She-Roe

SHE-ROE

Dakota Cassidy

® www.loose-id.com

Warning This e-book contains sexually explicit scenes and adult language and may be considered offensive to some readers. Loose Id® e-books are for sale to adults ONLY, as defined by the laws of the country in which you made your purchase. Please store your files wisely, where they cannot be accessed by under-aged readers.

She-Roe Dakota Cassidy This e-book is a work of fiction. While reference might be made to actual historical events or existing locations, the names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Published by Loose Id LLC 1802 N Carson Street, Suite 212-2924 Carson City NV 89701-1215 www.loose-id.com

Copyright © January 2008 by Dakota Cassidy All rights reserved. This copy is intended for the purchaser of this e-book ONLY. No part of this e-book may be reproduced or shared in any form, including, but not limited to printing, photocopying, faxing, or emailing without prior written permission from Loose Id LLC.

ISBN 978-1-59632-618-7 Available in Adobe PDF, HTML, MobiPocket, and MS Reader

Printed in the United States of America

Editor: Maryam Salim Cover Artist: April Martinez

www.loose-id.com

Chapter One Save the Jimmy Choos -- save the world…

“No flippin’ way.” “Uh, yes. Yes flippin’ way.” “I’m a what?” “You’re an AGI, according to the AAAAH Crime Fighting Academy.” “A what? “You heard me.” “Say it once more so I’m sure I heard you right.” “An AGI. Possibly on the lam, I might add.” “Uh, look, Acronym Man, I have absolutely no clue what AGI means and I’m not on the lamb. I don’t even like lamb. So wanna explain?” The piercing blue eyes of the man at her door narrowed in her direction. “Auto Genetic Inductee,” he said via tight lips and a clenched jaw.

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Oh. Right. That made complete sense. Wasn’t everyone an AGI? “I’ve been automatically, genetically inducted into AAAAH?” This was a joke. It had to be. Either that, or this guy, as hawt as he was, was nucking futs. His sigh was impatient when he rocked back on his heels and glared at her. The sharp planes of his cheekbones glistened in the light of her dim apartment hallway. “Look, you’re Andy Greer, right?” “Yes.” “Then you have to come with me. You’ve been drafted by AAAAH.” “Okay, AAAAH as in, The Association for the Advancement of All American Heroes Crime Fighting Academy? The one with the long-assed name no one can remember? Ooooh. Right. That makes perfect sense. So lemme get this straight. Just because my name is Andy Greer, you’ve concluded I’m an AGI?” “Yes -- and also due to your esteemed genealogy, of course. Hence the word genetic in the AGI portion of our conversation. But according to my papers, you’re an unwilling and I’ve come here to collect you.” He spoke the words with slow precision. She shook her head. “Um, no.” He didn’t look at all insulted when he asked, “’Scuse me?” “I said no. As ‘in no can do’.” The stern set of his jaw tightened when he curled a large hand around the door of her apartment. “There is no ‘no’ about it. You have no choice. Again, you’ve been drafted. I’m just the messenger and I have a date tonight. So could we hurry this up?” What kind of whacked shit was this? “I have many choices. One of which is to not come with you. I can’t be drafted. I’m too old -- especially for a place like AAAAH Academy.” She snorted. As if. “Did I say old? I mean it. I’m, like, really old. I’m thirty, for God’s sake. No draft in the land wants someone who’s thirty. I couldn’t do a sit-up if you did one for me, and from the looks of those abs of yours” -- she reached a finger out and poked at

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the solid wall of his dark green, T-shirt-clad abdomen -- “I wouldn’t be going out on a limb when I say you spend a lot of time on body beautiful. Kudos.” His smirk was smug and self-assured. She leaned against the doorframe while she tightened the belt on her pink, fuzzy robe. “Besides, I’m busy. So we need to find another option.” He shook his head; not a hair on his cropped, dark head moved. He widened his stance, the muscles in his thighs flexing and moving beneath the tight black jeans he wore. “I’m afraid there are no options to this package, Ms. Greer. You’re coming with me. It’s your duty.” “Have you lost your mind? Since when does AAAAH Academy draft anyone? I thought you had to have superpowers to get in there.” Tall, brawny, and handsome smiled. “You do.” Well, alrighty, then. That solved that. She didn’t have shit in the way of super anything. Except maybe super bargain hunting skills. “Well, I have nary a superpower and you people made a mistake. So I think this conversation is over.” He jammed a broad shoulder against the door and took hold of her wrist, tugging it. “Listen, lady. I’ve heard all this before. Every one of you unwillings has a story, and tonight I’m plumb out of patience, so let’s go.” She tugged back. “But wait.” Andy held up two fingers and circled her face with them, pointing out the green cement-like goop on her face. “Do you see this?” He nodded. “This -- this is a seaweed kelp facial and I spent a fortune on it at some fancy herbal store in the mall. It’s supposed to help minimize my pores and make my skin fresh as a daisy. I have absolutely no intention of forfeiting twelve bucks on a perfectly good, not even close to finished facial so I can be drafted because of some mistake. Besides, it’s Saturday night; who gets drafted on a Saturday?”

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“‘Who’ has nothing to do but play around with a seaweed whateveryoucallit facial on a Saturday nig --” “Kelp. It’s kelp.” He rolled his really nice blue eyes. “Whatever. ‘Who’ has nothing better to do on a Saturday night than have a facial?” Andy gasped. “Are you mocking me because I have no date and you do? How rude. How discriminatory. What kind of drafter --” “Collector. I’m called The Collector.” “Collector, drafter, jack-off, what-EV-ah -- omigod, wait, you’re The Collector? For real?” Wow, he was the real live Collector. Crazy, that. “For real.” Andy lifted an eyebrow at him and yanked the chip clip that held her hair out of her face from her the top of her head. The Collector was here at her very own door. Righteous. “Well, either way what you just said was mean. What kind of person makes fun of someone because she has no date on a Saturday? Especially if you’re a crime-fighting servant of the public? Maybe I choose to stay home, huh? Whaddya think about that? And believe me, with the pickin’s being so slim out there, I’d much rather be at home with a facial than with some ’tard who still lives in his mother’s basement.” “Ms. Greer?” His voice was a deep, amused rumble. “Yes?” “Don’t make me use the Collector-nator.” “The what?” “The Collector-nator.” “Do they really call it that?”

