Misadventures with a Super Hero

by Angel Payne

Oh, my God.

  I want him.

  Not just with gee-it’s-been-a-long-time lust.

  With singular, groundbreaking, life-altering need.

  I want him.

  More badly than I’ve ever craved a man before. The desire tears at my muscles, burns at my blood, pounds in every cell of my sex. The papers in my fingers start to rip from my grip—but if I let them go, I know damn well what I’ll reach for instead.

  “I—” My voice sounds foreign to me. A light year away. Achingly intimate. “I… Maybe I should just—”

  “Just what, Velvet?”

  Velvet. He had to go and say that. Using that rasping demand of a tone.

  “I should…”

  I should go. You’re my boss. I need this job. This is wrong.

  This is so right, it’s terrifying.

  Just for a second, I need to succumb to the rightness. For one mindless moment, I can no longer resist the terror. I let my mind leap over the cliff of my propriety. Fate hasn’t brought me to this exact unreal place at this exact unreal time only to be slapped down by a dorky bumpkin from the OC who can’t take a massive cosmic hint.

  It’s just one moment.

  Just him and me.

  Drawn. Desiring. Surrendering.

  The force pulls my head over. I slide through the breath separating my face from his body, brushing my nose across the seam over his crotch. His body jolts. The fabric tautens. He erupts with a harsh hiss while I draw in a deep breath. My senses swirl from his heady scent. His cologne, metallic and smoky. His arousal, musky and thick. Is the fabric under my nose getting damp?

  I want to know.

  I need to find out.

  I press closer.

  His tight moan flows down over me, tempting beyond the line we’re still just dancing on. Unbelievably, there’s still a sliver of room for turning back. We’re in silent agreement on that, our muscles tight and our breaths shallow, waiting for the other to leap to their senses and declare this the really bad idea it is…

  But it doesn’t feel bad.

  It feels…

  I can’t even try to fill in that blank. Nor do I want to.

  I just know I don’t want it to end. Not yet. Please, not yet.

  “Miss Crist.” Nor does he. His growl, vibrating from a place deep inside him, is my verification.

  “Mr. Richards?” I’m not sure if the whisper is a question or a supplication. Maybe both. I revel in how his zipper stretches beneath my lips. He’s so big, so hot—and I’m so amazed. I’m on my knees in front of a man but have never felt more powerful in my life. This is beyond anything I’ve ever thought of doing to anyone. Beyond anything I’ve ever dreamed.

  “Shit.”

  His hiss is like a rough caress to every inch of my body, every corner of my sex. My hips roll, driven by raw instinct, struggling to alleviate the ache in my core. No. It’s not just an ache. It’s an instinct, stripped and primitive, twining my every cell to the energy he’s heightened since I first felt his eyes on me. It’s unbelievable. Unbearable…

  And now, unavoidable.

  He knows it too. I feel it in the harsh spasms of his muscles. In the growling effort of his breaths. In the energy vibrating so potently between us, I swear the air nearly glows.

  Wait. It is glowing.

  Brighter still, as he stretches his elegant fingers across my periphery, reaching into my hair. Why do each of his nailbeds look like lit fireflies?

  “Eyes. Here.”

  He enforces both syllables by twisting his grip into my hair, the right hand, then the left, compelling my stare straight ahead. I’m consumed with nothing but his crotch once more. The pulsing ridge. The magnetic heat.

  “Miss Crist?” It’s not a full question, though inflected enough to prompt mine.

  “Mr. Richards?”

  “Do you want this?”

  I wet my lips. “Yes. Oh, yes.”

  “So swift,” he murmurs. “So eager. Yet you don’t even know what I want to do to you with it.”

  I dare a small glance up. His face, encased in lust, will be the centerpiece of my memories for a long time to come. “Will you tell me?” I purposely bite my bottom lip. “If I ask nicely?”

  His jaw clenches so tight, a pulse ticks against his stubble. He pulls harder on my scalp. “Nice has nothing to do with what’s happening here, Velvet.”

  Freaking. Hell.

  Just like that, he throws open the lid to a new space inside me. Gives rise to a creature worthy of his electric erotic power. A woman I hardly recognize as me—but wholly, happily embrace.

