With steady hands and maddening slowness he unzips her dress, lips brushing the sensitive skin below her ear. Natasha shivers, enjoying the moment. She's been waiting for the heat of his touch, for the touch of his lips all night, and as always the reality is living up to the fantasy.
All night they have watched one another, each of them assigned to mark and shadow a different target at the same event. Seduction has been in the air since the moment they caught sight of one another, only the two of them knowing that the heat in their eyes was for someone other than the person on their arm. They have moved around one another, catching each other's eyes, seducing each other as they work their magic on those they were assigned to seduce, and now that the working night is over they come together to quench the flames that have been fanned throughout the night.
Rolling her hips, Natasha brushes against his groin as he teases her, encouraging and reminding him that though they have all night she's just not as patient as him when it comes to getting what she wants. The exhalation of his breath is a sweet caress against her throat, his fingers tightening on her shoulders. A single sharp movement of his hands rips her dress from her shoulders, baring her upper body to the night and he presses in close behind her, one hand on her hip to keep her close and the other reaching around to turn her face toward his. He claims her mouth with a blazing kiss that makes her blood boil.
She turns in the circle of his arm, her mouth colliding with his own. There is nothing delicate and soft about where this is headed, the kiss that he lays on her is brutal and that is exactly how she wants it. In this moment, she wants neither hesitation nor compassion but for Clint to own her body in the way she craves. Desperate for the feel of him, she communicates the urgency she feels in the clutch of her hands in his shirt, yanking the fabric aside and sending buttons scattering across the floor.
His groan is part submission and part growl as she reaches for his belt, palming him through the soft fabric of his trousers and working his erection against her hand. His grip on her wrist is bruising as he pulls her away, but he releases her quickly, his voice in her ear another form of sweet torture. "Not yet," he murmurs, "not yet."
He makes short work of her dress, leaving her standing in a pair of spectacular high heels and thigh high black stockings which he makes no effort to remove. His touch leaves burning trails on her skin as he sweeps his hands over her body, tongue duelling with her own in a manner that only stokes the fire that is kindling inside her. With a sudden movement he spins her around, pulling her body in close to the front of him and pinning her there with hard hands against her hips.
"Watch," he tells her, breath hot against her skin as he kisses his way from her ear to the corner of her mouth. There is something in his tone, a demand just below the surface of that one word and she surrenders to it, turning her face as he positions her where he wants her. A throaty chuckle escapes her as she takes in the mirrored dresser that he has positioned her in front of and she recognises the game that they are playing.
She leans back against him, surrenders to his touch, raises one arm to wind her fingers into her hair and keep him close, but her eyes stay on the mirror. It might be dark, the only light coming in from beyond the windows, but she sees what he wants her to see. Their eyes meet in the glass as his hands move over her body and his reflected gaze makes her burn. Trapped, she can't look away any more than he can.
He begins with his fingers, describing the things that he would like to do to her in whispered tones, his breath dancing across her skin. Natasha surrenders to his skilled touch, allows him to do exactly what he wants to her body, riding out the sensations as he allows that darker side of his nature that she so enjoys to rise to the surface. It isn't enough though, she wants more. She needs more. She knows exactly how to get it.
She leans her head back on his shoulder, turning her face to his and sinking her teeth into his lower lip as she reaches behind her and snakes a hand into his pants. The sound he makes is all animal and it sends a wave of heat through her that draws a moan from her own lips. The response is immediate, his grip turning to iron as one arm circles her waist and jacks her body in tight to his, the other roaming over her heated skin lazily, toying, teasing, and all she can do is gasp into his mouth and writhe for him.
With a sudden surge he angles her body forwards toward the dresser and kicks her feet apart so that she is exactly where she wants to be, aching for him to finish what they started hours ago in a crowded ballroom. She moans low in her throat, tightening her hold on the wood with both hands as his body moves in tight to her own, the length of him sliding over her oversensitized skin enough to almost pitch her over the edge. She isn't usually this passive and they both know it but tonight subtlety is a language they don't speak and she wants something that even she with her command of nine different languages doesn't have the words for.
