Spin Spin Sugar

BY : digital_tempest
Category: X-men Comics > Crossovers
Dragon prints: 1949
Disclaimer: I do not own X-Men comics, or any of the characters from it. I make no money from from the writing of this story.

Author’s notes: For Sparkle, my
fleshly muse. I guess I should note before I begin that I’m using Magneto’s
ending from X-Men vs. Street Fighter as a premise for why this meeting could
happen. I’ve explained the basis of Magneto’s ending in the story, so have at
it… if you want. There will probably be another part to this (when I’m feeling
less lazy), but as for right now, it’s completed. Lyrics used in this story (in
order) come from the song “Still Dirrty” by Christina Aguilera and the song
“Weary” by Amel Larrieux. Title comes courtesy of a Sneaker Pimps song with the
same title.

 Spin Spin Sugar

by Tempest


There’s a woman inside of all of us

Who never quite seems to get enough

Trying to play by the rules is rough

‘Cause sooner or later something’s gonna erupt

Ororo rocked her head in time
with the singer’s sultry voice, feeling every word in her soul as the songbird
crooned about needing someone to ease the weariness of her spirit. She tried to
disregard the couples swaying on the floor in complete togetherness. But it was
hard to ignore when you were sitting in a dim club alone, drinking expensive
water, and trying to maintain dignity because you just weren’t good enough.

This was her first night at
Dazzle, but it wouldn’t be her last. She hadn’t been in the mood for the social
atmosphere of Harry’s. She needed alone time, some time to lay her pretenses to
the side. Her friends were at Harry’s, anyway, and they would’ve expected her
to pretend to enjoy herself when she wasn’t. They hadn’t put up much of a
protest when she declined the invitation to join them, though, especially since
Logan would be there. And who wanted that kind of awkwardness spoiling a good

She wouldn’t, so she’d been
the courteous one and bowed out gracefully, saying that she had things to do.
She’d kept up a smile long enough to see her friends off. Then, she’d decided
to get out, as well. Why should she stay holed up in the mansion? There was no
rule that said she couldn’t be miserable alone. She’d gone for ice cream. And
she promised herself, over a cone of double scoop chocolate, of course, that
she was giving up on men for a long time. Not that it would be hard. It wasn’t
as if she went on many dates or had many admirers.

She hadn’t intended to go to
Dazzle. She hadn’t even been dressed for a club in her worn jeans and simple
peasant top, but she’d received an invite to the club by some guy who said he
had no use for the invitation since his girlfriend dumped him. And it would
burn her ass that he gave away the invitation to a random woman. How often did
that happen? She didn’t know, and she hadn’t stood there debating it. Besides,
it gave her a reason to go shopping.

A waiter paused next to her
table, placing a wine glass on her table. “I did not order this—” She stopped
short as he waved away her excuse.

“From the gentleman
upstairs,” he said, nodding his head toward the balcony.

She turned around in her
seat, half expecting to see some drunken, hormone driven jerk eyeing her like a
rack of ribs over the balcony. She always attracted those type of men. She saw
no one save for a few dancing bodies. She turned back to the waiter, looking at
the sparkling amber liquid.

“I cannot accept this,” she
said, pushing the glass to the side. If she accepted his drink, he would think
it would be acceptable to approach her, and she wasn’t in the mood for childish
games. Besides, she’d given up on men, and she wouldn’t break her fast because
some man bought her a drink. “Please, return this to him. Tell him I appreciate
his kindness, but I am not

“He said you probably
wouldn’t take it,” the waiter said.

“Oh, he did?” Ororo bristled at the thought that some stranger believed he knew her. She glanced over her shoulder
again at the balcony, hoping he’d finally decided to show himself.

“Yes, he said he wanted to
hear your refusal face to face. He told me to give you this.” The waiter placed
a single piece of paper on her table. He walked away from the table without
waiting for her to speak.

She turned the small scrap of
paper over.

Table six.

That’s all it said. She
crumbled the paper between her fingers, placing it beside the wine glass. She
wouldn’t drink the wine, and she wouldn’t waste her time going back and forth
with a man who made assumptions about her. But she had to admit, though, she
was curious about him. He was bold if nothing else. She looked at the glass
again, picking it up. She should drink it, just to spite him, to prove he
didn’t know a thing about her. No one did.

Instead, she stood from her
seat and walked toward the spiraling stairs leading to the upper level. A
brawny bouncer stopped her at the base of the stairs, holding a hand up to stop
her. “V.I.P. only, sweetheart,” he said.

“I am here to speak with the
gentleman at table six. He is expecting me,” she told him. He gave her a caged
look. He probably heard excuses like that all the time. “He sent me this drink.
I only wish to return it to him. If you do not believe me, ask him for

“Gimme a second.” He pulled
one of the servers to the side, whispering in her ear. The waitress eyed Ororo
before trekking up the stairs, no doubt to clear this with the man.
V.I.P—must’ve meant he was well known, rich, or both. And he was probably
spoiled, probably thought he could have anything he wanted. Bastard.

She shifted her weight from
foot to foot, holding the wine glass daintily like some kind of hand model. She
thought she might be a little nervous. He was supposed to come to her, not vice
versa. Instead of waiting for his approval like an anxious girl, she should’ve
been well on her way to throwing the wine in his face. That’s how it worked.
Men propositioned, she rejected. This was something new, something that could
be exciting, if she let it go that far. A few minutes later, the waitress
returned and nodded at the bouncer, ushering her up the stairs.

Did her hair look okay? She
hoped it wasn’t doing that flyaway thing it often did when she tried to pin it
up. Why the hell was he buying her drinks, anyway? She must’ve looked
desperate. He probably took pity on her and bought her the drink. She should
just turn around before she made an idiot out of herself. Was her dress too
short? It was, wasn’t it? He probably thought she was easy—desperate and easy. Maybe he’d gotten the wrong
woman altogether. Pull it together,
she chided herself sharply. She didn’t have time to care about
silly things like that. She spent her time putting her life in peril and she
worried that a stranger thought she might be easy?

The waitress led Ororo toward
a circular booth where a man sat alone. He stood when she approached his table,
the perfect gentleman. She’d seen him before, but she couldn’t quite place him.
Even with her heels on, he was still a little taller than she was. He had nice
broad shoulders. Not too muscular and not too skinny. He obviously took care of
himself. He bridled his long blonde hair in a braid that would’ve seemed out of
place on most men but fit him well. Daring blue eyes held her gaze steady,
stirring something. He had a rakish smile, the kind that didn’t hold much
sincerity, not that she was looking for any. He was the kind of guy that women
fawned over, but she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction.

She waited for the waitress
to leave before she spoke. “I am not going to sleep with you,” she said. She
stood in front of him with her free hand on her hip. She placed the drink on
his table to punctuate her statement. “Thank you for the drink.”

She knew she should’ve
stalked back to her lonely table, but she liked the way his eyes felt her up,
sliding up and down her frame almost possessively. She almost felt like doing a
little twirl, so he could see all of her in the little apricot dress she’d
bought at the last minute when she realized she couldn’t come to Dazzle in her
jeans and shirt. She loved the way it held to her lovingly, but someone else
had to admire the dress besides her. She hadn’t misread the appreciation in his
eyes. So why not him?

“Did you not hear me? I am
not going to sleep with you,” she said. But she could already feel that low
sexual tingle traversing between them, dancing around them. That didn’t mean
anything. It just meant that they were attracted to each other. It didn’t mean
they’d sleep together.

He still didn’t answer her,
taking his time to admire her. Soft brown skin begged him to touch her, to
taste her. Shocking white hair rebelled against the restraints put on it by its
owner. Why would she want to pull back such lovely hair? She had nice,
well-defined, long legs that made her dress seem almost obscene with its short
length. She had the body of a real woman—alluring curves, the kind of full
softness that you could lose yourself in—not that half-starved look that so
many women thought was desirable. He liked his women to look like women. From
the moment she entered the club, confidence exuded from her. He liked that.

She cleared her throat at
him. Obviously, he decided, she liked to be in control of things. He liked to
be in control of things, too. One of them was going to have to lose. “I haven’t
asked you to,” he said.

His voice was like melted
butter. A Spanish accent tempered it nicely, making it smooth and replete with
confidence. All he had to do was whisper in her ear, and her panties would be
soaked. No men, no men, no men, she
chanted to herself. It figured a man would halfway catch her interest when she
was on a sabbatical from men. How long had that lasted? A few hours? She
reminded herself that this meant nothing. Nothing happened. She was still safe.