  “Then shut up and just show me.”

  Chapter Three

  REECE

  Could I have prayed for her to say anything better?

  Could I have dreaded she say anything worse?

  Show me.

  She has no idea what she’s asking for. Fuck. I have no idea what she’s asking for, though I can claim the advantage of an educated guess. My four-women-a-month life is a distant memory now, but my dick hasn’t forgotten that playboy’s needs. Fine-tuning the art of a worthy jerk off has brought some revelations—like the fact that I can now see my jizz, glowing like nuclear waste, as it swirls down the shower drain.

  Christ.

  How am I standing here, even thinking of exposing this magnificent creature to that danger?

  I’m not thinking. At least not about her. Because once again, it’s all about me. Guess the saying is true. Once an asshole…

  “No.” It’s a scream in my brain but a grate on my lips as I twist in conflict. The woman at my feet interprets the sound differently. Her raised stare, huge and dreamy and lusty, confirms it. I’m a fucking wreck and she’s an aroused rabbit, thinking I’m opting for some coy bid at nobility. I don’t know whether to laugh or rage—until both options are ripped away by the woman herself as she reaches to unfasten my pants.

  One quick release of my top button and my cock takes full advantage of the extra breathing space. As new blood rushes to my groin, harsh air grunts into my throat. It becomes a full growl as she drags her fingers down the seam of my crotch.

  “Fuck.”

  Velvet rabbit? What the hell was I thinking? She’s a seductress, those big blue eyes just the gateway to her temptation, softness and light beckoning me to give up, give in, give over. It’s all right, she seems to whisper to me. It’s all good. It’s so good. It’s going to be even better once you’re inside me.

  No.

  Yes.

  No.

  A gust of wind whumps the windows at my back. A blast of lust fills my cock, turning every motion into torture…and her warm breaths into unbearable teases. With limp surrender, she releases the papers in her grip. They smack to the floor and fan apart, forming a crisp bleached carpet for our dirty, debauched acts.

  Corruption I need to end. A goddess I need to let go.

  But I can’t. I can’t. Her desire is like a new drug. Her surrender is my new sanity.

  I hang on tighter—to bring her face even closer.

  She parts her lips and then runs them up and down my hardening ridge. Not a trace of hesitation in her movements. Not a single waver in her low, needy moan. She’s a gift. My gift…

  Which is why I have to make her stop.

  Which is why I can’t.

  “Unzip it,” I command in a soft growl.

  I won’t let her go too far. I’ll give her just a taste. I’ll stop before she swallows anything. I’ll let her lick until the pre-come returns and then I’ll pull out and—

  “Wow.”

  Her rasp, so sincere, is joined by her wondering stare as she palms the bulge beneath my briefs. It comes close to being the goddamned sight of the century—close because that honor goes to what she gives me in the next second. With a sweet little sigh, she dips in close enough to nuzzle me again. To inhale me…

  “Mr. Richards?”

  I’m grateful for her soft query. It forces me to focus. To coalesce brain matter into words
. “Yes, Miss Crist?”

  “You’re wet.”

  Fuck the hell out of me.

  Which is so not going to happen, even if the effort kills me.

  And wouldn’t that be Karma’s ultimate joke? The player turned freak, throwing himself at petty thieves and thugs in the hopes of taking a stray bullet to his gut, instead put down by his wayward dick. Step right up, folks. Come and get your poetic justice riiigght heeere.

  But for now, I’m alive. And that means forming words. Remember those, moron? Get the words out. Keep the come in.

  “And are you?”

  She narrows her gaze. Breathes harder. For an incredible second, I can see down her blouse. She’s wearing a dark-pink bra under the matching satin blouse. I wonder if the nipples under it are a similar hue. Are they tight from my demand? Have they become erect berries centered in puckered areolas?

  “Am…I…?”

  “Wet.” I all but snarl it out. Maybe if I talk like a monster, she’ll begin to believe I am one. “Are you wet too, Miss Crist?”

  She shivers. I prepare to watch the fear creep into her gaze, but only clear blue curiosity returns my scrutiny. “I…I think I am.”

