Misadventures with a Super Hero

by Angel Payne

  “What can you do?” She laughs, taking me from mystified to disturbed—especially as she grinds her backside harder atop my cock. “Haven’t you already done it?”

  I rest my forehead against hers. “Fuck. I’m so—”

  “Proud of your handiwork?” She ropes both hands around my back and digs her nails into my shoulders. Her eyes dilate, the pupils huge islands in cyan seas. “Well, you should be.”

  I narrow my own gaze. “I…”

  “You want to hear me say it, Mr. Richards? Fine.” She gulps hard. “I never thought it could be like this. I never thought anything could be like this. Happy now?”

  I guess I would be—if I knew what the hell she’s talking about.

  Like a physical punch, comprehension hits.

  As soon as I shove aside my guilt long enough to look at her. Really look at her.

  The pulse in her neck, throbbing wildly. The needy huffs of her breaths. The subtle swivels of her hips…and the light dew of sweat along their inner curves.

  Holy fuck.

  My jizz isn’t killing her.

  It’s getting her off. In an insane way. From the inside out.

  “Oh, aren’t you clever?” She stabs the words at me with a turned-on grin, though the look fades as more arousal jolts her.

  I preface my reply with a smirk that feels so fucking good. “Clever?” I drawl. Yeah, I’m dicking with her. Because I can. Because I’m so full of joy right now and can’t dance on the ceiling about it. I much prefer watching her pleasure from this prime front row seat. “Miss Crist, I’m not sure I know what you mean.”

  “The hell you don’t,” she retorts, laughing, until the invisible arousal stabs her again, arching her hips higher. “Ohhh!” Her nails burrow deeper into my shoulders. I let out a dark snarl, welcoming the pain.

  “Tell me,” I order. “Don’t hold back, Velvet.” Because you just turned my hell into complete heaven. “I want to hear it all.”

  She responds with an extended cry, coinciding with her new contortion. “Lower,” she finally gasps. “It’s… It’s flowing lower.”

  “Toward your pussy?” When she nods, I dictate, “Tell me, Emma.”

  “Y-Yes. T-Toward my pussy. So hot. So intense. V-Vibrating.”

  “Yessss.” I tuck a hand under the roll of her skirt and press my fingers over her abdomen, picking up on the movement she’s describing. Her skin is hot, tingling. Her body is alive, trembling.

  “There,” she confirms, arching up toward me again. “Now there…and there. Oh, shit. It feels so—”

  “Words, Emma.” I need them. I need to know every damn detail about this. I’m a caveman who’s just discovered fire but now needs the instruction book for the blowtorch.

  Her head thrashes against my arm. “C-Can’t. Just…feeling. So much. So m-m-m-m…”

  “Then you’ll show me.” I run a hand down, pushing against her inner thigh until her most wicked fruit is visible. “Yeah. Just like that.”

  She breathes harder, the coral and pink layers between her thighs like a rose in a rainstorm, fluttering as lightning strikes their core. I’ve never witnessed anything more incredible. What guy gets to see every moment of a woman’s climax from a viewpoint like this? The clenches of her ass. Her glistening pussy lips clutching around her tight dark slit. The sweet swell of her clit, all but glowing like her hottest ember.

  I lean in, gripping one hand into the valley between her torso and thigh, and spread her a little farther. I can see every shimmering drop of the cream she squeezes from her trembling core—now blended with the milk she just drank out of my cock.

  “Holy. Fuck.”

  I rasp it.

  She screams it.

  I watch, entranced, as she falls apart in my arms—again and again and again.

  And again…

  Every time more of my fluid hits her tunnel and her clit, she’s flooded with fresh ecstasy, taking her through wave after wave of wordless pleasure. Every time, I’m taken to a new high by the incredible creature in my arms. How all of this hasn’t Tasered her trust and passion is beyond my comprehension, but not my gratitude. She may be the one on her fifteenth climax, but I’m the fucker celebrating the biggest win of the night. I’m holding a gorgeous woman in my arms, watching her lose her shit because of me. I’m mindless, weightless, infinite… A feeling I never dreamed I’d know again. A nirvana I’d written off a long damn time ago.

