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justanotherloveaffair · 6 years

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All That You Can’t Leave Behind [Part 7/14]

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader, T’Challa x Reader (this chap)

Warnings: Smmuutt. Language.

Word Count: 3,212

Summary: Another night out with T’Challa.

Author’s Note: Sorry for the delay in getting this up! It’s been a busy week. Welcome all of my new followers!! Send me a note if you want to be tagged with new posts.

Your name: Submit (what is this?)

Taglist: @nah-imjustfeelinit, @tchallaholla, @a-heretic-child

You had to hurry home when you realized it was 3:00 and you still had to pack, ready the house for your absence, shower, groom and then you needed at least an hour to find something to wear. You multi tasked like you’d never done before: watering plants while you brushed your teeth, rummaging for lipstick as you curled your hair, and eventually rubbing aloe vera on a stinging, reddening curling iron burn as you pulled heels from the top of your closet. Casa de Y/N was still a fucking whirlwind at 5:45 when T’Challa showed up early, when you needed every last second of those final minutes.

You still hadn’t packed.

Your dress was a wore-to-a-wedding thing that was white with blue and purple flower prints, modest on top but very short on the bottom, with pockets. You loved it but had only worn it once, to a garden party wedding which had ended up being a doomed-to-fail marriage, sadly. You paired it with pink heels and you had no matching purse so your everyday black bag would have to do. Your beige trench would also have to be trusted not to turn eyebrows if you went somewhere people cared about that sort of thing. Finally, a nude Tom Ford pink lipstick was the final touch that you had just finished putting on when the door knocked.

You opened the door to a vision that could have come straight from the set of a photoshoot or a movie. T’Challa, tall and a perfect gentleman in an all-black suit with a black tie and holding a bouquet of pink roses.

You greeted him warmly and the stress melted from your body from just a second of eye contact. A smile spread on his face as his eyes flickered up and down your body. “You look like a queen,” T’Challa whispered on your lips before kissing you.

“You look like I’d rather keep you in this apartment all night,” you replied back with a suck of his plump bottom lip and you felt him smile.

You left him at the door to quickly place the roses in a vase and when you re-joined him, he extended his arm for you. The way you were both dressed felt at extreme odds with the paint-peeling, light-flickering hallway outside your door. By the time you exited the building, you remembered why you hadn’t worn your heels since the wedding and hoped they could handle an evening out.

There was a shiny black Mercedes in front that T’Challa began leading you to. He nodded at the driver who had come around to open the door for you both with a deferential nod.

The driver was wordless as he took off and you’ll admit, a bit of fear was rising in you on what T’Challa had in store. You were a converse-wearing, hoodie-loving software engineer whose idea of class was eating inside a fast food restaurant instead of getting takeaway.

“Relax,” his large brown hand drew your fingers into his. “I promise, I won’t let you down.” But as the driver continued to your destination, T’Challa started to seem a little hesitant. “I hope you will forgive me if this is not something you like,” he cleared his throat, “but I hope that you do.”

You saw the Museum of Modern Art come into view and your fears, and T’Challa’s, were dissipated as your eyes lit up and you smiled brightly. The car stopped in a nearly empty parking lot and as you came out, you grabbed T’Challa’s hands with both of yours, chattering excitedly, “I’ve been here before but it was so busy, I didn’t get to see much up close.”

As you headed up to the front doors it dawned on you that the Museum closed at 5:30pm and here you were, strolling up at 6:00.

An older blonde woman in a suit and cat-eye glasses appeared at the door. Seeing T’Challa, she opened the locked door. “Hello your highness, welcome back to the MoMa and thank you, once again for your donation,” she smiled graciously. “It was extremely generous.”

You were alternating between eyeballing T’Challa and marveling at the interior which was so quiet, the clicking of your heels reverberated loudly throughout the large space. It was fully lit up but only a few staff were buzzing around, no crowds or lines to compete with and you were already itching to explore.

“Enjoy your visit and please, take your time.” She had taken your coat and disappeared to hang it when T’Challa’s hand squeezed yours and you began a completely unobstructed stroll through the gallery while you smiled ear to ear.

You meandered through several rooms and after the first floor, you sacrificed the few inches closer you were to T’Challa’s face to carry your heels in your hands, banishing both the clacking sound and the growing pain and you welcomed the feel of your bare feet on the impeccably clean and cool floor. The final destination of your wandering was Van Gogh’s Starry Night. When you got to that surprisingly small painting, you stood up to it as close as you could possibly get to fuse yourself into the raised-off-the-surface brush strokes of calming blues and yellows in a way you hadn’t been able to last time with a room full of people.

You sighed deeply at the feel of T’Challa’s hands grasping your upper arms, his body pressing into your back, and his lips at the sensitive shell of your ear where they grazed panty-wettingly back and forth. “You like this one, huh?”

