The Superfox

by Ava Lovelace

  Lissa had never felt so well-loved and filled with hope as she walked the hallway from the bathroom back to the Art Department. There weren't any chocolates to guide her way this time, but she didn't need them. She'd swallowed the red pill, and it had already taken effect, and there was no way she could ever see Mark, a camera, or, yes, even a chair again without a fluttery shudder in her belly. Heaven knows she'd probably get aroused the next time she read a comic book or saw a gold tassel. Her only regret was that she didn't have any more clean panties and had to go commando in her jeans.

  Before she reached the cracked door to his office, she could hear Mark's voice. He sounded altogether more cool and professional than he did when he talked to her, when every word seemed to imply something secret. Must've been business—a client, maybe. She didn't want to interrupt, so she hovered in the hall.

  “Yeah, man. It's done. Nailed it. Just like I said. Guess that's one thing good about the snowstorm, right?” He paused and paced. “It's all good. Trapped in an empty building, it's not like there's anything else to do. Took me long enough, I know. But I couldn't finish her off with everyone around, for obvious reasons.” He paused, and she heard a camera click. “Yeah, right here. Let me do some editing, and you'll have images by Monday. She's going to look goddamn beautiful. Should have no trouble with the sale. Yeah, got it. Later.”

  He hung up, and it took everything Lissa had not to slide down the wall into a puddle of heartbreak on the floor. How could he? How could he discuss her like that with someone else? Sure, it had been a little insane, feeling that connection with a stranger and being trapped alone in an empty building and doing things that she'd never done before or even allowed herself to fantasize about—but she thought what they had felt was real. It killed her, the way he said it, so breezy and dispassionate and businesslike... as if she were just a thing, just a notch in the bedpost.

  Seriously, “nailed it”?

  Lissa shook her head. He hadn't “nailed” her.

  She had done just as much nailing as he had.

  And he'd promised her she could have the SD card, that no one else would ever see. And now, not only did someone else know, not only was it part of some previous deal or bet, but he was going to edit the goddamn images before selling them? To what—airbrush out her curves and turn her into some Wonder Woman Barbie doll?

  She's burn the entire fucking building down before she'd let that happen.

  Lissa was just about to slam the door open and tear his ass in half when the phone rang again.

  “Ranger here.” He paused and paced. “Seriously, Dennihy, Monday's the earliest. Take it or leave it.”

  He hung up, and she heard the phone clatter against his desk as if he'd tossed it.

  Lissa was so angry that her head was hot, her hands in fists and aching for a punching bag. Of all the people in the entire fucking world, it had to be Dennihy. The slimeball who'd tried to get into her pants and then tried to get her fired when she rejected him in no uncertain terms. The dickwad whose desk had been the final resting place of her crumbs, in whose office she coughed like crazy whenever she got sick and had once rubbed fingers all over his phone and keyboard right before she went home with a stomach virus.

  There wasn't a drop of Thor in Mark Ranger. He was all Loki, and only the ugly, cruel, avaricious, evil parts. Did he even know the depths to which he'd hurt her? That he'd taken advantage of her hope, her openness? That he'd lured her into playing a game that she was doomed to lose? They were so compatible, from careers to hobbies to ability to quote all the best superhero movies. He was, up until five minutes ago, the most perfect man she'd ever met outside of books.

  And he was just a big, fake asshole.

  A supervillain.

  Lissa spun on her bare heel and was just about to quick-walk to her office and deploy a lovely little Trojan her team had given her for Christmas into the Art Department server when Mark's door opened and nearly hit her in the butt.

  “There you are. Thor cordially offers to make you a grilled cheese—”

  She was already walking away, furious, her eyes stinging. How dare he pretend like nothing was wrong, like everything was just fine and he was both adorable and thoughtful?

  “Melissa? What's wrong?”

  She shook her head and moved it up to a jog, hating with every uncomfortable, denim-rubbing step that she had to be reminded that he'd destroyed all her panties.