  But now isn’t the time for that morose mental path.

  Now is about a lightning strike named Emmalina Crist and learning more ways to make her feel good. After what I’ve just witnessed, I’m not exactly sure how that miracle will be accomplished but am open to exploring the possibilities.

  Wait a second. Open? No. Open is for trying new food or looking at a new avenue of auxiliary revenue for the hotel. I’m not open.

  I’m obsessed.

  I follow the path of her sated sighs, soon learning she likes circling caresses along the length of her arm. Her groans deepen as I curl my other hand to comb her brilliant blond hair.

  After a few minutes filled with nothing but her soft groans, she murmurs, “Mmmm. That feels so good.”

  I lean over and kiss her forehead. It feels so good, so right. I do it again. Then question myself. Was that right? I’ve never been a post-coital cuddle muffin or whatever the fuck they call it. It’s always been easier to live up to the infamy of my media nicknames, all serving as convenient red carpets to roll out before ushering my bedmates right out the door.

  But the carpets are still rolled up. The excuses, all gone. No. They’ve been blasted into obliteration—though not by the force of the lightning in my veins. They’ve been turned to dust by the woman in my arms. By her artless passion, her captivating honesty… This astounding blend of her and me for which the word chemistry feels like a goddamned insult.

  She feels right.

  Better than right.

  She feels fucking great.

  And no way in hell do I want her anywhere near the door.

  Which is why I inhale with determined meaning and answer her with what sounds like sappy pillow talk, but for once I truly mean it. “A lot more where that came from, little bunny.”

  She snaps open her eyes and a giggle spills off her delectable lips. “Now I know I must be dreaming.”

  I frown. “Why?”

  “Because the mighty and mysterious Reece Richards just called me bunny—after getting me off so many times, I lost count.”

  I quirk my lips. “So, I assume it’s a good dream?”

  She smacks at my chest before sighing again. That sound. If Guinevere and Cleopatra sighed like that, no wonder Lancelot and Mark Antony went willingly to their ruin. “Hmmm. If you must know…”

  “Yeah.” I kiss her forehead. “I must.”

  “It was very good.” She curls closer, looking languid and gorgeous. “I just don’t want to wake up.”

  “Then don’t.”

  “Not an option.” Her forehead furrows. “I mean, with all due respect, Mr.—ermmm…”

  I’d laugh if her uncertainty wasn’t so damn palpable. “Why don’t you just call me Reece?”

  She blinks. Then again. Clearly, she’s wondering if this is the point where she wakes up from her dream. Her quixotic smile returns once I dip down and take her lips in a lingering kiss. Damn. She still tastes like passion, mixed with a lot of silken woman. I want to sample her deeper, so I do. Once the soft, slow tangle of our tongues comes to a reluctant end, I realize my face is tight with confusion. I’m nearly thirty years old and only now I am experiencing the best kiss of my life. Some worldly golden boy.

  “Hey.” Her gentle prompt breaks me out of my funk. “Are you okay?”

  I twist a sarcastic smirk. “Isn’t that my line?”

  Her smirk mimics mine, only she’s a lot more adorable. Those champagne-colored pillows mellow into a soft pout as I finger-comb her hair again. The stuff is incredible, strands of gossamer glowing even without
the help of my penlight fingers. I could run my touch through them all night.

  Her sleepy grumble tells me I might have the chance.

  “Reece?”

  I grunt in approval. That’s so much better than “Mr. Richards.”

  “Hmmm?”

  “You need to stop that.”

  “Stop what?” It’s tinged with a tease.

  “That.” She scowls, weakly trying to bat my hand away. “I have to get up. I have to…go back.”

  “Back where?”

  “Work.” She whimpers, attempting another drowsy protest. “The… The work people. They’ll be—”

  “Fine.” I turn it into a gentle dictate. “They’ll be just fine without you for a while, Emmalina.”

