A very Italian sounding curse passed Clint's lips before he hid his face tightly on Natasha's neck, his whole body going taut like a bowstring. There were nights when he would be ready and waiting for her for hours, and then, just like that, she had him with that wicked tone in her voice and the perfect way to move around him, to touch him exactly in the right places in the right moment. No chance to hold back, that sudden heat in lower regions hit him like a freight train. He could just hold on to her tightly and put as much effort in the last of his movements as possible, holding her as close to his body as the position allowed.

He was proud, somehow, that he could hold back from biting down on her skin again, instead just kissed and licked the traces of salt away there while he panted and moaned against her, completely caught in an only slowly dying aftermath.

"Um... sorry..."

This time she would impossible miss that he was blushing.