The Superfox (5 page)

“What's behind door number one?”

Mark smoldered at her and stepped to the side. “Let's find out.”

Barefoot and handcuffed, Lissa traded her usual swagger for swinging hips as Mark followed her to the metal door. The sign read COME ON IN, and she paused before opening to turn it around with a cuffed hand.

DO NOT DISTURB – SHOOT IN PROGRESS was far more apt.

As she maneuvered her hand to turn the door latch, the chain between the cuffs clinked against the metal, and Lissa swallowed hard. She had chosen this path, and she wanted to find out what Mark had in store for her. But she was anxious and more than a little nervous, which was a new feeling for her, and it definitely turned her on. Why should it be any harder than usual for a confident, strong woman to open a door?

Mark's hand landed on the small of her back, warm and wide, as if he knew she was about to cross a new line and wasn't nudging her so much as acknowledging that and supporting her. Of course, being Lissa, she took it as a dare and opened the door.

She'd seen the photography studio only once before—when Dr. Horne had given her the full office tour after hiring her as his assistant. Back then, the department had been a shambles, and the room had seemed like an old costume closet with a few dusty spotlights. Now it reminded her of a black box stage, tidy and well-kept. All the lights were aimed at the center of the room, where an ornate, throne-like chair waited atop a thick white rug that looked like sheepskin. The white backdrop was pulled, the effect of the gold-painted chair against snow-white surroundings blinding under the spotlights.

“How'd you have time to set all this up?”

Mark strolled behind the chair, curling his hands around the carved top. “I work fast. Unless I'm taking my sweet time. Have a seat.”

As Lissa stepped onto the rug, her toes automatically curled into the plush white, and the lights heated her skin. It was going to get hot under here, fast. But she sat, testing out what it was like to be obedient. If you were going to take the red pill, you might as well step out of your comfort zone, right? And he'd already told her about this fantasy of his, so it's not like it was a surprise.

What was a surprise, however, was the way that he slid the curled gold rope from the loop of her jeans and used it to tie her ankles to the legs of the chair.

“What the actual hell?”

“Shh, woman. Unless you want to tell me about Thor's hammer.”

“I've never been tied up before.”

“Good. I bet you'll like it.”

She tried to move her feet and found that there was some slack. Her breath caught when she considered that she was tied up in an empty building with a guy she barely new. But Dr. Horne always did complete background checks on his employees, and Mark had been with Interprog for a while and had a good reputation. Surely he wasn't a serial killer with a comics fetish? If there had been plastic tarps anywhere, she would've freaked out. And he must've felt her unease, as he knelt in front of her and put one hand on her cheek and the other on top of both of hers, clasped in the cuffs. His eyes were ice blue under the lights, his strawberry blond stubble glinting and a few freckles visible, revealing a vulnerability she hadn't noticed before. The way he looked deep into her eyes, serious and tender, all but melted her into a puddle.

“This is safe. You can leave anytime. You could break out now if you wanted to, just flick the catches on the cuffs and run. Say the word, and you can forget anything ever happened. You won't have to see me for the rest of the Snowpocalypse. Or ever again.”

That was the thing, though. She didn't want to forget about sledding for the first time in years or trading Avengers quotes as he worked her into a frenzy unlike anything she'd ever experienced. She didn't want to pass Mark Ranger in the hallways and wonder what would've happened if she'd just let him take control. She didn't want the blue pill. Hell, she didn't even like peppermints.

So she smirked and feigned a struggle against the cuffs.

“I'm pretty sure these things are indestructible and bulletproof,” she said.

Mark stood and smiled down at her. “Of course they are. They were forged from Athena's shield. And the Lasso of Truth was made from the girdle of Gaia and forces anyone who touches it to tell the absolute truth.” He reached down to claim her mouth in a deep, plunging kiss and came away with red smeared around his lips. “So let's see how well it works.”

Lissa tasted chocolate and Mark and lipstick as she licked her lips and waited for his next move. He stood behind her, hands on the chair by her shoulders.

“What's your favorite comic?”

Her answer was immediate. “Saga.”

