Chapter 40
It had been three months since she was released from her cell and accepted Fury's offer to join SHIELD, but she was still feeling like an imposter. Even now, in her on-campus apartment, she felt like she was just waiting on the other shoe to drop. It all seemed too good to be true, and Frankie didn't entirely trust it. In her experience, good things always had a high price tag. She wondered what the price for all this was going to be and if she would be willing to pay it.
Taking a break from her studies, she stood at the window overlooking the river below. She was still working on her GED, with the approval of Fury and her new supervisor, determined to have something to carry away if things went tits up. Too bad she was struggling to concentrate this afternoon. Maybe she should go for a run instead.
Frankie and Clint had picked up where they left off with their work outs. Now that she was completely healed, she was giving him a run for his money, beating during their runs as often as him. Their friendship had continued to strengthen and had morphed into something more. The sexual tension between them stretched taunt like a trip wire just waiting to be sprung. So far, nothing had happened, but they had come close a few times.
Now, Clint was out on a mission and had been gone a week, leaving Frankie to work out alone. Without his company to look forward to, she had started finding excuses to skip days. She had missed the last two days, so maybe she should get off her ass before she got out of shape. She could just imagine the ragging she would get from Clint if that happened.
A knock at her door startled her out of her musings. Before she could cross the room to answer it, it banged open and he walked in.
"Please," she said with heavy sarcasm, "come on in."
Shutting the door behind him, Clint stared at her with a frown, "I heard you've been moping all week."
"I have not," she scowled back. Not much anyway, she thought.
"When's the last time you went for a run?"
"I was just about to head out," she crossed her arms across her chest.
He started across the room towards her, stalking like a predator.
"That's not an answer."
"It's all you're going to get."
He stopped in front of her, "is it?"
"Yep."
He took a step to close the gap between them. She took an involuntary step back, uncertain what was going on.
"Why?" Another step.
"You're not my father." She took another step back at the dark look that crossed his face.
"So I've noticed." Another step.
Her next step put her back against the wall beside the window. She swallowed. He was being so intense it was starting to turn her on.
His next step left barely enough space between them for light to pass.
"Did you miss me?" he asked softly.
He was only a couple inches taller than her, so they were almost eye to eye. His intense blue stare held her trapped. Her heart thudded in her chest and she took a quick breath as he lowered his head slowly until his lips barely brushed hers.
"Did you?" he asked against them.
"Yes," she breathed before leaning forward to press her lips against his. The pressure seemed release something in him. With a growl, he closed the gap between their bodies, pressing against her from thigh to chest. His lips were almost bruising against hers, drawing a small animalistic sound from her before she wrapped her arms around his neck and returned his kiss with enthusiasm.
Using their lips, tongues, and teeth, they kissed, tasted, nipped, and sucked each other's mouth while straining to get even closer. He tasted like coffee and whatever sad meal he had on the Quinn jet, but underneath that was a flavor that was all him and she couldn't get enough of it.
They were both panting when he pulled back.
"What brought this on?" she asked breathlessly. "Not that I'm complaining."
He gave a small shake of his head, "some serious shit went down, and I realized how much I wanted this."
He dipped his head to capture her lips for a lingering kiss before pulling back to search her eyes.
"Are you okay with this?" he asked softly.
She smiled slyly, "have I stabbed you yet?"
He smiled in return, "do you plan on stabbing me again in the future?"
"Maybe," she caught her lip between her teeth.
"Maybe," he pulled her lip free with his fingertips, then stroked the soft flesh.
"Nice to know I have that option if things ever go sideways," she teased, licking his fingertips quickly.
His lips quirked, "in that case…,"
Before she knew what he intended, he spun her around to face the wall and pinned her tightly against it with his body. He grabbed her hands and pulled them up and over her head. Her breath caught when he kissed the sensitive skin just under her ear.
"Just so you know," she said, "my safe word is 'clown car'."
He tensed behind her, "are you serious?"
If she could have shrugged in this position, she would have. "It wasn't my first choice, but I figured screaming 'Bucky' in the middle of our fun would ruin the mood."
