lesson 1
He doesn’t know why he buys it, really. You’ve got enough money of your own – and, of course, enough jewellery to make the Queen of England jealous. But when he passes the high-end jewellers and sees the sign for custom made necklaces he can’t help himself.
Brat, it reads in cursive. Perfectly fitting of his perfect little girl. You squeal in delight when you open the tiny box it comes in, practically bouncing on the spot and demanding that he clasps it around your neck immediately. Nevermind that you’re in the bath. Nevermind that you’ll probably have to take it off to sleep anyway.
It settles just over your collarbone and glistens on your wet skin. You twist it this way and that, chin pressed downwards to catch a glimpse of it – and then you beam, all teeth and shining cheeks and bath bubbles on your nose. “Thanks, Stevie.”
“You’re welcome, kid,” he murmurs; presses his cap down further bashfully and pretends that your knee peeking out of the water isn’t making his pants tighter. “Looks good on you.”
“Everything does, doesn’t it?” You tease. As if you know where his mind’s at – and you probably do, he won’t assume otherwise – you lift your leg from the water. Iridescent bubbles slip and slide down your legs, the scent of sweet vanilla and strawberry heavy in the air. You coo then, fiddling with the necklace as you peer up at him. “Will you join me, Stevie?”
He’s just gotten back from his city outing. He’s slightly sweaty and his hair hasn’t been washed in a few days but the way you’re looking at him now makes him think that washing is the last thing on your brain. And he’s pretty sure he’s due for a briefing in less than an hour and Tony’s been on his back about being alone with you in your room.
You tilt your head and rest your chin on the bath’s edge, lips pursing thoughtfully. That look in your eyes – the mischief and the calculating way that you trail your gaze up his body – has been seen once before and it was right before you called him Captain in bed.
“Bath water’s gonna get cold,” you sigh. “In or out, daddy?”
He freezes. Joints lock and shoulders stiffen and his brain shorts out in confusion.
Daddy?
Girls used to call their fellas that back in the day, sure, but he was well aware that the context had changed over the course of 70 years. Mainly from Sam making jokes about it and Tony being a lewd motherfu–
“I guess not then–” And you stand, expression pulled into one of disappoint. But you don’t get far, because his hand finds its place on your neck and pulls you forward so suddenly that you have to steady yourself on his forearms, wet hands dripping water down his skin.
“Say that again, I dare you.”
And oh, you like that. Your entire body shivers and you worry your bottom lip between your teeth, eyes alight with trouble.
“Did I say something wrong, daddy?”
Fucking shit. His pants are uncomfortably tight. Who knew that was a thing for him?
(He did. He knew it was a thing for him.)
“You’re a fucking brat,” he exhales, one hand trailing down your body – tugging a nipple roughly as he passes and revelling in the delighted yelp that follows.
“I know,” you quip, grinning. “I take my title very seriously.”
But your fire – your cockiness, the innocent tilts of your head – is all but gone the second his fingers find your little clit between your legs.
“Still wanna mouth back?” He asks, raising a brow. He releases his grip on your throat just the slightest bit when your chest starts heaving, hips grinding slowly against thumb.
“You love it when I mouth back,” you gasp, eyes fluttering shut.
(He does.)
“Oh – ngh, just – just a little more, daddy, Stevie–”
His thumb speeds up. Your hands tighten around his forearm, your head pressed against cool tile behind you – you can’t even moan now, just pant and gasp and shudder desperately as he draws you closer and closer to the edge–
And then he stops. You cry out in outrage, eyes flying open.
“I’m not sure,” he tsks. “Good girls get to cum. You haven’t been very good.”
(Your eyes widen. You hadn’t thought he’d slip so easily into this.)
“W–what? I’ve been good. I’ve been better than good!”
He’s going to fuck you. That’s set in stone. He doesn’t think he could’ve come into this bathroom while you were in this mood and ended up doing anything else. But it’s fun to drag it out, because for all your brattiness you really just want him.
“Maybe if you beg, I’ll think about it.”
He turns his back to you and begins pulling his t-shirt over his head. Silence follows, and he turns his head slightly. “I don’t hear begging.”
There’s a sharp splash of water – you just stomped your foot, of course you did – but as his t-shirt hits the floor you roll your eyes and pout and, for your own good, swallow your pride.
“Please, Stevie.”
“Don’t call me Stevie. You brought this on yourself.”
Another exasperated sigh. “… Please, daddy. I promise I’ll be good.”
He only hums, tugging down his trousers and briefs and letting it join the pile of his socks and t-shirt. You grumble again. “What else do you want me to say?!”
He turns, then, and watches as you immediately become distracted with the hardness between his legs. “Kneel down and apologise.”
Your eyes narrow and your arms fold. “I’m not apologising.”
