Mission Prelude

In a penthouse hotel room in an undisclosed city in a classified country, the hollow sound of water splattering onto tile echoed.

Steam trailed from Natasha’s body in ribbons as she stepped out of the shower on the balls of her feet. With a quick reach, a towel was in her arms and then twisted around her body. She wiped a stern hand across the bathroom mirror. The woman she saw in the reflection looked back at her:

Vibrant scarlet hair twisted in wet curls down her neck and across soft, deceptively innocent cheeks. The heat of the shower left her chest and cheeks a flushed shade of scarlet. She looked deep into her green eyes and crawled inside herself. She drew in deep breathes, tilted her head from side to side, and flexed the muscles in her arms, trying to ease the tension out of her body. Years of contract killings and espionage still hadn’t erased the uneasiness within her that these moments before every mission triggered. She sucked in a breath and held it. She channeled the energy within her: anxiety burned into anticipation, tension melted into concentration.

The suit that Tony provided her dangled from a hanger on the door. She turned from the mirror and grabbed the suit. The nano-technology within it buzzed to life at her touch, every fiber twitching and contouring to her hand. The she narrowed her eyes at the obnoxious Stark logo. The suit could prove to be either an asset or a liability. Hanging the suit back up, she whipped off her towel and brought up her SHIELD-issued tablet computer from the bathroom counter, indifferent to her nakedness.

Years of being within a breath of **** eliminated many inhibitions for her, especially when it came to modesty. In many cases, her toned yet still voluptuous curves proved to be quite the assets themselves. What little pleasure she got from her contracts was usually taken from being able to utilize her feminine charm, either by tempting some head of state into a deadly liaison or by luring an unsuspecting goon into believing her some helpless damsel. She looked up from her tablet. The steam had begun to clear and she over her shoulder to see her fully nude self in the mirror. Her entire body, from her powerful thighs to her generous bosom, was a sensuous mix of strength and seduction.

Far from being ashamed, she was proud of the body that she’d worked so hard to sculpt into the curvaceous killing machine that it was. So much so that it was her favorite way to train in the state that she was in now, completely naked and uninhibited by a stifling body suit or equipment. She would twist and leap all around with grace and precision, the air cooling her sweaty body. Of course, this was only while she was alone. She couldn’t remember the last time she let anybody see her completely naked and she intended to keep it that way. She was a predator, not prey. Besides, if Stark or Rogers or any of the other Avengers were to see a consummate professional like her frolicking around the SHIELD gym bare-ass naked, the scandal would be horrendous. No, her uncovered curves were a gift to be savored only by herself. Or Banner if that nerd would just make a move!

She shook the immature thought from her head and looked away from the mirror. She she shifted her eyes back down to the tablet. On a digital interface, the details of her mission flashed before her.