CHAPTER 29

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The midday sun smeared its apricot hues into the household. The city was wide-awake and murmuring tirelessly. There was even a good chance that someone would tap on the door, concerned for the ex-assassin's absence.

Yet, you were still there.

You were there with leg and arm fucking sprawled over the poor man's body. Limbs which, by the way, still quivered from the deeds from the night before. Your hair was in disarray and often found itself on Buck's face. You even made a swimming pool out of Twinkle Toes' chiseled chest with your deep-sleep drool.

Part of you was obviously too lazy to get up. But part of you also felt like you wouldn't find yourself in Buchanan's bed for a while. You despised your mind for coming up with such morbid ideas, but you couldn't blame it entirely. Even your gut was contorting from the bad omen it sensed.

But you dismissed your train of thought and planted yourself in the present. Though, that was a bust too. After all, with your check pressed against the male's chest, you could catch a whiff of the remnants of the previous night. The redness that invaded your cheeks was infuriating and painful. The timid grin that trapped your lips did the same.

Sex wasn't necessarily a stranger to you since you'd always been open about your sexuality. But the night before and Bucky, as cliche as it sounds, was different. The ways in which his hands, even his metal one, traced the valleys and peaks of your body was both diabolical and artistic. The passion of his kisses felt like warm chocolate was poured onto your flesh. His breath, his taste, his rigidity, his grace - everything was so inebriating that the image of his unclothed body, both on top and underneath yours, was branded in your memories.

But it wasn't all porn-ish and picturesque - even though your loverboy is a fine piece of ass and a delicious, full-course meal. There was bumping of heads, knocking of teeth and times where Buck-Tooth nearly toppled over the mattress. Hell, at the end of round one, you were ugly crying. Like Kim Kardashian worthy crying. And it wasn't because he hurt you, although Barnes imagined he did. It was because the combination of the Winter Soldier hitting the g-spot in your girlfriend-down-under and the g-spot of your heart was overwhelming.

Like literally, mid-bump-and-grind, the man stopped everything to hold you in his arms and make sure you were doing okay. Of course, he laughed and mocked you. He even joked about his skills being intact after years of lacking practice. And that was the lovely thing about the whole experience. It was laid-back and casual. There was no pressure and it wasn't transactional.

At the end of the day, it was just two people having fun and making love to someone they truly cared about.

Oh, yes. And another lovely thing was his package.

Like sweet baby Jesus.

Like holy shit.

Just the thought of it made you "feel like [you were] sitting on a fountain [with] fireworks in [your] stomach" (Missy, Big Mouth, 2017).

After sometime, you finally recognized that you were in a good headspace, thanks to Barnes. It felt easier for you to think about the Lexon, Goro and all the other problems you still had to face. So, you reminded yourself that the world was still running outside the bedroom door and untangled from your lover. Just before you perched up, however, Bucky draped his arm over you, purposely making it heavier than it is, and forced you back to his side. "Mmm, stay," he muttered with closed eyes. His hoarse voice was far too convincing.

You chuckled beneath your breath and rolled half your body on top of him. "Good afternoon, you little bitch."

The man furrowed his brows and finally opened his eyes. He squinted at you. "Little bitch?"

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