Happy New Year, y'all. 

***

A week passed of stilted conversations with both Sharon and Roman, ignored innuendos from your supposed fiancé and heated glances from the king of the city. You didn't seek each other out, not intentionally, but you seemed to be drawn together just the same. Passing in the hall with a brush of hot fingers across your skin. A dance of desire where you were both waiting to see who would take the lead. God, it was exhilarating.

When a knock sounded on your door late one night, you answered in expectation of it being the current object of your fascination. Your smile faded into an annoyed sneer when you found yourself faced with Roman instead. "Look who's decided to grace me with their presence."

Roman staggered on his feet as his eyes attempted to focus. "Hey, beautiful," he slurred, a sloppy grin stretching across his face as he leaned on the doorframe.

You reared back slightly as the aroma of the liquor on his breath slammed into you. Your brows lifted as you looked him over. "You're drunk."

"Don't be like that." He chuckled and reached out a hand which you easily sidestepped, making him frown. "I just want a little fun." He pushed past you to stumble into your room.

"Yeah, well you aren't going to find it here."

He blinked in confusion before he staggered backward to fall into your bed. He passed out in a heap, his limbs tangled together like a puppet with his strings cut. You frowned in irritation. Idiot. You weren't going to be able to move him so your choice was to leave him there or find someone to move him.

You stared at him a moment before rolling your eyes. Fuck it. You needed a drink. You padded through the house barefoot, the plush carpet muffling your steps. As you reached the bottom of the steps, light shining from beneath Steve's office door lured you away from the living room and kitchen. You wouldn't mind a little company and surely Steve kept the good stuff squirreled away in his office safe from Roman's greedy little hands.

You knocked softly, pushing the door open without waiting for a reply. As expected, Steve sat behind his desk looking every bit like a king on his throne. His jacket had been discarded and his sleeves were rolled up. Papers lay scattered across his desk. His gaze traced the line of your body, igniting a slow burn in your veins. You were suddenly distinctly aware of the fact you wore only a silk nightgown that clung to your curves.

Steve leaned back, the chair creaking slightly under his weight. His tongue flicked out to wet his lips, the heat in his eyes making it a promise of moments to come. "What are you doing up at this hour, flutter?"

Your brows lifted in surprise at the nickname. "Flutter?"

He smirked and made a sound of agreement. "Your heart races ever so prettily whenever I'm around. Makes your pulse flutter."

You shook your head but didn't argue. What could you say to that anyway? "Seemed a little crowded in my room with your idiot stepson passed out drunk in my bed."

Steve's gaze turned sharp as he leaned forward, one brow arching in irritation. "Repeat that."

You waved a hand in dismissal. "Calm down, Rogers. He made a pass then passed out. No harm, no foul."

"Did he touch you?" His voice cut through the dimly lit room, a low growl that sent a shiver down your spine.

You met his gaze, unflinching at the simmering anger you found there. "He didn't get the chance. Besides, he couldn't get it up right now even if he wanted to."

He pursed his lips, his demeanor shifting from anger to amusement in a blink.

After pushing off the doorframe, you sauntered closer to his desk. "I could use a drink. Figured you kept the good stuff in your office."

"You would be correct." The corner of his mouth ticked up in a smirk as he pushed back from the desk. He moved to the shelf in the corner that housed his small bar. He poured out two glasses of warm amber liquid before holding one out to you. "Whiskey."

You mirrored his smirked as you glanced at the glass. "Ice?"

He nodded before grabbing a few cubes from the icemaker sitting to the side. He gave a genuine smile when he turned back to you. "Only the best for you, flutter."

Your fingers brushed his as you accepted the glass, a spark jolting through you at the contact. You sipped at the rich whiskey hoping to hide the hitch in your breath. The two of you stared at each other for a moment before you turned away to roam the room, unable to resist the opportunity to peek into the king's private world.

Shelves were filled with leather-bound tomes that appeared to have never been opened next to volumes that bore so many creases on their spines it was a wonder they were still intact. The array of curiosities dotted around appeared to be random, but you had a feeling they all meant something to the man behind you. That he could tell you a detailed history about each one.

You traced the line of a stone figure of a woman caught in mid-step of an eternal dance. The dress held in one hand creating an elegant curve. She was stunning and appeared to be straight out the 1920s.

