The first week after the mission, Harry had been skeptical. When Natasha called about meeting at that library, he'd half-expected some elaborate SHIELD setup. Instead, he found her sitting on the steps between the stone lions, wearing jeans and a leather jacket, looking nothing like a secret agent.
"You actually came," she'd said, standing up with a small smile.
"You actually picked a library."
"I read, you know. I'm not just guns and espionage." She'd gestured toward the entrance. "Come on. I want to show you something."
Inside, she'd led him through the main reading room to a quieter section in the back. They'd spent two hours there, talking about books. She liked Russian literature, which didn't surprise him, but also trashy detective novels, which did.
"What?" she'd asked, catching his expression. "I spend enough time in real conspiracies. Sometimes I want something simple."
Harry had found himself relaxing despite his better judgment. She didn't push, didn't probe. She just talked. When they'd left, she'd suggested coffee the next week.
"I'll think about it," he'd said.
"No you won't. You'll show up."
Demanding woman, he'd thought, but she'd been right. He did show up.
The second meeting was at a coffee shop in Brooklyn. Natasha had been waiting at a corner table, two cups already ordered. She'd remembered how he took his coffee from some SHIELD file, probably, but it was still a nice gesture.
"So," she'd said after they sat down. "Tell me about England."
"What about it?"
"You mentioned missing it. What's it like?"
Harry had hesitated, then found himself talking about London, about the architecture, the parks, the way the city felt ancient and modern at the same time. Natasha had listened intently, asking questions that showed she was genuinely interested, not just gathering intelligence.
"You should go back sometime," she'd said.
"Maybe. It's complicated."
"Everything's complicated." She'd taken a sip of her coffee. "Doesn't mean it's not worth doing."
That was when Harry had started to realize she wasn't just going through the motions. There was something real in how she engaged with him, like she was letting him see past the spy persona, just a little. It'd made him curious, but not enough to press her.
The third meeting was at a restaurant in Queens. Natasha had picked a hole-in-the-wall Italian place that somehow had the best pasta Harry had tasted since arriving in America. They'd talked about food, travel, the differences between European and American culture. She'd made him laugh with a story about a mission gone wrong in Prague.
"The target was supposed to be at a gala," she'd explained. "Instead, I spent six hours in a freezing opera house watching a four-act tragedy I didn't understand."
"Did you get him?"
"Eventually. But my ass was numb for a week."
Harry had smiled at that, and she'd smiled back, and something had shifted. The conversations had started to feel less like an interrogation and more like two people actually getting to know each other. On a deeper, personal level.
The fourth meeting was when things got interesting. She'd suggested the shooting range, which had raised Harry's eyebrows.
"What, you don't trust me with a gun?" she'd teased.
"I've seen you with a gun. I'm more worried about my ego."
She'd laughed at that, a real laugh, not the practiced one she used in briefings or during missions. He could recognize it easily.
At the range, she'd been incredible. Every shot found its mark, tight groupings that would make professional marksmen jealous.
"Your turn," she'd said, stepping back.
Harry had declined. "I don't use guns."
"Why not?"
"I have other ways of handling problems."
She'd studied him for a moment, then nodded. "Fair enough. But you're missing out. There's something satisfying about the kick, the focus it requires."
"I'll take your word for it."
On the way out, she'd brushed against him, close enough that he'd caught her perfume. It had been intentional, he'd known that by then, but it had still affected him more than he wanted to admit.
The fifth meeting was when Harry started blowing her off occasionally. He'd had work to do, actual important things that demanded his attention. When he'd texted to cancel, she'd simply replied: "No problem. Next time."
No guilt trip, no manipulation. Just acceptance. That had surprised him. When they'd met up two days later at a park in Manhattan, she hadn't mentioned it at all.
"So what kept you busy?" she'd asked as they walked along a tree-lined path.
"Personal stuff."
"Mysterious."
"I like to maintain an air of mystery."