“Favorite book?”

“That's a forty-way tie.”

“Who's your favorite character on Firefly?”

“Wash.”

“Makes sense. You're a Zoe. What's your favorite drink?”

“Gin and tonic.”

“Did you like what we did in the break room?”

She didn't even pause at the heated change of tone. “Yes.”

“Did you come hard?”

“You know I did.”

His fingers caressed her hair and moved down to her shoulders, massaging gently. “Just testing the Lasso before I get to the good questions. Now...” He slid the neck of her shirt aside, exposing her red bra strap and running a finger under it. “Why are you here?”

“I was working on a deadline and didn't think about the storm.”

He snapped the bra strap against her shoulder, surprising her with the sting, but she could feel the amusement in his voice. “No, not in the building. Here, tied to a chair. With me.”

“Why does that matter?”

His lips brushed her ear as he whispered, “Because I want to know.”

Lissa took a deep breath. She wasn't the sort of person who told secrets or discussed feelings, and it took her a moment to sort through the truth and how to phrase it honestly without invoking any sort of pity.

“Because I'm a practical, assertive woman who intimidates men, and I wouldn't want to be with a man who was intimidated by me, anyway. You're the first guy in years who's presented any sort of a challenge. Who felt like an equal.”

“And?”

“And you're hot as fuck and know how to make me come without a map and a GPS system.”

“Mm.” His breath was hot on her ear again, his words husky and urgent. “Good answer. And what would you like me to do to you?”

He waited patiently there, smoothing her hair around her ear and tracing her jaw, and she let the moment draw out, enjoying his anticipation and the way he didn't rush to fill silences as so many men did.

“I thought I was here to live out your fantasy.”

“That's part of it. But what's
your
fantasy, Melissa?”

She laughed lightly. “I'm tied up with the Lasso of Truth. So I guess I have to tell you.”

“You should.”

“Come closer.”

Mark straightened and walked around the chair with easy confidence. He smiled down at her and bent to put his ear to her scarlet lips.

“For the first time in my life, I don't want to be in control.”

Mark stood, his arousal evident and his smile measuring.

“That leaves room for a lot of interpretation.”

“You're an artist. Get creative.”

“I like the way you think. But you're wearing way too many clothes.”

She shrugged and held up her wrists. “I'm tied up.”

Mark reached for her handcuffs and thumbed the catches, releasing her wrists. She rubbed the slight indentations from the metal, but soon he was lifting her Catwoman tee over her stomach and slipping it off over her head. She felt exposed and shy. Every direction she looked blinded her with spotlights. The room was more than warm, and before she could say anything, Mark had snapped the handcuffs right back onto her wrists. There was an odd sort of comfort in the firm circles of metal.

As she adjusted her posture, Mark squatted to untie her ankles. Lissa anticipated his next command and stood to let him unbutton and shuck off her jeans. Getting naked before the heat of the moment had emboldened her was another new sensation, one that built anticipation of what was to come and made her shiver and await his next touch. The chair was cold under her thighs, Mark's fingers warm as he retied the gold cord around her ankles and the chair's legs, just tight enough for her to feel it but not tight enough to cause any discomfort. She still wore her bra and panties, and she had no idea what he would do next.

“You know what you're doing,” Lissa observed.

He grinned at her and winked as he stood. “Did some boating, learned some knots. Never though I'd use them for this, though. Next question. What do you want me to take off?”

Lissa licked her lips and considered. “Everything but the kilt and boots. And take your hair down.”

Mark obliged, stripping his shirt off overhead in a way that showed off his biceps and abs and the glinting auburn hair trailing from his chest down into his kilt. Not too much—just enough to be manly. A tattoo of a sparrow that looked like the postal stamp on an old letter splattered with ink and watercolor stretched over one pec and disappeared over his shoulder. Aside from that modernity, he could've been in 300.

“Is building earth houses the new Crossfit?” she asked.

He pulled the band out of his ponytail and let his wavy hair ripple down to his shoulders, shaking his head and running a hand through the glinting gold. “I do that, too. Working out keeps me from going crazy. Lots of energy. And I cosplay with a 300 group at Dragoncon.”

