Chapter 6.

Clint watched, awed, as Jemma bucked against him, letting out high, keening moans interspersed with gasps of his name. He couldn't have moved right then even if he'd wanted to, because she'd clamped down on him again with a hot wet clench of internal muscles as the orgasm hit. "Good girl," he praised, leaning down to pet her hair and kiss her, "beautiful girl, you feel utterly fucking amazing."

A little smile touched her lips as she lay shuddering and panting under him. "The feeling is reciprocated."

"Good," he kissed her again, smiling. "Now. How would you like me to make you come next?"

"Seriously?" she opened her eyes and blinked languidly at him. "I doubt I can orgasm again."

"We'll just have to find out, won't we? Tell me your favourite fantasy."

Her face was already flushed with arousal, but her cheeks definitely darkened further and she wouldn't look at him. Clint decided to tease her.

"All right. I'll tell you one of mine and you tell me if you think it's gonna work for you." He never let up moving inside her, gentle little thrusts even as he spoke.

"Okay," Jemma gasped. "Tell me – ohhh – tell me your fantasy."

"I think about pinning you up against the wall," he bent his head to breathe it into her ear, "holding this fabulous ass in my hands," he demonstrated, slipping his hands under her buttocks and pulling her hard against him with his next thrust, "shoving you against the wall with my body and fucking you until you can hardly walk."

Even if he didn't already know, the way her hips jerked and her breathing sped up would have told him. "You like that idea, huh?" he purred, licking the long line of her arched throat. "Want me to put these muscles to good use?"

Jemma's inhibitions finally broke. "Yes, yes, oh God, Clint I want that, please, yes, please!"

"All you had to do was ask," and he was gathering her to him, telling her to put her arms round his neck, and somehow athletically getting off the bed and standing up while still remaining inside her. His powerful hands under her butt supported her entire weight, and then he was shoving her up against the wall, a low growl escaping his throat as he thrust hard inside her.

It couldn't really have been more than a few minutes, but for Jemma it was a blissful eternity of hard, rippling muscle and slamming ecstasy. Afterwards she would be deeply grateful that Clint had ensured that no one else would be on the Bus, because she was sure that her screams could have been heard in the cockpit, even though the sleeping cubicles were supposed to be soundproof.

And then Clint was laughing against her throat, a low rumble in his chest as she trembled against him. "Couldn't come again, hey, sweetheart?"

"You – you…" she couldn't think of the word. "You broke my brain," she finally said pathetically.

"I don't doubt it's temporary."

She was limp in his arms, breathing in short jerky pants. He lowered her gently to the bed again and slipped out of her, stroking her stomach and ribs gently, waiting for her to settle.

"You knew," Jemma said at last.

"Knew what?" he widened his eyes and looked innocent.

"You knew that I had that fantasy about you and you used it against me. I'm going to kill May," she decided.

"You loved every minute of it," he grinned, not even trying to deny it, and then a finger was dipping inside her again. "And don't be angry with May. You told me yourself."

"I did not."

"Oh, yes you did." His finger thrust a little faster. "Do the words 'I bet he's an absolute animal in bed' sound at all familiar, sweetheart?" he was whispering it huskily in her ear, his thumb getting to work on her clit again, and she started to shake.

"You were stalking me, you bastard," she gasped out, and then she stopped caring. "Clint, please…"

"Turn over," he begged, desperate to have her like the animal she'd accused him of being. She obeyed at once, lifting that gorgeous ass in the air for him, and he groaned at the sight, going to his knees behind her. "Tell me if I'm being too rough," Clint rasped out, and then he clamped his hands to her hips and shoved deep inside her, a low snarl coming from his throat.

"Yes oh my God don't stop Clint!" her voice rose in a wail, and he drew back slightly and slammed in even harder. She bucked against him, squealing, her tiny fists beating at the pillow.

"You love this, don't you?" he gritted out, setting up a fast rhythm, snapping his hips against her, dragging her back to meet every thrust. He was sweating now, heat prickling at the base of his spine telling him he wasn't far off climaxing again himself.

"Please!" Jemma wailed, and the last thing she heard was his low chuckle as his hand slid down over her hip between her legs, and then he was pinching her clit in time to those fast, brutal thrusts.

She honestly hadn't thought she could come again. Had thought that she was completely wrung out, no more response left in her body, but the orgasm this time was the biggest of the lot, a rolling wave of blackness that smashed through her and left her barely aware of his roar of triumph and pulsing heat as he slammed deep one last time.

Jemma came to with the feeling of warm wetness between her legs, and opened her eyes, squinting blearily down to find Clint sitting on the bed beside her, gently wiping her down with a damp towel. She should have been embarrassed, but considering she'd just had far and away the best sex of her life with one of the Avengers, she genuinely couldn't bring herself to care about the fact that he was cleaning her up.

"I know your secret," she said, discovering that even her voice was broken as her words came out slurring and slow.

"Yeah?" he glanced up at her face and smiled. "What's that?"

"Your superhero power. Why you're an Avenger. You're there to seduce the female villains over to our side with unbelievably good sex."

Clint laughed, set the towel down and lifted the sheet, easing back into bed beside Jemma and pulling her into his arms. She was utterly limp and relaxed, her head flopping comfortably onto his bicep.

"No, we don't have a male counterpart to the Black Widow. I'm just a sniper."

She let out an inelegant snort before going quiet. And then making an effort to move.

"Really should get up…"

"Ssh," he stroked her hair. "Sleep a little. You've got time. I'll wake you before the others come back."

Jemma knew, vaguely, that she really ought to get back to work. Fitz would wonder why nothing had been done since he left. But Clint was comfortable – who knew a heavily muscled arm was such an amazing pillow? – and so warm, and she felt so lethargic…

Now that's the kind of creepy stalker you wouldn't mind having, right? Right?