“I know, but usually when a
man buys me a drink, he assumes that I am going to sleep with him,” she said,
daring him to tell her she was wrong.

“Would you care to sit down?”
he asked. He smiled when she flashed him a confused look. “Just to talk.”

“Talk?” she echoed.

“You had something else in
mind?” He smirked.

Okay, she fell right into
that one. She just shook her head and shrugged at him noncommittally. Why not?
She sat down. He slid into the booth beside her, leaving little room between
him and her. She would’ve scooted away if she’d thought it would be pragmatic,
but she didn’t want him to see that he unnerved her a little. He still hadn’t
disputed her last statement, so she took that to mean he was going to try to
sleep with her. Maybe that wouldn’t be such a bad thing. There was nothing
wrong with him trying.

“I believe this is yours,” he
said, sliding the drink over to her.

“I don’t even know your
name,” she said, pushing the drink back toward him. Maybe she should just drink
the thing. She was sitting at his
table. Why not just drink the wine, chitchat for a minute, and leave? “And I
might not even like this.”

“You’ll like it. I promise,”
he said, placing it back in front of her.

How did he know what she
would and wouldn’t like? She didn’t know if she liked his arrogance. “I just
don’t make it a habit to take drinks from nameless men.” She shook her head,
but she didn’t move the drink again. There was no point. This could go on all
night. She could already tell he had a strong spirit, and people like that
never gave up. She knew. She was one of them.

“Vega,” he said, holding out
a hand to her.

She placed her hand in his.
His touch was soft, yet strong. His hands were smooth, nails manicured neatly.
Obviously, he wasn’t accustomed to hard work. What would those hands feel like
on her body? The roughness of Logan’s hands against her skin had always driven
her crazy, but she wondered what Vega’s hands would feel like touching her in
the same manner. Would it be like silk touching her skin? Would his hands set
her afire like Logan’s had?

“Nice to meet you, Vega. I am
Ororo,” she said. Finally, she took a sip of the wine, reveling in the smooth
taste. She did like it. He had good taste in wine. Her eyes swept over him
again. He’d probably been bottle-fed on the stuff.

The chatted idly for a few
minutes about nothing of importance—the music, the club, whatever else came to
mind. Their conversation was coupled with subtle flirting. She liked talking to
him. He listened to her instead of mauling her. No, she didn’t miss the way his
eyes would travel over her, but he still managed to keep up with the
conversation. He asked questions, pondered her answers, gave thoughtful
replies. He liked to touch her. Nothing inappropriate, though. He touched her
hand while she talked or touched her face while she laughed. She kind of liked
it. He made her feel important, like she was worth the effort. He was working
double time to get in her pants—or rather, under her skirt.

“Why are you here alone?” he asked during a lull in the
conversation. He would listen to her talk all day if she wanted. It didn’t
matter what she said. Every word she spoke washed over him, called to him like
a siren’s song.

 “I just needed some time to myself,” she said.
She wondered if he was always that straightforward. And what did it matter that
she came alone? It was okay that he came alone, but not her? Typical double
standards. She wouldn’t get into a debate about it tonight, though. Maybe she
was reading too much into his question.

“You ended a relationship,”
he said. It was evident in the sort of depressed way she’d looked earlier while
watching the other couples downstairs. What fool had willingly given her up?
Didn’t matter. It was his loss.

“You assume a lot, Vega.” She
chuckled hard. She didn’t know if she liked where this was going, but she’d see
where it led her—just for curiosity’s sake. Any man who already assumed so much
about her was at least worth talking to a little while longer.

“Am I wrong?” he asked. Her
expression answered her question before she did.

“No,” she said, hating that
knowing smile he gave her. “But it wasn’t a conventional relationship, anyway.”
Maybe it had been at one point when she first met Logan, but over the years
their friendship intensified to something more, something she didn’t think they
were ready for in retrospect. Now, she wasn’t sure how she was supposed to
regard Logan. Friendship was a hard thing to regain. Spite was easier to hold
on to.

She brushed a wayward strand
of her hair behind her ear. He promptly removed it, curling it around his
finger, feeling the texture before releasing it. Her heart stormed in her chest
at the innocuous gesture, but he didn’t seem effected by it either way.

“You should wear your hair
down,” he said. She had the kind of hair made for winding your fingers in while
making love.

She didn’t miss the almost
demanding tone he’d taken with her. She didn’t care for it much, either. “I
like it up,” she said. She thought wearing her hair up gave her a more
sophisticated appearance, and it kept her from having to swat it out of her
face every three seconds. She didn’t exactly have the most manageable hair in
the world.

“I don’t.”

“It is not about what you do and don’t like,” she muttered. He
had a lot of nerve, too much for his own good. She barely knew him, and he felt
that he had the right to offer his opinion. Is this how the rest of the night
would go? Would she like him in one turn and loathe him in another?

Before she could protest, he
ran his fingers through her hair, dislodging the pins that held it in place. It
fell to her shoulders in lush waves. “That’s better,” he said, liking the
softness, the slight wildness her cascading hair added to her features. She
should never wear it up, and if he had his way, she never would.

His fingers lingered on the
side of her face and chills ran up her spine. She stopped his fingers from
exploring the curve her jaw, but she didn’t release his fingers immediately.
She hadn’t even slept with the man, yet, and he’d already mussed her hair. “I
suppose I should return the favor,” she said, raising one eyebrow at him. She
didn’t recognize the almost husky voice she’d used to utter those words. She
pushed her body into his, reaching behind him. What in the hell was she doing?

He breathed deeply, picking
up her scent. He lowered his head, allowing her better access, giving himself a
delicious view of her cleavage. He couldn’t resist grazing his lips across her
exposed collarbone. He didn’t miss the way she gasped against him or the way
her fingers massaged his scalp as he placed a series of feather light kisses
from one collarbone to the other. Then, she froze up, pulling back from him,
leaving the job half done.

He finished unbraiding his
hair, shaking it loose. “Feel better, now?” he asked.

How could he act so
nonchalant as if he hadn’t just put his lips on her, even if it was only for a
split second? She didn’t know what to say. She didn’t feel in control of the
situation, so she reached for her glass and swallowed the rest of her wine in
one unladylike gulp. She stared at him, loving the raw appeal his loose hair
added to him—like he needed anything to make him sexier. She chewed on her
bottom lip. She was going to need more wine if this kept up.

“Why did it end?” he asked,
filling her glass with more wine, as if he’d heard her thoughts.

“What?” she said, snapping out
of her daze. This man was making it hard to think… or maybe it was the alcohol.

“Your relationship, why did it
end?” She was rocking her leg against his, and he placed one hand on her leg to
anchor her, resisting the urge push her dress up… for now.

She looked down at his hand and
removed his hand from her leg—propriety above all, she tried to tell herself,
even though she was sure they were already beyond that point. He was still
worried about that. He was awfully damn interested in her love life. Should she
be truthful or dodge it? It was personal, and it’d hurt when Logan hurled the
words at her. She’d probably never see Vega again after tonight, though. Oh
hell, why not indulge him? Then, he could see that all this, whatever this was, would get him nowhere.

“He said I was frigid,” she
said. She peeked at him out of the corner of her eye. She couldn’t garner
anything from his expression.

“Are you?” He watched the
corners of her mouth turn downward at his question.


It wasn’t the first time she’d
been accused of being “frigid,” and she doubted it would be the last. It just
hurt worse coming from Logan, though. He couldn’t just leave it at “frigid.” He
had to go on and on, pointing out everything he disliked about her, until her
heart just couldn’t take it anymore. She’d given him five seconds to leave her
bed that night before she decided to see how good his healing factor really
was. If he disliked her so much, why
had he even bothered with her to begin with?

“Well, I don’t think so.”
Something simmered there whether she wanted to acknowledge it or not. Someone
just had to bring it out of her. That’s all.

“You do not know me,” she said
How was he supposed to know whether she was or not? He wouldn’t know until they were naked in his bed. She would enjoy
peeling his clothes away from his body, slowly revealing what he hid under that
designer suit. Wait, she was not going there.

“I think you just haven’t found
what you are looking for.”