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He winked a thickly fringed eye. “Nah, it’s just a super-powered taser. The press makes it much bigger than it really is.” Andy pointed to the big megaphone looking thing strapped to his belt. “Oooooh. Is that the esteemed super weapon I’ve read so much about in the papers?” His smile was once more smug. “It is.” “It sounds harsh.” She’d only heard the rumors about it, read a news report or two, but to see it up close…wow. He wiggled his dark eyebrows. “Oh, it is.” “Look, I’ll say this once more. I can’t be drafted into the AAAAH Academy. That’s impossible. I don’t have crime fighting powers. Don’t you need those to attend AAAAH? And don’t you think if I had superpowers, I’d have used them to get a date for tonight? Or at the very least, done something far more interesting with my life than freakin’ sell ladies shoes? Like maybe I’d own a piece of Jimmy Choo instead of hawking them to trophy wives like some schlep all day long? You’ve made a mistake, and as I look at my watch, I have but two minutes before this kelp concoction thing turns to cement, and I won’t ever be able to get it off my face without the aid of a chisel. So I have to go and so do you.” The Collector dug around in the pocket of his very non-superhero looking jeans and pulled out a computer print out. “Um, it says here you don’t have a choice. Your time is up. So I’m here to do my duty. This can be easy, or it can be hell. Your choice.” “Tell me…” His brow furrowed. “What?” “Is the Collector-nator messy?” This time his smile was less smug, more lascivious. “I admit it can be.” She pretended to ponder his statement and then said, “Then can you hang on one second? This is a new robe and I really don’t want to make a mess of it. It cost me a frickin’

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fortune, but it was so worth it, don’t you think? I mean, it’s totally a perfect shade of pink for me. So you wait right there, and I’ll put something more dispensable on.” Dumb ass. “I’ll do that. But hurry, please. Like I said --” She held her hand up. “I know, you have a date and I don’t. You’ve made that startlingly clear, thanks. Just hang on a sec. I can’t be drafted looking like this.” Andy smiled and shut the door with a giggle, then headed out to her kitchen to finish steeping her chamomile tea.

Yeah, you just hang on there, Mr. Collector, while I put on something more suitable for a draft into the AAAAH Academy because I’m an AGI. I’ll be riiiight back. Simpleton. Clearly someone had made a major goof. She wasn’t genetically related to a crime fighter. Her father, Morris, was a dry cleaner in upstate New York and her mother had been dead for six years, but in life, she’d been a hairdresser. What kind of super crime fighting power could she have possibly inherited from them? Hot rollering someone to death? Aqua Net powered laser gun? Andy grabbed a spoon and began to wrap the teabag around it. And how did she know he was The Collector, anyway? No one had ever seen a picture of him. He was one of the best-hidden secrets at AAAAH. Probably for good reason too. If you knew what he looked like, it’d make collecting you nearly impossible. Besides, couldn’t he see? Everyone wanted to get a peek inside AAAAH. Why would she resist getting an inside glimpse at it? But you couldn’t do that unless you were a family member of a crime fighter or, well, a crime fighter. Neither of which she was. Rumor was they had uberbennies, and to top it all off, they had some seriously cool thingamajigs to play with. How bad could it be? Except maybe the whole keeping the world safe had to be hell on your hair and nails. Oh, and your skin would suffer dreadfully from

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atmospheric pressure with all that flying around. But some of their crime fighting costumes

were dope. Fleetingly, she hoped he’d just go away peacefully when he realized his mistake. That was what AAAAH was all about, wasn’t it? Peace, harmony, and the American way -- or something cheesy like that. He was behind her before she had the chance to ponder it much longer. “Ms. Greer,” he breathed down the back of her neck, and she heard the slight hum of what she suspected was The Collector’s Collector-nator come to collect. Crap. With an exasperated sigh meant to let him know he was putting her out, Andy turned around and pushed the wide mouth of his uberweapon up toward her ceiling. “This is nuts, or have I said that? I’m not genetically related to anyone with any superpower, crime fighting anything. My dad’s a dry cleaner, for God’s sake, and my mother was a hairdresser. Do you really think people as average as that ever attended a place like AAAAH? Now there’s been some kind of mix-up; surely with all the gadgets they have over there, you should be able to push a button, swipe my fingerprint, or something high-tech to figure it out. So for the last time, I have to take this gunk off my face, and you have to go because you have a date. Remember?” The Collector took her by the wrist and yanked her hand off the taser. “Oh, Ms. Greer. This could have been so simple, but you insist on making things difficult. Now I’ll give you one last shot at coming peacefully and fulfilling your duty as a descendant of one of our greatest crime fighters ever because I’m just that kind of guy. That’s how I roll. So let’s do this, okay?” Andy lifted her chin and clucked her tongue, shoving the gun back to its upward position. “For the last time, I’m the descendant of a frickin’ dry cleaner and a hairdresser. Not a superpower to be had.”

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His fed up sigh filled her kitchen, bouncing harshly off the walls. “I did warn you.” She nodded her head in agreement as he repositioned that damned taser again. “You di --”

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Chapter Two For the love of a good facial…

“You ruined my bathrobe, didn’t you?” Her fingers, though almost immobile, were able to curl around the charred edges of the sleeves of her bathrobe. The ends of the fabric were rough. “You were warned.” “It cost a fucking fortune.” “Maybe you should spend some of that money for an online dating service; then you wouldn’t have to buy fuzzy bathrobes to fill you up. In fact, you probably wouldn’t need any clothing at all.” The Collector’s words echoed in the room she’d been brought to, but she refused to open her eyes to actually see. Andy tried to sit up, but her hands were strapped down, as were her feet. Such harsh measures… “You’ve been very rude to me.” The scrape of a chair rolling back and forth over hard tile rang in her ears. “Are you going to give me a low score in the box for courteous professionalism on my ‘tell us how we’re doing’ sheet?” “The lowest.”

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“Sucks to be me.” “It will.” “Are you comfortable?” Her face felt like it was going to crack; she couldn’t move but an inch one way or the other. Comfort wasn’t a consideration here. Though the blanket she apparently had over her legs was warm and toasty. Nice. Very nice, homey touch. “Define comfortable.” “Does anything hurt?” “Nothing besides my bank account because not only did you ruin a fabulous bathrobe, but also a facial that costs the Earth.” “How do you figure twelve bucks costs the Earth?” “It costs enough.” “Again, I did warn you.” “Yeah, you’re big into warnings.” “So aside from the devastating deficit to your bank account, you’re well?” “I’m strapped to a friggin’ table against my will. Do I look well?” “You look all hardened seaweed and kelp.” “Funny. That’s very funny.” “Good. That means I’ll get a higher mark on the ‘handled the situation with humor’ box, thus making up for the low score in the ‘how am I doing?’ box.” “Don’t count on it.” “I count on nothing.” “So where am I again?” “The AAAAH holding facility. Just outside the inner sanctum.” Suh-weet. No one would ever believe she was actually inside the AAAAH compound. Her, Andy Greer.

