The Superfox

by Ava Lovelace

  Lissa was utterly lost in the moment, in the lights and the strange set and the pound of the music and the madness of letting a stranger pleasure her and encourage her to give in to desires she didn't even know she had. Still shackled, her fingers ran through his hair and ached to trace his shoulders and back and hips. One of his fingers curled into her, and she mewled and looked directly into the camera, watching the red light blink and knowing that she was being recorded like this, vulnerable and taken over with lust and sensation.

  That only made it hotter.

  With her thumb on the handcuff, she thought about flicking the latch and releasing her wrists and taking the situation—and him—into her own hands. But that felt like a betrayal, somehow, and she wanted to keep her word. Invoking the magic of Wonder Woman made it impossible for her to defy his rules, as much as she wanted to.

  For the second time since walking into the room, Lissa was getting close to her release, could feel the first fine echoes and tried to pull Mark to her, to urge him on. One of her legs unwrapped from the chair arm and curled around his back, but he kissed her and pulled away, cheeks glinting with her juices.

  He ran wet fingers through his hair, tangling it. “What do you want?”

  The words came between pants. “To come all over the place.”

  “How do you want that to happen?”

  Lissa looked at the camera, a blush turning her cheeks even redder. “I... don't want to say.”

  Mark grinned, rubbed a thumb over her, making her wiggle. “That sounds promising.”

  “Come closer.”

  Still on his knees, he moved closer to put his ear to her lips. Lissa took advantage of his nearness to pull him closer with her legs and maneuver her cuffed hands under his kilt to grasp his hot length in hungry hands.

  “This,” she said. Then she grinned and moved her hands up and down, gently squeezing. “The Hulk was wrong about the puny part.”

  Mark breathed out and let his eyes close and his head fall back. He'd worked her over so much, but touching him this way for the first time made Lissa feel powerful and in control, like she was used to. Like she liked. As if he couldn't stop himself from touching her, he braced one arm on the chair and used the other to rub her in time with the way she rubbed him until they were both rocking and moaning and Lissa felt like she might go unconscious from sensation.

  “And where do you want it?” Mark asked, his forehead pressing into her neck.

  “I can think of a couple good places?”

  “Not several good places?”

  “A couple, god of mischief.”

  “I told you: I have a very active imagination. And a lot of energy.” She rubbed a thumb over the tip, and he groaned and quivered in her hands.

  “And maybe I didn't tell you: I started playing Atari with a joystick.”

  He groaned again and tensed. “Keep that up and you'll hit a high score.”

  She released him, put her feet on the ground, and leaned back as if sitting in a throne. “We can't have that. This is a two-player game.”

  Mark stood, his kilt unable to conceal the damage she'd done below. “Bring it, Princess Peach.”

  Lissa held up her cuffed hands. “Can't even carry a turnip like this.”

  Mark flicked open the catches on the cuffs and tossed them across the room, where they landed on the black floor with a mic-dropping clank and shone gold in the spotlights. Lissa rubbed her wrists and shimmied her shoulders to get the crick out, pulling off her bra and settling her arms on the chair and drumming her fingers.

  “I'm waiting.”

  Mark stood and held out his hands, and she took them and let him pull her to standing, too. She felt tiny beside him in her bare feet and nothing but wet panties. He still wore his boots and kilt, although it wasn't currently concealing much. Lissa was just about to go up on her tiptoes to kiss him when he spun her around to face the chair. With his chest against her back and his erection pressing into her spine, he firmly curled her fingers around the arms of the chair and pressed kisses up her neck. Exposed as she'd been by the click of the camera and the way he'd spread her wide, she felt even more vulnerable this way, doubled over and presenting herself to him, hungry and wet and up on her tiptoes to better match his height.

  When he shoved her panties down, she shimmied to help and stepped out of the soaked scraps. The primal animal at her heart ached to feel the hot head of him begging entry, but the smart and assertive woman was just about to ask about protection when she heard the rip of foil. She smiled to herself, glad to know he was trustworthy and considerate—and not an idiot.

