Screwing the Superhero (6 page)

“Good question.”

She’d finally replied to his question about why it was easier to make friends in an online game room. Either she’d really been dwelling on the subject or she’d gotten caught up trying to solve the puzzle they were supposed to be working on as a team. It looked like she had to move certain jewels around until they all matched, and then counter those moves by uncovering hidden objects. His head hurt thinking about it.

There was enough of this type of thing to do during daytime hours.

He typed. “Is it?”

“Ha.” An icon of a smiley face moved from her avatar to his. “You sound just like my boss. I never know how to respond to this level of sarcasm. You asked the question; shouldn’t you think it’s a good one?”

Wow, she’d just mentioned him. An unexpected heat formed in chest. He knew he was sarcastic, and true, she really didn’t know how to respond, but he’d never known she found it amusing.

“I guess you’re right.”

“To answer your earlier question, I think it’s easier to make friends in a forum like this because here we’re not bound by physicality, which ties us up in the real world.

Here, I’m Wonder Woman and you’re Superman. Out there, I don’t look anything like her.”

No, she was much better looking than any representation of Wonder Woman he’d ever seen, and screw Superman. He’d never wanted to be Clark Kent. Hiding behind glasses like some mild-mannered nothing and not getting the girl. He’d picked the Superman icon since, evidently, Batman avatars had reached maximum capacity for the night. He didn’t want to get involved with the obsession people felt toward Spiderman, while playing an online game.

“I bet you’re prettier than Wonder Woman.”

“Not even close. Ha.” She sent another smiley face to him. “In real life, I’m odd.”

She was
not
odd. Well, maybe her costume was different, but considering all the things he saw in his line of work, she was downright normal.

“Tell me about your boss.”

Why was he asking her this? Almost as soon as he’d typed the words, he wished he hadn’t. What was he going to do if she said something terrible?

“He’s extraordinary but that’s all I’m going to say. I’m a little protective of him.”

Draco read the words and slammed the computer shut, disconnecting the Internet as he did so. His heart pounded as he got to his feet and began to pace like a caged lion.

She didn’t gossip. He shouldn’t be surprised. He’d hired her, amongst other things, for her discretion. Her word ‘extraordinary’ was throwing him for a loop.

Intellectually, he understood he was. Had always been, would always be just by the nature of his birth. Ace was more advanced, more talented, but their individual levels were unimportant now. Draco couldn’t help but think Wendy wasn’t necessarily referring to his accomplishments.

He ran a hand through his hair. Am I fooling myself? Lots of people called him extraordinary; he was a Superhero, which, by nature, made him unique and different.

Maybe Wendy meant the same thing. Though he never admitted to anyone—let alone himself—just once, he’d like somebody to think of him as extraordinary just for being him, not for being powerful.

Deciding he’d had enough self-examination for one evening, he stalked from his home office to the bedroom. Stopping at the door, he checked the monitor. He’d installed one in each hallway. Each told him how many beings with heartbeats were currently in the house. The indicator read only two, which meant no visitors had entered the house. Ace was still home, hiding from his Handler—no newsflash—and they still hadn’t gotten around to acquiring the cat they’d talked about getting.

Something felt a little off to Draco about two single guys, even brothers, living alone in a mansion and acquiring a cat together. The animal made their situation permanent instead of transitory, and frankly, the idea of living forever with Ace made his skin crawl. He didn’t want to be one of those men sitting on the porch in his old age, reminiscing with his brother because he was the only person around.

He opened his bedroom door and walked into the room. The lights turned on automatically, set to his preferred wattage, which kept the room at a dim, relaxing illumination.

Following his routine, he walked into the bathroom and took a quick shower, dried off and returned to his room. Climbing into his four-poster bed, he leaned against the wooden, artisanal headboard and rubbed a hand over his nose. In all of his years living here, he’d never had a woman in his bed. It seemed wrong to bring someone here who wasn’t his wife. He’d built this place for her, he realized. Whoever this woman might be was another question, but this was their bed—he and his wife’s—and he wanted her to know, when he met her, where she slept had never been sullied by anyone else’s presence.

