The Superfox by Ava Lovelace Read Free Book Online

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