“I am not sleeping with you.”
Third time’s a charm. She’d told him that three times. Now, she couldn’t sleep with him. It would go
against principle if she did now. You don’t tell someone you weren’t going to
sleep with them three times only to turn around and sleep with them.

“Do you really believe that?”
he asked. She didn’t sound too convinced, probably because she knew where this
was going as well as he did.

She swallowed hard. This was
the part where she was supposed to let her illusions blind her, to make her
believe that she really had no intention of this going further than a little
harmless flirting. What the hell? Go for
it, ‘Ro,
she said to herself. “You are arrogant and intrusive,” she said,
tilting her head at him. She walked her fingers up his chest, wrapping his tie
around her fingers.

“I’m also self-centered.”

“I do not think I like you.”
She used his tie to pull him closer to her. He placed his hands on her thighs
to steady himself, his fingers gripping tightly. His sweet breath tickled her
nose. No, she didn’t like him much, but he mixed well with alcohol. She could
be reckless just once. She pulled him close enough to touch his lips with her
own, but she didn’t kiss him. Not yet.

“Why else would you be here?”
he mouthed against her lips.
His hands were already starting
their slow ramble up her body. She arched into his touch before pushing him
back against the booth with a small laugh. She had a little bit of tease in
her, and he would have fun baiting it out of her.

“I know you from somewhere,”
she said, changing the subject just because she could. Things were starting to
get heavy quick. She needed a breather before she lost her mind.

He straightened his tie. He
knew this was coming. He was surprised she hadn’t asked before now. “You do.
From Shadowloo,” he said with a shrug. No big deal, not to him, anyway.

Her eyes widened. How could
she forget him? He was one of M. Bison’s mercenaries before Magneto defeated
Bison and claimed his territory for himself. She would never forget the power
struggled that nearly ripped Shadowloo apart. The X-Men had gone to do what
they could, but it was Magneto who crushed Bison under his fist. Bison’s private
army pledged their allegiance to Magneto after their master fell.

Vega was the one with the
mask and the claw, the one the women argued over, the one with snake tattoo on
his upper body, the one whose butt looked cute in those matador pants he favored
during battle. One would be surprised at the things she noticed, even in the
heat of battle. She never saw his face. She hadn’t even given him a fleeting
thought, and now, she was damn near about to jump him.

“Oh my gods, I am flirting
with you, and you are the enemy.” The fates were cruel. She was going to need
something a little stronger than that wine. What was she supposed to do now?
Did she get up and walk away?

“So we’re flirting now?” he
asked with a smile.

Damn, he was smug. “We cannot
do this.”

“Are we flirting or are we
fighting? I haven’t attacked you. You haven’t attacked me. We are just two
people enjoying each other’s company,” he said with another shrug as if this
kind of thing was acceptable.

At least she didn’t have to
hide her affiliations from him, even if they weren’t on the same side. That was
a small relief. “But there is always that possibility, more than a possibility
really—” She started.

“Let us worry about it
tomorrow,” he interrupted.

She looked at him, catching
his seductive smell, losing herself in it. It wasn’t cologne. It was him,
dangerous and tempting. And if she ever found a way to bottle it, she was
calling it “Goddamn Son-of-a-Bitch” because she felt like he weaved a spell
that caught her up in his madness, not allowing her to think. The heady scent
of his maleness beckoned her toward him.

“You are not being rational,”
she said, wondering how she managed to say anything at all.

His fingers brushed the
sensitive spot on the back of her neck and her nipples tightened in response,
straining against the thin material of her dress. Her first response was to
cross her arms over her chest, but there was no need. He already knew she
wanted him. He caressed her neck softly, sending unbidden chills throughout her

“What fun is seduction if
you’re being rational?” he whispered.
His warm breath kissed her ear, and she shuddered against him.

Oh goddess, what had she
gotten herself into? She couldn’t answer herself as she concentrated on warding
off the waves of pleasure he sent through her with every stroke of his fingers.
She searched his eyes for some explanation, but passion only smoldered there.
Was there any other explanation needed? “What are you doing to me?” she asked.

She turned her eyes away from
him quickly, hoping to break the hold he had on her. She wanted this to be some
kind of trick that he used to lure women to their downfall because she was
definitely going down—maybe in more ways than one. He moved his hand from her
neck. She hated the emptiness it left behind.

“Look at me, Ororo,” he said,
touching her jaw gently.

She turned her to look at him
as he stroked her cheek. She nuzzled into his touch without thought. She didn’t
look into his eyes at first. She stared at his sensuous, full lips, silently begging
him to kiss her. His lips curled into that devil’s smile. Images of running her
tongue over the contours of his lips assaulted her. And his smell was driving
her crazy. Put a fork in me. I am done,
she said to herself.

She pulled in a breath as
supple lips covered hers, demanding and eager, kissing like lovers who’d been
separated a whole lifetime. Her whole body hummed while their tongues sought
out each other. With each passing moment, his kiss threatened to consume, and
she wanted it to. She released a soft moan into his mouth, prompting him

“This is what you want,” he
said. No question, just conjecture brimmed with knowing. His eyes darkened in
anticipation of her response. He didn’t really need her to validate his
statement. He already had his answer from the way her lips burned hot under

She shook her head, afraid to
yield to him. She didn’t want this to end, though. He was tormenting her body,
making her want things she shouldn’t, not from him. Her chest heaved as she
struggled to regain the breath he’d stolen with kiss. She dropped her head
against the soft backing of the booth as his mouth explored her neck. She
wrapped her arms around him, wanting to feel him closer.

“There are too many people
here,” she said without much conviction.

“So?” he said. He pressed his
lips against her ear, his tongue daring to trace her ear. “Isn’t that part of
the thrill?” She was bold, but not bold enough. She pushed the boundaries, then
pulled back when it was obvious she was going over the edge.

The thought of someone
watching them as Vega made her come sent a sharp signal to her nerves, sending
them into sexual overdrive. He buried her face in her neck again. Fire followed
the slow, steady trail his tongue started. He nipped at her pulse point hard
enough for her to pull her breath between her teeth. He followed up the sharp
pain with soothing kisses—alternatively paining and pleasuring, fueling the
throb between her legs.

“Is this what you want?” he

“Yes.” Her answer was nothing
more than a sigh. He chuckled deep in his throat, sending delicious vibrations
through her.

Her breath hitched when she
felt his fingers slip just under the edge of her dress, tickling the sensitive
skin right by her knee. She couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t
remember the last time she played this game, and now, she was playing it with
the enemy. She was three seconds away from dragging him into the restroom and
tearing his clothes away from his body. She wanted to feel his tongue against
her breasts, his fingers pressed into her hips. Warmth pooled at her center as
thoughts of his long, sinuous fingers deep inside of her loosening her
inhibitions, teasing her, taunting her intruded her thoughts.

His fingers stroked her leg,
climbing higher and higher, exploring her flesh with languorous intent. She
opened her legs wider, providing him easy access to everything she had to offer. 
“Faster,” she begged. He moved with the same infuriating slowness. He
had to know that this was torture.

“Be patient,” he said,
drawing his hands away from her, not missing that angry flash in her eyes.
“There’s time for that.”

She let out a sound of
protest, fighting the urge to put his hand exactly where she wanted it. “I hate
you,” she said breathless. How was she supposed to be patient when her body
begged to be satiated?

“No, you don’t,” he said as
he flagged down a waiter.

She was flustered. She
wondered just how many people had witness that small show. She looked around,
but no one seemed to be looking at them. A waiter approached their table, and
she hoped that he couldn’t see her frustration painted all over her face.

“Why did you stop?” she asked
after the waiter brought him another bottle of wine. If she’d been in a booth
kissing Logan with even half the intensity she’d just expended on Vega, she
would’ve had to beat him off her with her shoe. She knew he wanted her. He made
that very obvious. Is this what men
felt like when women were playing hard to get? She sure as hell was mad at him
right then.

“Just savor the moment,” he
said, tipping his glass at her.

“I am leaving,” she said when
her head cleared. He couldn’t keep doing this to her. She wouldn’t let him continue to do this to her. She was stronger than
any wanton desire she might have for him.

“Would you care to dance?” he
asked, grabbing her hand before she could make good on her threat. Her angry,
scrunched up face was cute, and he tried to suppress a smile.

“I said, I am leaving,” she
said. She only half-heartedly tried to pull her hand away from him. 

“Just one.” He stood from the
booth, still holding her hand. He pulled her into him.