  When she heard him hurrying behind her, she sped up, darted into her office, slammed the door, and locked it.

  “Lissa?”

  “Go the fuck away, you raging bag of dicks!”

  “Did I do something wrong? Can I come in and talk?”

  His voice was muffled through the thick wood. She sat at her chair, pulled out her keyboard, and waited for her desktop to wake up.

  “No. Go away so I can ruin your life.”

  “Can I ask why?”

  Lissa had tried and failed to type her password. Three times. Her hands were shaking, and she could barely see through tear-blurred eyes. She looked up at the door.

  “Nailed it. Nothing else to do. That's the good thing about a snowstorm. Sound familiar?”

  Silence.

  “I said does it sound familiar, motherfucker?” she shouted.

  Silence. And then a weird zip and click, and her door opened. Lissa jumped to her feet.

  “What the unholy fuck, Ranger? Fucking me over isn't enough? You have to break into my office, too? Your ledger is officially red. Nothing but red.”

  Mark held up a credit card. “If you call swiping a plastic card under the lock breaking in, then I guess I'm back in Loki mode.” He put the card back in a black wallet and shoved it into his kilt pocket before stalking to her desk and wrapping his fingers around the edge.

  “So you were listening in?”

  “To you promising to sell Dennihy my porno on Monday? Um, yeah.”

  If she hadn't been watching his face carefully at exactly that moment, she might've missed the truly extraordinary riot of expressions that crossed his features. Surprise, horror, and rage, swiftly followed by understanding and his impish grin.

  “Did anyone ever tell you that spying was dangerous?”

  Scowling, Lissa pretended to shoot her cuffs, then extended a middle finger right at his chest. “Boom,” she muttered. “I can't believe you had that conversation, like, ten minutes after 'nailing it'. I mean, do you even... I really thought...” She hung her head and ground a fist into the desk. “It doesn't matter what I thought. Go away. I'm going to tell Dr. Horne and get you fired. And buy a little Loki action figure and roast it over an open fire.”

  “Whatever you think you just heard, you're wrong. And I can prove it.”

  She looked up, 99% hate and 1% hope. “You can prove you didn't just talk to David Fuckface Dennihy about banging me? I mean, did you guys have a bet going or something?”

  He held out his hand. “We had a business arrangement.” Even though her mouth dropped open in horror, his warm smile didn't waver. “And it wasn't about you. Lissa, give me one chance to change your mind.”

  “I don't trust villains twice.”

  “Then how about doing some research with one? Five minutes, and we'll be laughing about this, I swear.”

  And although Lissa was a practical woman and didn't believe a single word out of his lying mouth, she uncurled her fingers from the desk and took his too-warm, too-broad hand and let him lead her down the stupid hall to his stupid office where he was probably going to get her hooked on meth or something equally stupid and horrific. Every step cost her something: pride, anger, comfort. But even the smallest chance was still a chance. There had to be some hope that what she'd heard wasn't as damning as it sounded.

  She closed her eyes briefly as he opened his door for her. Once inside, however, she noted that the evidence of their time together had disappeared. Beyond the open door, the photography studio was back to black walls and black floor, the tripod gone. The array o
f monitors were black, and when he pressed the keyboard, they flickered to life. But instead of sordid pictures of Melissa Martin, stripped and wet and wide open, all she saw was... a gun?

  “This isn't comforting,” she muttered.

  “This is Dennihy's antique percussion dueling pistol. Civil War era. A real collector's piece. It's worth at least five figures, and he's selling it because even though he's supposedly an accountant, he sucks with money. Which is why the douchebag offered me a thousand dollars to take some high-quality images for the online auction. I couldn't do it during normal office hours because, you know, it's a weapon. So I figured the snowstorm was a good chance to get it done and get him off my back.”

  Lissa stared at the gun, presented on three screens. The photos were beautiful, just like Mark had said on the phone. And she knew well enough that weapons were often referred to as women. She wanted so, so badly to believe him. She needed to believe that he was still the guy who'd taken her sledding on a Captain American shield.