She'd nudged him with her shoulder. "You're such a pain in the ass."
"You keep coming back though."
"Yeah." Her tone had been thoughtful. "I do."
The sixth and seventh meetings had blurred together. More coffee, more conversations, more moments where Harry found himself actually enjoying her company instead of just tolerating it. She'd started showing up at his apartment unannounced, which should have annoyed him but mostly just amused him.
"You need better coffee," she'd announced one morning, walking into his kitchen like she owned the place.
"Good morning to you too."
"I'm serious. This stuff tastes like dirt."
"Then stop drinking it."
She'd ignored him, already making herself a cup. "I'm taking you to a proper coffee place later. You'll thank me."
She had taken him, and the coffee had been better. He hadn't admitted it out loud, but she'd known anyway from the way he'd ordered a second cup.
The eighth meeting was when she'd first really pushed the boundary between friendly and something more. They'd been at a bar, nothing fancy, just a quiet place where they could talk without being overheard. She'd worn a dark red dress that hugged her curves in ways that were impossible to ignore.
"You're staring," she'd said mirthfully, taking a sip of her drink.
"You wore that dress on purpose."
"Maybe." Her lips had curved into a smirk. "Is it working?"
Harry had taken a drink instead of answering, and she'd laughed. "You're fun to tease."
"I'm glad I amuse you."
"You do." She'd leaned closer, her voice dropping. "But I think I could amuse you more."
He'd met her eyes, seeing the open invitation there. "Natasha."
"What?" She'd played innocent, but the look in her eyes had been anything but. "I'm just making conversation."
"Right. Conversation."
"What else would it be?"
He'd shaken his head, but he'd been smiling. She'd pulled back after that, letting the tension dissipate, but it had lingered between them for the rest of the night.
The ninth and tenth meetings had continued that pattern. She'd flirt, he'd deflect, and they'd dance around whatever was building between them. Harry had told himself it was smart to keep his distance, that getting involved with a SHIELD agent was asking for trouble.
But then there had been moment eleven, at a quiet diner late at night. She'd been different, more subdued. When he'd asked about it, she'd hesitated before answering.
"Rough day," she'd finally said. "Lost someone on a mission. Not my team, but someone I knew."
"I'm sorry."
"It happens." She'd said, but her voice had been tight. "Doesn't make it easier."
Harry had reached across the table, covering her hand with his. She'd looked surprised, then grateful. They'd sat like that for a while, not talking, just present with each other.
When they'd left the diner, she'd hugged him. Not seductively, not as part of some game, just a genuine embrace. "Thanks," she'd murmured against his shoulder.
"Anytime."
That had been the turning point, Harry realized later. After that, things had felt different. More real. Less like she was working an angle and more like she actually cared about spending time with him.
The twelfth meeting was back to her usual form, though. She'd dragged him to some art gallery opening, claiming she needed a date for cover. "It's not a real date," she'd insisted. "Just optics."
"Sure."
"I mean it. Unless you want it to be a real date."
"Do you?"
She'd given him that look again, the one that said she knew exactly what she was doing. "Maybe."
At the gallery, she'd stayed close to him, her hand on his arm, laughing at his dry observations about the pretentious artwork. When someone had asked if they were together, she'd said "working on it" before Harry could answer.
The thirteenth meeting was when she'd really ramped things up. Another bar, another dress, but this time she'd been more direct. Her hand on his thigh under the table, her lips close to his ear when she talked, the way she'd looked at him like she wanted to devour him.
"You're not subtle," he'd said.
"I don't want to be subtle." She'd traced a finger along his jaw. "I want you to know exactly what I'm thinking."
"And what are you thinking?"
"That we should stop pretending there's nothing here." Her voice had been low, intimate. "That we should stop dancing around it."
Harry had felt his resolve cracking, the careful distance he'd maintained eroding under the intensity of her attention. "Natasha."