“Are you even listening to
me?” she whispered as they started their slow dance. His arms fit around her
perfectly, engulfing her just right. He didn’t answer her, and she didn’t push
as they rocked to the music.

He spun around, and she
pressed her back hard into him, rocking her hips against his. He ran his hands
over her stomach, and she dropped her head against his shoulder. She didn’t
suck in her stomach or move his hands, a womanly habit he detested. She just
placed her hands over his and held him close.

This woman is growing weary of having to be so strong, of having to
pretend I’m made of stone. So I won’t end up with no broken bones. I can’t
fight every battle alone. I want someone to lift me, heal my wounds, and give
me kisses on my head…
” The singer sang into her microphone, sharing an
intimate look with the clubbers.

She didn’t dance with men
much, and Remy didn’t count. Logan didn’t like to dance. Matter of fact, most of the men she’d dated didn’t like
to dance. Other men were too grabby, and she usually ended up slapping one for
his efforts.  Hell, she even had to slap
Remy a couple dozen times. But Vega was good at it, and he didn’t grope her.
She liked the thrill this gave her. He made it personal without making her feel
dirty. She felt like their bodies were making love on the dance floor.

If this is what he called
seduction, then she’d never been seduced before. She’d never experienced this anticipation
paired with fevered tension. It made a hunger yearn in her. The slow
deliberation he executed it with—teasing her one minute, disregarding her the
next—heightened too aware senses.  Part
mind game, part bodily stimulation, this seduction was a dangerous thing, but
it didn’t frighten her.

“Would you like to go home
with me, Ororo?” he asked her when they were face to face again.

Did she? She nodded,
following him back to the table. Things moved quickly, too quickly for her to
think. He asked for his tab between kissing her. A server brought him a bill
and Vega handed him a card. More uncontained kissing followed. The server
returned a few minutes later with the card, a slip of paper, and pen, placing
it on the table where Ororo could see it. He spent more on wine than most
people spent on their house payment each month.

Ororo picked up the pen and
twirled it in her hand, and he pulled her into his lap. Kiss, kiss, kiss. He
placed the pen in her left hand, explaining that he was left-handed, as he
covered her hand with his to sign the slip. That made sense. He did use his
claw with his left hand after all. She was rewarded with more kisses for her
astuteness.  He only used his first
initial and his last name. He exaggerated the “V” and all his letters slanted
the wrong way—V. de Cerna.

She’d driven to the club, but
she knew she couldn’t drive to his place. Too much alcohol. And she wasn’t
going to ride with him if he was driving. He drank more than she did. She was
horny, not stupid. He hadn’t driven to the club, though. He’d rode in a
limo—the same one that was pulling up to the curb. She didn’t know what she was
supposed to about the car. She’d worry about that later—much later.

In the limo, they were all
over each other like two teens after prom. It was all clashing lips and groping
hands topped with salacious kisses, and before long, her panties were dangling
from his fingers. Then, he slowed the tempo down, pulling her on top of him.
She straddled him while he buried his hand under her dress exploring leisurely.
She wrapped her arms around him kissing any available skin she could find,
curving into his touch, moaning his name through her haze.

Where are you, Ororo? Jean’s voice was sharp in her mind, as if she
were sitting right next to her. She almost had to look to make sure she hadn’t
projected herself inside the limo. Now was not the time for one of Jean’s
mental intrusions. She loved Jean, but goddess, she had such awful timing.

Not now, Jean. I am a little busy, she said. The thin right strap
of her dress snapped in his hand, sliding away from body, and she wanted
nothing more than to concentrate on the delicious things he was doing to her.

“I’m sorry. I will buy you
another,” he muttered into her shoulder, as the other strap gave way to his fingers.
He pushed the top of the dress to her waist.

“I know you will. Just don’t
stop,” she said, closing her eyes. He kissed her bare chest lightly.

Oh my God, Ororo! You’re with a man! I saw that! She could hear the
surprise in Jean’s words bouncing around her head. Jean didn’t mean to do it.
She was just excitable at times.

Stop that, Jean! She tried to mentally shoo Jean away, but Jean was
persistent. And she couldn’t muster up the strength to build up a decent mental
block, not with the way his hands were running over her breasts.

Who is he? Jean demanded.

I will speak to you in a few minutes. Ororo let out a frustrated
sigh, as she removed herself from Vega’s lap. She kind of hoped he would try to
keep her close to him, but he didn’t. She pulled her dress back over her
heaving chest. So much for that. Jean and her crap timing—it was like a
cold-water catharsis.

“Are you okay, Ororo?” he
asked, his words cutting through her thoughts. She seemed preoccupied with
something. That wouldn’t do. He wanted all of her attention, and he would have

“Yes,” she said. She didn’t
know how to explain her behavior to him. She couldn’t tell him that her best
friend was snooping with her telepathic powers. “I am just nervous.” That
wasn’t entirely untrue.

He pulled her close to him,
kissing her tenderly. “Don’t be,” he said. He offered her his jacket to wear
over her torn dress. She took it graciously, settling into his arms. They
didn’t talk for the rest of the trip.

He stayed in a swank
townhouse. She didn’t think it quite fit him, but he said he didn’t stay there
often. His home was Barcelona. When he wasn’t in Barcelona, he was mostly in
Shadowloo. What was he doing in New York, then? She didn’t ask. The less she
knew, the better she off she was. She held to his jacket and her dress as he
opened the door, her thoughts muddied with “dos and don’ts.”

She didn’t remember walking
up the stairs, though she was sure she had. She didn’t remember letting her
dress slip from her body, but she was sure she’d done that, too. All she could
think about was the way his lips arrogated hers the minute they entered the
door, capturing her in his spell once again.

“Wait,” she said, pushing him
away from her once they were in his bedroom. “Will you give me a few minutes

Second thoughts compelled her
to ask for a reprieve. He could grant her that, couldn’t he? She just had to be
sure that this was what she wanted. She didn’t want this to be some stupid
mistake that would follow her for the rest of her life. Now, when she was already
at his place, was a fine time to decide that she might’ve made a mistake. Good one.

“What will you give me in
return?” he asked. He ran the pad of his thumb over her bottom lip, following
up with a kiss, languishing away in the sweet taste of her lips.

“What do you want?” she asked
when he pulled back.

“Complete reign over your
body, if you decide to stay,” he said. He smiled at the almost shocked
expression she let pass over her face. She blinked a few times furiously before
regaining her composure.

She couldn’t have heard him
right. “Complete reign as in complete control?”

He nodded.

That’s what she thought he’d
said. She was almost afraid to ask what he meant by that exactly, but her whole
body tingled in response. Traitor.
And why was she not walking out of there in an uproar that he’d even said such
a ridiculous thing to her? She didn’t let people control her in any way. But he asked her to surrender
to him, and she was tempted to do just that. Where were her good senses when
she needed them?

“And if I decide to leave?”
she asked, her stomach twisting in a tight knot. Her voice almost squeaked.
This was crazy. She didn’t squeak. She was a woman, not a mouse.

“Just leave. You know the way
to the door. There will be no need for useless goodbyes.” He shrugged at her.

She wondered how many times
he’d played this game before. How many times had he lost? If his confidence
level was any indicator, probably never. She didn’t know what to say, what to
do. She chewed on her bottom lip thoughtfully. She’d call Jean. She promised to
talk to her anyway, but Jean would be the levelheadedness she needed right now.
She never thought she’d see the day.

“May I use your phone?” she

“Sure, and you can look in my
medicine cabinet, too, if you want.” He smiled that dazzling smile at her,
sending her pulse wild.

She chuckled. “Thanks,” she
said, sitting on his bed.

He exited the room and she
picked up the phone. Jean answered on the first ring. The woman was good.
“Ororo, what are you doing?” Jean said instead of greeting her.

“Talking to you,” Ororo said,
standing up from the bed. She walked around Vega’s room, deciding she did want
to look at his things. He’d given her permission to snoop after all. Well, he’d
only said the medicine cabinet, but liberties were to be taken. His bedroom was
a dark mix of blues and blacks varying in intensity harmonizing with hints of
eggshell. It reminded her of a city night. She ran her fingers over his soft
bedding—silk comforter, silk sheets, silk pillowcases, very different from the
Egyptian cotton she draped on her bed.