“Totally called it.”

“I bet you did.”

“What about your Batman pants?”

In response, he smirked and rucked his kilt up his hip to show a distinct lack of black and yellow. “I wouldn't put anything that touched the break room floor on my junk.”

“So you must not be into feet.”

Mark busted out laughing. “Your feet are plenty cute, but not today. I have something else in mind.”

With a casual swagger, he walked to the sound system and thumbed his iPod. The slinky bass of The Heavy's
What Makes a Good Man
pounded the room, and Mark cocked his head like a good hunter studying his prey. As if she were tuned for it, heat flooded her, and she wished she could clench her thighs together. But her ankles were held apart by the ropes around the chair legs; she tugged just a little, learning to love the feeling of resistance. Mark crossed the room, footsteps in time with the song, and it felt like she was going to drench the chair. Maybe he could tell, because he knelt in front of her and ran his hands from her knees to her thighs, his thumbs just running under the edges of her panties. His scent swam over her, a heady mix of fir and bourbon and vanilla that made her think of laughing in the snow and stripping by a fire. She ached to swing her hips with the music, to rub against him, but all she could do was strain against her bonds and wait for his touch to grow more firm, more urgent.

“Do you like being teased?” he asked.

“Teasing is a promise. So long as you keep your promises, I like it.”

His thumb ventured further in, stroking just along her lips and making her shudder.

“Oh, I keep my promises.”

As he stroked her under her panties with his thumbs, playing back and forth with pressure and depth, he leaned forward and placed a kiss between her breasts, where her bra clasp nestled. She briefly wondered if he was going to try to undo it with his teeth, but instead, he ran his tongue over the top of her bra, dipping in to connect with her nipple and send thrills shooting through her.

“I feel like an XBOX controller,” she gasped, and he chuckled into her breast and moved his thumbs faster in a pattern that she instantly recognized. “The Konami code. Do I get more guys, or... oh, God.” B and A were apparently his pointer fingers, and the buttons were deeper than the expected. She writhed and slid down to give him better access, his fingers deep inside her and his thumbs swirling over her wet clit. When she whimpered, he withdrew his hands, making her growl at how close she'd been to coming already.

“Don't worry. You get infinite lives.”

She narrowed her eyes at him, her teeth bared. She'd never been denied an orgasm before, and she reached for his face with cuffed hands spread and pulled him in for a punishing, open-mouthed kiss, aching to wrap her legs around his waist. For a moment, he indulged her and let her lead, kissing her back with the same hungry passion she felt. But then he pulled her hands away by the golden chain and placed them carefully in her lap.

“Touch yourself.”

“Kind of hard with the handcuffs.”

His grin was devilish. “Try.”

“You're evil.”

“You wanted Loki.”

“This is not the mewling quim I was hoping for.”

Blue eyes locked on hers, he moved her panties aside and placed her fingertips just so, moving them up and down through the slickness until she took over, finding her rhythm despite the limitations of her bindings.

“So make it purr.”

“And what are you going to do?”

He stood and walked away, and she followed his every movement, drinking in the lines of his body as her fingers sped up and sunk in deeper, the chain clinking against her lips through the satin. The tattoo continued down his back over his shoulderbones, and she wanted to lick it and trace his spine down to where two lines of muscle disappeared into his kilt. When he turned around with a big camera cradled in his hands, her breathing sped up in excitement and a touch of fear. No one had ever taken dirty pictures of her, and she'd never made a sex tape, and the thought of being on film like this, so open and hungry and primal, was deeply erotic.

“You're not going to...”

He shook his head, hair swinging, and held out an SD chip. “Not if you don't want me to. But this is a brand new memory card, and I'll give it to you afterward. You can look at it or crush it or toss it in the ocean. Your choice.”

The SD card twinkled in the lights, and her fingers went still and soaked as she tried to collect her thoughts. She wanted him to do whatever he wanted to do to her, to be his plaything. And yet... photos. They could be permanent. They could show up online somewhere. But he would give her the card. But she didn't want pictures of herself. She wanted...