  “And that surprises you?”

  She furrows her brow. “I suppose it does.”

  And just like that, my dick fills with new lightning. What the hell? All she’s done is touch me through my underwear—but it’s enough. Holy fuck, more than enough. I’m so goddamned hard, it hurts.

  “You should check.”

  Her gaze widens. “I should…what?”

  “Check.” I nod curtly, enforcing the mandate. “You heard me. Do it, Emmalina. Pull your skirt to your waist, drop your panties to your knees, and put a finger in your pussy. Then tell me if you’re wet.”

  For the first time, uncertainty clouds her face. Perhaps a little fear. Has she finally grabbed the clue? Realized I’m not the lonely Heathcliff up in the tower? That Neeta, Wade, and Fershan are right to be freaked out by me? That she should be freaked out by me? But I search her face again and see none of that. I think she’s just hesitant about obeying me—about seeking her pleasure in front of me. But I remain implacable. She will obey.

  “You… You want me to—”

  “Touch yourself.” I massage her scalp. “Yes.”

  “While you watch?”

  “Every fucking moment.”

  She twists her lips. “Said the Big Bad Wolf to Red Riding Hood?”

  A growling chuckle spills out. “What big eyes I have?”

  “What beautiful eyes you have.”

  My laughter fades. The reverence in her voice… Fuck. Now I’m just as awestruck, wildly wondering where the hell this amazing creature has come from—and why the fuck that even matters right now. Not when all I care about is her obedience to my demand.

  “You’re stalling, bunny.” I splay my fingers wider against her scalp. “Do it now. Your finger in your pussy. Watching you will bring so much pleasure to my dick. You’re going to make me so fucking hard.”

  My filthy narrative is the right flip to her switch. She even kicks up a playful smile while bunching her skirt north of her waist, though it vanishes the moment her panties drop the other direction. With one more glance to ensure I’m still serious about my order, she slides one hand south…

  Bringing heaven to the seventieth floor.

  Heaven, in her guttural gasp of sheer arousal… In the soft drop of her head against my fingers… In the heady musk of her on the air…

  Arousal I need her to tell me about.

  Heaven I can experience through her.

  If just for a moment…

  “Tell me.” Focusing on the words helps me keep control—at least in the parts where it matters. I focus on their syntax, along with how it aches to push them from my locked teeth, but even that’s barely enough. Witnessing her arousal brings on more of my own. It’s fucking near intolerable…

  “You… You were right.”

  Her voice, now husky as whiskey, rolls through me in the same way. She brings torment and salvation together, a pleasure-pain I crave but resist. “About what?” I jerk on her hair, forcing her to stare up at me. “Say it, Emmalina.”

  She swallows. Dear fuck, so gorgeous. “I’m…wet,” she stammers. “So damn wet.”

  “Good girl.” At my praise, her skin flushes, her lips fall open, and she drags in heavy air. Dear fuck. This is my undoing. The freedom of how she looks at me, offering herself to me… It’s like a bolt cutter on some lock inside, a shackle that’s been so heavy for so long, I’m not even aware of it anymore. Not until this moment of getting to throw it free, celebrating with a new command for her.

  “Now show me.”

  For a moment, she’s confused again. “Show…you…?”

  “How wet you are.” I dip my head toward her fingers, which still massage between her creamy thighs. In the same instant, inspiration hits. I push down the front of my briefs far enough for my balls and shaft to spring free. If she only gets a taste, I’ll make sure it’s a damn good one. “Drench your finger with your arousal, and spread it over me—here.”

  I watch without restraint as she obeys without question. Her touch is full of fascination and adoration as she slicks her juices along my flesh, even taking time to trace over the larger veins, which pulse as if they’re going to explode right off my shaft. I’m just as spellbound. Her hair turns into a glowing halo under my fingertips. Her gaze all but worships my cock. And the perfect O of her lips reaches for my tip like a choirgirl about to take communion.

  And holy God, do I want to give it to her.

  But she gives before I can. Takes me in, surrounding me with her mouth, displaying the whole fucking universe to my senses in one stroke of heat and warmth and wetness. She sucks me deeper, tightening and expanding that cosmos at once, filling it with the echoes of my mindless moans.

