That laugh was going to be the end of her. Well - the laugh, and how good he looked when his jeans were off, because the way Natasha's eyes traveled over him...nothing to call that but frank, straightforward appreciation and admiration. She liked the view and there was no reason to be shy about showing it. When his fingertips traveled along her scar, her legs, her whole body, she lifted her own hands to glide them along his chest, his stomach. She worked with a literal god. She worked with a supersoldier who had been designed to be the peak of human perfection.
No one could have ever held a candle to the very breakable, mortal man in front of her. A couple bruises and scrapes and scars, maybe, but that added character. The cut of his stomach, his hips, his thighs - for a moment, her mouth watered. Actually watered, like a character in a cartoon. She had to press her thighs together in a wave of arousal, though moments later, his mouth was trailing over her stomach in a way that meant it was impossible to keep them that way.
She buried her hands in his hair, gentler this time, stroking his scalp, scratching a little, curling strands around her fingers and releasing. "Isn't that such a you move, work me up this hard, get me this wet, and then start pressing the brakes," she teased, but there was a laugh in her voice while she said it, nothing but fondness for him. "I don't have any STDs," she said, her straightforward Natasha way. "If you do, we can walk this back and hold off until we find protection through the doors. Though I'd still like to at least jerk you off tonight, if you'd let me."