By now Clint was outright staring when Natasha presented her body so perfectly for him, and that promising warm tingling in his loins was becoming hard to ignore. Finally he had to force himself to look away, or he might have had trouble concentrating on the way home.

"I think we can have our own party at home", he mused when he joined Natasha on the way to the car, just half a second too late. Moving a little closer to her and wrapping his arm around her waist, so none of the people they passed on the way could hear, he added: "Because you know... You were fucking hot when we had that Samba earlier. I'm not against a repeat performance... This time without an audience..."

His fingertips drew playful circles over her hips, wandering just a little too deep.