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Overworked, underpaid ladies retail footwear saleswoman, Andy Greer, was now officially on the inside of a place people spoke about in hushed, reverent whispers or gossiped about in the papers. “I’m being held here like a chained dog, why?” “Hostile isn’t a word I’d use lightly with you, Ms. Greer.” “Oh, come on. Don’t be a sissy. I was hardly hostile. I was bent, yeah, but not hostile. Hostile implies rabidity. I didn’t froth at the mouth. Well, not unless you count the moment

after you nailed me with the taser. But that kinda doesn’t count. That shit hurt.” “Will you open your eyes now so I can check them?” His voice warmed the silky black darkness behind her eyelids. “No. My eyes are officially staying closed until you get someone in here who knows what the hell they’re doing and you untie me. I hardly think a little struggle for a big boy like you requires me tethered to a bed like some leashed Rottweiler.” “I assure you, I know what I’m doing. Open your eyes, please, Ms. Greer.” “Or?” “Or I’ll pry them open and I don’t know if that’s possible with all that goop on your face.” Andy’s lips twitched, but just barely. The facial had grown hard and cement-like. “Nope.” Again, he did that sigh thing. “So be it.” Two large fingers planted themselves on her eyelids and pulled them open. He shone a penlight into them, making her pupils dilate painfully. “You know, I think you may lose some eyelashes.” “Along with my obscenely expensive bathrobe? Thanks for that.” His blue eyes crinkled at the corners as he peered down at her, prying open eye number two. “I war --” “Yes. You warned me. I promise to check that off on your ‘how am I doing?’ sheet.” “Well, you’re no worse for the wear.”

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“So what next?” “Next Octavian will pay you a visit.” Her eyes flipped open, ignoring the sterility of her surroundings. “Shut. Up. The Octavian?” He was like the supreme dude. The head crime fighter in all of Rotham City. Like a legend… “That’s him.” “Good. Maybe he’ll listen to reason. You have the wrong Andy Greer. Plain and simple. I’ve told you at least a gazillion times my father is --” “A dry cleaner and your mother’s a hairdresser. I know.” It took her a moment to gather some steam. “I’m not lying to you and I have no damned idea what you’re talking about. Why would I lie, anyway? There isn’t a soul that I know who wouldn’t give a good pair of Cole Haans to get in here. And the genetics thing makes no sense. I’m genetically predisposed to sell ladies footwear, not zap someone with my laser eyeballs of crime fighting fury.” “I’m sure you’re very good at your job, but for the moment, you have a new one.” Andy snorted. “Look, I don’t need a new job. More money’d be nice, but I like ladies footwear because I love shoes. But far be it for me to tell you you’ve got the wrong broad. However, we’ll get this all cleared up when you see my only crime fighting power is my awesome ability to dial 911 on my cell.” As he hovered over her, he chuckled for the first time since he’d tasered her. His breath was minty fresh and warm against her face, sending odd ripples of awareness along her spine. “Everything will become very clear to you once you meet with Octavian.” Andy tried to frown. “That’s all you have to say to me?” “That’s all I can say to you, Ms. Greer. As I said, I’m just the messenger. That you’ve been so uncooperative up to this point is unfortunate.”

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“Oh, no,” she mocked. “Why would anyone ever be uncooperative? Do you knock on everyone’s door and tell them they’re AGI’s, then taser the shit out of them, drag them here against their will, strap them to a table, and trash their new bathrobes? And if I were connected to anyone with superpowers -- and I’m not saying I am -- seriously, don’t you think I’d actually know if I was related to a crime fighter?” His face became granite-hard, his eyes cold and unreadable. Any amusement he’d garnered from the chase was clearly gone. “Octavian will explain everything to you. That’s all I have to offer.” Andy moaned. “I sell shoes, for Christ’s sake.” He pushed away from the table she was strapped to and turned his back to her. The roll of the wheels on the chair grated on her nerves. “You know, something just occurred to me.” “Oh, do share,” he remarked sarcastically. “So what if I am related to this crime fighter? Big frickin’ deal. What difference does it make? If I have no superpowers and again, for the gazillionth time, I don’t, what good am I to AAAAH?” He glanced over his shoulder at her. “Again, Octavian will be here shortly to explain everything.” A random thought occurred to her. “Have you ever screwed up? Like, nabbed the wrong person?” He hooked her chart at the end of her bed. “Nope.” She scowled at him. “Well, you have now. You have the wrong Andy Greer; there must be a way to figure that out. How can computers with all the high-tech crap you people claim have made a mistake like this? Just wait. You’ll see,” she warned, avoiding any accompanying facial movement because it hurt like hell.

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Just then the door popped open and a long, slender face poked its way into her room. She could barely see the edge of his camouflaged shoulder unless she tilted her head just right. “Ms. Greer?” She scoffed as he entered the room, fighting the urge to gush all over his famous, crime fighting ass. Wow, he looked exactly like he did on TV. “Yeah. I’m Ms. Greer. The wrong Ms. Greer, but no one seems to have their listening ears on today. Especially him.” She sneered in the Collector’s direction. His face was skeptical as he pressed a button and the head of the bed lifted, allowing her to see him dead on. “I’m Octavian. It’s nice to finally meet you.” “There’s been a mistake.” Yanking her chart from the end of the bed, he flipped through the papers with slim, well-manicured fingers, then gave her a skeptical look. “Really? Do tell.” “I’m no crime fighter. I’ve already told your Collector here, my father is a dry cleaner and my mother was a hairdresser. If they did any crime fighting, they were better at hiding it than whoever hid the Da Vinci Code, because I sure as hell wasn’t aware of it.” He chuckled, much the way The Collector had, without even looking up from her chart. “I’m sure that’s what you’ve been led to believe.” “Righteous. Look, I haven’t been led to believe anything and I’m not the Andy Greer you’re looking for. There’s been a mondo mistake, and I was just telling your friend here that with all the high-tech crap AAAAH brags about, you missed this one by a country mile.” Octavian sucked in his cheeks. “We don’t make mistakes.” The Collector smiled at her from the end of her bed with a “nah-nah-nah-nah-nah” grin. “The hell you don’t, and isn’t this, like, some stark contradiction to your purpose in Rotham City? Aren’t you supposed to be helping the helpless, not hunting them down with

