a stack of papers onto the kitchen counter—not caring as they slide around on the granite and become cluttered. "I would've much rather been here with my girl."
I smile. "Your girl?"
Bucky comes around to join me on the couch. I scoot to make room for him on the softer side of the sofa where he must usually sit. "Sure, doll. You're my girl, aren't you?" He cocks an ornery eyebrow before turning his head around as if searching the room for something. "Or is there another sweet young thing around here that I'm forgetting about?"
"Oh hush up," I chuckle. I slide the book onto the coffee table. I wait until he's settled onto the couch before crawling over to lie obnoxiously in the middle of his body. I layer myself on top of him like a blanket. He doesn't complain. I rest my head to his breast and trail my fingertips over his biceps. "I guess I was just wondering if you meant girl or you know... girlfriend."
Bucky, who's had his eyes closed to the ceiling and a dreamy smile on his lips as we just lay together, pops an eye open. He peers down at me. "Girlfriend?"
I nod.
"Well," he hums. He seems to think about this. "I guess I just forgot about that part." He laughs and runs a hand through his messy, slightly dirty hair. "Sorry, doll. It's been a while since I've been in the dating world."
"It's okay." I lean up to put my weight onto my forearms while I smile at him. "I don't mind. I just wanted to make sure we were on the same page here."
"Oh we are," Bucky says. "And while we're on the subject," he stops to clear his throat, "Do you wanna be my girlfriend, sugar? Officially, of course. Because I've already claimed you as mine a while ago."
I kiss him soft and quick. "I'm your girl, James Barnes."
"Damn straight you are."
I don't know how we start kissing again—who initiates it first—but the next thing I know we're back to the intensity of our interrupted make-out session downstairs all those hours ago. I feel like a giddy teenager as his hands slip beneath the sweater and roam across my bare skin. My legs trap Bucky's body on either side. I straddle his waist—fingers running mercilessly through his hair until I feel him shiver.
Bucky pulls away to speak. "You look damn good in my clothes, honey. But I'd be lying if I said I didn't wanna see you take it off."
Laughing softly, I lean slightly away. Bucky shuffles—still laying there flat on his back—to prop himself up on elbows for a better view. My body flushes pink with the intensity of his stare as my hands go to the bottom of the oversized sweatshirt that's been drowning me in cotton. As it comes up and over my head, the cool air hits and makes me shiver. But its only as soon as I've tossed the sweatshirt aside that Bucky is leaning up to kiss me again; only this time, he doesn't aim for my mouth. Bucky plants those devilish open mouth kisses on a path across my bare chest. Little moans and whimpers escape me. I paw at his back while he sucks and nibbles on one tender, aching breast before going to the other. I'm absolutely wrecked—dizzy, breathless, and intoxicated.
"Your turn, babe," I hum. My fingers have knotted into the slack of his shirt just behind his neck. I'm not stupid, so of course I notice his sudden hesitance. His body becomes hard in ways it wasn't before, and he actually stops in his loving assault of my half-naked body. When his dark haired head gives a curt shake I'm letting out a jagged sigh. "Why?" I don't mean to sound so impatient.
"I—it's just—I," Bucky fails in stringing together a sentence completely. His staggering blue gaze won't meet my face. He stares at my pale collarbone. The sharpness of his jaw is only heightened as he swallows real hard.
"Oh James," I sigh. My fingers reach up to curl through his soft hair. I comb it gently away from his bruised, aching face. He still won't look at me. "It's okay. We can go slow."
"I just—I feel so conflicted." His words are low and muttered; as if he's not sure he wants to share them. "I'm confused," he admits.
I kiss his cheek. My lips linger a long while. I feel his metal hand tightening around my back where he holds me flush to his chest. "It's okay." His eyes close as I keep brushing his hair with my manicured fingernails. His puckered mouth lets out a puff of air. "Tell me what you're thinking, Buck."
"It's just—well, I don't know."