  As if sensing that her wall was cracking, Mark held up an SD card. “Whereas this is the card from earlier. Why don't you take it back to your office and check it out? Then see if you believe me.”

  Lissa held out her hand, and he dropped the card onto her palm. She stared at it, such a little, quotidian thing. “Why should I look at it? That won't prove anything.”

  Mark blushed, which looked gorgeous against his pale skin and freckles. “I think it will. I took a peek. It's telling. If you're still interested in talking to me after looking at the images, I'll be here. The offer for grilled cheese still stands.” Lissa looked down and nodded, and he added, “And for the record, I think Dennihy is the biggest bag of dicks I've ever met.”

  Overcome with warring feelings, Lissa gave him half a smile and hurried back to her office with the card cradled in her hand like a hurt bird. She didn't dare review the images on her office desktop, so she pulled out her personal laptop and opened the file named “Wonderful”.

  And... she'd never seen anything like it. All those photos he'd taken at first had been just clicks behind her closed eyes, and she expected to see close ups of her breasts, her panties, her open legs. But again and again, it was her face. Shy and a little scared at first. Then warming and sweet, eyes open and suffused with trust and lust in equal measures. And then closed again, lost in abandon, her mouth open sensually with red lipstick smeared around the edges. Her peaches and cream skin was flushed, her dark lashes swept down and her hair beautifully mussed. There wasn't a single picture of anything but her face, even though she knew what he had been doing, all along, and how very much he could've captured with his camera.

  When he'd said he wanted to see her bared wide, he hadn't meant her legs at all.

  He'd meant her soul, and he'd damned well captured it.

  After the images was a video titled “Wonderfuller”, and she smiled a little as she clicked it and wiped away a tear of relief.

  Even if he'd been trying to sell those photos, no one would've paid for them unless their sole care was her pleasure and joy.

  Mark really was Thor.

  With a dash of Captain America thrown in.

  After about thirty seconds of watching the video, she began to realize the dastardly danger of going commando. Pausing it and shifting around to squash down the blooming desire in her jeans, she swallowed hard and realized that she knew exactly how to get her revenge.

  But she was going to need Mark's help.

  ***

  “Are you sure you want to do this, Lissa?”

  Melissa dragged a finger down Mark's lips, along his throat, and ended by poking him in the chest. “Shut your pie hole and open the door, Jarvis.”

  Mark shrugged and grinned at her. “Your system of morals is strangely flexible, Wonder Woman.” He turned the latch and held the door open for her.

  Lissa smirked. “If you're a mix of Loki and Thor, I'm more like Wonder Woman and Tony Stark. And right now, I'm feeling more Stark.”

  The office was dark, but Lissa knew her way to the green lamp on the desk. She flicked it on and ran a fingertip through the granola crumbs on the keyboard.

  Mark inclined his head toward a small safe on top of a file cabinet. “That's where he keeps the pistol. Dr. Horne has no idea. It's supposed to be just for petty cash.”

  Sitting in the big, cushy chair and leaning back, Lissa kicked her bare feet up on the heavy desk's blotter. “I told Dr. Horne that Dennihy was a dishonest bastard, but he wouldn't fire him. Just gave him a slap on the wrist and a bad review. Found out later Dennihy is his brother-in-law, and his salary is what keeps their family afloat. Dr. Horne apologized, and I've never had to interact with the slimeball again, but it's never sat right, that he could blatantly break the HR rules and just ooze his way out of it.”

  “Business is a bitch, and anybody who's met him knows Dennihy's a dick. I guess that's why I was glad to take his money. I had no idea he'd done that to you, or I would've slammed the door in his face. But enough about him.” Mark came up behind her and put his hands on the headrest of the chair, pushing it down so that she was looking up at him, practically on her back. “If you're serious about this... give me some sugar, baby.”

