The Superfox (4 page)

“Wool's hot, itchy, and revealing, darrrrlin'.” His attempted burr was utterly yummy. “But I can accommodate your wonderment.”

Stepping back, he shucked a pair of Batman boxer briefs, stepped out of them, and threw them across the break room. The effect of his freed erection under the kilt was noticeable, and Lissa suddenly felt like she was wearing far too many clothes. She hopped down off the counter and turned her back to him, unbuttoning her jeans and slowly lowering the zipper to shimmy out, just a little.

“Give a girl a hand?”

His groan was followed by hands working the tight denim over lush hips to reveal lacy Wonder Woman panties.

“That's the sexiest thing I've ever seen.” He ran his fingertips along the red lace and snapped the elastic against her ass, making her gasp. “So far.”

She shimmied her hips suggestively and answered, “So unleash hell.”

Mark slid the jeans over her butt and down her legs, tugging hard when they got stuck on her thighs. The cold air struck her legs, and she was extra glad she'd kept up with shaving through the grim winter—mostly just because she liked the feel of fleece pants against smooth, oiled skin. She'd been single for so long that she'd ceased to do the upkeep for the sake of some dude who might or might not appreciate it or a stranger who might or might not get to see it. Anything she did now, she did for herself. And the way Mark was running his hands up and down the back of her legs made her purr as smugly as a cat.

He slid her cardigan off her arms, and she took a moment to step out of her jeans and kick them aside. As many times as she'd stood here, waiting for the microwave to ding, she'd sure as hell never imagined herself braced and hungry against the break room counter in panties and a t-shirt while a hot guy in a kilt kissed the small of her back and cupped her butt. There was something so deliciously naughty about it, like the programmers might show up any moment for their morning coffee and donuts and find their untouchable lioness of a leader spreading her legs just a little wider and breathing hard in plain sight.

Except that they were trapped here alone with a snowstorm raging outside, the two company wild cards, and well on the way to completely undressed. No one would believe it. As he fingered the red lace on her panties, she grinned wolfishly, thinking about how much fun it would be if the Media girls ever found out that the voluptuous virago who always hung with the guys knew exactly what Mark Ranger wore under his kilt.

His hands were so wide and warm that she felt tiny by comparison, his thumbs on her spine and his fingers splayed across the skin under the hem of her shirt. He brushed her hair aside, and his lips found the nape of her neck, teeth grazing softly as one finger sneaked into her panties and skimmed along her lips, dragging through the wetness and dipping in just enough to make her hold her breath and hope for more. His other hand slipped inside her shirt to cup her breast through her padded red bra. Facing away from him upped the eroticism of his teasing touches.

As he kissed up her jaw, he whispered, “So I have this fantasy...”

Her hips moved with his finger as he stroked her inside her panties, his hips pressed against her butt.

“Oh, yeah?”

“Ever since I saw you in your red dress on my first day, I wanted to photograph you. Boudoir. On a fainting couch. Sometimes I imagine a bustier, sometimes a silk dress. But now all I can see is these panties and your skin against a white backdrop.” His boot gently nudged her foot aside to give him better access. “So open.”

Pleasure and warmth surged through her as she writhed against his finger and arched her back to press her nipple into his hand. The rough wool of his kilt ground against her, her feet cold on the tile floor. She felt hot and exquisitely sensitive, open and hungry, and now his fantasy was in her head, too. She could see herself on a plush white rug in his studio, hot lights shining down on the planes of her stomach and arched feet in heels. God, that would be luscious, him moving her body this way and that, watching her through the lens, worshiping her with his camera and teasing her with touches until neither of them could handle the tension anymore.

“I like the way you think, Ranger.”

“Wonder what you'll think of this, then...”

His hand slipped from under her shirt and reached for his glass of tea, and then she shuddered at the sting of cold just under her navel and drawing a line of goose bumps into the front of her panties.

“Never played Emma Frost before,” she murmured, sucking in her belly to get away from the chill.

