The Superfox (3 page)

“I could do this all day!”

Lissa hurried up the hill like she had a date to punch Hitler and handed the shield over to Mark, her face flushed with laughter and her feet already sweating in the rubber boots. As he held up the plastic circle and prepared to sit, she pointed toward the smooth trail she'd left on her ride.

“Go that way, really fast. If something gets in your way, turn.”

In a flash, he'd kissed her cheek and thrown himself on the shield, zooming down the hill.

“Language lessons!” he shouted, and her stomach flipped.

Was there anything this guy couldn't quote? And were his lips on fire, because DAMN. And how had she never noticed him before, or caught him pouring the communal coffee into an ironic Dilbert mug? She hadn't felt so mentally stimulated by a human conversation in years, and they'd mostly just shouted at each other while sledding.

Down below, Mark hit the same bed of bark she had and hopped up before the shield slid to a stop. His face was red and lit with gloriously Vikingesque victory. Or maybe Scottish. All she knew was that he looked like he should be covered in dirt and blood and plundering something while wearing his kilt.

Plundering her.

He jogged up the hill, dropped the shield at her feet, and whipped off his hat to run a hand through his hair, which had come undone on the ride. The breath caught in her throat as he looked down at her and went still, and they stared at each other as if connected by a tractor beam.

“Are you seeing anyone?” he asked, voice raspy.

She could only shake her head no.

“Does being kissed in the snow by a near-stranger sound like a good idea?”

Before he'd finished speaking, he was taking off his gloves and she was nodding eagerly.

In a heartbeat, he'd dropped his gloves in the snow and wrapped hot, claiming fingers around her chin and jaw, just like in the movies. Eyes open and locked on hers, he moved in to brush her lips with his, wisps of his loose hair whipping across her face in a sudden breeze. Ankle-deep in snow, Lissa felt as if her entire body were on fire, lit from within, as if she stood on top of the world in a sunbeam and there was no such thing as a cloudy day. Mark's other hand found her jaw, fingertips pressing in that tender place behind her ear, deep in her long hair. When she reached for him, she found only his bulky coat and had to be satisfied with wrapping hands around his lapels and tugging him closer.

Mark's eyes closed, his lips opening slightly, as if he was breathing her in but giving her time to pull away, if that was what she wanted. Instead, pressing her advantage, Lissa slipped her tongue into his mouth and slid it all the way between his lips. When he opened his mouth in surprise, she changed angles and tasted him, deep, hands fisted in his coat front. God, he was delicious. He caught up with her, his tongue reaching for hers and starting a playful duel that made her melt. There was an easy confidence to his every move, something an assertive woman like Lissa had discovered to be as rare as actual superpowers. He didn't fidget, didn't apologize, didn't second-guess himself. And it made her want him all the more, knowing that he met her every challenge and bit of snark with equal power and passion.

Although the kiss burned her lips, Lissa couldn't help noticing that the rest of the world had gone decidedly darker. Even Mark's fingers on her face took a chill, and she reached up to grasp them as she pulled away from the kiss and opened her eyes on a sky thick with low, dark clouds. The sun was gone, and she pulled Mark's hands to her lips and blew hot air onto them, rubbing them between her gloves.

“Did we just cause Ragnarok?” he asked, voice husky.

“Worth it.”

“But we need to get you inside before you get too cold.”

“And you.”

He breathed out in a cloud. “Yeah, not a problem. I run hot. I probably just melted a hole in the snow. But if that's an invitation, I'll join you.”

A rush of freezing wind and sleet sealed the deal. Mark picked up the shield, but Lissa snatched it from him and slid down the hill one more time, calling, “To Rohan!” over her shoulder before she crashed and landed on her face in the snow. Mark was there moments later, helping her up and dusting the crusted snow off her shoulders and back. She felt a little silly, but...

“Still worth it.”

“You won't say that when your nose falls off from frostbite. Come on.”

As they hurried inside, the wind almost whipped the shield out of Mark's hand. He had his office badge on under his coat and opened the door for her, and they quickly shed their borrowed coats, dropping them on the tile. The only thing warm on Lissa were her snow-burned cheeks and rubber-wrapped feet, and she felt immediately better as soon as she was stripped out of the wet wool and down to her own jeans, long-sleeved tee, and extra-long, moss-green cardigan, which she thought of as her Jedi robe.