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tasers, and trashing their new bathrobes while they’re in the midst of a facial that cost a fucking fortune?” He rolled his tongue along the inside of his cheek. “That’s exactly what we’re doing and that’s what you’ll be doing from now on too.” “Look, how do we clear this up? Don’t you have DNA samples, fingerprints on file of this person I’m supposed to be related to so we can prove I’m not related to them?” He nodded, the deep lines on either side of his mouth deepening. “We have everything we need.” Struggling against the bonds that held her hands, Andy narrowed her eyes. “Then why am I still here?” “Because your father is The Impersonator.” The wind was instantly sucked out of her lungs. No fucking way was The Impersonator her father. He was infamous for his ability to replicate anyone. If she had his super abilities, for sure she’d be impersonating someone other than herself. Like Scarlet Johansson…or…or Angelina Jolie. Then there’d be no doubt who’d have a date every Saturday night. “Do you guys smoke the cheebah from time to time? I’d totally understand, seeing as you’re all responsible for the fate of the world on a daily basis. That’s some serious pressure, but it’s affected your ability to think clearly -- because that’s plain old insane. I’m no more The Impersonator’s daughter than I am a size two, and don’t you think if I were The Impersonator’s daughter I’d have someone else’s ass that was a size two? Now let me go or I’m going to get really pissed off, and if I have a crime fighting skill, ya never know what shit might fly.” Octavian clucked his tongue at her. “I’m afraid we can’t do that. You’re duty is to AAAAH, and as a crime fighter’s offspring, you’re totally expected to participate.” They were on a fast train to nowhere here, and for fuck’s sake, her nose itched. If she didn’t do what they wanted, she’d never get out of here. “Okay, so let’s just say, for shits and

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grins, I really am The Impersonator’s daughter, I think the Big Kahuna skipped a generation and I missed the spigot where they shower you with crime fighting powers. ’Cause I got none. Unless you count shopping. Now if that’s a skill you whack-jobs fancy, I’m all in. Otherwise, you’re SOL. I have no crime fighting skills. I can’t leap tall buildings in a single bound, and I can assure you, I run nowhere at warp speed. Hell, I’m all out of breath just

thinking about running to the bathroom. You can’t seriously think I have anything you crazy people want.” Octavian sat down on the edge of the bed and released one of her imprisoned hands. “Sometimes cultivation of a particular skill is required. While you might show no obvious signs of any one ability, there are ways to draw upon your untapped powers.” Yeahhhh, sure. Her only untapped power was finding a way to buy a pair of Jimmy Choos on her shitty salary. Somehow, there but for the grace of the shoe Gods, she managed. Andy scrubbed at her now crusty, flaking nose. “This is ridiculous.” “How about you let us decide what’s ridiculous?” “If I let you decide anything else, I’ll have no clothes left.” The Collector snickered. She pointed a free finger at him. “And you shut up. I’m sending you the bill for my ruined bathrobe, you nut.” “We’re wasting time, Ms. Greer.” “On what?” “You need to be evaluated via a series of tests and attend classes here at the academy. The more time spent yakking, the less time spent fulfilling your duty to us.” “Hold the fuck on. How do you figure I have a duty to you? Who said I had to follow in my supposed father’s footsteps? Is there some crime fighter’s law that says I have to carry the genetic torch?”

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Octavian shifted positions at the edge of her bed. “As The Impersonator’s daughter, it’s our duty to protect society at large from you until a full evaluation can be made as to whether you might potentially use your advanced skills with ill will.” Huh? “Would you frickin’ speak English? What ill will?” “Ms. Greer? Do you remember the scandal involving Mind Control Man, Junior? Surely you recall the tabloids had a field day with it.” A light clicked on in the dark recesses of her brain. Ohhhh, yeah. That was way bad. Mind Control Man’s spawn was a fuckwit. He’d done some mass mind control thing on a bunch of teenagers who’d robbed banks for him. Caaa-razy. “Yeah, I remember.” Octavian’s reply was terse. “Then surely you understand there are those who’ve been born with advanced abilities who don’t always use them for the greater good. Our job at AAAAH is to make every effort to prevent something like that from happening again. Ever. It took us an overly extended period to locate you, but certainly you understand our hesitance in letting you run loose.” “Yeah, but Mind Control Man’s kid was a total spoiled prick. How does that apply to me?” “We don’t know that it does. This is our way of taking every precautionary measure possible.” “So I’m not going home?” He rose from the edge of the bed, crossing his arms over his slender chest. “I’m afraid not.” “But I have a job and this week is inventory. If I’m not there for inventory week, that slug Nancy Levy will steal shoes and my paycheck gets docked because I’m the head shoe lady. I also have to be to work early on Monday. We have a sale going on and now I’m all

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upset and my pores are clogged from this wasted facial. Not to mention the trauma of being accosted by Cro-Magnon man and his big, scary gun. I’ll get fired if I don’t show up.” “You no longer work for the shoe store, Ms. Greer.” “Say again?” “The appropriate management has been notified of your departure. You’ll begin classes tomorrow. So I’d suggest you don’t try to resist transport to the inner sanctum. Once there, we’ll get you settled. Oh-five-hundred comes very early.” Oh-five-hundred. Andy had no clue what the hell time that was, but it sounded early and she had no job. Who the fuck did these people think they were? She’d worked her ass off to make floor supervisor and poof, all that work down the drain? Um, no. “And if I resist transport?” He eyed her, the eerie gray of his glance boring into her. “Measures will be taken.” Hoo boy. This was soooo not looking good. What could she possibly do against a bunch of crime fighters? She was tied to a bed. That hardly left her in a position to even attempt escape. “What happens when you fuckwits find out you screwed up? Who’s going to pay me for lost wages? I have rent to pay. A fish to feed.” “In the event we’ve made this mistake you continue to harp on, surely AAAAH will compensate you. However, we’ve never made a mistake. Not in fifty years of the academy’s history.” “Fine. Transport me and when you all see I have no crime-fighting abilities, then we’ll laugh and laugh” -- she paused, then smiled slyly -- “after I sue you, that is.” The Collector untied her other hand and then her feet, rubbing her calves to create circulation. Damn, she momentarily lost her focus and got caught up in the brisk motion he made as he rubbed her tense muscles. Okay, so he was pretty good at this and the goose bumps that lifted on her skin were announcing just that. “Can you stand?” he asked, holding out one of those big hands to her.