  “But—”

  “I said they’ll be fine.” I embed it into her mind by speaking it into the perfect plane of her forehead. After another brush of a kiss—I can’t keep my lips off her and don’t even want to try—I stress, “I’ll take care of it, Velvet bunny.”

  Little tremors shake her form, the motions of a giggle without the sound. “Velvet bunny,” she whispers, her face drooping against my chest.

  I don’t say a word until her breaths lengthen and her body slips into the lazy curves of sleep. Only then, as I lift her from the floor and carry her into the bedroom, do I let my mind echo with her whispered word, letting it part the curtains of my memory. A new passage from my treasured childhood book filters to my conscious—and slices into my chest.

  Once you are real, you cannot become unreal again. It lasts for always.

  Always.

  It resounds so deep, I rub my chest after sliding Emma beneath the comforter.

  Always.

  Fuck. I’m weaving way too much symbolism into this shit. It’s just a stupid childhood memory of a word that never meant much to me—not that it should have, in my world of all-for-me-all-right-now gratification. After Angelique and The Consortium got their hands on me, I compelled it to mean even less. A concept I couldn’t and wouldn’t accept.

  Monsters don’t get to have always.

  And nothing has changed about the monster I really am.

  That means this gets to be my always. Moonlit peace. Depths of midnight. A starscape and a cityscape, their silent beams radiating the room. But none of it as beautiful as the person at my side, sleeping through satiation from our passion.

  She consumes my attention as I stretch beside her, tracing fingertips along her collarbone and shoulder. She tremors a little and turns toward me.

  “Sleep, bunny,” I murmur. “I’ll watch over you, sweetheart.”

  For as long as this always will let me.

  Chapter Four

  EMMA

  Some dreams are just better than others.

  But this one’s a freaking Big Mac of better. With extra cheese and secret sauce.

  So damn good, a lot of the details climb out of the sleep fog with me. I swear I can still smell Reece Richards on my skin, smoky and spicy. I can feel the lingering warmth of his climax on my throat…and everywhere else.

  Everywhere.

  I roll to my side, twisting the bedcovers against my pussy, moaning into my pillow as the sensitive surfaces swell to life…

  As if I really did climax over two dozen times for the man last night.

  As he did nothing but watch.

  Impossible.

  But so wonderful to think about.

  I trail a hand down and slip my fingers beneath my panties. The world beyond my closed eyelids is still too bright, meaning there’s time for at least a quick fantasy before prepping for work. This time, I’ll be awake for it too. Yessss.

  I roll to my back and kick the covers free, letting the room’s warmth drench my skin. I get rid of my panties in an equal hurry, luxuriating in the softness of the sheets and pillows—and do I mean soft. New fabric softener for the win. My discount cotton sheets suddenly feel like thousand-thread Egyptian stuff, and I’m damn Nefertiti in the middle of them.

  With a fantasy pharaoh filling my mind’s eye.

  His stare, silver and charged. His face, striking and bold. His body, proud and etched. Oh, that body. His chiseled torso pulls my stare in, and I push heavy air through my chest as I trail the gaze of my dream-self down to the best part of him.

  Oh.

  That.

  He’s magnificent. Undaunted. So unafraid to show me how his cock wants me. I’m not even bashful about using the word cock.

  My sex clenches as I trail my fingers down, finding the most tender part of my clit. As I stroke those sensitive nerves, my mind blooms with an image of his stalk, long and gleaming and erect…

  And delicious.

  Oh yes. That too.

  As if my dream is actually a memory, I relive every moment of pulling him inside my mouth. All the way down my throat. He groans, amazed that I take him so deeply. Even I’m astounded. Somehow, his come has cauterized my gag reflex. I’m able to suck his cock all the way inside. Deeper and deeper…

  He grows inside me. Bigger and bigger…

  He fucks my mouth. Harder and harder…

  I release a sigh. Spread my legs. Dig my heels into the bed, thrusting my pussy into my hand. I moan, rubbing faster. Trying, with urgent need, to keep up with what the dream does to my blood, my nerves, my sanity.

  Needy gasps tumble off my lips.

  His hungry snarl tangles with them. A beautiful sound…only now it seems so real…

  Too real.