But his hot fingers dragged the ice cube right between her lips and cupped it against her in his palm, a shocking sensation of cold and hot and smooth and rough that made her cry out and shudder. She wanted to get away from the cold, but she needed the pressure and the movement, and whichever way she moved, he followed her, half-numbing, half on fire as the ice pushed against warm flesh and melted, all slick. One finger nudged inside her, hot and hard as he rubbed the wet ice cube over her clit with his other hand. She arched her back and looked over her shoulder at him in surprise, and he took her mouth in a claiming kiss that was all heat.

“Hello, Johnny Storm,” she murmured into his mouth.

In response, his cock quivered against her back and his fingers sped up, one pressing into her and the other rubbing what was left of the melting ice cube into the hot, wet mess of her pussy, a symphony of sensations that was battering against her defenses, pushing her closer and closer to the edge of what exploded in a dazzling, pounding climax that made her scream out and jerk against him, her fingers holding onto the counter for dear life.

“Shazam,” she muttered, pressing her cheek to the faux-granite and trying to slow her shaking.

In a move that touched her, he pulled her close and set his cheek against her back, holding her close as she returned to the world.

The world of the break room.

Where she was dripping onto the checkerboard floors.

And suddenly realizing how very cold melted ice could be when one wasn't wearing pants.

Lissa shifted her hips experimentally and winced when a nubbin of ice plunked on the tile.

“I'm going to need to see a man about a horse,” she said, straightening up and trying to pull her shirt down and not let her thighs touch. She was suddenly freezing and wet, and everything felt tremendously awkward, standing in her company's break room drenched in the scent of sex and staring at a hot guy with wet hands and a kilt at half-mast.

He looked down, licked his lips, and looked back up. “I... didn't really think about the consequences, I'll admit.” He shrugged and grinned. “What can I say? Something about you brings out the Loki in me. Paper towels?”

But Lissa needed some space and something more friendly than a cheap paper towel from above the bagel toaster. The intimacy had fled with the last shudders of her climax and the warmth of his cheek against her back, and now she just felt silly, which was a feeling she generally went out of her way to avoid.

“I'll be back.” She snatched her jeans and sweater and hurried past Mark and his flagging kilt. He looked slightly bemused, a little apologetic, and delightfully wrinkled.

Lissa almost slugged on her jeans for the walk of shame down the hall, then realized they would just get totally damp. Instead, she made a beeline for her office, where her workout bag waited, along with her favorite shower wipes.

Slamming the door shut and tossing her jeans over her chair, she was more grateful than ever for the perks of a corner office with a closet. After one particularly heinous visit from Aunt Flo, she'd started keeping a few back-up items in a file box, and she rummaged in there now, finding a not-nearly-as-cute but far less moist pair of panties. She mopped off with the wipes, impressed with the mess he'd managed to make out of her. The break room would never look the same, and she was fairly certain that was the most turned on she'd been in years, maybe since fevered high school pawing in the basement rec room before her mom could interrupt. Sure, the ice had made a puddle—but she'd helped, too. If she'd known Mark was that amazing, she'd have left her office for the art department more often. She'd basically given up on finding a guy who shared her interests
and
revved her engine.

And she made him feel a little Loki? Even better.

A Viking on the streets and a wizard in the sheets worked just fine for her.

Once she'd cleaned up and dried off, she stepped into the plain red panties, wishing they at least had some lace or a thong or something, but the other ones were definitely ruined for now. Her jeans were a welcome respite, and she knew she looked cute as hell in her Catwoman t-shirt and red-painted toes. Considering that Jedi weren't the apex of sexy, she left off her cardigan. It was warm enough in the building without an extra layer. Surveying herself in the mirror on the back of her closet door, she knew she was missing one thing: her trademark red lipstick, which had been well and truly kissed away.

Ten minutes later, she was freshened up, dark hair brushed to a shine and lips as red as the ones on her shirt. She'd dabbed on some perfume oil, something subtle on her pulse points, and downed a couple of mints. Considering the fact that their time together thus far had been basically a geeky Penthouse fantasy, with smoldering looks and clever banter and going to third base in a company break room, she felt like she wanted to start over in first date mode and have a normal conversation with a guy who was seriously worth consideration. And she only wished she had a shot of scotch to embolden her as she went to find him and figure out a less awkward way to say, “So what do you do when you're not finger-banging a project manager by the Coke machine?”