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Andy waved him away and slid off the bed, but when her feet hit the floor, she stumbled weakly, falling back against the mattress. “Ya see?” She directed her question to them both, pointing to her legs. “This, my friends -- this is the crime fighter you searched for high and low. Bright. You people here are real Einsteins. I’m a pansy ass in the truest sense, and if you can’t see that, you might want to rethink whoever’s running the Human Resources Department of AAAAH. Maybe this is exactly why the press gives you all such a hard time, eh? You got the wrong woman, boys. I’m tellin’ ya.” The Collector helped her up and steadied her. She clung to his crazy-hawt muscled arm as he wrapped it around the waist of her shredded bathrobe. Thank God she’d put on her granny nightie beneath it. Enough of it was still intact to keep her fun stuff from becoming a visual aide for fodder. “We’ll see,” Octavian said over his shoulder, leading the way out of the room that looked like a doctor’s office and outside into the cool night air where a car that was pretty pimped awaited. It looked like some kind of capsule. Andy’s steps faltered and she looked up at The Collector. “So, got a name or do I just call you The Gatherer?” “It’s Collector.” “Yeah, whatever. Gather, collect, accost. Don’t you have a real name?” “I do.” “And that is…” “Clarke Khent.” She spewed a forbidden giggle. “It is not, either.” He looked down at her with a hard stare, and he didn’t look like he was into fucking around. “That is my name. There’s an “E” on the end of Clarke for distinction and an H in Khent.” “Did people pick on you in school?”

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“Sometimes.” “Deep. Did you kick their asses for it?” “Sometimes.” “Dude, your parents were seriously into this crime-fighting crap, huh?” He remained silent, his face hard, his eyes unreadable. “Is that a subject not open for discussion?” “It is.” Andy sighed. “Silly me.” Octavian pressed a button on his key fob and the back door to the car hissed open. “After you.” Andy hesitated for a moment, weighing her options. She could make a break for it -even if her face could potentially split open and she looked like some crazy bag lady. But wherever they were looked pretty deserted and the fuck she’d take a chance old Clarke here would blow a hole in her, and not just her bathrobe. Besides, they were crime fighters. Like the Justice League or something. Certainly they wouldn’t harm her when they found out she wasn’t who they thought she was. So, okay. Her options were few. She pulled her arm from Clarke Khent’s hand and fought the bubble of a giggle in her throat.

Clarke Khent. Jay-suess. “Ms. Greer?” Octavian waited with impatience in his tone. “Fine,” she said as she slid into the narrow backseat of the car. The engine was but a soft purr when Octavian activated something from a panel on the dashboard that was lit up like Rockefeller Center at Christmas.

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The Collector, er, Clarke looked over his shoulder at her. “Oh, and I’d suggest you buckle up and hold on…”

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Chapter Three Na-na-na-na-na-na-na-na-na-na-na-na-na-na-na-nahhhhhh -- Batman!

As suggestions went so far on this very bizarre night, it would turn out Clarke had the best one of all. To hold on. The screeching halt and the smack of her head against the front passenger seat might have been preventable had it come with one of those warnings Mr. Collector was so good at. Oh, and she’d held on. For all she was worth and then some. The imprint of her nails in the soft leather of the door was a sure indication she’d clung as they’d hurtled at warp speed to their destination. Andy let her forehead rest against the seat in front of her. Only small pieces of her seaweed facial remained, all but obliterated by the shuttle ride from Hell. Blowing out a breath, she found her word skills thwarted by the rubber her lips had become. “Dudes? I find it very odd that no one mentioned my face would be left back at the holding facility. Centrifugal force just took ten years off me.” Clarke unsnapped his seatbelt and once more looked over the edge of the seat. His blue eyes twinkled with total amusement. Ha and ha. “Who needs a seaweed kelp facial when you have this?”

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Octavian popped open the back door and waved her out. “After you, Ms. Greer.” “So where’re we going now? Does it involve a hot shower and a massage?” She rubbed her neck with a shaky hand. “Because I think I need both. Oh, and I have no clothes. Who’s going to go get my stuff?” “You don’t need ‘stuff’ here, Ms. Greer. We have plenty of ‘stuff’.’” Octavian’s assurances didn’t make her feel better. She wanted her pajamas with the fuzzy bunny cutout on the front to sleep in. Andy stopped dead at the round, metal doorway that led to God knew where. “I don’t mean to be critical, but do you mean stuff like that?” She pointed at his camouflage shirt and pants. “Yes.” He swept an arm out in front of him to allow her entry first. Andy shook her head. “Um, no. I don’t wear those colors. They’re just not right for my complexion.” Clarke stood just behind Octavian, his legs spread in a casual stance. “Clearly, that’s crucial when learning to fight the evil bad guys, don’t you agree, Octavian?” Octavian nodded his head in solemn mockery. She narrowed her eyes at him in warning. “Don’t even.” Octavian intercepted her incoming rant with a raised eyebrow. “Ms. Greer? I highly recommend you follow me, and worry about things as superficial as clothing later. Maybe after you’ve experienced a class or two.” Andy took the hint and stepped through the round doorway, following behind Clarke. “Fine, but I’m just telling you, I’m very picky about what I wear, and if I have to wear camouflage I won’t be able to think because it’s sooo wrong for me and itchy to boot and I’d bet that’s what you all expect me to do -- think, that is -- when I learn all this crime-fighting because of a guy I’m not really related to but you all seem to think I am. I’m just sayin’.”

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Their silence said it all as they wended along a bland corridor to make a left and then a right, ending at the opening to an even more bland room. There was nothing but a tiny rectangle of a bed with some ugly old army blanket and a travel-sized pillow. Clarke turned to her as they entered and smiled. “You’re suite awaits you.” Andy hugged her tattered robe closer. “Nice crib, people. Is this some kind of punishment because you think I might be out running hither and yon impersonating people?” Octavian leaned against the open door. “In a sense. All unwillings must prove themselves before we allow them departure from the academy. And now, we’ll bid you goodnight,” he said with clipped tones, then turned on his heel and left, the clump of his big boots fading as he headed back off to wherever head honchos like him went. She’d fucking bet her next two paychecks he didn’t have a room like this. Andy sucked in a deep, cleansing breath and caught Clarke with an amused expression aimed in her direction. “Breakfast is at 0500 sharp. Oh-five-oh-one you’re out of luck until lunch. That gives you three hours to ponder the impending doom I’m sure you’ll experience because you have to wear camouflage, and it’s itchy. Until tomorrow, Ms. Greer,” he said, with arrogance and before she had the chance to shriek a protest. Hoo boy, this was some shit. This was far worse than any other shit she could ever remember. Her father was not either The Impersonator. Andy reached with a blind hand for the edge of the bed and sank down onto the lumpy surface. She flopped back on the small pillow, trying to sort through the mess her head was in, but gave up when she remembered her TIVO wasn’t set to tape the new season of Meerkat

Manor. Well, fuck. She’d never missed a single episode.