She felt him shake behind her before she heard his laughter.
"Are you ever serious?"
"Give me a reason to be," she teased.
He let out another growl and resumed his assault on her unprotected neck and shoulders with his mouth. Her tank top did nothing to impede his progress. Before long, one of the straps was hanging off her shoulder, baring it to his exploration. It was the shoulder with the scars from the glass shard and bullet. He kissed and traced them with his lips, making her shiver under his touch.
Becoming impatient, she pushed back against him, feeling the bulge of his arousal through his pants and her thin yoga pants. In response, he rocked his hips, rubbing up and down the cleft of her ass.
"More," she whimpered, trying to twist around in his grasp.
"Shh," he whispered in her ear. "Be still."
Surprisingly, she obeyed, stilling under him even though every nerve ending in her body protested.
He transferred his grip on her hands to just one of his and used the other to skim the side of her body, raising goose bumps as he went. Snaking his hand between her and the wall, he slid it under the hem of her tank and stroked the smooth skin of her stomach. She let out her breath in a hiss.
"Don't move," he ordered again.
It took all her will power not to move as he dipped his hand into the elastic waistband of her pants and down to cup her through the thin silk of her panties. She was already aching with need and shuddered at his touch as he rubbed her with his hand and pressed against her ass.
"Spread your legs for me."
Frankie dutifully took a step to the side and was rewarded when he pushed the triangle of silk aside and slid his fingers lower.
"So wet," he said against her neck as he slid them up and down, rubbing the hard, little nub with his palm each stroke.
Despite his order to remain still, she tried to rock her hips against his hand to get more friction, but he withdrew his hand every time until she stilled. Over and over, he teased, she rocked, and he stopped until she whimpered against the wall.
"Please," she pleaded.
When he started caressing her again, she strained to remain still, her thighs shaking with the effort.
"Good girl," he kissed her scar
He slid his hand lower, curling two fingers and pressing it hard against her.
"Come for me," he said against her ear.
As if that was all her body had been waiting for, her orgasm rolled over her in waves. She gasped from its power and rode his hand with wild abandon. He rang every last drop of pleasure from her until she jerked with every touch, her nerve endings over sensitized in the aftermath of her release.
As the last of the spasms faded, she slumped back against him, too stunned to support herself.
"What?" he murmured as he nuzzled her neck. "No smart-ass comment."
"Is that all you got?" she said weakly.
Again, he laughed, "you're lucky I don't like spanking."
Turning her in his arms, he kissed her gently before lifting her into his arms and carrying her across to her bedroom. Frankie sighed with contentment and leaned her head against his chest, breathing in his clean, masculine scent.
"I think I forgot my safe word," she smiled.
"If you yell 'Bucky', all bets are off on the spanking."
"What? Afraid he'll hear and come join in on the fun?"
Instead of responding, he dropped her on the bed without warning.
"Hey!" she protested, scooting across it. "That was rude!"
He grinned and grabbed her foot, dragging her back to the edge and crawled on top of her so that he straddled her legs.
"Ever hear of cause and effect?"
Frankie grinned and pulled him down to her, "show me."
She slipped her hands under his shirt to caress his chest. In response, he ground his hips against her, proving he was still aroused.
"See the effect you have on me?" he asked before capturing her lips and thoroughly exploring her mouth until she squirmed under him again.
Having enough of him being in control, she hooked her leg over his and used the leverage to flip him over. Rolling on top of him, she sat up with his hard length trapped between the juncture of her thighs.
"My turn."
This time, she rocked her hips against him, eliciting a groan. Pushing his shirt up to bare his abdomen and chest, she peppered the skin with kisses and licks. With a grunt, he pulled the shirt over his head and tossed it aside. Sitting upright, she looked appreciatively at the man under her.
"Like what you see?"
"Um-huh," she nodded.
He put an arm behind his head, "you just going to sit there and stare at me all day?"
"Maybe."
It was amazing how their relationship had gone from contentious to this easy playfulness between them. She was amazed at how comfortable she felt around him, even at her most vulnerable.