  Moments later, she felt the brush of wool on her back and the prodding tip she'd been waiting for. “Last chance to take the blue pill, Wonder Woman,” he said, voice ragged. In response, she wiggled her ass invitingly and rocked back against him, letting him enter just the littlest bit.

  “There's only one thing I want to swallow.” And she spread her legs and pushed back to urge him in deeper.

  That was all it took to shake a husky laugh from him. His hands settled on her hips, and he guided himself in, slow but sure, until he battered her inside, sunk deep. Lissa moaned and dropped her head as he pulled back and thrust again, not slow exactly, but with a laudable control that left her shuddering as she felt every inch of his withdrawal. When he was almost completely out, he did this marvelous thing where the head of his cock caught on her lips and rubbed her clit on the way back in, and she gasped, almost coming on the spot.

  “Like that, huh?”

  “Another!” she shouted, as close as she could get to Thor's feelings about coffee.

  Mark obliged, plunging in all the way to stroke her g-spot and withdrawing with a thoughtful slowness that had her holding her breath for the moment when he'd scrape that delicious spot outside and fill her again. She leaned to meet him, up on her tiptoes and rocking back against him with every long thrust. He held her hips until they had the rhythm down, then stroked her body with sure fingers, tracing the lines of her neck and spine, caressing her breasts, gently pinching her nipples at the same time while riding her ever faster.

  Lissa closed her eyes and concentrated on finding that perfect place where mind and body would connect and lead her down the path of utter release. She knew she needed a little more coaxing down below, but what he was doing with her nipples was so delicious that she'd forgotten how to speak, much less ask a near stranger to finger her clit while he banged her.

  She was so close but couldn't quite get there, and she finally had to let go of the chair with one hand and work a finger down below, rubbing side to side as fast as she could while he teased her breasts and pounded her as fast as she could move against him while braced with one straining arm. It didn't take long before she found what she was looking for. Lightning exploded behind her eyes as Lissa let out a scream of triumph and came so hard that her juices splattered the chair. Mark kept stroking her as she arched her back and shuddered, and moments later he withdrew, yanked off the condom, and sprinkled her ass with his own hot release and a ragged groan.

  Lissa couldn't hold herself up anymore and collapsed on her knees, staring at the mix of wetness on the hard, gold chair. She was covered in a fine sheen of sweat and felt as limp and boneless as if she'd just had a massage. Which she kind of had, but from the inside.

  Mark sighed deeply and walked away, which made her feel terribly awkward... until he returned and held out a wet cloth.

  “Pretty handy, being on set. Baby wipes clean up everything.”

  Lissa mopped off her face and stood, not quite sure if it was possible to clean up after sex with any elegance whatsoever. As soon as she was standing, Mark helped her clean off her butt and had a trash can ready for the spent wipes. For the first time, Lissa saw the benefit to being trapped at home in the snowstorm instead of work: a hot shower and nap would've been delicious, but instead she had moist towelettes and hard floors that smelled like industrial chemicals. Snuggling was pretty much out of the q
uestion, and she was suddenly very aware that she was flushed, sweaty, sticky, and naked under hot lights and a white backdrop.

  Yet again, Mark came to her rescue, handing her a fluffy white hotel robe.

  “Are you my fairy godmother?” she asked, tying the belt and exhaling in relief.

  Mark had his tee back on, but even his attempt at cleaning up couldn't hide the fact that he'd just had sex and was still rumpled and deliciously mussed.

  “I'm just the photographer. But you're a lot more fun that most of the models I have to shoot.”

  Lissa cocked an eyebrow at him and tried to arrange her hair. “Yeah, if you did that with all the models, even Dr. Horne would have something to say.”

  Mark smirked, and she knew he knew she was digging. “I don't get involved with models. Too much posturing and pettiness. Go real or go home.”

  “So I'm the first...?”

  Mark laughed and flicked off the spotlights, leaving the room lit only by the open door to the art department. “I told you it was a fantasy. Up until today, I've always kept my work life and my private life very separate.”

  “Me, too.”

