"Peggy's the director of S.H.I.E.L.D.!" Howard had crowed the moment he and the woman in question entered the penthouse apartment. Angie still remembered the flat look on Peggy's face.
"We're going to have a party!" the billionaire had announced loud enough for the world to hear even though it was just the three of them. Angie could still recall the look on Peggy's face souring.
But once Howard got it in his head to throw a party, they were pretty much stuck throwing a party.
Angie had balked, at first, when the guests began to arrive. Politicians, military generals, the President of the freaking United States!
She wasn't cut out for a crowd this high-brow! She'd grown up in Brooklyn! She'd worn hand-me-downs from her older sisters and older cousins! She was a waitress for crying out loud! Sure, she was kind of an actress. She'd had a few minor roles here and there, but it was nowhere near the level of success she would have had to achieve to look these people in the eye, let alone mingle with them!
She was in the upstairs hall hyperventilating when Peggy found her.
"Are you all right, darling?"
She felt a gentle touch to her wrist, and Angie closed her eyes against the chatter that floated up from the party.
"What is it?" Peggy asked, her brows knitting together.
"I'm not…" Angie's hand waved toward the stairs. "I don't fit in with those people."
"Of course you do."
"Don't say that, Peg." Angie opened her eyes, but refused to meet Peggy's gaze and turned her head away. "You know it's true."
"It's not." Peggy used the hand not holding onto her lover's slim wrist to turn the younger woman's head to face her. "It's not true," she reiterated, thumbing the younger woman's chin. Her lips pressed together at Angie's distressed look.
"Angie." She leaned in, her head coming to rest on Angie's smaller shoulder, the hand on Angie's chin sliding down to wrap around her other wrist. "Darling." She squeezed Angie's wrists gently in a show of reassurance. "What can I do to make you feel better?"
A humorless laugh escaped Angie, and Peggy raised her head to discern the expression on her face. Distress, hopelessness, and a little line between her eyebrows all betrayed how truly agitated she was. She looked almost like a cornered animal.
"Nothing," Angie scoffed, her tone brittle. "Not unless you can make me forget about it all."
Now there was an idea, Peggy considered.
"Just forget about it," Angie sighed. "Do you care if I turn in earl—"
Angie's sentence trailed off against Peggy's insistent lips, her face cradled ever-so-gently in the woman's hands. A part of her panicked and then thrilled at the thought of one of the partygoers finding them, but there was very little reason for any of them to head upstairs.
The kiss was simple and sweet, and almost as soon as their lips had touched, Peggy drew back. "I'll see you after the party, then, dearest," she'd said. "Unless you've changed your mind," and Peggy gave her that look.
It was the look she'd worn after Angie's first night on stage, no matter that the role had been minor.
It was the look she'd worn after the first time they made love, when Angie was suddenly made well aware of the turn Peggy's nature took once her carnality was liberated from her very English reserve.
It was the look that said if you do this for me, I will make your world shatter.
"How dare you use the panther eyes on me," Angie grumbled at the woman she shared her bed with.
"I'll make it worth your while," Peggy promised. She pressed another soft kiss to Angie's lips and then swiftly moved away to saunter down the stairs.
That was how Angie found herself begrudgingly chatting with the high profile crowd in her home. Luckily Peggy made a point to stay within her line of sight, and that made Angie feel worlds better.
Or it had.
Right up to the point when Peggy completely ignored whomever she was speaking with and gave Angie one of those positively burning looks. A moment later, the woman had politely excused herself and ducked down a hallway as she threw a pointed look over her shoulder.
Mouth suddenly dry, Angie excused herself as well, though with far less social grace than she imagined Peggy had. She'd had to fight to keep her pace even and unhurried as she crept down the same hall.
"Peggy?" she called.
No answer, but the guest room door slid open a few inches. It was all the signal she needed to slip inside the room.
"Peg?" Angie whispered, as she shut the door behind her. She reached for a nearby lamp, but stopped when she felt Peggy's hand upon hers.
"Leave the light off," she instructed. An instant later, Peggy's hand trailed up her arm and to her neck. "How are you faring?" she asked, tracing the tips of her fingers over the sensitive flesh.
"I'm getting through it, I think."
"Good girl," Peggy whispered, and Angie suddenly felt the Englishwoman's breath on her face-on her lips.
Angie arched against her in the dark. "Good girl," she mocked. "What am I? Your pet?"
For a moment, Angie fancied she could see the glint in Peggy's eyes even in the darkness. "Would you like to be?" her lover asked, mouth moving to hover by her ear. "Pet." The sharp T in Angie's ear was followed by Peggy's tongue tracing the lobe, and the younger woman's knees buckled. Desperately, her hands flew to Peggy's shoulders to keep herself upright, a sigh of relief escaping her when said woman hooked an arm around her waist to support her. She tried to turn her head to kiss Peggy's neck, but the older woman's hand grasping her jaw stopped her. "Ah, ah, darling. We can't have you leaving your brand all over."
"Not fair," Angie grumbled. A low whine emanated from low in her throat when she felt Peggy's teeth on her ear, but not her lips. "You could at least kiss me properly."
Peggy drew back and cupped Angie's face. "This will be the last one," she announced, and Angie could hear the mischief in her tone, a sweet sort of dread filling her chest. Their lips touched, firm but brief, and Angie couldn't help the pout when they parted.
"That was hardly a kiss," she complained.