"Yes or no, Harry. That's all I need."
He'd almost said yes right there. Almost. But he'd held back, still uncertain whether this was real or just another layer of her spy games. "Not yet."
She'd looked frustrated but had nodded. "Fine. But I'm not giving up."
"I didn't think you would."
The fourteenth and fifteenth meetings had been torture. She'd doubled down on the flirting, finding excuses to touch him, wearing clothes that showed off her incredible body, making innuendos that left little to the imagination. And Harry had felt himself weakening, his thoughts drifting to places they shouldn't when he was alone.
He'd started thinking about what it would be like to give in. To run his hands over her curves, to taste her skin, to hear what sounds she'd make when he touched her the right way. The thoughts had been distracting, unwelcome, but persistent.
The sixteenth meeting was another turning point. They'd gone for a walk in Central Park, and she'd been quieter than usual. Finally, she'd stopped under a large oak tree and turned to face him.
"I need to tell you something," she'd said.
"Okay."
"This isn't a mission. This isn't Fury pulling strings or some elaborate SHIELD operation." She'd met his eyes steadily. "I genuinely like spending time with you. And yes, I'm attracted to you. Very attracted. But if that makes you uncomfortable, I'll back off."
Harry had studied her face, looking for any sign of deception. He'd found none. "Why me?"
"Because you're interesting. Because you make me laugh. Because you don't treat me like just a spy or just a pretty face." She'd stepped closer. "Because when I'm with you, I feel like I can be myself instead of whoever the job needs me to be."
"That's a lot."
"I know. But it's true."
Harry had considered his options. He could keep refusing, keep maintaining that distance. Or he could take a chance on something that felt real despite all the complications.
"I like spending time with you too," he'd admitted.
Her expression had brightened. "Yeah?"
"Yeah. But I need you to understand something. I'm not looking for anything serious right now. If this happens, it's just physical. No strings, no expectations."
"I can work with that." She'd smiled, that dangerous smile that made his pulse quicken. "So does that mean I can keep flirting shamelessly?"
"Have I been able to stop you yet?"
She'd laughed and linked her arm through his as they continued walking. "No. But it's nice to have permission."
The seventeenth through twentieth meetings had been a steady build of tension. Every conversation had an undercurrent of heat, every touch had lingered longer than necessary. Harry had found himself looking forward to seeing her, thinking about her when she wasn't around, imagining scenarios that made him hard when he should have been focused on other things.
Spending time with each other more than once a day had a way of doing that. Even after refusing to see her for a few days in between, they'd met over twenty times in less than a month. It had shocked Harry when he'd paused to think about it.
And then she'd suggested the trip to Bear Mountain.
"Why there?" he'd asked when she'd called.
"Because it's beautiful. Because we could use a change of scenery. Because I want to watch the sunset with you."
"That's almost romantic."
"Maybe I'm feeling romantic."
Harry had agreed, and now here they were, having just confessed things that probably should have stayed unspoken, flush and naked on a flat rock by the lake as the moon rose higher.
Natasha shifted closer, her leg thrown over his and her hand sliding up and down his chest in soft strokes. "So now that we've established this is real and not just me running a long con, what are you going to do about it?"
Harry looked at her, at the way the moonlight caught in her hair, the curve of her lips, the heat in her eyes. All those weeks of dancing around each other, all that tension that had been building, it all came down to this moment.
"What do you want me to do about it?" he asked, his voice rougher than intended.
She moved onto his lap in one fluid motion, straddling him like she had before. "I want you to stop overthinking." Her hands framed his face. "And I want you to fuck me like you mean it."
Harry's hands settled on her waist, feeling the warmth of her naked skin as he pulled her close. "Is that so? Demanding little girl, aren't you?"
"I've been the same for weeks." She leaned in, her lips brushing his ear.
He pulled her down, crushing his mouth to hers in a kiss that held nothing back. She made a satisfied sound against his lips, her fingers tangling in his hair as she kissed him back with equal intensity.
