The Superfox (6 page)

“You say I get the card afterward?”

He nodded. “Tell me, Wonder Woman. Do you want this?”

Lissa closed her eyes and swallowed. No, she wouldn't lie to him. What was the point?

If you're playing the game, play the game.

“I do. But I want you on there, too. I want...”

His grin curled, pure sex with a touch of evil. “Let me take pictures of you. Maybe later I'll put it on the tripod and press Record. Is that what you want?”

She bit her lip and moved her fingers in and out, just thinking about it. Before she'd consciously made the decision, she was nodding.

Mark quickly set up a tripod ten feet away and tested the view before kneeling before her.

“Best answer ever. Now...” His camera pointed at her, hiding his face, the lens wide and blinking. “Show me.”

Lissa felt suddenly shy, wondering what she looked like when she was this turned on. What if the camera showed her worst features, the rumple in her stomach or stray hairs or messed up lipstick.

And then the camera clicked, and she saw herself reflected in the glass, and damned if it wasn't one of the hottest things she'd ever seen, her mouth open just a little and her eyes wide and dilated and her breasts pushed up and heaving. She swallowed hard and let her fingers move back and forth, just a little. Eyes closed, she leaned her head back against the chair and opened herself up to feeling and soon completely forgot about the camera.

The song had changed to something unfamiliar, but she liked it, and the beat was powerful and primal and made her wiggle back and forth. The camera clicked again and again, and she gasped when she felt Mark sliding the straps of her bra down and unsnapping the front to release her breasts to the hot press of the lights. She didn't open her eyes as he rolled her nipple between firm fingers and made her moan. Without meaning to, she had worked one of her ankles free of the cord, and she slipped her leg out and slung it over the chair's arm, knowing that she was all but baring her soul to him, along with her pussy.

“Show me,” he said again, voice husky.

She shook her head no but ever so slowly moved her panties aside.

Eyes closed, Lissa trembled, feeling that she had somehow crossed a line into unfamiliar country. She started to cover herself, but firm fingers held the cloth back as his tongue licked a wide, wet path where she held herself open between trembling fingertips. Caught by surprise and more turned on than she'd been, ever, Lissa slid down as far as she could and opened her eyes to find Mark's camera on the tripod and his face buried in her pussy, his tongue working her with hungry persistence. He looked up and met her gaze, then reached down to untie her other ankle and gently but firmly hook her leg over the other arm of the chair, spreading her completely for his view and tasting.

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 question, 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.”