Rocking her hips against him, she grasped the hem of her tank and slowly peeled it off her body and tossed it away. She wasn't wearing a bra under it since she had just been lazing around her apartment all day.
His eyes widened as he moved to reach for her.
"No," she swatted his hands, "you can look, but you can't touch."
"Oh? That's how it's going to be?"
"Turnabout is fair play, Buster."
"Alright," he conceded with a wry grin and laced his fingers behind his head with a glint in his eyes. "Give it your best shot."
Challenge accepted; Frankie grinned. This was going to be fun.
"What's your safe word?" she asked.
"Do I need one?"
"Maybe." She rocked her hips again and watched his neck muscles tighten. "Pick one," she prompted.
"Thunderstorm," he replied.
"Perfect," she purred. "Hang on, Tiger, this might be a bumpy ride."
Rocking rhythmically against his erection, she dragged her fingernails down his chest and stomach, lightly skimming the skin. Lifting her hands from him, she stroked the skin of her stomach. Tracing a trail up to her breasts, she circled them with increasingly smaller circuits until her fingertips brushed her nipples, making them tighten and pebble. Kneading them she threw back her head and moaned with pleasure.
Clint unclasped his hands behind his head, "yeah, I've had enough of this."
With a surprisingly agile twist of his body, she was back under him.
"Just couldn't do it, huh?" she laughed.
"You're enough to try any one's patience."
"Two can play this came."
"Really?" he raised his eyebrows at her.
Getting a leg up, she shoved him over backwards and off the bed. He rolled as he hit the floor and bounced back up on the balls of his feet, preparing to jump back on the bed. Frankie followed through with her shove by launching herself at him, taking him back to the floor and knocking a chair over in the process.
Bending over him, Frankie dipped her head and nipped his lip.
"Give up yet?" she asked.
"Never," he grinned, sitting up and tangling their legs together so she had no leverage.
He pulled her to him and kissed her passionately.
Much later, they lay with their legs still intertwined on the floor in front of her couch, which had been shoved across the floor and was blocking her kitchen door. The rest of the apartment was in a similar condition with tables and lamps knocked over, the generic art adorning the walls hanging askew, and most of the covers from her bed on the floor along with the pillows.
"I'm dying of thirst," Clint announced.
Frankie lazily looked towards her kitchen, "my couch is blocking the way."
"I got it."
He detangled himself from her, walked over to the couch and vaulted over it. Frankie admired how his naked body moved before snorting and flopping back on the floor.
He was back soon with a large plastic cup of water with no ice.
"You don't have anything in your refrigerator," he frowned, taking a drink from the hot pink cup that proudly proclaimed 'Princess' in rhinestones.
"I know. It is my kitchen after all," she answered, sitting up and taking the cup from him to take a sip of the lukewarm tap water. "Bleh! This is awful."
He shrugged, taking it back and draining it, "you have no one to blame but yourself."
"Ugh! That's the story of my life," she complained.
"Then change it."
"I plan to."
"Come on, let's go get some food and something besides water to drink."
He stood and pulled her to her feet. Looking around the demolished apartment, he frowned.
"Where are my clothes?"
Eleven Months Later
Frankie watched the screen in front of her closely, listening to the feed to her headphones.
"He's late," the agent to her right muttered.
"He'll be there," she told him.
Just as she finished, he walked through the foyer into the casino.
"It took you long enough," she said into her mic.
"Whoever thought of making me wear a bowtie needs to be shot. Multiple times," Clint complained quietly.
"It looks good on you. I can't wait for you to turn around so I can ogle you ass," she teased.
His lips quirked with the effort not to smile.
"Go get them, tiger," she giggled. "The target's over by the middle roulette table to your left."
She watched as he wove through the crowd.
"Looks like he had two bodyguards with him," agent Faulklin said into his mic.
"Three," Frankie corrected him, "the bored brunet sitting beside him is one also."
The agent turned off his mic and looked over at her, "how the hell do you know that?"
She rolled her eyes, "she's built like a brick shithouse for one. For two, she's only pretending to be bored. She's constantly surveying the room. She's marked everyone that's packing heat so far. Clint is going to have a hard time fooling her."
