Chapter 3.

Clint had to stop and take a moment. He really hadn't expected Jemma to be quite so enthusiastic. But she was going along willingly with everything he was doing to her, her nails scratching at his neck and scalp driving him wild with lust. "Jemma," he pulled back from her briefly, trying to give her a moment to clear her head, "are you sure about this?"

"Shut up and get some of these clothes off already," she demanded, fingers scrabbling at the straps of his combat vest.

"You're not still drunk, are you?"

"No!" she scowled up at him, slender fingers finding the snaps that held the vest closed. One more look in her eyes, and he shrugged it off willingly, peeling the sleeveless T-shirt he wore underneath off over his head. Her fingers traced wonderingly over the thick muscles of his chest, and it was his turn to let out a moan.

"Jemma," he said her name softly, like a prayer. His hand went to the band securing her hair in its usual neat ponytail, sliding it free, spreading her hair around her shoulders, sighing at its softness against his fingers. "Damn, but you're lovely," he muttered. "So much more than I deserve."

"Shut up and kiss me, hero." She laughed quietly at his words, her hands exploring the defined muscles of his stomach. Clint smiled down at her, and then his hands came up and he was slipping her tie free, unfastening the buttons of her blouse, spreading it open, his breath catching as he exposed her bra.

It was pretty, like her. Creamy satin with a print of tiny pink roses. "Such a beautiful English rose," one calloused finger traced delicately across the curve of her breasts rising above the bra cups. A wicked, lustful smile curved his mouth. "Do your panties match?"

"Why don't you find out?" she smirked boldly up at him, still unable to keep her hands from wonderingly tracing over all that heavy, scarred muscle. She toed out of her flat shoes as his hands moved to her waist, popping the button of her sensible grey work slacks and easing down the zip. She let them drop to her ankles with a shimmy of her hips and stepping out of them, shrugging her shoulders at the same time to let her shirt fall to the floor, and stood before him.

They did match, God help him. Of course they would: she was too precise and organised for anything else. Bikini-cut panties rode high on her slim hips, and he had to swallow to get some moisture into his dry mouth, because damn if she wasn't the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen. Her fingers were at his waist now, trying to undo his pants, and he stayed her hand gently.

"Not yet, sweetheart. You've got me too worked up, I'm gonna be going off early like some teenager with his first girl. Let me pleasure you first."

"Oh," she tilted her head and gave him a coy little smile. "If you insist."

"I do." He glanced around the tiny room, lifted his bow and propped it against the wall, and guided her gently towards the bed. "Here. Lie down for me."

"You put me ahead of Boudicca? I'm honoured," she teased. "Oh!" He unsnapped her bra as she knelt on the bed, and she twisted around to look up at him from wide, startled eyes, hands flying to cover her breasts as the straps slid off her shoulders.

"You want this?" he stopped, hands on her shoulders, standing behind her, the heat from his body warming her back. "We can stop now, you can get dressed and go, pretend it never happened."

Jemma took a deep breath, and took her hands away, pulling her bra off and tossing it to the floor. "That's not what I want." She turned around to him, taking his big hands in hers. "You're what I want." And she drew his hands to her breasts.

Agent Barton, like most senior agents, rarely showed much expression. Jemma had spent enough time surreptitiously watching him to know that he did impassive-face about as well as Agent May. But right now he was an open book, naked desire written all over his face as he caressed her breasts gently, experienced fingers tweaking her nipples.

"You're so fucking beautiful," he muttered raspily, and then he was pushing her gently to lie down on the bed. "Give me a moment, sweetheart."

She frowned, and then smiled as she realised he needed to take off his boots. She traced her fingers down the muscles of his back – wow, she'd never seen such deltoid and trapezius muscles, must come from all that work with a bow – until he turned back to her with a low sound in his throat almost like a snarl.

"Witch!" and he was lying alongside her, crowding her up against the wall due to the narrowness of the bed, one big hand grasping her knee and lifting it over his hip before sliding up her inner thigh and in between her legs. She moaned as he pressed against her firmly. "Oh, fuck, you're soaking," he growled out. "You do want me, don't you, sweetheart?"