"Yes you do," I hum. I hold the side of his face and force his eyes onto mine. I have to move my head around until he's gracing me with his sight. He reminds me very much of a lost little orphan puppy. "Is it about your arm?"
The thick, visible knot in Bucky's throat struggles to fall. He swallows heavily while letting a deep breath out of his flaring nostrils. "...Yeah," he murmurs.
"You know how I feel about your arm, James." Subconsciously my fingertips now dance down the cool vibranium of his bicep. I trace the bulges and ridges—only realizing I've created this habit when Bucky's eyes start to follow my movements.
"It's not pretty, Y/N. And it's hurt so many people," he pauses to shake his head. "I won't let you be another."
I shuffle down to lay on him again. I wrap my arms around his waist and just cuddle against his stiff, muscled body. He sits there in hesitation before ultimately draping both arms across my waist.
"I trust you, but I know you don't—not yet. And I know you're trying to learn how to trust me, too. I'm not going to pressure you." My words all bounce against his breast where my face has been turned. I feel the warm skin of his fingertips ghosting pretty shapes up and down my naked back. He roams the length of my spine before finding my hair to lazily brush through. "I'll wait for you."
A soft smile appears on my lips. I can feel Bucky's kiss on the top of my head. He doesn't say anything, but he doesn't have to. I don't expect a response.
I'm perfectly happy to lie here in his arms forever. For a while, it seems that this is what we'll do. I let my mind wander away to other things, so I expect he's doing the same. But what he must be thinking of is all that I've said. Because suddenly, about twenty minutes into our silence, he nudges me. I lift my head up; my chin set on his collarbone. I cock an eyebrow. "Yes?"
"Get up," he says. When I don't move per confusion he decides to add a much softer, "Please."
I clear my throat quite uncomfortably. Is he really done already? I guess I assumed we'd at least get to enjoy each other's company when he invited me up. Now he's kicking me out?
Heavy hearted I make to move—first off of his lap and then from the couch. I make it as far as the hardwood floor between the sofa and the coffee table before my wrist is captured by a metal fist. My head whips to one side, wild hair falling all around my shoulders, and stare down at Bucky confusedly. He keeps me cemented in place with that firm but loose grasp. I could easily break away if I wanted to. I know that this isn't an accident.
Bucky doesn't say a word. He sits up straight on the couch with his knees bent out on either side of my standing body. I notice how his body lifts slowly with a heavy sigh he heaves. Then all I'm aware of is his hands. The metal one moves away from my warm skin. Eyes glued onto mine, Bucky Barnes takes off his shirt.
The breath in my lungs becomes snagged by the tendons of my throat. Greedily my eyes widen at the straining muscles of his bulging chest once the fabric is cleared. My pupils grow bigger to make enough room to drink up all of his rippling pectorals. He's got a six pack and the deepest, sexiest V line I've ever had the honor to witness. The arm that's become the source of all Bucky's insecurities shines in the low light. Where metal meets man is a red, jagged scar. Only for a moment do I allow myself to pity him. Pity isn't what he wants or deserves. Bucky Barnes deserves to feel normal.
"We'll go slow," Bucky says—almost as if double checking with me.
I nod. "Very slow." My hands knot together at my bare stomach. I'm already shivering.
Bucky swallows again, this time slightly more comfortable. "I don't think I'm going to be able to go all the way tonight."
"That's okay."
Bucky's hands find my waist. He slowly guides me towards his lap. My toes paddle closer—the smirk on my face growing with each aching moment.
I settle onto his hips. "But I still wanna make you feel good," Bucky purrs.
I bite down on my bottom lip, looking into his eyes for permission as my fingertips linger over his bare skin. He gives me a patient nod.
My touch graces his skin in the gentlest, most sincere way. My eyes eagerly follow the path of my hands as I trail them across his chest. Bucky watches. He seems to find this all very intriguing.
