The mundane task of folding bath towels is what Natasha finds herself doing on a crisp autumn evening. There is a large window opened a few feet from her, circulating the cool air through the room and back outside as a breeze blows casually. Her skin, having grown used to the warm weather of southern California, is covered in chills and goosebumps every time the breeze gets too low in temperature; not to mention the severe lack of clothing she wears does not help her cause.

"Tasha," comes a deep voice from the door way. She looks up, a frown furrowing in her forehead before she finds a small smile crawling up her lips.

"Hey, Zee," she says softly, brushing a hand through her long blonde bangs to remove the hair from her eyes. "You needed something?" Before hearing his reply, she picks up the last fluffy white towel and folds it in no time flat, placing it back in the laundry basket that sits at her feet.

"Shads wants to see you in his room," he says simply, before disappearing from the spot. She frowns, but nods to herself. Standing, Natasha picks up the basket and walks from the room.

The room she needs to get to, as soon as possible, is on the other side of the mansion and two floors higher. Natasha moves quickly, the heels that are a part of her uniform, clicking on the hard wood floor before she finds herself in the workers' lounge room. The familiar brunette she's looking for is sitting on the large leather couch, her own basket full of t shirts and basketball shorts, all in need of being folded and put away.

"Zdrastvooyte, Alicia," Natasha says, her thick native tongue coming out smoothly as she bends over to set the basket down beside the couch. "Could you puts these away for me? Shadows needs to see me," she says, tilting her head at the dark haired woman. Alicia nods and smiles.

"Sure thing, Tasha. See you at dinner?" Alicia asks, getting a nod in return before a quick 'thank you' follows. Natasha moves from the room to the staircase that goes straight from the workers' area of the building to the higher levels and Shadows' quarters.

Natasha bounces up the steps quickly, her heels not having time to click as she moves from step to step. Half way up, she comes face to face with a familiar make up caked face, wearing a scowl.

"Rejected again, Kara?" Natasha taunts the woman, smirking as she moves around her and continues going up the steps.

"Shut the fuck up, Natasha! No one asked you!" Kara hisses, flipping her blonde-dyed hair from her face and continues going down the stairs to sulk. Her 'uniform' covers enough to leave nothing to the imagination.

The Russian woman soon finds herself on the highest floor of the mansion, and the only part of the mansion that a mere handful of people have a key to. The door is thick mahogany, with a iron handle and key hole. Even with the vintage look, it has the highest security. Taking the key from around her neck, she slips it into place and turns the key with a complex pattern that changes every month. It clicks open almost immediately after the last turn, and Natasha pushes it open.

The halls are a lush blood red, with golden tan carpet that has been replaced from blood spatters more times than Natasha has hairs on her head. Her heels do not click, but there is the faint 'thud' of pressure of her footfalls on the flooring as she takes quick, hard steps. The low cut blouse she wears flows down into the tight pencil skirt that just barely covers her lacy black garter belt. Thin, sultry black stockings curve down her legs and into the strappy fuck-me-now heels that she wears more than underwear.

Natasha comes to the end of the hall, and finds two closed thick wooden doors that lead into the room she's been order to go into. She takes a deep breath, and smooths out whatever wrinkles have creased into her skirt. The creme colored top ruffles and bunches to make her bust look larger and her waist look smaller. There's another deep breath taken in before she knocks.

Silence.

No familiar deep 'come in' or 'enter'. Natasha holds her breath. Should she knock again? Deciding against it, knowing he might possibly be in the adjoining bathroom or down a few doors in his office, Natasha opens the door just enough to slip in and closes the door back. It's dark, and the only light comes from the slip under the bathroom door. She can hear the water running, and her suspicious are proved.

She stands in the bedroom, uncertain of whether to join him or strip and wait for him on his bed. Playing with her hair as she thinks, Natasha gives out a silent sigh and decides to join him. Stripping from the creme colored, black pencil skirt, and seductive accessories. Standing in nothing more than a smile and pair of white pearl earrings, Natasha slinks from the bedroom and into the bathroom. The tile floor is cool underneath her toes, but the warm steam wrapping around her body makes up for it.