“You’re drunk. You should
come home. Do you need me to come get you?” Jean said, worry outlined her

“I am fine, Jean. I am not drunk,
just mellowed.” Ororo opened the door to his closet. Everything was neatly in
its place. Shoes in a row. Suits together. Pants together. Shirts together.
Color-coordinated. Very meticulous.

“Are you sure?” Jean asked.

Ororo paused, as she closed
the door to his closet. “He is not taking advantage of me, if that is what you
are worried about. You know me better than that.” She moved to one of his
bureaus. Maybe if she found a collection of underwear from his previous lovers
she might not be so sure this is what she wanted. Was that what she was looking
for, an excuse to leave?

“Who is he?” Jean asked.
She’d asked earlier and Ororo had been evasive with her answer.

“Someone I met at a club.”
That was not a lie, just a half-truth. She opened the drawers, more neatly
folded clothing in most of them. Papers neatly stacked away in others. She
thought about reading some of them, but she didn’t want to read something she
might not like.

“Are you sure about this,
Ororo? You and Logan—”

“Stop, Jean. I do not want to think about Logan.” Ororo
slammed the drawer shut and instantly regretted it. If he didn’t think she was
snooping, he’d know she was now. Thanks a
, Jean, she said silently.

“Okay,” she said softly. “For
what it’s worth, I think he’s sorry. He talked about you all night—”

Don’t do this to me. “Why are we still talking about Logan?”

Jean sighed, taking the hint.
She was serious. “I was worried about you tonight. Rogue and I came home early
with ice cream. We were going to turn this into a girl’s night, but you were
gone. Then, I really worried.”

“I am sorry, Jean. I just
needed to get out of the mansion for a while. I guess I should have called or
left a note,” Ororo said, walking to the bathroom. Black and white marble. A
bathtub big enough for two. Nice. She opened his medicine cabinet. It was
almost empty save for a few necessities—razor, shaving cream, aspirin. Nothing
exciting there.

“Is that her?” Ororo heard
Rogue yell in the background. “She ain’t in no trouble, is she?”

“It depends on what you call
trouble,” Jean said. “Hold on one second, Ororo.”

Ororo walked out of the
bathroom as she listened to the low exchange of words that made no sense.
“Gimme tha phone, Jean.” Rogue said. Ororo could imagine her holding one
demanding hand out while she shot a classic Rogue glare.

She walked toward the door,
exiting the bedroom, placing herself at the top of the stairs. She could see
him sitting on his sofa. His back was turned toward her. This couldn’t be
right. What did she hope to gain from this, to prove to herself that she wasn’t
a prude? Couldn’t she do it in more conventional ways other than a one-night
stand? She could, she decided, but where would the fun in that be?

“No!” Jean said.

“Gimme that!” Rogue said.
Ororo heard tussling. Then, Jean squealed. “Ororo, where tha hell are ya?”

“I met a guy tonight. I am
with him,” she whispered into the phone, not wanting him to hear her. She
watched him run his fingers through his hair. She felt like running down the
stairs and telling him to let her do that for him.

Rogue paused. “Is he hot?”

Ororo almost whimpered. “As sin,” she said. He was removing his
tie now, placing it to the side.  Ororo
walked back to his bedroom.

“Do ya want him?” Rogue asked
with mischief in her voice.

“More than I want Häagen-Dazs,”
Ororo joked. Why couldn’t she have him and Häagen-Dazs or, even better, him with Häagen-Dazs? She’d loved to lick a scoop of Mayan Chocolate right off his…

“That’s serious. Then, why
tha hell are ya on tha phone with us, shuga?” Rogue laughed into the phone. “Go
getcha man.”

“Rogue!” Jean said, sounding

“Ah’m just sayin’. If she
wants t’get laid, let her.”

“You wouldn’t say that if you
and Remy had just split and he wanted
to sleep with some random woman.” Jean had a point. They’d gone through that
with Rogue and Remy a million times.

“Ororo’s sensible. She knows
what she’s doin’. Remy, not so much,” Rogue argued. Rogue had a point, too.
“Bye, Ororo. We want all tha dirty
details when ya get home.”

“Rogue, don’t you hang up


Ororo held the phone in her
hands a long time. Her heart was doing ninety to nothing in chest. This was it.
If she walked down those steps, if she approached him, she wouldn’t be able to
turn back. He wouldn’t let her. She padded downstairs, as quiet as a panther on
the prowl, approaching him cautiously.

“Do you have a girlfriend?”
she asked, donning nothing but the jacket he’d given to him earlier. She pulled
it close to her body, cloaking her nudity.


“Yes, a full time lover, a
significant other, una novia?” Someone who might catch us and try to kill
my ass, she wanted to add. She didn’t care what he said, what he promised.
If he had someone in his life, she was gone. She did not intend to be part of
his deception.

“I know what you mean. And
no, I don’t have a girlfriend,” he answered. She walked closer to him, lowering
herself to her knees before him. She sat back on her heels, looking up at him.
Her eyes asked for his complete honesty.

He sounded sincere, but she
had to keep pushing. “How about any girlfriends?” she asked, adding emphasis on the “s.” He just said he didn’t
have one girlfriend, not more than one.

He laughed. “No, I don’t have
any girlfriends,” he said, mimicking
her sibilant “s.” It just sounded much sexier when he did it.

She opened her mouth to make
her question more specific. He wasn’t getting off that easy.

“Or a wife or wives. Or a boyfriend or boyfriends,” he said before she could ask. She
sat up on her knees and nudged his legs opened, nestling herself between his
thighs, placing her hands on his legs. She looked at him with a devilish grin.
She was beautiful with her skin glowing in excitement. She bit down on her
bottom lip, making him ache to kiss her again.

“Why not?” she asked. She
wanted to continue talking to keep from putting too much thought into her

She often handled sex like
she did missions, commanding what happened, giving directions, demanding
compliance. It was almost as if she were afraid to give herself over to
someone. Something always told her they’d never get it right if she didn’t
order what she wanted. Maybe that’s why she never gained any satisfaction from
it. Maybe she demanded too much and didn’t give enough. Maybe that’s why her
relationships never lasted. Maybe she didn’t blame Logan for leaving her. Maybe
she didn’t blame any of them.

She didn’t want to think
about this, to drive Vega away with her commands. She wanted to prove to
herself that she could do this, that she could give and take with equal
passion. He didn’t know what to expect from her, so she could be anything she
wanted with him. She wanted to loosen the reins, to submit to him, but she
didn’t know if she really could. She didn’t know if she was ready for that.
Maybe she would never be ready. She only took comfort in the fact that whatever
happened here—good or bad—wouldn’t stare her in the face every day.

“I am told that I’m not
relationship material,” he said. Her fingers grazed his zipper, lingering
there. She rubbed her palm down his erection almost inquisitively. The bashful
way she touched him made him want her even more. He wanted to snatch her to her
feet and devour her body right there.

That made two of them.
“Meaning?” she asked, moving her hand, preoccupying herself with undoing his
belt buckle. She removed his belt, throwing it to the floor. She unclasped his
pants and pulled his shirt loose.

“I’m too demanding, too
self-serving, too rude, too arrogant, too callous, too busy, too selective. Do
I need to go on?” he said, concentrating the feel of her hands against his
stomach. He groaned when she pushed his shirt up to kiss his stomach, and his
heart jumped when she used her tongue to map a path back down.

“No,” she said. Good. That meant she wouldn’t be able to
form any kind bond with him beyond the physical. She thought about asking him
how many people he’d slept with, but she wouldn’t ruin this. She unbuttoned his
shirt, running her hands over his flawless skin, standing as she did. “I am

She sat in his lap, shivering
so hard her teeth clacked against each other. She was afraid, visibly afraid.
She wasn’t sure what to expect from him, but she was excited, couldn’t wait to
indulge in whatever pleasures he had in mind for the night. Her breath came to
her in ragged, irregular beats in response to her anticipation. She tried to
steady her breaths, to stop her shivers, but the more she tried, the more they

He kneaded her shoulders,
trying to work some of the tension out of them. “Relax, relax,” he mumbled into
her hair, the pliable tip of his nose touching the back of her neck. He took in
a deep breath of her heavenly smell as his knuckles brushed down her arms
softly. A fresh wave of shivers made her body vibrate against his. He ran his
hands over her bare legs. More shivers.