“Either you apologise or you don’t get to cum.”
“You can’t tell me when I can and can’t cum,” you retort, snarky. “I can do whatever I want.”
I can do whatever I want. And yet, when his eyebrows raise and he tilts his chin in that disappointed way, you find yourself cursing to yourself and dropping to your knees, bathwater gathering around your waist.
“I’m sorry,” you huff. “For being a brat and mouthing off and being bad… Or whatever.”
It’s the closest he’ll get to a sincere apology, so he’ll take it. He grasps your chin and leans in, kissing your nose affectionately. “Good girl.”
While you practically preen from his praise he climbs into the bath beside you, glad for Tony’s insistence on large baths on the residential floors.
You clamber onto his lap seconds later when he tugs at your necklace, kisses sloppy and wet and slow. You grind against his lap almost instantly, whimpering into his mouth.
So sweet. His sweet girl.
He picks you up easily and settles you on your knees before him – presses a large hand against your shoulders until you yield and bend over, grasping the edge. You’re slick and sticky between your legs, and from the coo you give when presses a finger in, ready to take him.
He pushes into you.
(And you’ll have to excuse him for the lack of description, really, but there’s no word in the English language to describe how fucking nice you feel. Tight and wet, yes, but there’s something else. He has a feeling that it’s just you.)
The pace isn’t particularly breakneck, but the water at his hips slaps and laps at the bath’s sides and echoes throughout the room, some managing to slip over the side and soak the floor – which you notice and gasp over, but you’re quickly distracted again.
He can tell when you get close. You begin to tremble around him, begin to fidget and twist and turn. In this position, where you’re barely able to move your legs, he imagines it must be pleasurable torture. You just have to lie there and take him – and it must be especially torturing when he refuses to reach around and roll your little pearl between his fingers. You like it better when he does it – obvious, when after 10 minutes of frantically rubbing at yourself, you’re still teetering on the edge of pleasure.
“Please, please, please,” you whimper. Your fingers flex and unflex around the bath’s rim, breathing fogging up the polished marble with each exhale. “Please, daddy, I need you – Stevie, c'mon–”
Poor little girl, he thinks idly. Acts a brat but can’t handle being treated like one. You’d be in much more trouble if he was sterner. But he can’t be – not with you. Maybe that’s why you were so damned bratty.
“You need me?” He grunts, eyes fixated to the jiggle of your ass against his pelvis, the glinting gold around your neck. His. “Thought I couldn’t tell you when you can and can’t cum?”
“I – fuck – I didn’t mean it, Steve, I didn’t, honest–”
He wasn’t going to leave you unsatisfied anyway. But it is nice to hear you beg. His fingers slip under the water and find your clit like muscle memory. There’s no grace to the way he rubs at you – just pure, unbridled need to feel you squeeze and spasm around him, to hear that one little shocked gasp that you always make when you cum hard.
And you do, of course. You gasp that little gasp of yours and have only the strength to get out a fuck, Stevie; press your head against the bath’s edge and take it, warm and wet as you contract and shake around him.
“God, I love you,” he laughs breathlessly, folding over your back like a second skin as he chases his own end. “I’m gonna cum, princess. Take it all – fuck, take it all…”
He grunts, low and animalistic in your ear when he cums. Your whole body is jerked forward with the force of his thrusts, pussy squeezing once more at the feeling of him painting your insides.
A few minutes pass in serene, fluffy silence.
“Oh god, Stevie.” You’re the first to break the silence, panting into the heated, stuffy air. You reach a hand behind you and vaguely brush at his chest, your fingers brushing leisurely against the smattering of hair there, still squeezing unconsciously around him. “Jesus Christ.”
“You did good, sweetheart. Always do.”
His fingers drift up and down your back, rubbing bubbles against your spine and shoulders as he pulls out of you. You’re so pliable and warm and satiated that when he grasps your hips and sits you on his lap again, grasping your jaw and pulling your face up to kiss him, you don’t even whine, just let him love on you, gentle and soft. He separates from your lips momentarily, tugs on the chain around your neck–
“Really does suit you.”
“Mm… thanks, Stevie. I love it.”
“C'mon, we gotta get outta here. Bathwater’s dirty.”
“Just a few more minutes?” Steve remembers somewhere in the back of his mind a reminder to be more firm with you. But you’re nuzzling your cheek against his shoulder and pressed flush against him, warm and happy.
“… Few more minutes.”
(“… You know I love when you mouth off, right?”
“I know, Stevie.”
“Just making sure.”
“It was fun.” How you manage to smile so wickedly at him with your face smushed up against his chest, he’ll never know. “I like when you get all stern. It’s cute.”
And he’s sure, glancing at the necklace around your neck, that there’ll be plenty of reason for him to get all stern in the future.)