I duck my head into his neck. When my lips connect with his throat I'm met with the most fantastic response. From deep in his chest a low, erotic growl erupts. His hand reaches up to my breast. I feel his fingers digging in my flesh while my tongue darts along the salty skin of his shoulder. I kiss and suck. Encouragements in the form of Bucky's moans lead me on. My fingernails drag down his abs—his body arching towards me. His head's fallen back and his eyes shut tight. His staggered breaths leave my body aching for him more.
"F—fuck, Y/N."
"Stop?" I check with him.
His much too eager head shaking makes me laugh. He looks down to me, chin tilted a bit so that our eyes can meet, and I see that his face is just as flushed as mine feels. "No, no baby. That feels good." His metal hand knots up in my hair to stroke it soothingly. Those pretty blue eyes of his take on such a loving glow as he regards me softly. I feel his thumb pawing at my cheek. "But I wanna kiss you again."
I shuffle up on his hips to better reach his mouth. With the action I unknowingly stir both of our bodies awake. I gasp when the ache between my thighs is momentarily soothed by the friction against the tight bulge in his jeans.
Bucky sucks my bottom lip into his mouth. I fall deeper into his embrace. "Do you want me to help get you off tonight, baby?"
I can't keep myself from moaning. "Oh god, p-please, Bucky."
Bucky holds my face. He draws out a long, lusty kiss. Then he's staring into my eyes and asking, "What do you wanna do, honey?" His cocky, sexy voice is back again.
What I want to do is him. But Bucky's made it clear that this isn't the night to go all the way. I'm plenty pleased to know that he's ready to pleasure me, though.
I bite my lip. I think I'm blushing. "I, uh, I don't know."
Bucky kisses my neck. I sigh—fingers curled into his hair. "I think you have an idea," he hums with a cocky grin. "Don't you?"
I glance down to where I sit. He's right. I've had a certain dirty daydream in my head for a while now.
"Yeah..."
Bucky chuckles. "What is it, baby?"
My throat betrays me and lets out an embarrassingly needy whine. I pull back until we're making steady eye contact again. I press my palms against his bare chest. "Don't laugh, okay?"
Bucky sobers up. He gives me a sturdy nod. "Yes, ma'am."
Oh god, this is so embarrassing.
"I wanna ride your thigh."
Bucky's lips pull back into a grin. Before he can respond I'm already blabbering.
"Sorry, that's stupid. I shouldn't have said anything. I just thought that maybe it'd make sense since you don't want to really be involved and I've been thinking about it for so fucking long..."
Bucky silences me with a finger to my lips. I stare wide eyed at his smirking face.
"It's not stupid," he responds in a slow tone. "I happen to think it's a damn sexy idea."
I blink. "Really?"
Bucky nods. He gathers my face in both hands and brings me in for another long, lusty kiss. "Wanna try it out?" he mutters into my mouth with that sweet candy cane breath.
I nod, grin threatening to break our kiss. My hands move away from his chest to the elastic waist of my shorts. I shimmy them off until they can be thrown off into the apartment somewhere. Then Bucky's eagerly grabbing my waist and lifting me midair—settling me onto his right side thigh.
"You're the most gorgeous thing in the world," Bucky compliments between kisses. "And those panties are goddamn sexy."
I giggle—threading my fingers into his hair. "I was hoping you'd like them." They're the thin black lace ones I'd picked up at Victoria's Secret last month. This is my first time wearing them, and now I'm grateful for the lingerie coupon in the mail or I wouldn't have them at all.
It takes a bit of mustered courage to start grinding. Bucky helps me. His hands on my hips help to keep the pace. I moan into his mouth the very first thrust—the pressure of his meaty, muscled thigh against my swollen clit being exactly what I've been craving all this time. Bucky groans as he swallows my whimpers and his fingers dig into my skin harder—subconsciously gripping tighter with the increased sexual tension throbbing between us.
"That's my girl," Bucky whispers into my hair. He kisses my neck while I grip at his shoulders. My eyes are closed as I try to focus on keeping my pace and not making too many pornographic sounds. Bucky's leg flexes real hard once and all of my swallowed cries come bubbling out. Bucky's hips buck up—body betraying him as he automatically responds to my noises.
