eat the rich
You don’t actually know exactly why you have an Amazon wishlist. You think it was from that one time where you wanted to pace your spending and buy stuff only when you accomplished something – which in hindsight was probably a bad idea, because what were you supposed to do when you’ve limited your coping mechanism?
Sigh. Life is so hard.
Point is: you haven’t actually looked at it in, like, two years. You actually forgot it existed because yeah, you may have Amazon on your phone but that doesn’t mean you use it.
(It’s a contingency plan, right? If you can’t get quick shipping elsewhere you’ll get it on Amazon.)
Imagine your surprise when Steve, laying with his hands behind his head and his eyes closed – looking as dead as a doorknob, really – suddenly speaks: “I saw on your Amazon wishlist you wanted a dildo. You know I… got a dick, right?”
You almost choke. When did your Stevie get so vulgar?
“Excuse me?” You say, setting your phone down beside you. You clamber over to him with some effort, throwing a leg over his lap and settling into your favourite seat. “First of all, sir, you better watch your language. You’re such a bad influence on me–!"
"Oh, please,” he scoffs, incredulous. But he readjusts his hands onto your hips and shifts further up on the bed so that he’s sitting up. “As if, you little brat–"
"Second of all,” you interrupt loudly, “You’re not here all the time, you know. I get lonely when you’re not on missions – a girl’s got needs, you know.”
“Needs?"
"That’s what I– oh.” Steve begins to rock his hips up, the grip on your hips pressing you down against him and you realise that maybe you are the bad influence. First the cursing, now this? “You play a dirty game, you – you hoodlum."
"That the best you can do?” He sounds so damned smug.
“Just for that, I’m gonna buy two dildos,” you say, but your eyes flutter shut and your own hips begin to move in tandem, voice quickly growing breathless with each roll of his damned hips. “T-three, actually.”
He hums low in his throat, and you know damn well that if you open your eyes he’ll be looking as smug as a white U.S. senator.
“And I want you to – to know,” you continue resolutely, stubborn, “that I am in complete and utter control right now.”
“Sure you are.” Another sharp drag against him that makes your nails scrape against his t-shirt covered chest. “Tell yourself somethin’ enough times and you’ll start believing it.”
“Four. I swear to God, four dildos, Steve – eep!"
Faster than you can comprehend, Steve’s risen to his knees and pushed you onto your back, elbows by either side of your face and lips suddenly on your neck, beard scratchy against your skin. At this point you both know you’re joking, but it’s fun, so who cares?
"You know I’m better than a piece of plastic, sweetheart.”
“Do I?” You bait, voice blasé. “I dunno, old man. There’ve been a good few technological advances in the past 70 or so years…”
He rises up, then – shoots you an amused, unimpressed look that says I know what you’re doing but I’m playing into it anyway. You almost abandon your teasing for a second, sorely missing the weight of him against you. Your panties are clinging to you underneath your lounge shorts, and you have no doubt that if you look they’ll be wet and sticky.
They are – that much is obvious when Steve peels off your shorts and then that blasted underwear, groaning low in his throat at the silvery, thin strings of wetness that connect you and the piece of fabric. The underwear goes flying over his shoulder, and he affords you only one, thick lick up the length of your pussy before he pulls his cock out of his trousers and begins to press it into you.
You’ve never had him so quickly – he was always so sure to stretch you on his fingers first, to make sure you’d be used to some size before you took him. But this is different – not painful, you’re wet enough that he slides in with little to no pain, but the pressure stings in the most pleasurable way. You’re keening before he’s even halfway in.
“W-wait, wait,” you gasp, reaching under your legs to grab at his hips. “God, Stevie, that’s too good – fuck–”
Your captain grips your hips, bows his head to kiss your nose. “My dick isn’t that big, you can handle it.”
And handle it you do.