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***** Oh-four-forty-five sucked big, fat man hooters, Andy decided as she sat straight up in bed, panic stricken by the booming bell that rang like the clang of a gong throughout her room. A stack of clothing lay at the end of her bed and it wasn’t camouflage at all. It was shiny and looked like her fellow crime fighters were in for a real treat when they got a look at her thighs in that getup. Tee-rific. Oh, God and those ghastly shoes. How in the world was she expected to perform in shoes that looked like they came from Fortune Hunter magazine? This would never do. She slid to the edge of the bed and ran a weary hand over her face to find a bit of residue left from her facial. If it was quarter till five -- which was what she’d managed to figure out with her limited mariner’s knowledge -- she’d better get a shower. Five minutes later, after showering with some crappy soap she wouldn’t use if she were offered it after being on a deserted island for a year, and shampoo that left her long, dark brown hair feeling like straw, she still felt like hell. She’d almost decided to forgo the clingy, black straight-legged pants, combat boots, and tight, light blue rayon shirt, but somehow she figured her bathrobe would make leaping tall buildings awkward. And there was no blow dryer. None. What kind of Neanderthals ran this joint? Oh, the hell of this discovery. She’d gasp in utter astonishment if she had the energy to suck air into her lungs. A girl needed her blow dryer and if there was a complaint box somewhere in this underground monstrosity, she was going to file one.

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A quick peek in the square, plain mirror told her even a blow dryer wouldn’t help her. Dark circles rimmed her hazel eyes, and while her skin was now facial-ed to death, it sure didn’t have that dewy morning radiance the jar had promised. She was pasty white, devoid of color in both cheeks and lips. Well, it wouldn’t matter what she looked like when she showed them just what a loser crime fighter she was. Stepping out of her room, Andy decided to follow the throng of bodies in the hall. They looked like they knew where they were going. They also looked like a bunch of twelve-year-olds. The crowd moved toward a set of what felt like two hundred steps and then, yet another bland room that remotely resembled her cafeteria from high school. She got in line behind everyone else to collect what she assumed would be her breakfast. Once her tray was filled with stuff that was just as unidentifiable as it had been back in high school, she stopped in the middle of the large room. And so did everyone else. Like totally. No movement. Soooo awkward. The silence as she attempted to determine where she’d sit was painful. Not a chair scraped, and it didn’t look like anyone was breathing. Never one to shy away from a crowd, she decided to do what she did best. Sell. Herself. She smiled wide. “’Yo, whassup? I’m Andy Greer. Nice to meet ya. So are you all here for the same reason I am? Were you kidnapped by the big, scary man with his big, scary gun just like me?” A million eyes -- okay, that was an exaggeration, maybe a hundred pairs of eyes -stared intently at her from every corner of the cafeteria.

Way to welcome the new kid.

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A hand, and from the looks of it an adult hand, waved from the way back left side of the room. “Over here,” he shouted, and suddenly the low hum of people moving off to one table or another started back up. Thank God. It sure didn’t look like she was going to be picked for the kickball team today by the evil glares she was getting from the teenyboppers. Andy followed the hand until she reached a table of folks who looked more in her age range. A tall, beefy guy rose and held out his hand. His paunch of a belly hung over his tight black and light blue uniform and his sandy brown wraparound hair clung to his head for dear life. “I think you belong with us. I’m Bruce Wayyne. It’s a pleasure to meet you, and I just have to tell you before anyone else does, that color is so not you.” Andy set her tray down on the table, ignoring his crack about her color charts, and slid onto the bench seat at the cafeteria-style table. “Bruce Wayne?” What the fuck was up with these people’s parents? He gave her a sheepish grin and winked. “Yeah, my dad’s Amphibian Man” -- he held up his hands to show her his webbed fingers with obvious pride -- “but he loved the winged guy. He was my dad’s hero. So out of respect he named me after him, but Wayyne is my middle name and it has two ‘Ys’ in it. My full name is Bruce Wayyne Borstein.” Of course it was. The faces that surrounded her looked as unhappy as she was to be here. “So are you all what they call unwillings?” “You bet your ass I’m unwilling,” a woman, probably twenty-five or so, said from the far end of the table. Her voice was soft and a stark contrast to her loud appearance. She had shortly cropped blonde and pink hair and a couple of eyebrow piercings. “I’m --” Andy cut her off. “Dianna Prince, right?” She smiled shyly. “Ah, no it’s Terri. My mother is, er, was The Traveler. You know, she could travel through time and manipulate it for sixty seconds at a pop? She’s retired now, but

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it appears I inherited her ability to do the same. I’m just a lot slower than she is. I top out at six seconds. So anyway, here I am, dubbed an unwilling and treated like some guinea pig.” Her round, cherubic face winced. “I don’t want to be a crime fighter, for shit’s sake, and I’d never manipulate anything. Least of all time. I want to be a photographer. I love to take pictures of wildlife -- especially tigers. And believe me when I tell you, I don’t have a courageous bone in my body.” Andy snorted her agreement, tugging at the turtleneck-like collar of her zip-up shirt. “Me neither. But I’m just a mistake. When they find out they screwed up, it’ll all be straightened out. It’s not like I can find a way out of this anyway. I mean, this place is like Fort Knox. Not to mention the guy who brought me here with his taser gun is like some seriously tense dude. I didn’t stand a chance against him. Oh, and I’m into retail. Ladies footwear to be exact. So here I am too -- as unwilling as anyone can be.” She looked down at her plate of something mushy and slid a spoon into it. A good start to any day always included some sticky goop that she surmised was oatmeal, but she couldn’t tell for sure. She didn’t notice the deafening quiet until the top of her head began to burn. Literally. The smell of singed hair greeted her nose, drowning out the smell of food cooked in bulk. “Owwwwww! What the hell?” she screeched. “Ohhhhhhhh, hell! I’m sorry!” a short, bald man, wiry and lean, who sat almost directly across from her yelped as he jumped up and grabbed his bottled water and hurled it at Andy’s head. Andy let her head hang as the water dripped from her hair and down onto her plate. “Is this some kind of initiation?” she sputtered, spraying water from her lips. Bruce handed her a napkin and said dryly, “No, that’s just Franklin’s sadly underused, as yet uncontrolled laser eyeballs gone feral. When he becomes too focused everyone needs to duck. He’s Firestarter’s son. He’s also working on invisibility. We’ve been trying to explain

