You watched him climb over you, your heart beating like a drum. The way he moved, it was like poetry. The plates in his arm shifted, the low whirring sound only served to make you wetter.
His muscles moved, and you wanted to reach out. God, you wanted to touch him. Your fingers twitched in the restraints, itching for the beautiful man at your feet.
He loved you like this. Bound.
Needy for him, for his touch. For him to do something, anything. To quell the ache. You bit your lip, trying to be good for him. To give him what he desired from you.
Obedience.
Total submission.
And he'd earned it. It had been a long mission and he was tired, weary. It hadn't gone to plan and he was stressed. So you let him take it out on you. Because you enjoyed it, too.
"Sweetheart," he cooed, running his hands up your bare thighs, leaving a trail of goosebumps, "you look so pretty, tied up for me." His words washed over you, wrapping you up. Yes, you needed this as much as he did.
"It's been a few weeks," he hummed, leaning forward and darting his tongue out, taking his first taste of the night. "So god damn sweet," he murmured, licking his lips. "I don't know if I can hold out, not tonight."
You knew that. That it had been too long. The phone calls and FaceTime simply hadn't been enough. No, Bucky needed to be physical. He needed to touch you. Hear your cries in his ear. Your begging for more.
He reached up, releasing your hands and you gave him a quizzical look. You had no idea what he was planning. "I want to do this differently," he said softly, his voice like warm honey. "I want this to be more intimate."
You still didn't quite understand. This wasn't like him. He crawled up your body, his lips like fire as he kissed over every inch he could reach. You wanted to reach out for him, but uncertainty weighed on your mind. Did he want you to touch?
"Bu-Bucky?," you asked, your voice a bit unsteady and he looked up, giving you a warm smile. "What are you doing?," you said, feeling your body tense. You could see it in his eyes and panic washed over you.
"I can't," you said, your heart pounding in your ears. You scrambled, reaching for your clothes, the fear washing over you. "What are you doing?," he asked, his brow knitted together. He looked hurt, confused. "I just...I can't," you muttered, unable to meet his eye.
"Get back over here," he said, exasperated and you shook your head. You couldn't. Your feet were rooted to the spot. Your heart was beating too damn fast, too hard. "Are you serious!?," he asked, throwing up his hands.
"Are you running? Why?," he asked again and you shook your head. Lie. Say anything other than the truth. "Is this about your job?," he asked and you nodded. Oh, God. "I can't believe you," he said softly and slipped off the bed, grabbing his clothes.
"I can't fucking believe you. I gave myself to you! Cut myself open. I fucking trusted you!," he yelled as he zipped his jeans and reached for his boots. "I gave you everything and this! This is how it ends!"
You stood, in shock. You couldn't say a word. Nothing would come. You simply froze. Completely froze. You watched him grab the rest of his things and give you one more pained look before storming out and slamming the door behind him.
The next few days were a haze. You weren't even functioning. You barely got through your appointments. Bucky, obviously, cancelled all of his. You deserved that. You'd ruined it.
"What's this?," your boss asked as you handed him the envelope. "My resignation," you said simply. No use in staying. You couldn't. Everything felt like a reminder. He asked, wanted to make sure you were okay. But you weren't.