“I promise I won’t hurt you.
I only ask one thing of you,” he said. He brushed her hair to the side and
kissed the back of her neck. Strong hands found her breasts, massaging them,
testing their weight. She pulled in a small breath when he rolled her nipples
between his fingers, teasing the hardened, pebbled flesh.

“What is that?” she asked
between breaths. His mouth latched firmly to her neck as one hand continued to
tease her breast. The other trailed over her stomach to her wet, waiting mound.
She quivered in expectation.

“Whatever I ask you to do,
whatever I do to you, don’t say no,” he breathed into her neck.

He stroked her outer lips,
parting them gently with one finger. His finger grazed her sensitive nub with
just enough pressure to make her jolt in enjoyment. She tried to press herself
harder into his hand, but he moved as she moved, keeping the stroke steady
enough to wind her up tight, but not hard enough to make her come. Damn him.
“What are you going to do to me?” she stuttered. Her eyes closed on their own

“I am going to taste you,
fuck you… make you scream my name in every
room,” he said as if she’d just asked him something silly. He placed one finger
inside of her to test the waters. She pushed a hard breath through her teeth.

“Every room?” she moaned
while he dipped his finger inside of her. Dear goddess, he had many rooms. There was no way. Was there?
No, of course not. At least, she wanted to believe that.

He led her from the living
room back to his bedroom. Her heart skipped and tripped in her chest. He was
talking to her, but she could barely hear him, could barely understand him,
over her beating heart. She prayed she didn’t regret this in the morning. She
prayed that she wasn’t god-awful at sex tonight. She prayed he wasn’t awful at
it either. What would be more disappointing if he was? By the time they made it
to his bedroom, she was shivering again. What was she doing? She didn’t sleep
with men she’d just met.

He released her hand and lay
back on the bed, beckoning her toward him. She walked over to him timorously.
“Touch me,” he said. He watched her indecisiveness flit over her face. She bit
down on her lip, and he wondered if she would that while he was going down on
her. He sure hoped so.

“But—” She’d almost told him
to touch her instead because she was used to that. That was safe. But he
waggled a finger at her in admonishment. She pressed her lips together, as she
sidled alongside him in the bed, reminding herself of the promise she’d made not to be demanding.

She had never taken the time
to truly appreciate a man’s body. Probably because she was always dictating.
Her touches were tentative at first building up into bold caresses. She ran her
hands over ripping abs and tight muscles, shunning embarrassment in the name of
curiosity. His skin sizzled under her fingers, inviting. His body was
beautiful, not that he needed her to tell him that.

The more she explored, hotter
her own body burned at the sensuality of it. His soft moans inflamed her
actions as she let her fingers linger where he seemed to enjoy them most. She
wanted to replace her fingers with her tongue and taste every inch of him.

He watched her slender,
inquisitive hands. She wouldn’t look at him, and he could feel the slight
shyness emitting from her. That shyness was absent from her gentle touch,
though—thankfully. He swallowed hard, trying to maintain his control as his
nerves tingled. She pressed her warm body harder into his, tracing the tattoo
on his chest with her lips. She nipped at his nipple playfully, and he clenched
his fists tightly to stop himself from grabbing her. No success.

He pulled her into his kiss,
taking his fill of her. He couldn’t wait to taste her, to crush his body into
hers, to make her his…

“I am not finished,” she said
with a teasing swat to his hip, pulling away from him.

She ran her fingers over his
stomach, repeatedly, scratching her nails over the muscles. He squirmed, his
body shaking slightly. She looked at him, thinking she’d done something wrong.
His cheeks were red; his lips pressed together tightly. The side of his mouth
quirked. He was trying to curb a laugh. “You are ticklish!” she said with a

“Am not,” he said between small laughs. He tried to stop the laughter
her fingers were forcing to the surface. He hadn’t laughed with anyone like
this in some time—if ever. Most people did not tickle him as a form of
foreplay. Despite her playfulness, her touch sent fire through him, making it
hard to resist her. Because even as she tickled, she teased him.

“You are too. Tickle. Tickle.
Tickle.” She tickled his sides, earning a loud laugh from him. She liked this
laugh. It was different from the seductive chuckle that rumbled from his
throat. This laugh was full of jollity, easy and unassuming. She continued to
tickle as she placed her tongue against his stomach, feeling the muscles clench
in laughter. She chased the baby fine blonde hair from his navel to his pants,
never letting up on her devilment.

Her tongue thrummed a private
melody against him causing his moans to intersperse with his laughter. She
stopped tickling him long enough to peel away his pants and underwear, finding
something else to focus her fascination on. She wasn’t disappointed. “Now, what
shall we do about this?” she asked with an imp’s grin. She ran her fingers
through golden curls before wrapping her hand around his length, feeling it
throb beneath her touch.

She released him, brushing
her fingers against him, running a finger along the underside of his shaft,
smiling as he took small drinks of breath. She wrapped her hand around him
again, giving him a slow stroke as she kissed the head of his cock. His
appreciative sigh coursed through her. This was very different from the smooth,
confident Vega who’d lured her to his lair. She had him at her mercy, even if
it was only for a second. She’d enjoy it while it lasted.

“Ororo—” He started, but
quickly lost his thoughts as she breathed against him.

“Hush,” she commanded.

A small, pink tongue darted
from the darkness of her mouth, tasting him quickly before retreating to its
hiding place. His voice left him completely as she moved in closer, swirling
her tongue around him in lazy circles, her mouth slowly engulfing him, hot and
wet. Her movements were confident, sure, instinctive. “Hmmm,” she hummed when he
touched the back of her throat. Pleasant sensations rolled through him, and he
arched into her. If it was her intention to make him lose the last of his
willpower, she was succeeding, reducing his words to primal growls. And she
mistakenly believed herself to be “frigid.” He would’ve laughed, if he could’ve
found his breath.

He tangled his fingers in
that beautiful, white mane, watching her head lift and dip, his hips rising to
meet her mouth as her teeth grazed lightly. Waves of pleasure pulsed through him
as she began to massage his balls gently adding to her cacophonic
assault—unction by tongue. Her will be done. He was melting under her the slow,
thoughtful torture of her mouth. “Dios
, Ororo,” he said repeatedly between clenched teeth, losing his sense of
self. He couldn’t think. He could only feel.

She’d always gone down on the
men she was dating out of some kind of duty rather than true enjoyment. She’d
let her mind stray to a million different things while she went through the
perfunctory motions. It didn’t help how men often went about asking for it. It
was all “Could you, um, you know?”
and raised eyebrows and stupid hand gestures. They’d stutter around it like a
teenage boy while stressing the words “you know.” Oh yeah, she knew, but she
always feigned ignorance. And goddess help him if he uttered “Thank you” when
she was done.

Vega hadn’t asked for it, not
that she’d given him a chance to. Still, she didn’t see him using stupid,
immature terms to express that desire to her. He didn’t give her any of that
“Slow down, baby,” or force her to take more than she was ready for. She hated
that. He let her set the pace, and maybe it wasn’t so bad because she did
actually want to please him rather than get it done. There was something about
the way he growled her name and the gentle way he ran his fingers through her
hair that made an approving moan escape her lips. She was so hot that she
thought she might come without him ever touching her.

She pulled away from him for
a second, running a tongue along the underside of his shaft before gracing the
head with playful, catlike flicks of her tongue. He was her personal lollipop.
“You are delicious,” she said with a wicked smile. He pulled her to him in a
hard kiss, the kind that would leave her lips bruised and wanting. She wanted
to finish what she started, but his hold on her was firm. He had other things
in mind, obviously.

Te deseo.” His words moved through her like a fresh breath. He gave
her another soul-searing kiss. “I will let you decide, Ororo. Sweet or rough?
Choose wisely, but don’t take too long.”

She lay beside him while his
hands surveyed her body, an explorer mapping unknown terrain. He seemed
fascinated by her body like he’d devour her whole if she just said the word.
“Rough,” she said. She was tired of sweet and tender. And what were one-night
stands for if not to explore something different with someone you didn’t have
to look at ever again? She could get sweet and tender from anyone. Everyone
thought she wanted sweet and tender. She wanted something a little different

“We need a safe word,” he
said while he appreciating her beauty. A thin sheen of sweat already covered
her body. Dark nipples summoned him like illicit fruit. He ran the pads of his
thumbs over them, marveling at how they seemed to tighten even more at his

“Your hands feel like silk,”
she said, forgetting that he’d said something about a safe word.