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to him that just because he closes his eyes and thinks himself not here, it’s not the same as being invisible.” “Oh, shut up, Bruce. I know someday I’ll make it work, and I was staring at her because I can’t believe she thinks AAAAH would make a mistake -- I forgot that’s how I start fires.” He turned back to Andy, confusion lining his thin, compact face. “How can you be here by mistake?” Franklin dabbed at her head with napkins, apologizing over and over as he went. Andy waved him away, patting the top of her head furiously. She winced when her fingers encountered a patch of singed hair. “They keep telling me I belong here because I’m an AGI, but that’s impossible.” “Well, we’re all AGI’s,” the blonde and pink-haired woman said with a snort. “It’s a given.” Andy shook her head, holding a napkin to the top of it. “No, see here’s the thing. I’m not an AGI. I’m a retail shoe saleswoman. I don’t know shit from shinola about frickin’ superpowers and I couldn’t fly if you gave me the plane and the flight hours to do it with. I have no special abilities at all and I’ve never, ever used any supposed powers to screw anyone. No disrespect intended to any of you if you have, but I’m just sayin’. So I can’t be related to The Impersonator. It’s impossible. My father is Morris Greer. A dry cleaner. End of.” Another round of silence and one harsh intake of breath rang in her ears. She lifted her head. “Whaaaat?” She was tired. She didn’t need this kind of shit from a bunch of offspring of crime-fighting slackers today. “You’re The Impersonator’s daughter?” The Traveler’s progeny asked. Andy rolled her eyes. “No. That’s my point. I’m not his daughter. I’m not even a distant relation. And why is that so hard to believe even if it’s not true? Why couldn’t I be The Impersonator’s daughter?” Bruce shrugged his meaty shoulders. “No reason, I guess. But he’s a total legend.”

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One finely plucked eyebrow rose almost to Andy’s scalp. “So, Bruce, what you’re saying is, I look nothing like a total legend?” “Not in that color and er, well, no one can say for sure. I mean, he was The

Impersonator. Who knows what he really looked like? He could impersonate anyone. Not to mention, he could see into your most personal thoughts and make himself look like whatever you feared or even loved the most. Potent stuff.” “Well, it doesn’t matter anyway. I don’t belong here and they’ll figure that out soon enough. So how come you guys are all over here and the under twelve crowd is over there?” Silence. Again. Andy cocked her head at them in question, scrunching up the napkins into a ball and throwing them in her uneaten bowl of mush. “Well?” Bruce answered. “They’re here because they want to be here -- snotty little shits. We don’t want to be here. Much like you, we were ripped from our lives so the powers that be at AAAAH can assure themselves we don’t plan to use our limited abilities for evil. They’re, like, the cool kids who have powers that totally work, and because we never honed ours we’re the dorks. And we’re plenty older than they are to boot.” Running her fingers through her hair, Andy muttered, “I don’t get why we’re being punished because of some asshole’s spoiled kid. I’ve never even gotten an illegal parking ticket. Not in my entire life, and to think they think I’m out impersonating people for my own personal gain is just crazy.” “I don’t think it’s crazy at all, Ms. Greer,” Clarke said from behind her, sliding a leg onto the seat beside her and nodding his head curtly to her fellow unwillings. Each one of them stumbled over their words to offer The Collector a morning greeting. Ass lickers.

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Fuck. Andy gave him a sidelong glance when he pushed his way in to settle next to her. And hold the fuck on. Why did he have sunshine yellow scrambled eggs and crispy bacon, but she was eating sloppy oatmeal? “Oh, look. It’s The Gatherer. Where’s your big, scary gun today? Ruin anyone’s wardrobe lately?” A snicker rumbled around the table everyone was clearly worried by the idea they might have insulted Clarke. Bunch of sissies. But Clarke was undaunted. “It’s right here.” He patted his right side with one hand while shoveling a forkful of yummy looking eggs into his big, fat, hotter than lava yap. “You don’t want me to ruin more of your clothing right here at breakfast, do you, Ms. Greer? That could be very sticky in broad daylight. And if I were you, I’d make haste. Your class begins in two minutes.” Andy groaned, her stomach clenching when his thigh brushed hers. “Did you check your computers there, you whack job? Have you super-intelligent people figured out I don’t belong here yet? Or are we going to continue this charade?” Clarke wiped his mouth with a napkin and smiled. “We don’t need to check, Ms. Greer. Now if I were you, I’d eat. You’ll need your strength.” Franklin snorted. “No kidding.” The hell she was eating this shit like she was some kind of prisoner in Cell Block H. “I’m not hungry.” Clarke rose, reaching upward to stretch his arms, then patted his rock-hard abdomen with a satisfied smile. “That’s too bad. You’ll regret that.” He grabbed his tray and left without another word just as the PA system sounded, and a monotone voice reminded them this was their first bell class warning. Instruction began in two minutes. As everyone began to scurry from the tables, dumping their trash in the large waste cans, Andy meandered. She didn’t belong here. The fuck she’d break her neck to get

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somewhere she didn’t want to be. And she was sooo tired. She cupped the back of her neck with a hand and massaged it, her legs like lead. “You’d better move it, Andy,” Bruce warned, shuffling past her with a nudge. “You do not want to be late.” With a roll of her eyes, she smirked. “I don’t care if I’m late.” He glanced at her over his shoulder with a wary eye. “You will if the cyborgs get you. Now hurry up and follow me.” She just made it to a seat in yet another starkly decorated room before the final bell rang. The teacher, somber and dressed in a dark business suit with a white shirt beneath that fairly glowed, strode to the front of the classroom, tapping a pointer at the blackboard. He cleared his throat and pointed to the words written on the board. “We have a new member, class.” Andy slunk further down in her seat, tugging at the neck of her skintight shirt. “Please welcome Andy Greer. Andy, welcome to Zeros 2 Heroes, where you’ll learn to hone your abilities while evaluation takes place. I’m Instructor Owen. ” He bent at the waist ever so slightly.

Zeros 2 Heroes? Stop it. She immediately raised her hand and Instructor Owen nodded his consent for her to speak. “Um, you call this the Zeros 2 Heroes class? Are you for real?” He took her question literally, the planes of his face never moving a muscle. “I’m standing right in front of you, aren’t I?” “No, no, no. That’s not what I mean. I mean, do you really think you’re doing anything for anyone’s morale when you call them zeros? Dude, that’s some seriously crappy labeling. No wonder no one wants to be here. It’s not bad enough you’re forcing us to do this and reminding us we’re unwillings -- just that word alone is a downer, but to call us all zeros -that so sucks.”

