You had always told her no.

No, you wouldn’t bite her. No, you wouldn’t risk it. No, you didn’t trust yourself with her blood.

And Natasha—trained assassin, spy, Avenger, killer—could do a lot of things. But what she couldn’t do was sit still while the person she loved looked at her like she was breakable.

You were ancient. Centuries wrapped in velvet skin, soft voice, unreadable eyes. A creature of silence and restraint. But around Natasha, you became quiet in a different way. Careful. Gentle. Distant. And when she kissed your mouth, she could taste the hunger you refused to name.

So she made a choice.

It was after midnight when she found you in the living room, the soft flicker of a candle dancing across your sharp cheekbones. You were sitting on the couch in nothing but a black shirt, collar just barely loose enough to tempt her.

You didn’t hear her at first. Not until the wood creaked beneath her bare feet.

Your head lifted. You didn’t speak.

Neither did she.

Not at first.

Natasha moved like she always did—fluid, silent, intentional. She straddled your lap before you could question it, one knee on either side of your thighs, her body folding into yours like you were already meant to be there.

You blinked. “Natasha?”

Her fingers slipped into your hair, tugging your face gently to her neck.

“No more waiting,” she murmured. “Bite me.”

You stiffened.

Her voice was silk wrapped around steel. “I trust you.”

You pulled back slightly, looking up at her—eyes glowing faintly in the low light, something primal barely held beneath your skin. You could hear her pulse. You always could. But now it was the only sound in the room.

“I can’t,” you said, throat dry. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

Her lips twitched into something like a smile. But it wasn’t soft. It was knowing.

“You hurt me every time you don’t,” she whispered. “Every time you pull away. Every time you shake.”

Her hand rested on the back of your neck now. Fingers pressing lightly. Enough to guide. Not enough to force.

“I want this. I want you.”

You swallowed hard. “You don’t understand what you’re asking.”

Her voice dropped, low and firm. “Then show me.”

And then she leaned in—mouth brushing your ear—and said, “Take what’s already yours.”

Your control snapped like glass.