It was different from the first time. Less frantic, more sensual. Like they were taking the time to explore, to learn what made the other respond. Natasha's tongue traced the seam of his lips and he opened for her, meeting her halfway, their tongues engaging in the sexiest of duels.
His hands roamed over her back, feeling the muscles before he grabbed her delicious rump, kneading the supple flesh firmly. She ground down on his slick manhood and he groaned, already getting hard. She felt it probing her pussy and smiled against his mouth.
"Ready for me?" she murmured against his lips. "Good."
She bit his lower lip, not hard enough to hurt but enough to make him growl. Her hands slid across his chest, her nails scraping lightly over his abs. He retaliated by gripping her ass, pulling her tighter against him.
They made out like mad for long minutes, hands wandering, breaths coming faster. When Natasha finally pulled back, her lips were swollen and her eyes were dark with want.
"I did promise it'd be your turn later," she said, slowly sliding off his lap. Harry rose with her, and Nat's knees hit the floor between his spread legs.
She looked up at him, her green eyes locked on his as she licked her lips. Her hands went straight to his thighs, fingers digging into the hard muscle. She squeezed, then slid her palms up to his hips.
Harry watched her, his chest rising fast. "Fuck, Natasha," he muttered, his voice rough. His cock stood hard and thick, jutting up from his base, slick with their combined juices from before. Veins ran along the shaft, pulsing under the skin as she gave him a sultry grin.
She wrapped one hand around the base of his cock. Her grip was firm, her fingers barely meeting around his girth. She gave it a slow stroke, from root to tip, twisting her wrist at the top. Harry's hips jerked up a little.
"Shit," he breathed out, his head tipping back.
Natasha leaned in closer. Her breath hit his skin first, warm and teasing. She stuck out her tongue and licked the underside of his cock, flat and slow, from balls to head. She traced the thick vein there, tasting the salt of his skin. Harry's hand shot to her hair, his fingers tangling in the crimson strands. "Yeah, like that," he growled.
She did it again, slower this time, her tongue pressing harder. Then she swirled around the head, lapping up the drop of pre-cum that beaded there. It was salty, musky, all him. She hummed against the tip, the vibration making his cock twitch in her hand.
"Goddamn, your mouth," Harry said, his voice dropping low. He tightened his grip in her hair, not pulling, just holding on.
Natasha opened her mouth wide and took the head inside. Her lips sealed around it, sucking softly at first. She worked her tongue over the slit, flicking back and forth. Harry's breath hitched. "Fuck, Natasha. Suck it harder."
She did, hollowing her cheeks and pulling him deeper. Inch by inch, she slid down his length, her mouth hot and wet around him.
She got half his cock in before her jaw stretched full. She bobbed her head slowly, saliva coating his shaft. Her hand pumped what she couldn't reach yet, twisting on the stroke, and Harry's thighs tensed under her touch.
"That's it. Take more," he urged, his free hand gripping the indent on the rock where he could grab.
Natasha pulled off with a wet pop, strings of spit connecting her lips to his tip. She stroked him fast, her fist slick and tight.
"You taste so fucking good," she said, her voice husky. Before he could respond, she dove back down, relaxing her throat and pushing forward. She gagged a little when the head hit the back of her mouth, but she breathed through her nose and took him deeper. Her nose brushed his crotch, his balls tight against her chin.
Harry groaned loud, long and raw. "Holy shit, Natasha. All the way down. You're killing me." His hips bucked up, fucking into her mouth shallow. She let him, humming around his cock to send vibrations through him. Her throat squeezed as she swallowed, milking the head.
She held him there for a moment, and pulled back slowly, sucking hard the whole way. Saliva dripped down her chin, onto her heaving tits. She looked up at him again, her eyes watering but locked on his face. Harry's jaw clenched, his eyes dark and wild. "Don't stop. Fuck, your throat feels amazing."