  Mindless. That says it all. My thoughts have vanished. Logic, or whatever I thought I possessed of it, is gone. I’m nothing but desire and ache and need, every electron of my body zooming to the crux of my thighs, the length of my cock, the perfection of her mouth.

  A groan careens through my head. It’s edged in conflict, and for a second I wonder why.

  You can’t do this.

  You could kill her. This could kill her. She’s not the one who’s supposed to die.

  It’s me. I’m the one. And I am dying already, my chest locking down air with every new effort at restraint. Before I can control it, a spurt of pre-come erupts out. I force my eyes open, watching her throat convulse on it, praying like hell I haven’t scalded her for life…

  Her gaze goes wide.

  She keens in shock.

  Shit. Damn. Fuck.

  She goes down on my dick like a kid given candy for the first time. Confirms I’m not imagining it by lifting a stare full of brilliant blue arousal before going back to work as if it’s fucking Godiva.

  “Holy sssshhh…” It’s all I’m able to get out before she pulls me in so hard my balls collide with her chin. I’m not hung like an elephant, but my cock is built like the rest of me, length instead of girth, meaning that despite the number of women I’ve known biblically in my life, getting deep-throated has been a rare and incredible treat.

  And never, never, as good as this.

  No. Forget good.

  This is…transformative. An all-access pass to another dimension. My blood converts into light ropes. My consciousness blares. My senses blaze. I fist my hands in her hair until I drive her harder, fucking her deeper, rejoicing in the sweet compliance of her deep, needy moan.

  I can’t stop.

  I can’t think.

  I can only feed her hunger. Sate my lust. Lunge and push and fuck and need…

  And need…

  Until my balls squeeze tight. My lungs seize on air. My brain turns to toast.

  And my universe becomes her.

  My life pours into her.

  It’s the best orgasm I’ve kno
wn. And the worst agony I’ve ever felt.

  I’m killing her. I’m killing her.

  “Fuck.” I finish with a helpless choke, a mix of ecstasy and remorse—who knew I’d ever be putting those two in a mental test tube—as the heat keeps sizzling through my cock and spurting into her. She answers every drop with a wanton moan, even grabbing my hips when I try to pull away. She’s a creature possessed, and I’m ripped to shreds about stopping her. The last meal of her life is a throat full of my come, and the woman is damn near thanking me for the experience.

  I will never leave the depths of hell after I die.

  Which may be sooner than I think, because she keeps sucking my dick as if her erotic buffet won’t end until she has my blood as well as my seed.

  At last, with a harsh hiss, she releases me.

  At once, my knees give out.

  I plummet next to her, still gripping her head. Damn good thing, because I can force her to look at me. To see the apology, too late to do any good, in my eyes.

  “I’m sorry.” I kiss her desperately, hating myself more as my dick jerks from the taste of myself on her lips. A snarl rips up my throat as I yank away. “I’m so damn sorry.”

  Her forehead crumples. “Why?”

  I struggle for the right words. Because you sucked my cock so well, I forgot my own damn name. And, oh yeah, I also forgot about the band of lunatic scientists who turned my blood into electricity a year ago, meaning I just turned you into—

  What?

  What the hell have I done to her?

  I have no answer for that—just as I have no words for what starts to happen to the woman in my arms. Only now do I realize I’ve harbored some dark fears about what to expect if this ever happened—and the reality before me doesn’t match any of them. The lightning fire in her eyes, the ruby tint of her lips, and the sensual flare across her cheeks aren’t anything close to the horror of a woman in the last moments of her life.

  “Emmalina,” I croak in place of kissing her again. “Emma,” I revise, daring to stroke her cheek. After the climax, my glowing fingertips have returned to normal. “What can I do? How can I—”

  Her high gasp cuts me off. Her body jerks, and she falls against me. I lower to my haunches, letting her sag sideways into my arms. She slides a hand under my shirt, scoring my abdomen in time to her spasms. The second her bare ass lands atop my spent cock, she turns into a ball of sensual slithers. I’m beyond baffled. Is this really what death throes look like?