"Beautiful, isn't it?" The deep voice coming from directly behind you pulled you from your contemplation with a surprised gasp. Steve's chuckle ghosted over your skin as he snatched the glass from your hand. The clink of your glass being set on the shelf beside you barely registered as he stepped closer, his warmth a solid wall at your back.

When soft lips pressed an open-mouthed kiss against your neck, your eyes slipped close as you shuddered. You leaned your head against his shoulder, giving him more unrestricted access. He smiled against your skin as he left a heated trail from collarbone to the tender spot behind your ear.

The simmering desire that had been slowly building all week ignited into an inferno that threatened to consume you whole. He wrapped a heavy arm around your waist, hand flat on your stomach as he pulled you back into him. The small space that had been between you was now nonexistent.

"Steve, what—" The words trailed off on a sigh as teeth found your pulse and bit down. Not enough to make you bleed or even really hurt beyond a sweet, sharp pain. But you knew you'd wear his mark in the morning and you couldn't bring yourself to care. In fact, you couldn't think of anything you wanted more at that moment.

"Shh," he whispered against your heated skin. "Just relax, flutter. I've got you." It was a promise and a command all at once. His fingers traced up your arm before trailing back down and across your belly, lower than the other hand that still rested there.

"Let me take care of you," he urged, every word an invitation to sink into the sensation, into him. An invitation to sin. There was no rush in his movements. No urgency as he gathered the length of your gown in his hand, the fabric rasping as he exposed more and more of your skin. As his fingers slid within a breath of where heat pooled, where you yearned to be touched, he paused.

"Please."

The word echoed your thoughts so perfectly it took you a moment to realize that it was Steve that had spoken. That the king was asking for permission to debauch the princess. "Fuck yes."

He chuckled and nipped at your neck again as thick fingers pushed aside your panties to access the slick heat beneath. "Fuck." His voice was needy, reverent. "I knew you felt this between us. That you were as gone as I am. This proves it. You're mine now, flutter."

"Steve," you breathed, his name a plea on your lips. Your hands, desperate for purchase, found the shelves in front of you and grasped onto the edge of one. As two fingers sunk into your core, you cried out, unable to stop yourself.

The hand on your stomach moved to curl around your neck, the thumb laying straight along your pulse. "Door's open, flutter, but I want to hear you scream. I want everyone in the house to know you're mine."

You bit your lip, determined to not be any louder than necessary even as Steve made it his mission to make you scream for him. You gripped the shelf tighter, knuckles whitening as Steve circled your clit with his thumb while his fingers continued to pump in and out of you. The cold wood beneath your palms contrasted with your fevered flesh, keeping you anchored to reality when all you wanted to do was fly away.

His breathing was ragged against your neck. "Come on, flutter. Let go for me."

You keened as he curled his fingers. "Fuck, fuck, fuck."

"Who are you afraid will hear? Roman? He's drunk, remember?" There was a pause as he nipped your skin again. "Sharon? She's knocked out on sleeping pills. The boys? Only Buck and Sam are here tonight and they wouldn't dare interrupt. So scream for me, baby."

Your body responded by arching into him, seeking more of the sweet torment. Releasing the shelves, you wrapped your hands around the arm of the hand that held your throat. He shifted the angle of his other hand and his fingers found a spot that had you rocking against him as whimpers came from your throat.

Another beat, another flex of oh so talented fingers and a shudder coursed through you as you climaxed. His name left your lips in a cry as your whole world narrowed to Steve's touch. Pleasure hummed through you as your knees buckled.

Steve shifted his hold to keep you on your feet as his fingers withdrew slowly and deliberately from you. The absence was a pang in the afterglow. There was a moment of cool air where his fingers had been before he let your clothing fall back into place.

He chuckled again. A sweet, satisfied sound that had you looking at him over your shoulder. He grinned as he brought his fingers to his lips and slipped them into his mouth. "Sweet as sin." The words were teasing, playful as he tasted you, his gaze never leaving yours. Another tremor shot through you at the intimate act.

The room seemed to spin as you both unapologetically savored the moment. You licked your lips as you caught your breath and wondered just where this dance was going to take you.