Natasha set a rhythm now, bobbing faster. She twisted her head side to side, her tongue pressing flat against the underside. Her free hand cupped his balls, rolling them gently as she tugged on them. They were heavy, full, drawing up tight as she worked him.
Harry's breaths came in pants. "Yeah, play with my balls. Squeeze 'em." She did, her fingers massaging firmer. He thrust up to meet her mouth, his hand guiding her head now, not rough but steady. "Suck it like you mean it, Natasha."
She moaned around him, the sound muffled. It turned him on more, his cock swelling thicker in her mouth. Natasha sped up, her head moving quick, slurping sounds filling the space. Spit ran down his shaft, soaking her hand as she jerked the base. She popped off again, gasping for air, and licked his balls. She sucked one into her mouth, her tongue swirling, then the other.
Harry's head fell back. "Fuck yes. Suck my balls. They're so full for you."
She lavished them with attention, her hand never stopping on his cock. Up and down, fast and slick. Then she dragged her tongue up the shaft, tracing every ridge. "You like that?" she asked, her voice breathy. "My mouth on your balls?"
"Love it," Harry grunted. "Get back on my cock. I need to fuck your face."
Natasha grinned, wicked and hot, and engulfed him again. She took him deep, her throat opening for him. Harry thrust up, holding her head in place. He fucked her mouth in short, hard pumps, the head bumping her throat each time. She gagged but pushed forward, taking it all. Tears streamed down her cheeks, but she didn't pull away. Her nails dug into his thighs, urging him on.
"Take it, Natasha. Fuck, you're so good at this," he rasped. His abs flexed, sweat beading on his skin. She reached down with one hand, squeezing his balls. He grunted. "Squeeze them again. Yeah, like that."
She did, squeezing them between her fingers while she deepthroated him. Her other hand slipped between her own legs, rubbing her clit fast. She was soaked, her pussy clenching empty, but this turned her on too much. Watching him lose control, feeling him throb in her mouth.
Harry noticed. "You touching yourself? Rub that pussy for me. Get it wet." She moaned in agreement, her fingers circling faster. The vibration hit him hard. "Shit, I'm close. Your mouth's too fucking perfect."
Natasha pulled off, stroking him with both hands now, twisting and pumping. "Come in my mouth, Harry. I want to swallow every drop." She licked the tip, teasing the slit, then sucked the head while her fists worked the shaft.
He bucked into her hands. "Gonna come. Fuck, Nat—now." His cock pulsed, hot spurts hitting her tongue. She swallowed quick, gulping it down as more filled her mouth. She kept sucking, milking him dry, her throat working around the head. Harry's groans turned to shouts. "Yes, swallow it. All of it. Fuck, take it all!"
She took every bit, licking him clean after. His cock softened slowly in her mouth, still twitching. Natasha pulled off, wiping her chin with the back of her hand. She looked up, her lips red and swollen, cum still on her tongue when she smiled. "Told you it'd be your turn."
Harry hauled her up onto his lap, kissing her hard. He tasted himself on her lips, groaning into her mouth. "That was the best blowjob of my life. You're unreal."
She straddled him, grinding her wet pussy against his spent cock. It twitched, already stirring. "Good. Because I'm not done with you yet." Her hands roamed his chest, her nails scraping over his nipples again. He hissed, grabbing her ass and pulling her closer.
"Fuck, Nat. Give me five minutes and I'll fuck you senseless." His fingers dipped between her legs, finding her soaked folds. He slid two inside her, curling them up. She gasped, rocking on his hand.
"Make it two," she said, biting his shoulder. He pumped his fingers faster, thumb on her clit. Her walls clenched around him, hot and tight.
Harry chuckled darkly, nipping her ear. "Deal. But next time, I want to eat you out while you ride my face." He added a third finger, stretching her. She moaned loud, head thrown back.
