The White Queen (S.Rogers)

Chapter 25

All she wanted, Brooklyn reasoned, was for Steve Rogers to stop telling her things, and start doing them. That was why she had pressed his hand to her panties, where the ache was located. The ache he had created. It was only fair, that he keep his promise. He was responsible for the ache, after all.

It throbbed, deep in her belly, between her legs, causing a rather embarrassing wetness.

The strange thing was, it didn't start out as an ache. It started as a tingle, like the one in her breasts, which now felt heavy and swollen. The fabric of Steve's shirt rubbed against her pebbled nipples, causing them to tingle as well. Even where his hand was clutching at the underside of her buttocks, his fingers now digging in, tingled.

But the tingles and aches and throbs didn't hurt. They weren't like wounds. They were pleasant. They shot little flecks of electricity up her nerves, through her skin, and back again, like she had stuck her finger in a light socket, only without the blinding pain. If anything, it felt like she could pull her skin off, and still feel him touching her.

Even now, as she looked up at him, tugging the back of his neck, still pressing his hand between her thighs, even though he no longer needed her help holding it there based on the way his hand had tightened around it, she felt like he was branding not only her skin, but her soul as well.

He was looking down at her, his eyes blazing with an inner heat, his jaw ticking from him clenching it so tight, his chest raising and falling with rapid breaths.

He swallowed hard, drawing her attention to the muscles in his throat, before he ground out, "Babydoll...Brooklyn...You've had a long day, today. This might not be the best idea, right now."

She huffed, planting both hands on his chest, and pushing. He rocked back a step, and she moved back on the bed. She narrowed her eyes at him, calculating, thinking.

How dare he? How dare he try to tell her that she didn't know what was going on in her own head! Well, truthfully, there were times when things got mixed up in there, muddled by past and present colliding, emotions she didn't understand, memories that tried to push their way to the forefront. But how dare he, after making that promise, in the parking lot of that restaurant.

It was his damned fault for making her feel like this. And he could damned well take care of it!

Reaching down, she grabbed the bottom of the shirt he had put on her, whipping it over her head, and tossing it somewhere behind her. She knelt there on the sheets and blankets that Stark had bought for Steve's personal use, daring him to turn her away now.

She had a flash of regret that she didn't have something more alluring to the male eye, something like she would wear at the club while waiting tables, designed to eek more money and tips out of the patrons. Something soft, frilly, lacy, feminine. Anything but her plain black cotton serviceable panties. She had a flash of shame, that she could not prepare better to present herself to him. But again, she was willing to blame him for that, as well. It was his actions, after all, that caused the ache he was now refusing to take care of.

Brooklyn thought of all those men, who panted and begged and threw money at her when she was on the stage, dancing to music about sex and love and freedom. How her actions, be it dancing or touching herself made them groan. If she could make them do that, those men who she had no desire or want for, she could do the same to Steve. She would make him bend that iron will, that steel back.

Reaching up to her neck, she slowly ran her fingers down it, keeping her eyes on his, watching as he followed her hands. Pressing her finger tips into her skin, she dragged them down, down, over her breasts, cupping the familiar weight, while rolling her thumbs over her nipples, letting out whatever natural sound that wanted to escape, before lowering one hand to her panties. Here she was stuck, in her cobbled together seduction. She had never touched herself, other than to deal with personal business, so the mechanics of what she was going to attempt here was a bit beyond her. The books in the Kindle made it seem so effortless, so easy. If fictional women could do it, so could she.