"Why? He looks like the other high-rollers in there and he isn't carrying a gun."
"Yeah, but he doesn't move like them. He moves like a predator. She's going to pick up on it the moment she sees him."
"Shit," Faulklin said, switching his mic back on. "Hey, Hawkeye, how about you slouch a little or something?"
Clint looked up at the camera and frowned.
"How about this?" Frankie said. "Can you pretend to be a little tipsy?
He nodded slightly and changed how he walked. He even managed to bump into one of the servers and snagged a glass of something off her tray.
"There you go," Frankie told him. "Slosh a bit onto your hand and wipe it on your jacket."
They watched as he did as she directed.
"See," she told Faulklin, "now he looks like just another high-roller."
He nodded his agreement.
Sure enough, the moment the brunet caught sight of him, she dismissed him as a threat. As he drew near the table, one of the obvious bodyguards started to intercept him, but the woman waved him off with a sharp shake of her head. Unimpeded, Clint wedged himself in between two of the gamblers opposite his target.
"Okay," Frankie said into her mic, and switching to the camera hidden in his tie, "you want to win enough to get his attention, but not so much as to raise any alarm. Give the croupier one of your bill stacks after he rakes in the markers."
They watched as the Avenger turned over $100,000 and collected his chips. Then Frankie coached him through several bets. He won more than he lost, almost doubling his pile during the next thirty minutes.
"Okay, now you're going to lose most of it." She told him where to place his bets, using most of his pile of chips.
"How are you so sure he'll lose?" Faulklin asked with his mic off.
"Didn't you watch the pit boss walk by the croupier just then and the two exchange looks?"
"Yeah?"
"He's going to lose this time, trust me," Frankie assured him.
Everyone at the table watched as the wheel spun. There was a groan as the ball, stopped. Just as Frankie predicted, Clint lost.
"Now, reach into your jacket to pull out another stack."
Clint did as she instructed but stopped when the target grabbed his arm.
"Hey, man," the man said, "don't you know the house always wins?"
"Tell him 'it's only money'," Frankie said.
Clint shrugged and pulled out the thick stack of bills, "it's only money."
The man stopped him again, "how about a game that's not rigged for the house to win?"
Clint didn't need any coaching now. "I'm listening," he said as he tucked the money back into his jacket.
"I'm heading upstairs for a private game. Care to join me? The more the merrier."
"That's my cue," Frankie said, removing her headphones and smoothing her hair down.
Stepping out of the room, she hurried down the hall to the elevator. When it reached the casino floor and she stepped out, she nearly ran into the two men.
"Oh gracious, Robbie, you nearly gave me a heart attack!" she gasped.
"What are you doing here? I thought you were going to the ballet?"
"I was, but it was boring, so I left." She turned to his companion, "oh hello."
Clint took her by the arm and really looked like a long-suffering husband, "allow me to introduce you to my wife, Tiffany."
The man grinned widely, "The name's Boston, Jim Boston." He took her proffered hand and kissed the back of it. His lips were moist and soft, and it was all she could do not to snatch her hand away from him.
Frankie simpered, "it's a pleasure to meet a real gentleman," she darted a dark look at Clint.
Clint reached into his jacket to pull out some money, "here, why don't you amuse yourself in the casino for a while. I'm heading upstairs for a private game."
Frankie pouted, "but I'd rather go with you."
"Absolutely not. You'd be bored there too."
"Well, Robert, don't be so hasty," Boston interrupted. "A woman as beautiful, and talented as your wife would be welcome upstairs. Some of the other guys bring their…um…dates with them. I'm sure she can chat with them."
"See, Robbie," she looped her arm through Boston's, "not every man wants to get away from his wife or girlfriend."
"Oh, Darling," Boston patted her hand while leering down the front of her dress, "who would want to get away from a creature as lovely as yourself? Come on up, we will have a whale of a time!"
"Oh, I'm sure we will," she smiled at him. As the doors to the elevator closed, Frankie looked over at Clint and winked.
Yeah, they were going to have a whale of a good time.
THE END