  Mark cocked his head toward the office in invitation, and Lissa walked through and sat on the futon, tucking the robe over her crossed legs. Without the spotlights, she was suddenly cold. As if reading her mind, Mark brought her clothes back out and laid them carefully over the edge of the futon. She was about to get dressed, but instead, he flopped on the other side of the futon, his head in her lap as if it were the most natural thing in the world. As her fingers instantly sought his hair and combed through it, she realized that, well, it was the most natural thing in the world.

  “So how'd you start working here?” he asked, looking up with twinkling eyes.

  “First sex, then small talk. You're doing it totally backward.”

  “I do it lots of ways. Answer the question.”

  Lissa took a deep breath and returned his smile. “I sent my resume for an online ad just after college. Came in to interview to be Dr. Horne's assistant, and we got along. I was up against some trust fund kid for the position, and he failed on the last question.”

  “Ah, yes.” Mark laughed. “What are you reading right now?”

  Lissa nodded. “Yep. Other guy said he didn't really read. And you know what that means, with Dr. Horne.”

  “No job.”

  “No job. I launched into a melee of books, comics, and non-fiction, and we were soon debating whether TV shows could ever eclipse the books they were based on and if GRR Martin was a genius or a sadist or what. The next week, I had the job, although Horne admitted I was overqualified and underpaid. Two months in, I had to step up when a project manager moved. Within a year, I had my own team and was in California for a week every month, working toward my PMI certification at night so the client wouldn't find out I was entry-level.”

  “So you didn't know you wanted to be a project manager?”

  Lissa snorted. “Hell no. And I think anyone who actually wants this job is insane. I have one of the last degrees left in journalism and couldn't find a job, so this was a last resort before waiting tables. Now it's more like a personal challenge, like I'm a hamster stuck in a wheel constantly trying to get off.”

  “So you don't like your job?”

  She relaxed and realized they were holding hands. She hadn't even noticed who had reached for whom. “It's a job. I don't expect to like it. Luckily, I like my team. I like my boss. I like my corner office. But I can't help feeling like there should be...”

  “More?”

  “Exactly. How'd you end up here?”

  Mark smirked and traced circles on the back of her hand with his thumb. “You know how I ended up here. Dr. Horne stole me. I thought I wanted to be a big-shot celeb photographer, but the reality of glamour is that it's all just glamour. I'd rather take photos of tires and cell phones in my own studio than get yelled at by a coked up starlet because her salad has the wrong pecorino. And I have more time for hobbies.”

  “Like building a house.”

  He pulled her hand close and nipped playfully at her pinky. “Don't make fun. Running around an office all day, never producing anything but pixels, you have to understand how satisfying it is to make something real. Something useful. Other guys my age are buying big-ass houses and spending all weekend making their fenced yards greener. I'm building a small house that will eventually provide all its own food and water and cost absolutely nothing to run. Find me one other person as self-satisfied as I am and I'll eat them.”

  Lissa sighed. “I'm actually kind of jealous. I have this long list of things I want to do, but I somehow never do them. I guess that's the dark side of project management: it's never done. You never get to type THE END or delete a document. There's always another bug. And my phone pings all night like a starving kitten that needs to be fed.”

  “So stop feeding it.”

  “Pfft. And kill a kitten?”

  He moved her hand to his chest and looked off toward the window. “You can change your life any time you want to. It's ridiculously easy. You just have to make the choice, even if it's scary. What do you actually want to do?”

  Lissa took a deep breath and suddenly felt very young and silly. “I don't know. I want to make something, too. Do something creative. I always thought I might write a book. Or, I don't know, take a painting class. But I get home and I'm just too exhausted and end up zoning out with a bowl of soup and The Walking Dead.”

  “So don't go home. Go somewhere else. Comfort is the enemy.”

  Lissa laughed and leaned sideways, her head on his arm. “You make it sound so easy.”

  “That's the big secret. It is easy.”

  “You only say that because you did it and it worked. Hindsight.”