Mark's cheeks were red, a black hoodie hanging loose over his black tee and kilt, which was a plaid of dark green and navy. His sweatpants were crumpled and wet on the floor with all their other layers, and his muscular legs were pink from the cold and lightly furred with golden curly hair. He looked hot as hell, like he'd just been doing something manly and fun, like playing rugby or tossing a frisbee with his dog. After all the time she'd spent with her programmers, it was refreshing to meet a geek guy who managed to balance peculiarity with classic manliness and style. And he smelled like the woods in winter, which made her want to step close and initiate a second kiss, one that wouldn't be broken up by the stupid Snowpocalypse.

“Back upstairs?” he asked, and in another place, she would've jumped on the chance to go upstairs with him. But he was just talking about the office.

“Coffee,” she said.

He shrugged. “Tea. Earl Grey. Hot. Or sweet and iced.” Picking up his shield and leaving everything else behind, he waited for her to walk by his side down the long hallway.

“So you don't drink coffee? It's like I don't even know you.”

“You don't. Coffee makes me hyper. And I'm hyper enough as it is.”

“Then how do you wake up in the morning?”

He pushed the elevator button and turned a devastating smile on her.

“I don't.”

“Like, ever?”

The elevator binged open, and they stepped in.

“I do my best work when I wake up at noon and go to bed around three in the morning. So my schedule's totally bizarre. As it turns out, models aren't big fans of early morning call times, anyway. All part of my deal with Dr. Horne.”

“So that's why I never see you.”

His head jerked up. “What do you mean?”

Lissa blushed, just a little, but didn't drop her chin. “I've been here three years, and I think I've seen you once. I would have noticed you, is all.”

Mark stepped closer and smoldered at her.

“And why's that?”

“Because you look like Thor and Loki had a hot slashfic kid who cosplays a goth Viking.”

He licked his lips and looked like his jaw might've considered dropping open at her brazenness.

She smirked and stepped off the elevator and into the Interprog foyer, flicking her hair over her shoulder. “You're not used to women actually saying what they mean, are you?”

“Hell, no. But I like it.”

She shot him a pointed look over her shoulder and swung her hips as she walked down the hall.

“Good.”

Instead of catching up to walk beside her, he hung behind, probably admiring
her
behind. Well, let him. If he played his cards right, maybe he could figure out which superhero's logo was on her panties. And she would finally find out what a photographer wears under his kilt.

* * *

True to her word, Lissa made a beeline for the break room and her untouched pot of fancy coffee. With no hive of sugar-crashed programmers waiting to snag it, the pot had ripened perfectly and lurked in the glass carafe like a tar pit waiting to smother yawns. Her favorite mug was clean and sitting on the counter, and she added two sugars and four vanilla creamers and tipped back her head to sip, knowing Mark wouldn't be able to look away from the hollow of her throat and the swell of her chest. Yeah, the noise she made was slightly orgasmic, but it was really good coffee. And it was fun to watch the calm and collected Mark groan under his breath.

“So I have to know. Who do you like better,” he asked, filling a glass with ice and pouring a glass of sweet tea from a pitcher in the fridge. “Thor or Loki?”

Lissa licked her lips and smirked over the steam in her mug. “I think you could combine them to make the perfect man. Thor's childlike wonder and classic masculinity with Loki's cleverness and charm. Add in a dash of Tony Stark's wit, Cap's idealism, David Banner's self-control, and Hawkeye's butt, and I think you'd have one devastating superfox.”

“You've obviously given this a lot of thought.”

“I tried to write Thor/Loki slashfic once, but all they did was banter and pull each other's hair.”

Mark took a long drink of his tea, put it down, stepped close, took the mug from her, and placed it gently on the counter, well away from her body. He put his hands on the granite, one on either side of her, just touching her hips, and swayed closer, one boot planted carefully between her bare feet, where her toes were painted fire engine red. Lissa looked down and licked her lips, hoping that even if he didn't drink coffee himself, he wouldn't mind the taste of it on her breath when he kissed her, because the way he was standing, the way he was boxing her in with his body, he had to kiss her or she'd grab him and do it herself.