"Yes," she moaned, just before he started kissing her again, his mouth hot. She kissed him back frantically, lust completely overwhelming her, a wild, sloppy kiss with their teeth clicking together as he rubbed over her clit through her panties. She began to tremble, her nails digging into his shoulders as hot-and-cold tingling at the base of her spine heralded an orgasm, faster than she'd ever come in her life.

A high-pitched whine came from her throat as she tensed against him, further wetness soaking his hand through the already drenched satin. "Beautiful girl, you're so responsive," he praised, easing down the bed, bending his knees to give himself room, until he could kiss her breasts. "So sensitive," he purred, curling his tongue around a rock-hard nipple and tugging it into his mouth.

Another of those high whines escaped Jemma as Clint eased her panties aside and slid one thick finger slowly up inside her. She was soaked with arousal but tight, slight muscle tremors rippling around his finger, aftershocks from that first orgasm as he moved it slowly inside her. He tried very hard not to think about how tight she would feel wrapped around his cock, but right now his body was clamouring for release and the noises she was making really weren't helping. She was very tight, though, he might hurt her if he didn't prepare her some more first, and hurting her was the very last thing he wanted.

"Let me taste you," he moved off the bed suddenly, grabbing her knees and pulling her towards him, his fingers hooking in the satin over her hips and drawing her panties down her thighs before pulling them off completely.

"Anything you want." Jemma was so delirious with pleasure she absolutely didn't care what he did to her next, just as long as he kept touching her.

He groaned, hot breath gusting over her stomach, and she forced her eyes down and looked at him to see his blue-green eyes gleaming at her wickedly. "Don't give me complete free rein, sweetheart. I want to do some very wicked things to you."

"Okay," she said contentedly, deliberately lifting her legs over his shoulders and pressing her heels against his back. "Go ahead." She heard a sharp intake of breath.

"Naughty, naughty girl," he growled, and then she felt his tongue stroke over the crease of her inner thigh, just where her leg joined her torso. "Forty lashes for that, I think."

She was neatly trimmed – would Jemma be anything else? – short, soft brown curls tickling his nose lightly as he dipped in for a quick taste, licking a broad stripe from slit to clit, making her arch and let out a soft moan. Pretty and pink and absolutely fucking dripping with arousal. For him. And she tasted amazing, like honey and musk and vanilla. He lapped her juices thirstily, strong hands holding her hips steady as she writhed and panted, before remembering that he needed to prepare her to receive him and added a hand to what he was doing with his tongue, pressing two fingers inside her this time and crooking them to find that soft, spongy spot inside her walls, spelling his name against her clit with the tip of his tongue.

"Oh. My. God." Of course he hit her G-spot on the first try. Of course. Hawkeye never missed his target. And Jemma was coming again, even harder than the first time, her fingers twisting in the sheet beneath her as her whole body shook. He didn't let up, carrying on licking and thrusting his fingers inside her until she managed to put a hand to his head and push lightly.

"Stop. Please. Too much."

"Not enough," he murmured, but satisfied himself with one more lick to her swollen, agonisingly sensitive clit, making her gasp and shudder, before lifting his head, wiping her juices from his chin with his free hand. He didn't take his fingers out of her though, instead sat back on his heels and added a third, watching her as he thrust slowly, opening her up for him gently.

Each thrust of his fingers sent a slight tremor through her body, wringing more of those exquisite little whines from her throat. She didn't tell him to stop, though, so he kept going, standing up and leaning over her to mouth at her nipples again. She brought one slender hand to his hair, running her fingers through the short strands, massaging at his scalp. Even that tiny touch on him pushed his need past its limits.

"I gotta have you," Clint said roughly. "Please, Jemma."

"Yes, get your trousers off already," she moaned, opening her eyes to see him bending over her, his face contorted with need.

He didn't need to take his fingers out of her to undo his pants and shove them roughly down along with his jockey shorts. Kicking out of them, he paused. Damn, he would need both hands to find a condom. But Jemma was pressing on a panel by the bed, which slid open to reveal a strip of foil packets, grabbing for one and ripping it open.

"Come here," she demanded, her hazel eyes flashing at him, and he grinned and leaned forward, never letting up with the movement of his hand, so that her hands shook as she rolled the rubber onto him.

Told you this got smutty fast. Phew, it's getting warm in here!

Enjoying the story so far? Please let me know what you think! I reckon these two would be gorgeous together, cannot understand why no one is shipping them.