Your thigh was touching Steve's. He was obviously interested, but you weren't sure whether he wanted you to jump him on the couch or to make sweet love in the bedroom with the lights off. You'd always assumed his style would be the latter, but you also assumed he wouldn't be into no strings sex.

You looked into his eyes expectantly, waiting for him to make the first move.

He reached up to the back of your neck and pulled you in for a gentle kiss. You closed your eyes and and moved a hand to his shoulder, dropping it down to rest on his bicep.

You parted your lips, and the kiss deepened, your tongue playing across his soft lips. He let your tongue enter his mouth. You traced his top teeth with the tip of your tongue before sliding your tongue against his. The taste of vanilla lingered from his milkshake. It seemed somehow appropriate for Captain America to taste like vanilla.

His tongue moved to explore your mouth languidly. You were quickly immersed in the smell, feel and taste of him. He was a really good and thorough kisser. You hoped it was a preview of exceptional skills to come.

He shifted his hand on the back of your neck and tangled his fingers in your hair. You pulled back from the kiss to suck and nibble on his lower lip. The unexplored skin of his jawline tempted you, and you placed a series of open-mouthed kisses up to his earlobe, nipping it.

Moving up slightly, you whispered into his ear, "you have absolutely no idea what you're doing to me right now, and you've barely touched me."

He seemed to decide it was time to remedy that, and you weren't about to argue. He lifted you effortlessly onto his lap. Super strength apparently had a variety of uses. You were straddling him, knees pressed into the back of the couch.

His hands ran over your back, down your spine, curved around to your sides and over your stomach before finally resting on your ass. Your entire torso tingled from his touch. God, you wanted him to rip your panties off and give your already throbbing clit the attention it demanded.

You ground your hips against the bulge in his pants tentatively. He groaned and squeezed your ass, pulling you tighter against him. The wet lace of your panties only rubbed slightly against your clit. You needed more. Torturously slow foreplay be damned.

"Please touch me?" you asked, but it came out more like begging. You weren't above begging if it led to release.

He moved to knead your breasts, rubbing his thumbs over your nipples through the fabric.

As nice as what he was doing felt, there was always time for it later. You hiked your dress up around your waist and moved one of his hands between your legs, tilting your hips back to grant him access. He brushed a finger from your belly button down to your lower lips.

"Wow, you're really...wet." He seemed impressed, and you took it as a compliment. You wondered if his past partners really weren't that into him, as outlandish as that seemed.

"It's entirely your fault." Your grin turned into a gasp when he pushed aside the fabric of the panties and a fingertip made contact with your clit. "Just rip the panties off. They're in the way."

He curved a finger around the thin line of fabric and tugged. You smirked at the sound of ripping fabric. His hands cupped your ass again before grabbing the fabric that still covered you there. He slowly ripped the rest of your panties in half and tossed them behind you on the coffee table.

"Now I have a souvenir!" you joked, but you really did intend to keep the panties hidden away somewhere no one else would find them.

He chuckled and helped you take off your dress. The air conditioning had kicked on, and the draft from the ceiling vent was slightly cool on your bare skin. He was warm against you, though, and you liked the contrasting sensations.

His fingers returned to your lower lips without your urging. He made slow circles around your clit with one finger, never making direct contact. He apparently liked to tease.

"Please," you begged, frustrated. He stopped to readjust his hand and slip one finger, then two, inside you. His thumb returned to your clit. He began shallowly thrusting his fingers in and out of you, curving slightly upward to catch your g-spot on the in stroke. You moaned and wondered where he'd learned to do that.

You moved your hips to meet his thrusts and were soon riding his fingers in earnest. His thumb teased you mercilessly, bringing you close to the edge before backing off again.

He slid his free hand up your back and unclasped your bra, sliding it over your arms and onto the floor. His free hand focused on your newly exposed breasts. When he played with one of your nipples, gently pinching it and rolling it between his fingers, you were pushed to the point of no return.

Your orgasm was like an explosion, sending pleasurable shock waves from between your legs outward and upward. It soon became so intense, almost too intense, but you didn't care. You moaned loudly and disjointed words of praise fell from your lips as you rode the orgasm out as far as it would take you.

He stopped rubbing your clit when your orgasm ebbed, but his fingers remained inside you. You slumped forward and laid your head on his shoulder, which you noticed was still clothed.

"You should be less dressed and more naked," you mumbled into his neck.

"No arguments here." He withdrew his fingers from you, leaving you feeling very empty. He paused for a second before bringing those fingers up to his lips.

You watched him slowly suck and lick each finger clean, carefully gauging your reaction. It surprised and aroused you at the same time. Captain America's bedroom tastes were nothing like his milkshake ones.

Your mind wandered to how it would feel if his tongue was tasting you at the source. If he was even half as skilled with his mouth as he was with his hand, he'd having you climbing the walls.

"Almost kinky is a good look on you," you commented after he finished cleaning off his fingers.

"Almost?" he asked, a mischievous glint in his eye. "I guess I'll have to try harder to get all the way there."

You were intrigued by what "trying harder" would entail. However, there were more pressing matters at hand. Namely, getting him out of those clothes.