"Fuck, baby," he moans.
"I—I'm so close," I whimper. My fingers curl into his hair and our lips crash together—teeth clanking as we hungrily devour one another.
Bucky's hands drag me faster and harder into his thick thigh. His leg angles up to help in my wet path up and down.
"J-James..."
Bucky's mouth darts to my chest. His teeth pluck at my tender left nipple and I squeal. I almost fall off of his lap but he's too strong. He keeps me rocking with both hands doing the grinding for me. The sensations are almost too strong. They edge on painful, but I still crave it like a drug.
"I—oh my god—Bucky, Bucky—"
My sight glazes over with freckled stars. Locks of hair get trapped between my unforgiving knuckles as I pull on Bucky's pretty hair. My orgasm hits me hard and fast—unlike anything I've ever known. My body curls towards him and my heart threatens to shatter into a thousand bloody shards. Bucky's hands guide me through until they move to instead run soothingly up and down my bare back. Every inch of my skin feels sticky and sore. I collapse forward onto his naked chest with my face in the crook of his sweaty neck. I take deep breaths of his scent until I'm dizzy again.
"You okay?" Bucky's rubbing my back in sweet, soothing patterns.
"Mhmm," I hum affirmatively. I nuzzle closer. "Thank you."
Bucky's deep chuckle causes a smile to sprout on my own lips. "'Course, doll. I'm happy to help." A kiss is planted to the top of my head and I sigh. The size of his warm hand takes up almost half of my slender back. He runs it up and down while my heartbeat starts to finally settle.
I tilt my chin up to prop against his shoulder. I trace the shape of his dimpled chin with my thumb. Peering up at my man, I say, "I think I'm gonna go clean myself up."
Bucky nods. "Okay—I should probably do the same."
I gnarl my brows. "What?"
Bucky's eyes do a friendly little roll. "Come on, doll. You didn't honestly think you went through all of that without affecting me? That sexy show wrecked me, babe." He plants a quick kiss to my nose. His flesh hand playfully taps my ass to encourage me to move. I fall to one side of the couch to let him leave. "You take the bathroom and I'll get changed in my room, alright?"
I nod, biting down on my lip to keep from giggling. Bucky sees this and only laughs in response. Then he swaggers out of the dank living room. My jaw literally falls open when I see his bare back—all the deep lines and crevices... the soft scars like rough brushes on a tan canvas...
"Bucky, wait," I hear my own damn voice begging. My tone sounds panicked, causing Bucky to turn towards me on a dime. By the wideness of his eyes I can tell that he's worried. Clearing my throat, I feel myself start to blush. "I was just hoping you'd, umm, not put on a shirt."
Bucky raises an eyebrow. "You don't want me to put on a shirt?"
My head shakes left to right.
Bucky's chuckle makes my heart skip a beat. "If that's what you want." He winks cheekily at me before turning back to resume his path to the bedroom. I follow the sight of his outrageously sexy back and skinny jean hugged ass the whole way there. I have to lean over the edge of the couch to watch as he rifles through the dresser drawers. He pulls out a few things, boxer briefs and sweatpants it seems, before unbuckling his trousers. My tongue darts out of my mouth to moisten my parched lips that suddenly long for a drink. I'm precariously thirsty.
Bucky's pants drop to the ground. They pool at his feet. His bare ass is all I see. He's got a few long scars on his back. Two dimples mark the base of his spine. I lay my head on my arms and longingly watch as he steps into the clean clothes. Goddamn, did I really make him cum in his pants? I'm hardly convinced, but then again, I did make quite a bit of friction with my heated grinding...
Bucky, who I assumed unaware of my stare, calls out to me without once turning around: "You gonna get cleaned up or should I start charging you for the show, darlin'?"
I blush and laugh. Quickly I turn away—gathering up the same sweatshirt from earlier and my spandex shorts that were tossed near the front door. I scurry to the bathroom that he's got at the end of the apartment hall, hearing his cocky chuckle all the while.