“Do you want to pull my hair?” he murmured in her ear.

She pursed her lips and obliged, running her fingers through the loose, wind-tousled strands and tugging gently, just enough to make his head cant slightly. The color would've been pretty on a girl, but on him, the mix of fire and gold just made him look more like a lion, or maybe a conquering warrior poet from Outlander or Highlander. Any kind of -lander. That visual tipped Lissa over the edge, and she used fingers already tangled in his hair to pull his face down to hers, taking his lips in a kiss designed to be powerful and maddening in its indolent slowness.

Because she could.

He opened his mouth and let her lead, waiting for her to have her taste before pressing her back into the counter to slake his own hunger. His mouth was cool and sweet from the tea, a peculiar sensation compared to the lasting burn of her coffee. Lissa's hands traveled from his hair down his chest to the waist of his kilt, where his shirt was perfectly, maddeningly half-tucked. Her fingertips danced along that line, just darting in to skim the skin waiting, hot and smooth, underneath.

Fire shot through her and settled low in her belly, the kiss leaving her breathless as the fervor built and slow laps of his tongue became insistent thrusts. She was aware of the hot press of him through his kilt, which allowed more freedom than jeans, but something held her back from taking the next step. Pulling away, her teeth grazed his lip.

“This is probably breaking at least ten HR rules and one health code,” she murmured.

Mark's hands settled on her hips, his fingers curling into the loops on her jeans to hold her in place.

“I might be a little more Loki than Thor. I'm not thinking about rules right now.”

“So you're not worried about getting in trouble?”

His kiss started out sweet and soft and quick, but the swipe of his tongue after was all lust.

“I suspect a night with you would be worth getting fired. Not that I plan on getting fired. Dr. Horne doesn't have secret cameras around here, does he?” She shook her head. “Then if you won't tell, I won't.”

“I'm not exactly the gossipy type.”

“I know. I asked around the first time I saw you.” He put his lips to her ear, his breath heating her neck. “Everyone's terrified of you.”

“You're not.”

He ran his tongue around the shell of her ear, and she nearly melted. “Even Wonder Woman has her weaknesses. I just need to find one.”

Lissa's breath caught as he kissed a trail down her neck, hitting that spot where shoulder meets neck and making her knees melt and her insides clench as she let out a whimper.

“I think you just did.”

Being as short as she was, they weren't matched up properly for her taste, so Lissa hopped up on the counter, pulled him forward with arms around his neck, and took his mouth as her legs circled his waist.

He broke the kiss for barely a heartbeat, murmuring, “Guess consent isn't really an issue...”

In answer, she sucked his tongue back into her mouth for a deep, passionate kiss, her hand running over the bulge under his kilt. “I consent to whatever you want to do to me on this counter.”

“Mm. The counter. How very specific. Maybe we'll negotiate later.”

He let loose the belt loops on her jeans and ran fingers along her hips to her knees, held tight against his hips. Even through the thick denim, she could feel the purposeful languor of his touch as he pried her legs open and traced the seams inward. With a wicked grin, he took her mouth and kissed her senseless as he spread a hand over her thigh and rubbed a thumb through her jeans, grinding the seam against her clit like he knew exactly what would drive her mad. Meeting his kiss with her own passion, she scooted forward and held him with one arm around his neck and the other finger tracing down his chest, over more abs than a photographer had any right to possess, and directly over the thick bulge under his kilt. The wool wasn't too heavy or scratchy and felt deliciously worn against her palm. As she wrapped her fingers around him and worked him up and down through the fabric, he pressed more firmly into her hand and intensified his thumb's work against her. They moved together, hips grinding and fingers working, and she broke the kiss briefly, worried that perhaps the wool was too much for the hot friction.

“Always wondered what a Scotsman wore under his kilt,” she murmured, slipping her hand underneath and gently drawing nails up the inside of his leg. She was surprised to find... boxer briefs? Tugging gently at the fabric, she said, “Huh. Guess I was wrong.”