“Mm,” you answered and your focus was now no longer on what was in front of you, but the man behind you, intoxicating you with his warm body that was pressed up flush to yours. His hands raised goosebumps as his fingertips brushed up and down your arms. “I thought we were here to look at art,” your voice came out weak and small as you began to fall under the spell of his mouth and touch.

“We are looking at art.” He nipped your ear teasingly and the small moan that left your lips seemed loud in the echoing space.

“T’Challa… I don’t know that the museum staff would take kindly to you fucking me right here, even if you are in the King of Wakanda.”

“Hmm,” his chest shook a little as he chuckled. “Not right here, no. You are right.” The next thing you knew, T’Challa’s hand was gripping yours and pulling you down a hallway, and realization dawned on you what was happening when he turned the doorknob of a room with an Employees Only – Do Not Enter sign.

As T’Challa closed the door behind you the light flickered on just in time for you to see the shape of a wooden table before you were hoisted up onto it. As you landed on your butt with slight force, the short dress rode up your legs a scandalous amount, nearly to your hips. T’Challa was between them and pulling the dress further up with one hand, while the other hand curled around the crotch of your underwear and held still for you to grind helplessly against before he ripped them clean off your body.

“Fuck,” you moaned at the display of what you now knew was the strength of the Black Panther. Your second thought was shit, I might need those before the sight of T’Challa one-handedly undoing his pants brought you crash landing back into the moment. You watched hungrily at how his dick bobbed out of his underwear before he grasped himself at the base and guided the tip along your leaking folds.

“Back.” He ordered, in an authoritative voice and his hand pushed your clothed breast down while squeezing what he could into his palm as your spine met the slightly bumpy wooden surface. Without waiting for any kind of permission, he trusted that you were wet enough and you soon gripped the desk with a loud cry as he sank his cock halfway inside. Even after having sex multiple times that day there was still resistance to his size. Your stomach was heaving, your knuckles white and grasping the table edge as T’Challa withdrew. You both watched as the head left your pussy with a trail of your wetness connecting you before he lined up his hips and drove himself deep again.

“Holy fuck! T’Challa,” you cursed. Your pussy was so full of him, the pressure of him inside you was making your eyes roll back. He repeated the movement, slowly pulling out so that you felt every inch leave you, until you were begging for the heat of him to return and he thrust himself forcefully back inside.

“You look so sexy like this Y/N,” his dick was retreating again, and he grunted after another hard thrust. “Moaning and full of your King’s cock.”

He was driving you crazy. You felt like tearing off the rest of your clothes, knocking him down and riding him hard but he kept you in this purgatory of fucking you slow, filling your ears with unbelievably hot words in his sexy accent, punishing both of you by refusing to race to the release you both needed. His face was smug with the knowledge of the power he held over you, how easily he could give and then take it away.

“Please,” your voice came out as a mere whisper at first, before a long moan when his finger began rubbing circles on your clit as his cock started to push in and out shallowly, and you caught him watching himself sinking into you with each movement of his hips. “Please,” you begged a little louder.

His eyes flickered to yours and as he did, he sank a little deeper, and started to rub his fingers a little faster, but not enough, keeping what you really needed just out of reach. Your head fell back and you bucked your hips up towards him. Both of his hands gripped your hips then and held you there tight as he finally started to fuck you. “Ahh, yes!!” you moaned and felt your breasts bouncing, the table squeaking as the legs were forced back and forth on the floor. He looked down at you lustily and his hips seemed to double in time. You were held in a vice like grip in his hands and you took all he had to give with such willing moaning abandon that you could see him on the verge. He squeezed his eyes shut and you felt his fingers on your clit again. “Come for me Y/N, right now. Let me hear you,” he demanded and your moans started as the inevitable began to happen. Your body coiled up into a tight ball of spasming pleasure and T’Challa fucked you through it, somehow holding off on his own orgasm so he could enjoy the sight and sound of you coming undone.

Moments later it was your turn to encourage him. As you began to purr words you realized it was a huge turn-on for him, a discovery that you delighted in using with weaponized accuracy to make him come so hard his hands slammed down on either side of you and he pushed forward as far as he could go, emptying himself deep as his head fell forward with a cry. You praised him throughout and rubbed your hands up and down his back and when he was done, you tugged on the tie that had fallen between your breasts down to bring his lips to yours.

You kissed him slowly and your silky tongues ran along each others. “You fucking bastard,” you sighed. “What have you done to me?”

A sexy and satisfied smile took over his face as he straightened up to stand. A small puddle of cream trickled from your opening after he gently pulled out his dick and you watched his jaw twinge as he noticed it.

You remembered your ripped pair of undies and narrowed your eyes. “Dammit T’Challa, I’m a mess and I have no underwear, how am I supposed to go out there?”

“You look like you need to be cleaned up.” He agreed.

