He wanted to kiss her, but held back.
He let the anticipation build another twenty minutes.
The penthouse was quiet, except for Bouncer. The boxer yawned, wagged his greeting, then returned to his dog bed.
They moved down the hallway, passed the guest rooms, and entered the master bedroom.
“Last chance,” he offered. “If you’re not sure about us, you can fuel your invisible plane and fly right out of here.”
“I’ve landed.”
The plush carpeting captured their footsteps.
He pulled the curtains back, knotting the ties around silver hooks on either side of the wall. Before them, Richmond sparkled with light.
She came to stand beside him. “So pretty.”
“We can see the city tomorrow,” he said. “I need to look at you now.”
“I want to see you first,” Wonder Woman responded. She was bold and confident, and took the lead. She stripped him down.
She worked his costume off slowly, as if savoring every inch of exposed skin. Gone was the blue mask with the A centered on his forehead. Next came the red boots that reached his knees. She dropped down, so low that her wig brushed his groin. His dick twitched, his arousal evident.
Her breath blew on his thigh, then his erection, as she worked her way back up his body. His red gloves soon cleared his elbows. He tossed his indestructible shield aside.
He needed no protection against this woman.
She fingered the spandex at his neck, then rolled it off his shoulders and down his chest. She admired as she went, her gaze as hot as his body.
The spandex caught on his sex, and she took her sweet time releasing him. If she touched him much longer, he’d fire one round ahead of her. He didn’t want that to happen.
“Go lie on the bed,” she commanded.
He took direction well. He lay on his bed, propped up by several pillows. He turned his head and watched her undress.
It went beyond a sultry striptease.
She was readying his body for the night ahead.
Playing to him, keeping him hard.
She saved her wig until last. Off came the gold sparkly headband, followed by the dark curls.
She gave him an eyeful.
The lady was blond, green eyed, and nakedly beautiful.
Their night of fantasy and flirtation had come to an end. James Lawless reached out and tugged Catherine May across his bare chest.
His bed had often seemed overly large for one person. When she joined him, the mattress felt just right.
She straddled his hips. The tip of his sex strained upward. His testicles tightened, yet he didn’t enter her.
He trapped her close, and his mouth descended. He teased and tasted her. Courted her with deep, hot, moist kisses.
She responded with passion and a desire to please him.
She pleased him all right.
She gave, he took, and he returned tenfold.
Her hand stroked his chest, and his heartbeat slammed against her palm. She explored him with her fingers, and his need to touch her became intense.
His fingers grazed her breasts, then squeezed her nipples. He increased the pressure, and her inner thigh muscles tightened.
He skimmed his hand across her stomach, and her soft skin shimmied.
He fanned his fingers over her inner thighs, stretching toward her curls. He rubbed her. And she went wet for him.
He fingered her more deeply. One finger, then two.
Her hips jerked.
“Sweet spot,” he breathed against her mouth.
He swallowed her moan as he worked her even higher.
He loved listening to her pant.
Her breasts bore the blush of her arousal.
She neared orgasm.
He wasn’t ready for her to come.
He wanted her so into him, she’d never find her way out. The idea of Cat in his bed, in his life, in his future, seemed right to him. He showed her how much she meant to him by prolonging each kiss, each stroke, every slow rock of his hips.
He scored a condom from his dresser and rolled it on.
When he finally took her, she leaned forward slightly. The position was one to stimulate them both.
She moved on him as no other woman ever had.
She raised herself up, then thrust back down.
Her hips rolled backward, forward, and she added a special little twist that made him suck air.
Their pelvic bones pressed as they sought release.
They pushed each other, harder, faster, until the bond that stretched between them took hold, this time strong and unbreakable.
They climbed—higher and higher—and then reached the stars.
Afterward, as they came down together, Cat stretched out next to him.
Law snugged her close, his energy zapped.
“Superhero sex.”
He heard the smile in her voice. “But mortal recovery time.”
“I can wait.”
He didn’t make her wait long.
Chapter 10
Brody Jones still hadn’t recovered from the road trip.
He hated feeling like a loser.
Worse yet, he’d gotten tossed from a game.
On national television.
Once the plane landed, he’d driven around Richmond for hours. He couldn’t stop cursing or mentally kicking himself in the ass. Life sucked.
It was nearing midnight and time to head home. He had a team obligation to attend the reopening of Haunt. Law was his friend. He wouldn’t let the man down.
He parked two blocks from Duffy’s Diner, then slunk back down the sidewalk wearing a plain black baseball cap pulled low over his eyes and a Windbreaker hiked up to his ears. He walked by the front window three times. Walked slow.
Some might have called him a stalker, but Brody didn’t give a damn. He didn’t want to run into Mary Blanchard.
He blamed her for his shit-poor performance on the road. No hits, no runs, and lots of errors. He hadn’t played so poorly since he was in the minors and his dad died. In an alley with an empty bottle in his hand.
He refused to let Mary ruin his game. His career. That wasn’t how it was going down. He’d find her and deal with her and this time make sure he sent her packing back to Plain.
Go home, little girl. Back where you belong.
A fourth pass of the window, and there was no sign of Mary waiting tables. He cut through the diner and took the back stairs to his apartment. He needed a shower before his night at Haunt. A hot, soapy scrub that would wash his crappy play in Atlanta and Miami off his skin. And Mary out of his life.
He stripped, kicking his clothes onto the ever-growing pile of dirty laundry. He needed to stuff his sweat-stained T-shirts and torn jeans into a garbage bag and drop them off at Wash and Fold. The staff laundered by the pound. It cost him ten bucks a week.