Assuming his wife liked the house and was willing to live in it with him.

His phone, on his nightstand, beeped, letting him know he had a message.

Groaning, he reached for the tool he often thought of as his leash, since it meant he was in permanent contact with everyone, and looked at the screen. The display read, ONE

MISSED CALL, with Wendy’s name below it.

What the hell? She never contacted him at night. Had she figured him out? Did she know
he
was the one stalking her online tonight? Crap.

He pushed the button to retrieve the message only to discover she’d sent a text.

Reading her words, he couldn’t help but smile.

Draco, sir, I’m so sorry I forgot to thank you today for saving my life. Hope I’m not
waking you. Just couldn’t put it off until morning. Wendy Warner
.

Almost no one thanked him for what he did. He took that to mean they felt that since they paid him a large fee they didn’t need to show gratitude, and mostly, he agreed with their philosophy. Wendy’s words warmed him, though, deep inside where he didn’t like to acknowledge he felt cold.

He almost never sent text messages. Why bother when he could just send the employees messages using their computer system? Awkwardly, he fiddled with the phone until he’d gotten his brief reply correct.

Anytime Warner. Go to sleep. It’s late.

It made good business sense to make sure she was properly rested. That was his only concern.

“Lights off.”

The lights responded to his vocal command. His surroundings were engrossed in blackness. Anyone venturing into his room would be completely blind, but he could see well enough to read if he wanted. He was in utter darkness only when he closed his eyes.

Tonight, he felt restless. The clock read one in the morning. Grumbling, he flipped over. Had Wendy listened? Had she gone to sleep? What did she sleep in?

Not something sexy. He just couldn’t see practical Wendy buying lingerie. No, she probably slept in a t-shirt or flannel pajamas. He grew hard at the thought and groaned. Now he’d never get to sleep. How the hell could the idea of plaid pajamas make him so completely hard, when he’d seen some of the most beautiful women in the world wear leather and lace?

Oh, but he bet she smelled clean and fresh, free of the hideous manufactured perfumes all the rest wore. Maybe she used a moisturizer. It wouldn’t surprise him. But if she did, she wore very little. He’d never smelled the remnants of it on her in the morning. She wasn’t cheap; he paid her enough she didn’t need to be. Maybe she used one of those moisturizing soaps women bought at department store counters. Ace used to buy them for their mother before she died. They couldn’t afford them when they were growing up.

Imagining Wendy rubbing it into her warm, slightly damp body after she’d bathed made his erection pulse. God, he needed to release this tension. He hadn’t been this hard from just the thought of sex since he’d been a teenager.

Pulling down his silk pajama pants, he grabbed his cock and started to stroke himself. Wendy’s face filled his mind. In his imagination, he saw her leaning over him.

Her left eyebrow raised in the way she did when she concentrated on something, all of her attention now on him.

Her fingers replaced his, moving over him, stroking his ball sack, giving him the most pleasure he’d ever experienced. A throaty laugh escaped from her mouth as her strokes became harder. Yes, he could feel it, her dainty hands, surprisingly strong, as she pulled up his shaft and then slid to the base. The pleasure came fast, so fast, and usually it took him so fucking long to reach the point of no return. But she knew him, which made a difference; she cared if he reached completion.

“Come for me.” He heard her words as if she was there, over him, coaxing him along. “You can trust me, Draco.”

With one last thrust into his closed hand, Draco made himself come, Wendy’s smiling face in his mind’s eye. After a moment, he let his head drop against his pillow, feeling strangely bereft. He’d had an orgasm, not an easy feat for him. Yet he lay in his bed, alone, wishing for his Handler—the one woman he knew he should never have.

He was a Superhero and yet probably, at this moment, the most pathetic man on earth.

* * * * *

Standing in his office, he heard the building come alive. Elevators dinged, people laughed, and then finally, after what seemed like an eternity, he heard the footsteps he’d longed to hear all morning. The ones, truthfully, he waited for each morning.