“Concentrate, Ororo. Safe
word.” He didn’t let up on his methodical exploration of her breasts.

She crinkled her eyebrows at
him. Did he really expect her to concentrate when he wouldn’t stop touching
her? She grasped his hands between her own. “A safe word?” she asked.

She looked at him with
genuine curiosity. Her blue eyes were shining. “I won’t hurt you, Ororo, but if
you feel things are getting out of control, then you will say this word and I
will stop,” he explained. He laughed a little when both of her eyebrows shot
up. Her mouth formed a perfect “O.” Her expression was too cute not to reward
with a kiss.

She barely noticed when he
pulled his hands from hers. “Any word?” Goddess,
what did I agree to?
A million questions formed in her head, but she
couldn’t seem to ask them. His fingers were tracing a line between the valley
of her breasts.

“It has to be something you
won’t accidentally say.”

“Like turnip,” she said with
a chuckle.

“If you want.” He shrugged.
He wouldn’t have picked that word, but if that’s what she wanted to use. He
wouldn’t complain. He hoped she wouldn’t use it at all, but if she had to… He
could be overzealous, but he’d try to be gentle with her. He didn’t want to
break her on his first—and perhaps only—night with her.

“No, I want our safe word to
be kyohi,” she said. The word rolled
off her tongue smoothly. There’s no way she’d accidentally utter that even in
the throes of passion, and she liked the way it sounded when she said it.

“Refusal. Not bad. You speak
Japanese?” Vega asked. It was fitting actually. He circled a finger around her
bellybutton, then graced it with a petite kiss, tonguing the small mouth. She
shifted under him.

Nervousness took over a
little when she looked into his eyes. They were so wolfish. She started to ramble, and she never rambled. “I speak
enough to be conversational. My friend Yukio—”

“On your knees,” he said,
interrupting her. Like he gave a fuck about Yukio, whoever that was. The game
had started. She looked at him thoroughly confused. When she didn’t comply
immediately, he pulled her toward him roughly, positioning her on all fours.
She fought against him slightly, but didn’t say anything.

She was still processing what
was going on. Weren’t they just talking about speaking Japanese? He was behind
her, opening her legs wider; the cool air in the room stroked her swelling
clit, making her feel vulnerable. She tried to reposition her legs a little
closer together. “Don’t move. I’d hate to have to punish you. Well… not
really,” he said. His voice was gentle, but it did little to belie the warning
underneath it.

“What do you mean punish?” she asked. A fresh wave of
shivers threatened to erupt from her, but that delicious feeling continued to
roil through her as the air continued to rush over her most intimate parts.

“Don’t speak.” He palmed her
perfectly formed globes, giving them a squeeze of veneration. This position
gave him a perfect view of her glistening labia. His throbbing cock begged
admittance.  He wanted nothing more than
to bury himself deep inside of her, but he had better control than that. He
leaned into her, stealing a tangy taste of her. She whimpered low in her
throat. Not good enough. His tongue trailed up one inner thigh, retrieving
precious lost juices. He traced her outer lips as he took in her intoxicating
scent. Beautiful.

She bucked against him when
his tongue entered her. He steadied her by holding to both her legs,
simultaneously pulling her into him. He lapped at her like a man dying of
thirst, and she was the only one who could quench it. One of his hands snaked
up her thigh, seeking out the pearl between her legs. “Goddess!” she said when
he squeezed her clit between his fingers.

“That includes praying,” he
said, rolling the sensitive flesh between his fingers. She “ooh’d” and tried to
escape his touch. He wouldn’t let her. “I am afraid there is no deity who can
save you from me.”

Then, he covered her with his
mouth, fully. She wailed. He held her steady and strong while he explored her
core with so much proficiency that she had to remind herself she’d never slept
with this man before, even if his touches said otherwise. Every flick of his
tongue, every touch of his fingers, sent fire through her, waking her from a
long slumber. She could barely hold herself up as he feasted on her. Then, that
incredible feeling started in the pit of her stomach, threatening to erupt. As
if he sensed her closeness, he started pulling away from her. Oh no. Oh no. Oh no.

“Vega, I need—” A heavy hand
smacked her hard against one butt cheek with a loud WHAP! She could feel her skin burning where he’d just hit her. It
didn’t hurt more than it stung. She couldn’t believe he’d actually hit her,
though. “You bastard!” She was rewarded with another hot smack. His strike was
exact, landing in the same spot as the first. Then, she felt his tongue
palliate the heated flesh. She tried to bite back her moan, but it was useless.

“I warned you,” he said in a
self-satisfied, sing-songy voice.

She pushed away from him,
turning on her back. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of seeing she
enjoyed that. “I am not a child,” she hissed at him. She clutched at his sheets
and pulled them over her quivering frame. Some thrill passed through her,
though, as she tried to appear offended.

“Insubordination,” he tutted
as he jerked the covers away from her. She was going to fight him. Good, good. He thought she would. Her
eyes burned with a mixture of indignation and lust. “That’s usually twenty
lashes, but since this your first offense, I’ll make it ten.”

She sat up on her knees. The
animalism in his eyes was strong, more than ready for this. She could almost
feel his strong aura pushing her back to the bed, but she pushed back. “You
will not,” she said with low warning. Why was her body flaming up at the
thought? She should be stomping out of there. Okay, she was curious, and all
she had to do was say the safe word if she really wanted him to stop. He hadn’t
hurt her, but if he thought she was willingly going to let him spank her, he’d better rethink his

“Then, you want twenty lashes?” He watched her
slide toward the edge of his bed slowly. She thought he didn’t notice. He kept
a serious face and pretended to be oblivious. His need blazed brighter at her
actions. He always loved a good chase.

“You know what I meant,” she
said in a stern voice. “You will not hit me.”

“Oh, I will and I am. And”—he
paused when she turned her face away from him; he moved closer to her and
turned her face back to him—“I will probably enjoy it more than you will.”

She retreated from his bed
with him giving chase. He moved quicker than she did, grabbing her from behind.
She tried to wriggle free of the hands that caught her around the waist. She
attempted to jerk away from him with too much force. Instead of pulling in the
opposite direction to offset her, he gave in to her jerk. Her momentum caused
her to go tumbling toward the wall with him in tow. Just when she thought she
was about to become very intimate with his wall, he steadied her before she
could go crashing.

He pushed her into the wall
gently, his erection throbbing against her backside as he pushed against her.
She licked her lips, hoping he’d just take her right there. But when his hand
landed on her ass with a biting blow, she fought with renewed vigor. He held to
her tightly despite her fighting. Goddess, he was strong. She placed her palms
flat against the wall, pushing back just enough to place one foot against the
wall. She pushed backward, hard, catching him off guard. He let go of her and
she turned to face him. He’d already composed himself.

They were a fury of motion,
mostly consisting of her trying to escape his strong hold, but it was exciting
playing this game, fighting with him for dominance—a fight she was sorely
losing. Every turn was infused with a kiss, a lick, a bite, a smack, a promise
of how things would end. She caught him in the gut with a surprise elbow, and
he released her. She skittered into the bathroom as he recovered. She slammed
the door in his face, locking herself there. She heard him turn the knob one
time. Then, nothing. Had he given up? Hardly.

She rubbed her arms,
wondering if she should open the door to see where he’d gone. No, that’s what
he wanted. He was baiting her out. She sat on the edge of his tub. Was this
really her doing all these things? She stood up quickly as the door opened.
“How did you…?”

“I have the key,” he said,
dangling it in front of her face. Now, it was time to collect his prize. He was
going to enjoy this. She still held up a defiant chin, but he knew she’d give
in in the end.

“That is not fair,” she said,
standing akimbo. She tried to be justifiably angry with him, but warmth pooled
at her center with eagerness. The way he was looking at her wasn’t helping
matters. He’d probably done this a million times, but he made it so personal
like it was all for her.

“Not fair? It’s my house.”

“Yes, and that is exactly why it is not fair.”

“You are stalling.”

She hoped he wouldn’t notice.
He scooped her up, throwing her over his shoulder. She put up a good fight; at
least she thought she did. This was madness. She couldn’t believe she was
letting him put her over his knee. Kyohi,
why couldn’t she just say it? She tried to talk herself out of this, but all
thoughts quickly subsided with the shock of his hand connecting with her flesh.

