James Bucky Barnes, the former soldier, doesn't think he's got any gentleness left in him. But Grace Juniper Cunningham, the former child prodigy, strongly disagrees.
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"𝘐 𝘧𝘦𝘦𝘭 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘐 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘣𝘳𝘰𝘬𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘣𝘳𝘢𝘪𝘯."
"𝘛𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘴�...
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I actually did get a bit better after a couple tries. But I kept getting distracted. Bucky had moved me out of the way, trying to demonstrate something to me. I didn't even know what. I wished I'd agreed to let him bend me over the bench earlier. I was standing there wet, barely able to think straight.
"Okay?" he asked, like he thought I'd been listening. He frowned when he turned around to see me. "Are you okay? You wanna stop?"
"Um, yeah," I said. I took off the protective equipment. "I feel like I at least know how to do it now."
"Good," he said. He was about to pack things up. I was missing my opportunity.
"Before we go—Are you ever gonna disassemble it really fast for me?" I asked, choosing chaos.
He scrunched his eyebrows at my obvious motive, but gave in. "Only 'cause you did so good. And I can't say no to you anyway."
"Wait, don't do that one," I said about the little handgun I'd been using. "Get a bigger one. Like, stupid big, one that looks really complicated to take apart."
"You have a problem. I feel bad encouraging it," he told me. He got some sort of rifle out of his bag and put it on a bench. "You wanna time me, or what? They used to do that in the army."
"I do not."
"It's called a field strip, if you care."
"I do not," I repeated.
He shook his head disappointedly and took it apart in seconds, my eyes trained on his hands, all big and sure and skilled. Then he put it back together in seconds, too, just to show off.
"Was that what you wanted?" he asked exasperatedly, turning around. A hint of a smile spread over his face, though, at the sight of me, wide eyed. "Oh. Yeah, I guess it was."
"What?" I asked, defensive.
"Why the fuck does that turn you on?" he asked, still amused.
"Not about the gun. About the hands. Big hands. Big strong hands."
"You actually do want me to bend you over a bench, don't you?"
I nodded slowly. He paused, deciding.
"Let me see how bad." He stepped close to me, leaned down, and dipped his hand under my skirt, between my legs, sliding it into the side of my panties to feel me. I clutched at his arm desperately. "You that fucking needy right now?" he muttered. "I gotta take care of you now, 'cause you can't keep this little pussy from getting wet for me?"
"Yes, Daddy, so wet, so needy," I agreed, moaning, his calluses feeling hard and rough against my clit.
"You're gonna let me fuck you right here?" he said lowly. "Right in this training room? Bent over for me 'cause you can't fucking wait for it?"
"Mhm—"
"Yeah?" He took his hand back and nodded toward an empty bench. "Show me how needy you are. Bend over and start begging me."