"Promise?" she panted, her hips grinding down hard.
"Promise." He twisted his fingers, hitting that spot inside her. She cried out, coming fast on his hand, her pussy gushing wet over his palm.
They collapsed together, breaths ragged, bodies slick with sweat. Harry's cock hardened fully against her thigh now, ready for round two. Natasha felt it and smirked. "Looks like zero minutes."
He flipped her onto her back on the rock, pinning her wrists above her head. "Damn right." He lined up and thrust in deep, filling her in one stroke. She arched up, her legs wrapping around his waist.
"Fuck me hard," she demanded, her nails raking his back.
Harry did, pounding into her with everything he had. He'd ensured to cast a cushioning charm on the rock beforehand, and he watched her writhe under him, his skin slapping against her skin.
"Like this? My cock deep in your pussy?"
"Yes. Harder." She met every thrust, her tits bouncing with the force. He leaned down, sucking a nipple into his mouth, biting lightly. She yelped, clenching around him.
"You're so tight. Gonna make you come again." He released her wrists, hooking her legs over his shoulders. The angle let him go deeper, hitting her cervix with each slam.
Natasha's hands fisted in her hair, her eyes wide. "Right there. Don't stop." Her clit rubbed against his pubic bone, another climax building fast. Harry's balls slapped her ass, heavy again already.
"Come on my cock, Natasha. Squeeze me." He reached down, pinching her clit. She shattered, screaming his name, her pussy fluttering wild around him.
Harry followed seconds later, burying deep and flooding her with hot cum. "Fuck, take it. All mine."
He collapsed on top of her, both panting, spent but buzzing.
"That was better than promised."
"Yeah," Harry breathed, utterly satisfied.
They lay there tangled, his cock still inside her, softening slow. Natasha traced lazy circles on his chest.
"We should probably head back," she said, though she made no move to get away from him.
"Probably," Harry agreed, his hands still firmly on her ass, squeezing lightly.
"It's a long drive."
"I can take us away in a second."
"That's no fun, and you know it."
"I do."
Neither of them moved. Then Natasha laughed and climbed off him, extending a hand to help him up. "Come on. Before I change my mind and jump you right here. Again."
"Would that be so bad?"
"With how sore I am? Yes." She grinned. "And I don't have unlimited stamina like you either."
Harry chuckled as they got to their feet. They put their clothes back on, gathered their things, and headed back down the trail toward where they'd parked. The walk took about twenty minutes, and they held hands the entire way, which felt oddly romantic given everything else.
xXx
The drive back was quiet at first, both of them lost in their own thoughts. They'd been on the road for about an hour when Natasha suggested they stop for gas and snacks.
"There's a station coming up," she said, pointing at a sign. "I need caffeine if I'm going to make it back without falling asleep."
Harry pulled into the small gas station, one of those run-down places that looked like it hadn't been updated since the eighties. There were only two other cars in the lot, and the fluorescent lights inside flickered weakly.
"Charming," Harry said as they walked toward the entrance.
"It's got coffee and chips. That's all I need."
Inside, the place smelled like stale coffee and cleaning products. A man who looked to be in his forties or fifties sat behind the counter, reading a newspaper and not even looking up as they entered. Natasha made a beeline for the coffee machine while Harry browsed the snack aisle.
He was trying to decide between two different types of chips when the window at the front of the store exploded inward.
Glass rained down as three figures in black tactical gear burst through, weapons raised. They moved with military precision, fanning out to cover the space.
"Everyone down!" one of them barked.
Harry's entire demeanor shifted in an instant. The relaxed, slightly amused expression vanished, replaced by something cold and lethal. He turned toward Natasha, who had dropped into a crouch, her hand already moving toward the concealed weapon at her back.
"Get down," Harry said, his voice flat and commanding.
She started to protest but something in his eyes stopped her. She ducked behind a display of motor oil just as the first assassin spotted Harry.