“There’s nothing in here…” you got up on your elbows and even with that slight movement, more of his come began to seep out onto your thigh.

“Guess I’ll have to help.”

You watched wide-eyed as T’Challa bent down to his knees while his hands pulled you into his mouth and then you gasped weakly as his wet tongue lapped you up, all up and down your folds and then inside of you. The sight of him between your legs soon had you forcing your eyes to stay open as you began to rock your hips against his eager mouth. You felt the vibration of his enjoying moans while he drank the mixture of yours and his fluids down. You fell back helplessly against the table and soon you were crying his name out as he expertly worked you towards another shaking orgasm throughout which he clamped down and didn’t let go until he was sure the last shivers had left you.

When you could speak again he finished gently licking you all over before he stood.

“Better?”

Your eyes rolled back and you groaned. “Jesus T’Challa, I think you actually made it worse…”

Before you left the museum, it seemed T’Challa had sent a few text messages to the driver because when you arrived at the car, a small box was handed to you. With a curious look, you opened the white and gold embossed box, peeled back the white tissue paper and found an exquisite pair of white lace and pink satin underwear. You shook your head in disbelief and pulled them on to T’Challa’s smiling encouragement. You couldn’t help but laugh thinking about your driver receiving such a request and having only moments to fulfill it.

The rest of the evening seemed to float by like a dream. Your earlier fears of being escorted to fancy places where you would feel small and uncomfortable were forgotten. Where you ended up next was a warm, boisterous Italian restaurant where Dean Martin provided a soundtrack to your entrance as you weaved around diners illuminated by low lighting towards a table near the back. You felt instantly at ease in this relaxed vibe with the sound of animated talking, big band music and wine glasses being filled around you. Your stomach was growling and you instantly dove into the complementary bread while T’Challa opened the wine menu, snapped it closed a moment later and ordered you the most expensive bottle of red, a Cote de Nuits.

You put your hand on his arm to catch his eye. “You don’t have to spoil me you know. I’m just as happy with a glass of house red.”

He covered your hand with his, giving you a face that made it clear he acknowledged you but also communicating his intention to ignore it. “Let yourself be spoiled, just this once.”

You had a feeling he was going to be saying that a lot.

You shared the bottle of wine along with many intimate glances and smiles that made sure the memory of him mastering your body earlier were never far away. Throughout the starter, main and dessert you were coming to realize you felt a way about T’Challa that was new and intense. He had a pull of gravity on you that you couldn’t deny and if you let it take hold, you didn’t think life would ever be the same. All you knew was right now, you wanted to fill every moment with him. You would worry about everything else later.

As the hour became late the music got louder, the lights dimmer and you both were holding your stomachs with some regret at the amount of food you’d had. The pleasant buzz from the wine was making you feel ready to crawl onto a soft bed and close your eyes. A lot had happened that day and it was catching up with you.

“Okay, let’s get you home. It is a big day tomorrow.” T’Challa led you to the car with a gentle touch at your back.

You leaned your body against him. “Where’s home tonight?”

“It depends,” T’Challa said thoughtfully as he helped you into the car. By now, your feet were aching, so you gratefully welcomed his support. “Would you rather sleep in my arms in a hotel or in your own bed?”

A whole shiver went through you at how smoothly he’d read your hopes and answered them in an instant. You wanted nothing more than to crawl naked next to him and fall asleep to the sound of his breathing.

“Well, I’d hate to let that $25,000 a night go to waste,” you sighed sinking into the leather backseat. T’Challa gave a nod and his driver promptly took you to Fifth Avenue.

The grandeur and luxury was beyond your wildest expectations. The royal suite was bigger than a house and you only got the briefest look at half of the rooms as you headed straight to the bedroom. You excused yourself to the ornate bathroom ensuite and found everything you needed there to wash off your makeup and brush your teeth. You were in front of the mirror, staring off into the distance when T’Challa appeared behind you. He brushed his lips against your shoulder while you watched in the mirror and his hands moved down, taking down the zipper of your dress. He waited until you finished brushing to continue and your eyes were riveted to his hands, parting you from your clothes that fell down your body, revealing you in only your new pink satin underwear to both your gazes.

You drank in the sight of his hand sweeping across your breasts and stomach. It was nearly enough to overcome you from your exhaustion and as much as you wanted him again, you knew you needed to give yourself some time to recover.

He read your mood perfectly and bent to scoop you up easily into his arms. “Come on entle.” You tried to remember the last time you’d literally been carried to bed and had always thought of it as something so cheesy until it was T’Challa, and it felt perfect.

Your body met cool, fluffy white sheets that he pulled over you, sheathing your bodies in comfort. Wordlessly his hands shifted you until your butt and back were pulled against his hot skin. You tried to hold on to wakefulness so that you could enjoy it but you promised yourself there would be more nights to enjoy with T’Challa, and with that comforting thought you drifted off.

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