Say my Name-rewrite

"All this running must be exhausting."

Bucky's POV:

The door shut behind me with a quiet click, the sound louder than it should've been in the silence of my suite.

I stood there for a moment, hands flexing at my sides, jaw tight, trying to steady my breathing. Trying to shake her off.

But I couldn't.

Because she was still there—on my skin, in my lungs, tangled somewhere deep inside my ribs.

Her scent clung to me—warm, sweet, mixed with the musk of her sex and sweat. Even with the space between us now, I could still feel the way she tightened around my fingers, the way she fell apart for me, the way she had tried so fucking hard to fight it before she finally gave in.

And then—

Her hands.

The way she had reached for me. The way she had touched my arm. Not just any part of me—my left arm. Without fear. Without hesitation. Without flinching. Like it wasn't anything more than a part of me. Like I wasn't something to be afraid of.

That did something to me. Something I wasn't ready for. Something I wasn't sure I even knew how to handle.

I exhaled sharply and rolled my shoulders back, forcing my feet forward, my boots heavy against the floor.

My suite was next to hers. Close enough that I could still feel her presence through the damn walls. Close enough that if I focused, I could hear the faintest sound of movement—her shifting on the bed, her unsteady breathing as she tried to make sense of what just happened.

Tried to undo it.

Like she could erase it. Like she could erase me.

I stripped my shirt off the second I reached the dresser, tossing it to the floor, but it didn't help.
Didn't stop the way she clung to me, even now.

Didn't stop the fact that my hand still smelled like her, that my lips still tingled with the phantom press of her skin, that my fucking sheets were going to smell like her the second I laid down in them.

I sat on the edge of the bed, elbows resting on my knees, dragging a hand through my hair, trying to slow my breath. Trying to fight whatever the hell was burning in my chest. But the truth was—I didn't want to. I wanted this. I wanted her.

And that scared the absolute hell out of me. Because I shouldn't. Not like this. Not in a way that felt like she was already under my skin, wrapping around my ribs, settling into places she had no business being.

I'd spent years perfecting control. Mastering restraint. And then she walked in, all sharp edges and defiance, pretending she didn't want to be touched, pretending she didn't need to be seen.

But tonight—tonight, she touched me. Without hesitation. Without flinching. Like I was just a man. And now? Now she was everywhere.
Under my skin. In my fucking head. Haunting me.And worse—I wanted more.

I wanted to tear down every wall she put up, to chase her, to catch her, to make her stop fucking running from something we both knew she needed. Something I needed.

I let out a slow, controlled breath, forcing myself to stand.

This was dangerous. She was dangerous.

And yet, as I stripped off the rest of my clothes and climbed into bed, the sheets cool against my skin, all I could think about was how much better they'd feel with her in them.

I could still smell her. Still feel her.

And I knew—

I'd give her time. But not too much. Because no matter how fast she tried to run—she wasn't going to get far.