But would he be waiting outside, in his office, or in the break room with a mop? She opened her office door with no idea where to go next, an utterly unusual feeling. And she found something unexpected.

Her office was in the corner, and there were two pieces of candy on the floor outside. One was a peppermint pointing down the hall to the break room. The other was a red Hershey's Kiss, pointing down the hall to the left.

The hall that led to the art department where Mark's office was.

Beside the wrapped peppermint was a Post-It that read, “Blue Pill”.

Beside the Hershey's Kiss was a Post-It that read, “Red Pill”.

Lissa grinned. Of course he knew The Matrix.

So if she followed the peppermints, they would forget that their sexy interlude had ever happened and return to ignorance and, what—a Cup O'Soup in the kitchen as respected coworkers? But if she followed the Hershey's Kisses, shit would get real. In his studio.

Lissa stooped to pick up the Hershey's Kiss, unwrap it, and pop it in her mouth. How could she deny her favorite candy?

Ignorance had never been her path to bliss.

Five feet down the hall, another red Kiss waited. She left that one for later and followed the path, excitement building as she contemplated what was waiting at the end of the trail. All but dancing on the balls of her feet and with butterflies frantic in her chest, she turned the corner and found a coil of gold rope—the kind of fancy tassel that would tie back velvet curtains. Ah, yes. The photographer had a huge closet of props, didn't he? It did not escape her that the rope was wound around just like Wonder Woman's Lasso of Truth, and she just wished her Wonder Woman panties were still wearable.

Stringing the cord through her belt loop, she ate the next Hershey's Kiss and passed two more before rounding the last corner to the Art Department. The door was shut, a pair of gold handcuffs hanging from the latch. On the ground sat a bowl of peppermints and a bowl of Hershey's Kisses, both stolen from the annoying receptionist. A Post-It on the peppermints read, “You lack conviction, but that's okay.”

The one on the Hershey's Kisses read, “Enter, and be burdened with glorious sexy.”

She couldn't help laughing out loud.

God, she hoped he wasn't cosplaying on the other side of that door. No matter how hot Mark Ranger was, she would giggle if he was dressed as a horny, horned Loki in a banana hammock.

She needn't have worried. When she pocketed the cuffs and opened the door, another Kiss in her mouth, he was sitting on his futon, fully dressed, just as he had when she'd originally found him. As if they were doing a second take of the same scene, he stood and shut his iPad. But the smile he gave her was altogether more knowing and panty-dropping than the first one he'd offered. Before, he'd been polite. Now he was hungry. And, yes, burdened with glorious sexy, now that she knew how well he could kiss.

Mark grinned and walked toward her, stopping just short of touching her. “You picked the red pill.”

Lissa felt suddenly small. “Maybe I just wanted to learn kung fu.”

Slipping a finger through the handcuff hanging out of her front pocket, he pulled her a step forward. “I don't think that's what you wanted at all. Last chance for grilled cheese with Thor in the break room.”

In response, she slowly unwrapped a Hershey's Kiss and ate it rather suggestively as she held up the red foil for his inspection.

Mark's grin was radiant, his blue eyes sparkling with mischief.

“The safe word is Mjölnir,” he said. “But meow-meow doesn't count.”

Before she could tell him about the kind of hammering she'd prefer, he'd whipped the handcuffs out of her pocket and slapped them on her wrist. Of course, they were just toys, but the click of the lock and the cold kiss of the metal made the playful moment suddenly intimate. Lissa had always been the dominant person in every relationship, and she'd never played with bondage before. Giving up control simply wasn't part of her personality.

But maybe it was about to be. Safeing out before things got interesting just wasn't her style. Maybe Mark was actually hero enough to turn her whole world upside down.

Lissa swallowed the chocolate and held out her other wrist, a thrill running through her when the cuff closed around it. She played at tugging her hands apart, but the toy cuffs were stronger than she would've guessed. The metal wasn't going to break. And even though she could've easily thumbed them open, she didn't. The moment stretched out, and she noticed a muffled thumping. His iPod wasn't on the speaker dock she'd noticed earlier. She looked around the room and focused on the closed door to the photo studio.