Natasha can hear him in the shower, see his shadow on the curtain as he soaps up his body. His smooth, deep voice is a hum that sings music under his breath for only him to hear. From this, she knows he's in deep thought, and bites her lip. Maybe she shouldn't disturb him?

"Are you just going to stand there, or are you going to join me?" he asks, and Natasha jumps in surprise. She doesn't answer, and he replies to the silence with an annoyed, "Well?"

Finally finding the ability to move, Natasha moves and pulls back the shower curtain. He has his back to her, and she can't help the way her eyes move across the thick muscles of his back and down, down, following the trail of the warm water as she finds a firm, chiseled ass and strong thighs. Natasha steps in, and moves to wrap her arms around his waist.

The humming stops, and the only sound is of the water coming from the shower head and hitting their bodies or the wall.

His hands cover hers before he lifts them off his wet skin and turns, his chest pressed against hers.

"How has your day been?" he asks in a low voice, his hands dropping hers to fall on her hips, pressing is wet skin against her dry, smooth skin.

"Uneventful," she replies, her tongue clicking to the top of her mouth when she feels his evident arousal pressing into her lower stomach. He's a good seven inches taller than her, and the feel of his cock causes a rush of warmth to fill her belly.

"I expected as much," he replies, faint amusement in his tone before their lips are connected. Hers are smooth and thin, pressed into his full, round ones. The spray of water is simple background music to their bodies as Natasha finds her arms wrapped around his neck, his hands holding firmly to his hips.

The simple, passionate kiss turns into more when a tongue flicks out to ask for entrance, and lips open to show acceptance, and hands grip tighter at skin, pulling skin flush into another body. Natasha moans against his lips, feeling the throb of his cock on her stomach. Soon, that throb is felt on her thigh when she's lifted and her legs are wrapped around his waist.

"Matt," she breathes out with a wispy voice, the sound sending a growl reverberating out of his chest. His lips move from hers down to the milky white canvas that his her neck. He paints it with bites and suckles, leaving red and purple imprints on it. There's another swift moan leaving her lips when her back is pressed against the tiled wall, the chill of it heightening her senses.

She cries out his name again.

Matt silences her with his kisses, and the distraction of his kiss and the cool tile lets him slip into her tight heat without much hesitation. There's a groan, and neither can realize which made the sound, before hips slap into the other and skin is gripped tight.

He thrusts and she bucks; she rolls and he jerks. Over the time she's been with him, the girth and length of his cock still surprises her and sends tingle down to her toes. However, she's learned to use her tightness against him, and she clenches her muscles around him rhythmically, causing his breath to come out in quick pants. His thrusts lose their pace and become sloppy, but she knows that this means he's close and that she's done her job right.

"Fuck, baby," he growls in her ear, but it sounds like a purr deep in his chest before his thrusts stop all together and she's filled with warmth. Although Natasha didn't get her release, she's learned that the pleasure of the act is sometimes much better than the few seconds of euphoria that causes her mind to go blank white.

The water, still warm, is shut off. Natasha, still connected to Matt in the most intimate way possibly, is moved from the shower wall and into his bedroom. Even though the two are soaked to the bone with warm water, the thought of wet bed sheets is knocked once Matt has her on her back, her legs spread as far as his arms can get, before he's plunging into her, balls deep, once again.

With fingers gripping on her outer thighs, the rules of the bedroom forever embedded in her mind, Natasha pants and arches her back. Matt's hips shift suddenly, and he's found the inner bundle of nerves in her that causes a flourish of colors in her vision.

"Sukin syn!" Natasha cries out, her body slowing covering in a sheen cover of sweat as the water from the shower drips off. Her fingers dig into her thighs, and she can feel her nails leave small red welts in her milky skin. The pain slowly blends into pleasure as his hips thrust forward, making a shudder run down her spine and toes curl.

Matt growls, ducking his head to bite down on the hard nipples that perks up from her perfect sized breasts. There's a sudden gasp and then she's arching her back fully off the bed.