  Lissa grinned and grabbed his face, kissing him upside down while splayed out in her enemy's throne. It started out sweet, a reintroduction, but quickly grew in heat and urgency. Lissa let go of Mark and broke the kiss, mainly because from upside down, she couldn't touch him or pull him close.

  “That was like kissing Spider Man mixed with Ash,” she said, breathless.

  “I contain multitudes. Of superheroes.”

  Mark let go of the chair, and it bounced back up, leaving Lissa lightheaded and upright. She stood and spun, putting her butt on the blotter and kicking the chair out of the way.

  “I'm down with multiples. Bring me your boomstick.”

  Mark stepped up, matching his hips to hers. “I'll ask again: you sure you want to do this?”

  Lissa grinned. “Why the hell not? Revenge is a dish best served cold and splattered with bodily fluids. And that video was hot.”

  As she looked up at him, her heart pounding in anticipation, she couldn't help remembering what she'd watched of the video of them, together. It had been sweet and pretty and... revealing. In the way he'd watched her, smiled at her, gently moved her, anticipated her needs, and put her pleasure ahead of his own... well, she'd never had anyone read her so well, nor even try to. She'd been so caught in the moment, so lost behind closed eyelids or trapped in his gaze that she hadn't stopped to consider how very rare an event it was, to be taken care of like that. And it had been hot as hell, watching herself within his power, hearing the little noises she made and the primal groans and mmm sounds he made in return.

  “What are you waiting for?” she asked.

  Mark's face was soft and hungry as he caressed her cheek and looked deep into her eyes.

  “I'm done waiting.”

  This time, she was the one who reached for him and pulled him down, dipping her tongue into his mouth and running her fingers through his hair. She hopped up on the desk and pulled him into the V of her legs, running her bare feet up and down his calves as she thrust and twirled her tongue between his lips. As much as she'd enjoyed everything they'd done, Lissa couldn't help the lure of being in control, doing exactly what she wanted and touching him with no restraint. Holding Mark here, taking her time with him, made her feel so powerful.

  Hell, maybe next time, she'd put him in the cuffs.

  Because there was going to be a next time, she told herself. There had to be. She wasn't ready to go back to where she'd been, before the blizzard, a lonely, type-A workaholic who sacrificed her happiness for the next deadline. She wasn't the same girl she'd been before she wandered into his office, before that first decisive snap of his iPad case, when he'd focused on her with the full force of his attention. Knowing that he hated Dennihy as much as she did made her feel like she had an ally, like she wasn't
fighting the fight alone. Those few moments of drama, when she'd thought he'd betrayed her had been possibly the worst minutes of her life.

  And if he kept kissing her like this, she was well on her way to the best ones.

  Mark was plastered against her, his erection hot against her belly through his kilt. Poor guy had to be missing the relative safety and comfort of his Batman boxers, and the kilt's wool wasn't doing him any favors in regards to hiding his feelings. Or his stamina. His hands were braced on the desk, the chair had tumbled over backward, and Alyssa wished to hell she owned more dresses, because the seam of her jeans was already soaked and she didn't want to wait one more second to feel him battering into her again.

  She broke the kiss to murmur, “We don't have any condoms, do we?”

  Mark reached into a pocket in his kilt and drew out a foil square. “That's why they call them utility kilts. They're terribly useful.”

  “My hero.”

  She pulled him back and plunged her tongue into his mouth as he ripped open the packet. She'd never been ready so quickly before, never considered how very turned on she could be, but she couldn't help it. He was like Chinese food; no matter how much she devoured, she was hungry for more in an hour. And he was a helluva multitasker, considering how he could put on a condom and never lessen the onslaught of his tongue in her mouth, alternately aggressive and teasing. Lissa moaned and stood, slipping off her jeans and shoving back the desk blotter in a rain of papers. The desk glass was cold against her bare ass, and with Dennihy's door open and two walls made entirely of windows with open blinds, she felt utterly wanton and open and ready. It was dark, and with the lights on, anyone outside would see every single movement within.