  His laughter rumbled against her, comfortable and comforting. “Exactly. I did it, and you can, too. Just don't leave this office. It wouldn't be any fun, going all day here without seeing you.”

  They went silent for a moment, and Lissa had to still the trembling in her chest. She hadn't really bothered to think past the night, past the snowstorm, back to a world where people wore all of their clothes and nodded politely in the hall and went home before sunset. Arriving in the morning, hoping to see him in the parking lot or catch him in the break room—it gave her the same sort of flutters she'd had in high school when she was crushing on a guy. That will-he, won't-we, the passing smiles, the little notes, maybe a lunch hour spent outside on the benches by the lake once it warmed up. That was as far as she could think, but it painted a pretty picture that she didn't want to give up.

  “Oh, I think I'll stick around. Although I was thinking of applying for that job in marketing. Writing copy and doing some graphic design.”

  “Isn't that entry level?”

  She shrugged. “Yeah, but I figure I could leave my work here every night. Nothing blows up because someone forgot to finish a sentence about cereal.”

  “You should do it, then.”

  Warmth bloomed in Lissa's chest. “Maybe I will.”

  Mark sat up and pulled her into his lap, stroking her tangled hair back. “So what would your dream life be?”

  Leaning back against his chest, Lissa sighed. “Something like what I have now, but with more adventures. I read all the books and comics and watch the movies, but it's pretty boring on my side of the screen.”

  “No husband, house, labradoodle, 2.5 children?”

  “Two-point-five children would be really messy. And so would a labradoodle. And I don't like cleaning. But...” How to say it without sounding totally desperate? “Everybody wants to find someone who makes them feel on fire, right?”

  Mark laced his fingers through hers. “That's what they say.”

  “You ever gotten close?”

  He shrugged behind her. “Dated one girl for a couple of years, but it turned into work. A relationship might be work, but a person shouldn't be. She ended up marrying a buddy of mine. Turned into a
total bridezilla. Ate Tokyo.”

  “You're lucky you escaped that. I've never understood why some women get so upset over flowers and canapes. I'd rather get married on the beach.”

  “Same here.” He said it so simply, but thrills shivered through her as Mark set his cheek against her hair. “You ever come close?”

  “Not so much. I told you—I intimidate most nice boys. But I don't like bullies or blowhards. It's a fine line. All the books and movies have convinced me that only a superhero will do. And there are no superheroes.”

  “I could go find a radioactive spider, if you think that would help.”

  Lissa didn't know how to fill the awkward silence as he waited for her response, so she nuzzled up against him and said, “You could always just build a fancy robot suit. Radioactivity can be very dangerous.”

  “My middle name is Dangerous.”

  She looked up, her lips so close to his. “Mark Dangerous Ranger.”

  “Just kidding. It's Edward.”

  “Mine's Diana.”

  “Seriously?”

  “Seriously.”

  And he kissed her, sweet and simple as that, as if they'd done it a thousand times. No tongue, no crashing, just warm lips and an arm cradling her shoulders. When Mark pulled away, his smile just about melted her down to her toes.

  “Well, if it's worth anything, Melissa Diana Wonder Woman Martin, I think you're pretty super.”

  ***

  After that, they snuggled on the futon for about twenty minutes in companionable, easy silence before Lissa realized she hadn't peed in hours and was about to explode. She stood to put her jeans on, and Mark held out her Catwoman shirt with a sweet smile. It was like teens getting dressed after losing their virginity together, and Lissa blushed and turned her back to him before shrugging out of the robe and ducking into her shirt. Mark looked like he wanted to say something more, something serious, but he must've noticed her dancing back and forth a little.

  The ladies' room was so bright, cold, and clinical after the cocoon-like warmth of the art department, but she felt a thousand times better, afterward. And she couldn't wait to get back to Mark, maybe watch a new movie or laugh over an old one they both loved. If only she could see his book case and movie cabinet, she would've truly known if they had the long-term compatibility she hoped for. You could take the girl out of the geeky panties, but you couldn't take the geek out of the girl, and if he had The Notebook somewhere, a serious talk would be in their future.