"Matthew!" she screams, clenched tight and clinging as close as possible to his body. Natasha milks his hard cock of another orgasm, and she's filled with his release once again. She finally releases her hands from her thighs, and falls limp into the smooth, wet sheets underneath her sweaty body.

He pulls away, leaving Natasha on the bed panting, before he's grabbing for a pair of sweat pants and pulling them over his legs. Patting her bent leg softly, Natasha slowly moves it and sits up, blinking at the head rush she gets. Matt says nothing as he sits beside her, his elbows propped up on his knees as he watches her. Natasha slips into a thin old t shirt that she usually wears as a night cover. He watches as the cream-smooth skin is slowly covered up.

She kneels on the bed beside him, her hands resting on her knees as she looks over at him, tilting her head. He's humming again, his honey hazel eyes closed. The only light is that coming from the bathroom, still.

"What's wrong, Matt?" she asks softly, placing a hand on his shoulder. Natasha is thoroughly surprised by the large hand that comes up to grip her throat, causing her breath to catch. Looking on with wide eyes, she brings up both hands to pull it away.

"You lied to me," Matt growls, his voice low and threatening. It's full of malice. His once pretty hazel eyes are now a dark brown that flash something almost red. "You fucking lied to me."

Natasha gasps for breath, fighting against the hand as she tries to question him what she lied about. She hasn't told one lie to him - other than the simple lie that she didn't enjoy the first quickie he gave her when they were just starting their relationship. Was that what he was talking about?

"M-matt!" she gasps, tugging at his hand, but it only clenches tighter.

"When were you gonna do it?" he asks, his voice still low. He brings his face just a few centimeters from hers. "When were you gonna take your shot? Tonight, while I sleep? Tomorrow at Shaddix's party, in front of everyone? Or were you just looking for the perfect time to get me out of the mansion so you didn't have to worry about the guys taking you out in return?"

Natasha's eyes widen, but she's still confused.

"W-what are you-you talking about!" she questions, crying loudly when the grip on her throat causes a sharp pain to run through her body.

"Tell me the truth, Yelena!"

Bright blue eyes are wide with surprise, before the cool sky color darkens into stormy gray. There's a moment of eyes meeting before Natasha fades into the nothingness that she was and turns into the fierce being of Yelena Mihaylov. She twists from the grasp he has on her neck, and finds a space to dive for the bedside drawer that holds the pistol she knows he has. Yelena grabs for it and twists around, arm raised and hand poised to pull the trigger.

However, Matt has his own gun at hand, positioned to shoot just between her once pretty blue eyes.

How was it possible that Yelena got so entranced with the life of Natasha that she forgot her mission? The reason she was here? How was it possible that a former emotionless being could love something so dark and foreboding?

"You had me fooled," he says. She glares with dark gray eyes. "I almost didn't believe what Arin told me when he came to me this morning, just minutes after you leave my bed. I couldn't believe the photos and the files, but it was all there. Natasha Markovic never existed. She was just a front for you, Yelena. A front that I fell for."

Yelena pulls back the hammer, and the click signals that the barrel is open for something to go through. Whether it be empty air or a bullet that will kill, she doesn't know. There's only one bullet left in the chamber, but now it's just a game of Russian Roulette with them.

Matt drops his arm, but Yelena keeps her muscles tight. He places the gun on the bed, and holds his arms up.

"Do it," he says simply, and Yelena looks on with wide eyes. Her arm falters before it comes back up again, and the muscle in her neck clenches in pain at the tight grip that she has on the grip. Yelena wants to shoot him; it was in her contract. She's to kill him, and then run and collect her good twenty million that will put her on a small beach home somewhere in Fuji. A year has passed and she's already fallen for her hit. "Do it," he presses again.

Her arm starts to shake, and her finger curls against the trigger, but she doesn't press anymore pressure onto it.

Suddenly, he's gripping her hand, staring down the barrel at her. Matt presses the muzzle to his forehead, his two large hands covering hers. "Do it, Yelena!" he barks, and there's a sudden beating on his bedroom door that makes her jump. She doesn't pull the trigger.

And it's now, as Matt presses against her wrist to make her finger move, that she prays the chamber is empty of a bullet.

A loud ring of a gunshot fills the air.