"Don't take your eyes from the mirror," he tells her gruffly. She loves that tone of voice, the way that it causes things low in her body to loosen. He might not know it but he can seduce her with nothing more than the words that fall from his lips, the different tones of voice that do wonderful things to her body and paint such vivid and imaginative images in her head. At the sound of that voice images spring into her mind, powerful enough to knock the breath from her. She sees him on his back, on his knees, his body pinning her to the door of her apartment as he aggressively seeks release in her body. She sees him pounding into her without mercy and she wants, wants more, wants it all.
He holds her gaze as he positions himself at her entrance and she smiles at him, a seductresses smile, the kind of smile that is full of promises. The blazing possession of her body is exactly what she wants, a branding iron that goes right to the core of her, and she lets out a low curse, not because it hurts, though it does in the best possible way, but because she knows that there will be no coming back from this. The need for him to dominate her is exactly what she needs and so is the hard ride that he gives her, his body hard and heavy over her own as his eyes burn into hers with every movement of his hips.
She cries out for him, abusing her lower lip with her teeth and braces her palms against the dresser. The grip on her hips is bruising as though he's afraid to let her go and the depth and power of his thrusts are driving her relentlessly toward an orgasm that promises to be nuclear in its intensity. This is total domination, total perfection.
She gasps a demand that he keep going, eyes devouring the sight of their bodies moving in perfect harmony. Close. So close, the pressure building to a riotous crescendo that forces inarticulate sounds of pleasure from her lips and echoing grunts from his. He braces himself against the dresser with one muscular arm, adjusting the angle of his attack and she tilts her head to the side in a blatant offering, wanting to feel his teeth in her neck as he comes inside her.
"Wanna hear you sing for me Tasha," he whispers, voice husky and tight with desire. He moves in sure and certain strokes, hair falling over his forehead as he strains within her body. The release that she needs comes at her like a freight train, thundering through every molecule of her body in a series of shimmering sparks that dance across her skin. She's close, getting closer by the second. He's close too, she can feel it in the way he moves, the tension that sings through him with every movement.
Skin glistening with every push and pull, they watch each other, each of them straining toward the inevitable crash. She's caught on the edge, that familiar heat pooling and tightening in her lower belly, catching and holding his gaze, dark with want, in the mirror for a heartbeat or two and then she shatters. An eruption of pleasure, volcanic in its intensity, robs Natasha of sight and sound and she yells his name as her body clenches and spasms around him. The difference in his body is immediate, hips hammering against her own as she opens up to him, hitting her deep and hard.
Even with the pleasure a hairs breadth from pain, she can trust herself to him entirely and she does. Short nails find purchase in the skin of his forearm and she pushes herself up and back toward him, changing the angle again, slamming her body back against his hips with every thrust. Breath sharp and uneven, he buries his face in her neck and she tilts her head again, screaming his name as his teeth close in her skin and the second wave of her climax hits her. What else she calls out she doesn't know only that sparks snap behind her eyes as Clint bucks and curses his way through his orgasm above her, his eyes still locked on hers, body possessing hers, rolling over her in waves that grow more and more intense with every moment until she hears her name called out into the darkness and he spills inside her.
Boneless and sated she falls forward onto the dresser as he slips from her, sending perfume bottles and vanity sets crashing to the floor. On an erotic chuckle, she rises to her elbows and licks her lips as she watches him in the mirror. She lets her gaze trail over every single inch of that lean, muscular body before finally letting her eyes meet his.
"You okay?" he asks breathlessly.
Natasha smiles, "might have to wander around on the arm of another man more often if this is what follows."
He raises an eyebrow in her direction and stalks toward her, pulling her upright and claiming her mouth in a kiss that is as much a declaration as the sex was. Natasha lets him hold her up, legs still not quite ready to accept her weight. "You know how your seductions usually end …" he reminds her, lips brushing against the skin beside her mouth.
She does know and the thought gives her a delicious shiver of anticipation. The memory of one of his arrows impaling the enemy with such precision is enough to speed her pulse. She traces her nails down his chest, just enough so that he feels it and smiles at the growl that escapes him. "Job's over now," she reminds him, getting even closer, "I'd say we have a few hours before anyone expects to hear from us. Any ideas how we could fill them?"
In answer, he scoops her up from the floor, balancing her weight in his arms easily. "I can think of a few," he tells her heading toward the bed.