"You!" The man swung his weapon toward Harry. "On your knees!"
Harry didn't move.
"I said on your—"
He never finished the sentence. Harry flicked his wrist and the man flew backward as if hit by an invisible truck. He crashed into the wall behind him with enough force to crack the plaster, then slumped to the floor, unconscious.
The second assassin turned toward Harry, firing. The bullets stopped mid-air, hanging suspended for a heartbeat before clattering harmlessly to the floor. Harry's hand swept up and the man went rigid, frozen in place like a statue, his eyes wide with terror.
The third assassin was smarter. He grabbed the clerk, using him as a shield while backing toward the door. "Stay back or I'll—"
Harry's hand shot out and the gun flew from the man's grip, spinning through the air to land in Harry's palm. He tossed it aside dismissively and stepped forward. The assassin shoved the clerk away and reached for a knife, but Harry was already there.
He moved impossibly fast, covering the distance in the blink of an eye. His hand struck the man's wrist, then his neck, precise hits to nerve clusters that dropped the assassin like a puppet with cut strings.
The entire fight had lasted maybe fifteen seconds.
Silence filled the gas station, broken only by the groaning of the first assassin and the whimpering of the terrified clerk. Harry stood in the center of the carnage, breathing normally, not even slightly winded.
Natasha emerged from behind the display, her weapon now drawn but hanging loosely at her side. She stared at Harry, her expression unreadable. She'd seen him in action before, during the HYDRA mission, but this was different. That had been in the heat of battle, adrenaline and chaos everywhere.
This had been cold, controlled, and absolutely brutal in its efficiency. The way he'd moved, the sheer power he'd displayed without breaking a sweat. It was beyond anything she'd ever seen, beyond anything that should have been possible.
Harry turned to look at her, and for a moment his eyes were still hard, still in that lethal mode. Then recognition flickered and he softened slightly.
"You okay?" he asked.
Natasha nodded slowly, still processing what she'd just witnessed. She'd known he was powerful. She'd seen him stop that weapon, throw HYDRA soldiers around like toys. But seeing it up close, seeing the casual ease with which he'd dismantled three trained killers, it hit differently.
Her heart was pounding, but not from fear. It was something else, something more primal.
She crossed the distance between them in three strides and kissed him hard.
Harry made a surprised sound but recovered quickly, his arms coming up to wrap around her. She pressed against him, her body flush with his, pouring all her remaining energy and want into the kiss.
When they finally broke apart, both breathing heavily, Natasha kept her hands fisted in his shirt. "That was so fucking hot," she breathed.
Harry blinked, staring at her for a moment before he laughed, breaking the tension. "You have weird taste in turn-ons."
"Says the guy who just threw people around like they weighed nothing." She kissed him again, quick and fierce. "We need to deal with this mess, but later, you and me, we're continuing what we started at the lake. I'm not letting you off so easily after you making me wait all this time."
"Is that a promise or a threat?"
"Both."
Behind them, the clerk cleared his throat nervously. "Um, should I call the police?"
Harry and Natasha turned to him, and the clerk smiled nervously, giving them a wave. Harry waved back as Natasha pulled out her SHIELD credentials they could use in public. "I'll handle this. You might want to step outside for a minute."
The man practically ran for the door.
Natasha looked at the three downed assassins, then at Harry. "Any idea who they were or why they attacked?"
"Not a clue." Harry nudged one with his foot. "But they were organized. This wasn't random."
"We should call it in."
"Yeah." Harry pulled out his phone, already dialing Coulson's number. He debated dealing with it on his own before discarding that idea. He could leave these minor matters to SHIELD.
Meanwhile, Natasha started securing the assassins with zip ties she pulled from her bag because of course she carried zip ties. As she worked, she kept glancing at Harry, and each time she did, heat flared in her eyes.
She couldn't help but feel she'd gotten addicted to him already, and it was the best kind of addiction she could possibly get.
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