Wendy’s footsteps were very clip, clap, clip. She walked with purpose. He heard her sigh when she reached her desk, and he frowned. Her behavior was unusual. Had she had a bad night after he’d disconnected from the Internet?

Usually he gave her a minute before he called her into his office, but today he was anxious to see her. To set things right in his mind. She’d been a goddess in his sexual fantasy. He needed to reset his imagination, to look at Wendy as he normally saw her, as his Handler and nothing more.

Come into my office
. He sent his usual command to her computer and seconds later, heard the familiar footsteps approach his door. The wooden door swung open and Wendy entered the room.

He nearly swallowed his tongue. Dressed entirely in black, Wendy wore fitted pants that hugged her ass and a turtleneck that emphasized her breasts.

“I thought maybe today I would copy your standard attire.” She shrugged and grinned at the little joke she’d made.

Dumbfounded by how sophisticated and hot she looked, he let his gaze travel downward. Gone were her sensible shoes; in their place were black boots made more for fashion than for sense.

“You look … different.”

“You know how I always have to dress for whatever I’m doing after work?”

He nodded because speaking was as hard as his dick, which uncannily remembered his fantasy from the night before, making it impossible for him to move.

“Today, I have a date.”

Only after he broke the arm off his desk chair did he even realize he’d been squeezing it.

“Draco, are you okay?” Wendy realized she was sputtering but what the hell?

Her boss had just ripped the side off his chair.

“I’m … fine.” He stood and dumped the broken arm into the garbage can next to his desk. He turned his back on her, almost as if he were embarrassed. “Call down to Maintenance or whoever handles these things now and get me a new chair.”

“Right away.” She paused on her way to the door. Biting her lip, she decided not to ignore what just happened. “Do you want to tell me why you ripped the chair apart?”

“It was an accident.”

She whirled around to find Draco had placed his stoic, unreadable expression back on his perfect face.

“You see me do those kinds of things all of the time. I’m constantly tearing clothes.”

“Yes.” She knew he was avoiding giving her a direct answer, and she wasn’t going to let him get off so easily. He could simply tell her to leave if he didn’t want to discuss it. “But not breaking chairs.”

“I guess I was just startled you had a date.”

What? Not sure how to respond, she stood, silent, staring. Why would he care one way or another if she dated? She opened her mouth to ask him when he continued.

“So who’s the lucky guy?”

“He’s a friend, my best friend, actually. He’s been pestering me to try dating for some time. I’ve always been resistant, but then I met this man online last night in the game I play, and he pointed out making friends online is not quite the same thing as making them in real life. Or, in any case, he said something close to that.”

He closed his eyes and held out his hand. “Please stop talking.”

“Draco, are you sure you’re okay?”

“Go back to your desk, Wendy; I’ve got a lot going on here today.” He opened his eyes.

“Okay, sir, if that’s what you want.”

He nodded. “It’s what I want.”

Turning on her heel, she walked to the door when she suddenly remembered the package in her hand. “Oh, one more thing, this was on my desk this morning. It’s addressed to you. The mailroom must have left it there yesterday. It has the code under your name, indicating it’s private, for your eyes only.”

As he made no move to approach her, Wendy strode to the desk and set the manila envelope down. She wasn’t sure what had gotten into Draco. He seemed both heated and distant. Sighing, she wondered if Kyle was right and she was working in the wrong field. Well, in any case, they could discuss it on their date. She hoped they could.

It might be awkward to be out with Kyle. They might not have anything to say to one another at all.

It couldn’t be nearly as scary to ask a lawyer or an accountant if they were having a bad day. She hurried out of the office, glad when the door closed tightly behind her.

She returned briskly to her desk, wondering if the others had left her any nasty surprises and was relieved to see they hadn’t. Sitting in front of her computer, she went over the day’s schedule. Halfway through the morning, she realized Draco hadn’t asked about it. In the four years they’d worked together, he had always asked her about his schedule.

Biting her lip, she called downstairs to the medical department. They answered on the first ring. This was standard, since she was calling from Draco’s number. If Draco—or Ace, when he deemed to show up—needed anything, everyone in the building jumped to get it for them. That included answering the phone.