It was a complete assault on
her senses, the stinging blows coupled with the gentleness of his massaging
fingers and tender kisses. He told her not to make a sound or he’d keep at it,
so she bit down on her lip, hard. By the time he finished, she was shaking hard
just from the sheer force it took her to keep quiet. And goddess save her, she
thought she sort of liked it.

Then, he gathered her into
his arms and sought out every erogenous zone she possessed until she was
panting and begging. “Tell me what you want me to do to you.” His voice was
imbued with desire. It took everything he had to wait for her to give him the

“Make love to me,” she sighed
under him.

“We barely know each other. I
think you want me to fuck you, yes?” he corrected. He was so close to her heat.
All he had to do was pull her into him. Restraint, he reminded himself.

She narrowed her eyes at him.
“You are a bastard.” But he was her bastard, even if it was only for the night.
She’d rather have his biting honesty rather than pretty lies. They were just
having sex. There was no love in it.

“So, you’ve told me, but you
didn’t answer my question. Do you want me to fuck you?” He tasted one of her
nipples, pulling it lightly between his teeth.

“Yes, please.” She sighed
again, turning her face away from him, biting down on her lip to stifle another
moan. Her body was singing. She was acutely aware of everything. His hands. The
silk against her skin. His mouth. The dull throbbing of her ass.

She said “please.” How
thoughtful of her. It wasn’t what he wanted to hear, but it was a nice gesture,
anyway. “Say it.” He spread her thighs a little more, running his finger along
the cleft of her sex.

“Fuck me,” she said softly
without looking at him. She’d never said that to any of her lovers. The
vestigial longing in her voice warmed her. She could get used to this. No. No, she couldn’t. This was a one night
only deal.

“Now, see, I don’t think you
mean it,” he said with a click of his tongue. He feigned withdrawal, but she
hooked one powerful leg around his waist. “Look at me, Ororo.”

She turned her eyes back to
him. He wasn’t going to do a thing until she said it. She pulled in a deep
breath. Say it loud. Say it proud. “FUCK ME, VEGA!” she said at full volume,
her need hallowing her words.

“If you insist,” he said with
a rake’s smile, thrusting into her moist, inviting heat. God, she felt like
heaven. Her muscles gripped him tight, welcoming him into her hideaway. She
raised her hips slightly pulling him deeper into her velvety wetness. She held
to his back, nails biting into him mercilessly.

Their hips met in a slow
procession as they learned each other’s personal rhythm. Probing mouths quested
toward one another. Earthy moans filled the room as his thrusts deepened,
slowed, savored her, tilted her toward that brink. He held her arms tight above
her head while his tongue lapped at the recess between her neck and collarbone,
then journeyed to her waiting breasts.

Thunder rumbled inside her.
Each stroke sent her pulsating over the edge. She met him frantically, willing
that sweet feeling to overtake her. He talked to her in Spanish, his smooth
voice aiding in pushing her closer. Trembles claimed her body as she thanked a
million gods and goddesses for this feeling. Warmth washed over her as her hips
continued to slip, slip, slide to meet his trusts. His named flowed like a
prayer from her lips. Over and over again she called his name, wrapping her
legs around his waist in a death vise.

Ay, mierda.” Her contractions fueled an explosion that he was
useless to stop. He could only go along for the ride as she milked him of
everything he had, causing him to tumble headfirst into her kiss. Still, she
pulled him into her tighter and tighter. She felt so good, and ay, mierda… Too intense. The tingle
started at the foundation of his spine and worked its way out, rolling over
every vertebra, every muscle, every nerve, until it encompassed him into one
fiery feeling that was fueled by the feel of her.

He relaxed on her heavily
after he came. Hearts rushing, thoughts colliding, too-heavy breathing—they let
the dust settled. They touched each other delicately while waiting for their
pulses to return to normal. Then, they looked at each other. “Yes, I would say
you are quite frigid,” he teased. They laughed.

She tickled him for good
measure. “I am sure that you have helped me with problem,” she said. Laughter
melted into more kisses.

“That was just the
appetizer,” he whispered in her ear.

Sweet goddess…

He made good on his promise.
She’d screamed his name in every room until her voice died. In the kitchen. In
his two spare bedrooms. In his office. In the living room. In the bathroom—both
of them. And he hadn’t fucked her every time. He made love to her with his
hands, with his mouth. He had placed her on his mahogany desk in his office and
watched her touch herself, encouraging her with words she didn’t understand but
could surmise their meaning. When she thought she couldn’t give him anymore,
he’d coaxed more out of her. He had to carry her back up the stairs because her
legs had stop functioning two orgasms ago.

She could barely keep her
eyes open when they finally fell into his bed. “I should be going,” she said in
a half-woke daze. There was no way she could move, much less navigate a car
home. She guessed she just needed to remind herself aloud that this had to end.

“Just rest a while.” He
rubbed shapes into her lower stomach.

 “Will I see you again?” she asked, leaning
into him.

“I am not good for you, mi cariña.” His tongue replaced his
fingers. He couldn’t get enough of tasting her. He buried his nose into her
skin, relishing the slick smell of her skin, a heady combination of sex and

“I know, but I don’t care,”
she sighed into his pillow. She didn’t hear his answer as she drifted off to
sleep. Maybe he never answered her at all.

When she woke, she searched
the covers for his warm body, but he was gone. Disappointment settled in her
stomach as she opened her eyes slowly. She’d hoped to wake up locked in his
arms. She wondered how long he’d been gone. She hadn’t felt him stir at her
side. “What time is it?” she muttered to herself. She stretched, her fatigued
limbs protesting silently at being disturbed.

Sunlight washed over her,
warming her with its touch. He’d opened the curtains. She smiled, even though
her sore limbs continued to yell at her. She turned over in the bed, looking at
the clock beside the bed. It was after one o’clock. She sat straight up in the
bed. Her smile slipped from her lips as her heart started to crash hard in her

She should’ve been gone hours
ago. How was she supposed to get in the mansion now without everyone seeing her? And she still had to go back to Dazzle
to get the car. What was she supposed to wear? Her dress was torn. All she had
to do was make it to the car and she could put her jeans back on. What would
she wear until then? One of his shirts. He wouldn’t miss it, but she’d send it
back to him just in case. She could wear it over her abused dress.

Her legs threatened to
collapse under her weight. She placed on hand on the bed to steady herself. She
wondered if he was downstairs. If he was, what was she supposed to say to him?
Did she just leave, or did she say something awkward like “That was nice?” It
was better than “nice,” but she didn’t think she had the words that could
express her feelings on their night together.

He’d lined her shoes up beside
the bedroom door, her panties folded neatly beside them. Neat freak. The dress
was missing. Pity, she thought she might’ve had it mended. Or maybe she
would’ve just hidden it away in her closet as a reminder of last night. She
wanted to remember every dirty second of it. She wanted to remember his fingers
seeking out erogenous zones she didn’t know she had, his mouth making love to
her body, her name rolling off his tongue in an erotic litany.

She walked into his bathroom.
There was a crumpled white towel on the floor, the only disarray in the room.
She caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror. Her hair was flying every way
but the right way. She muted a moan when she thought about the way he tangled
his fingers in her hair. She noticed a few rubber bands by the sink, as if he’d
known she’d need them. She picked them up and used them to pull her hair back
hastily. She looked at herself closely, wondering if her friends would notice
anything different besides the fact she looked like hell on legs. Then, she
laughed at her own silliness.

She wrapped herself in one of
his plain white shirts that barely made it pass her thighs as she made her way
downstairs. She entered his kitchen, noting the newspaper on his counter. It
was dated for today. He wasn’t there. It was as if she was chasing a ghost of
him. Maybe he’d never existed at all. Well,
that’s that
, she said to herself, trying not to let the fingers of regret
grasp her. She knew this was leading to nothing, and she shouldn’t have
expected him to stop living his life because of her. Maybe this was for the

She called a cab and helped
herself to a glass of water. She left her half-empty glass on the counter, so
he’d know she been there. When the cab blew, She peeked out the door, making
sure that one saw her. She took care to lock his door before exiting. Then, she
raced to the cab. She could only imagine how graceful she looked running to the
cab in his shirt and her come-fuck-me heels. She spent most of the ride back to
Dazzle replaying the night in her head. At the club, she unlocked the door to
the car, thanking the gods for keyless entry. She found her purse and quickly
paid the driver. Pulling on her jeans, leaving his shirt wrapped around her,
she started the journey home.

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