"It will have to do. You don't want lipstick all over your face in front of the President, do you?" Without warning, Angie found herself spun about to face the door. "Now then," Peggy said. "Back to the party with you!" And she smacked her bottom to nudge her in the general direction of the door.
Angie, to her credit, contained her surprise and barely yelped.
Four hours later, and Angie was about ready to snap.
She'd endured four hours of Peggy's games.
Four hours of scorching, smoldering gazes that lingered over her in all the right ways.
Four hours of the woman walking by and brushing her arm or catching her fingers with her own.
Four hours of Peggy casually sidling up to her to address whichever such-and-such she was speaking with-by name-and injecting Angie's importance to her (and her work, apparently) into the conversation.
Four hours of Peggy lightly rubbing at her shoulders when she did so.
Four hours of Peggy bumping her hips a little too closely.
And four hours of Peggy dragging her to random parts of the house to not kiss her!
The first time, Peggy had reminded her, "No kissing," while running her tongue along Angie's clavicle.
"Not yet, Pet," she had admonished the time after that, and then spun Angie to nip along the back of her neck.
"Just a little longer," Peggy practically purred the third time as she bent Angie backwards over a low table and gyrated their hips together.
Four fucking hours, Angie growled internally as she gritted her teeth at this Colonel so-and-so. It was getting to her. She was wound so tightly she thought she might snap if Peggy happened to look at her a certain way.
Four fucking hours… Four entire hours, and she hadn't been allowed a single kiss. Nothing. Not even a tiny peck. Every time she tried for one or asked for a kiss, Peggy would smirk at her and smugly tell her she would have to wait.
Four fucking hours! Four tortuous hours of Angie enduring each and every rendezvous Peggy dragged her off to. Every single one, and she had yet to have any kind of orgasm. It was a game to the Englishwoman, she realized, but it didn't make it any less frustrating. And she'd been so closelast time.
"Excuse me, Colonel." The woman plaguing her thoughts appeared at her side, hand on her elbow, and flashed a bright smile at the officer. "Might I steal Angie for a bit? I'm afraid the wine is beginning to run low."
The man, abrasive though he was, waved the two of them off and turned to start a conversation with someone else.
Of course, as Angie followed Peggy to the kitchen, she knew the wine story was a lie, and if she hadn't known then, she certainly would have the moment Peggy whirled about and practically shoved her against the counter.
But still, she refused to kiss her! No. Instead, Peggy held her there, each hand clamped like a vice on her biceps. Her lips hovered just inches away, brows low in determination.
"Peg!" Angie growled. "Please!"
Peggy's eyes darkened. "No," she whispered, and then that damned smirk was back. "You'll ruin the game."
"The game!" huffed Angie, even as Peggy's grip loosened and traveled to the hem of her skirt. "The game is ruining me!"
A decidedly unladylike grunt was the only response Angie received before Peggy's dexterous fingers slipped up her thighs, and quite suddenly, Peggy's fingers were right where Angie had needed them for the entirety of the night!
She wasn't sure what sort of sound she'd made when Peggy pushed her knickers aside and slipped three of her glorious fingers inside her waiting folds. It could have been a squeak. It could have been a gasp. Hell, she could have started shouting the Hail Mary, for all she knew! But Peggy had clamped a hand over her mouth to silence her, and all she could do was hope she would finally get what she wanted.
"Hush, Angel Eyes," Peggy crooned, putting her whole body-her entire weight-into the task at hand. "Wouldn't want to draw the attentions of our guests, now would we?"
Angie made a strangled noise in her throat right before her legs gave out on her for the third time that evening. And somehow, without ever ceasing in her ministrations, Peggy hoisted Angie onto the counter and continued to twist and hook her fingers inside the smaller woman.
"Open your blouse, Dear Heart," Peggy said to her, and Angie couldn't quite tell if it was a request or a demand. To be perfectly honest, she didn't care, and with trembling fingers she undid the buttons on her blouse.
Almost immediately, Peggy leaned forward, her arm angling slightly and causing Angie's breath to hitch at the change. She peppered kisses over the tops of Angie's breasts, leaving little stamps in their wake. Peggy smiled at them and mentioned how she loved seeing her color so stark against Angie's pale skin.
Angie felt a familiar coiling low in her abdomen as she looked at the near animalistic pleasure on Peggy's face. She squeaked around the woman's hand over her mouth, clamping her eyes shut and focusing on the forcible twisting, curling, and pumping between her legs.
"It's all right," Peggy told her throatily. She leaned forward to press against her and rasp in her ear, "Let go, Pet."
And with a quick, but firm, press of Peggy's thumb to the sensitive bundle of nerves between her thighs, Angie's world exploded. In a fit of spasming fit of muffled cries and blinding delight, Angie had finally reached her peak after an entire night of torture. She was vaguely aware of Peggy altering the movement of her hand and fingers in an effort to ease her down from her high. Still, her eyes rolled into the back of her head, the sensations almost too much to bear.
Peggy's chuckle was what finally brought Angie back around several minutes later.
"What are you laughing at?" she drawled, Brooklyn accent thick, when she realized Peggy's hand was no longer silencing her.
"Shall I leave you here while I go and disperse our guests?" Dark eyes raked over Angie who was sprawled wantonly over the counter. "Or shall we just go to bed and let them figure it out for themselves?"
Angie chuckled, the sound delicious as it rang in Peggy's ears. "Fuck 'em, English. Take me to bed."