  I force my eyes open. Every muscle in my body stops. This isn’t my little bed nook at my studio apartment. I’m in a room twice that size, in a bed my whole kitchen could fit into, set on a platform overlooking everything between the Brocade and the Pacific Ocean. Golden sun spills over all the buildings, streets, and cars before glimmering on the sea along the far horizon. Just as distant but just as real is a memory of this room by night…from the vantage point of Reece’s arms.

  Reece.

  He’d asked me to call him Reece…

  I’d agreed…

  In the same giddy haze I find myself now…

  And never want to leave.

  Especially as the man drops his sweats—the only thing he’s wearing—and kicks them aside, stepping onto the riser and bumping his knees to the bottom edge of the bed. If I didn’t just shudder with ten kinds of new arousal, I’d seriously start wondering about the dream angle again. But holy shit.

  “This is real.” I finish the thought aloud, needing to hear myself speak it. “You’re real.”

  “It is.” His gaze heats. “I am.” He slides one hand around the base of his erection. As he strokes that mesmerizing length, his body tautens into amazing lines of muscle. “And you are. Thank fuck.”

  At once, I start moving too. Any fragment of uncertainty or insecurity is scorched by the spell he casts on me. Is the air sparkling? And if it really is, why am I not surprised? It’s him and that bizarre but beautiful force field of his. He ignites my blood and electrifies my pussy in the same incredible second…

  Every inch of my intimate triangle cries out, demanding attention. I writhe, shameless in my lust. My thighs start to ache. My nipples pucker, painful and pulsing.

  It all gets worse—and better—as he hikes both knees to the bed and scoots his way toward me.

  “Spread for me, Velvet.”

  Velvet.

  Oh, my God. That wasn’t a dream either.

  With a surrendering sigh, I obey him. My attention is rapt as he widens his pose, scraping my inner thighs with his knees. The coarse hair covering the amazing muscles of his legs is a deeply primal turn-on. Take me. Please.

  He keeps fisting his erection. Up and down, up and down, up and down. His strokes are bold and demanding, corresponding to the force of his stare on my body.

  “You’re so fucking beautiful.” The words rasp from between his locked teeth as he leans over, bracing himself with his free hand. “Just looking at you like this… Feel what it does to me.”
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br />   My gasp twines with his groan as his hand halts on his cock. The muscles in his arm constrict, aiding the extra hard squeeze he gives just under the purple mushroom at his tip. The slit in it brims with a liquid pearl—a drop he aims directly over my clit. We both watch that gleaming bead, hovering…teasing us…

  “Oh,” I croak. “Oh.” When I lift my head, his stare awaits, severe as a dagger and slicing me just as deep. I’m not nearly so sure of myself. Of any of this. Will that liquid, pumped from that wicked place inside him, have the same effect on me as last night? Will it feel as good on the outside of my pussy as it did from the inside? I can barely force my brain around the questions, let alone my lips.

  His mind and mouth aren’t so hesitant.

  “You want it, Velvet?”

  I shiver from the electric caress of his voice. “Y-Yes.”

  A corner of his decadent mouth kicks up. “Then you have to say it.”

  I gulp hard. “I—I want it.”

  “Say it all. What do you want, Emma? And where do you want it?”

  I groan.

  He smirks.

  “Please…Reece…”

  “Say it.”

  “I… I want your come. Right here. In… In my pussy.”

  He squeezes and his liquid drips into my shivering folds.

  I shoot to the stars.

  The orgasm hits hard and fast. My eyes blaze wide. A scream spirals up my throat and is consumed by Reece’s brutal kiss. I give him the sound with open abandon, too shocked and aroused to fight his sweeping, searing attack. His tongue is the center of my world, a life raft of reality in an ocean of unthinking ecstasy. He groans hard in response, the sound emanating from his core as he drips again onto me, making me burst again.

  “Ahhhh!” I shriek while breaking away to search for air and logic and what’s left of my sanity. “What’s going on?” My plea shoots toward the ceiling. “Wh-What the hell are you doing to me?”