He could hold off, she thinks, for as long as she wanted him to. If she made him go longer, he would, or if she told him not to come, but to make her come again and again, she thinks he would. At the very least, he would try.

There's a certain type of power in that knowledge, a kind Sylvie doesn't want to allow herself to abuse. In another situation, she would. It would be too easy and she would take full advantage, but things with Bucky have been different, almost from the start. That first night, she hadn't been in a place to really want anything, but to pretend it hadn't been the start of something would be foolish.

So now she leans back again, braced against him, meeting his thrusts with each roll of her hips. He's deep inside her, his fingers against her clit, and Sylvie comes with a cry, some sound that's almost Bucky's name, riding high on the pleasure of the orgasm.