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The Traveler’s daughter, Terri, hissed in her ear from behind, “Shut up or you’ll be sorry.” Franklin, who sat on the other side of her, clenched his eyes shut. Clearly he was aiming for invisibility. The instructor’s serene face contorted, but he said nothing. Instead, he sat at the edge of his desk, crossing his feet at the ankles and his arms over his chest, obviously waiting for her to zip it. The fuck she’d shut up and let this nuttier than squirrel shit bunch of people treat her like some doormat. “You know, I just don’t get it. It’s pretty obvious these people are here against their will. I’d bet most of them wouldn’t think of using their super arsenals of weapons if you paid them to, but because one bad apple spoiled it for the rest of us, we have to suffer? No can do, buddy. And if that isn’t bad enough, you label us with words that are anything but feel-good friendly, make us get up at an ungodly hour, feed us some jacked up shit you call food, and to top all that off, you put us in a class that’s got the word zero in it? I dunno about the rest of you, but this is bullshit and I’m out.” Andy shot out of her seat and went for the door only to be stopped by a couple of really big metal men with a whole bunch of freaky deaky Dutch weapons attached along their bodies -- all aimed at her. Ah, now these must be the cyborgs Bruce spoke of. Very heavy metal. This could be problematic.

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Chapter Four My bad…

Hookay, so she’d been a bit opinionated in her first class at crime-fighting school. What-evah. Didn’t crime fighters have opinions? Wasn’t she allowed to express herself without fear of retribution? So she didn’t play well with others. Big deal. She wasn’t supposed to be here, anyway, and if no one else was going to stand up for themselves, then she’d do it for them. The frig she’d be treated like someone who’d committed some heinous, unforgivable crime. Whatever happened to innocent until proven guilty? Andy shoved the last of twenty loads of towels into the big dryer and slammed the door shut with a thud, leaning against the circular door for support. Her whole body was like one big, wet noodle. “I see we’ve been outspoken again, Ms. Greer. How uncanny and so out of character for you.” Clarke strode into the dank basement that was the laundry room and stopped but a foot from her, the hard planes of his face fighting a smirk.

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Jamming her hands into her stiff hair, Andy balked. “You listen here, you taser-user gone wild. We’ve had enough. I’m not participating in classes that have labels like zero in their titles. I’m not eating your crappy food and I’m definitely not doing any more laundry. Got that?” “Why is it that you insist on making this so difficult?” Her mouth fell open. “Are you kidding me? Why is it that you eat fluffy scrambled eggs and crisp bacon and we eat pig slop? We didn’t commit some kind of crime. We’re only here because you think we might have the potential to create havoc. Those poor people haven’t done anything wrong, and even if there might be a ‘yet’ in that sentence, you still have no proof they ever will. Or that I will. Now, I want to go home and I want to do it now.” Clarke leaned into her, the heat of his large body, the glare of his eyes, making her shiver. “I’m afraid that’s just not possible. Not until your full screening and a proper evaluation are complete. And by the way, you’re treated in the same manner as the newbies. Some of them are only twelve and they don’t complain near as much as you.” “Oh, screw those smug little bastards with their superpowers. They want to be here. I don’t. And what if I don’t agree to complete this evaluation?” He tipped his cleanly shaven jaw at her. “You’ll be down here for a very long time.” Ahhhhh, there was that. His nearness made her very uncomfortable and she wasn’t sure it was the bad kind of uncomfortable. “Isn’t there some law that says you can’t keep me against my will?” “Not when you’re a descendant of a crime fighter. A decorated one at that. We live by our own rules here at AAAAH, Ms. Greer. Rules created to keep a tight rein on any potential outside chaos. Your being here is all for the greater good and a preventative measure.” “Well, lemme tell ya, I don’t feel so good and you can’t keep me here forever.” He hovered over her, his height leaving her feeling dwarfed. “But we can.”

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Andy sagged against the dryer door, letting the heat emanating from it soothe her aching back. She looked up at him with weary, darkly rimmed eyes. “This is ridiculous and I’m too tired to fight about it. I’m going back to my cave now. You know the one. The one where I sleep on some shitty bed with a lumpy mattress and pillow because I’m being punished for something that hasn’t even happened?” His lips, firm, and for the first time she noticed, sorta lickable, lifted in the hint of a smile. “I know the one. Do you remember where it is?” Crap. She could barely remember how she’d gotten down here through that maze of tunnels with the fuckwits who’d yanked her out of class for being “outspoken.” Her answer was filled with defeat. “No. I was dragged down here by those things you call cyborgs, kicking and screaming the whole way.” Clarke put his hand to the small of her back and ushered her out of the laundry room. “So I’ve heard.” “Did you? Well, good. It seems someone needs to make some noise about the conditions around here and I’m not afraid to do it.” “Clearly,” he said with a light, teasing tone, pressing a button to an elevator she hadn’t even seen on the trip down. “Have you eaten?” Her stomach answered for her with a hungry grumble. “Uh, no. I think I missed the pleasure of being gawked at by a bunch of overachieving middle school shits during the dining hour. This is my sad face.” Clarke whispered into a microphone attached to his shoulder, but she barely heard him for the trembling of her knees and the graininess of her eyes. He pushed her into the elevator and directed her to the far wall where she collapsed against it with a grateful sigh. When the door pinged open, Clarke led her to her room.

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The smell of something wonderful and not tinged with institutional sized laundry detergent wafted to her nose. He walked her to her bed and stuck a plate of food on her lap, and barked an order. “Eat.” Just when Andy was about to protest that she wasn’t eating the crap they dished out here at AAAAH, he pointed a finger at the plate, shutting her up. Oh, grilled cheese… A gush of warm, stupid, totally not okay fuzzies assaulted her heart. “You brought me grilled cheese. Oh, for fuck’s sake, I never thought I’d ever be so happy to see a grilled cheese sandwich. Than-um, thank you,” she said with a wobble in her voice and a tight throat. It smelled divine… Andy held it under her nose, letting the buttery goodness settle in her nostrils before taking a big bite. Clarke sat beside her. “See? We’re not all bad.” The brush of his shoulder against hers made her feel secure, and while it was fucked up, she had no energy to devote to trying to figure it out. “Oh, hold up there, Gatherer. One grilled cheese sandwich does not a good guy make. So don’t get that gun of yours all in a wad over your generosity.” When he chuckled and it wasn’t filled with mocking sarcasm, it had a nice, deep resonant tone to it. “Just eat and don’t look a gift horse in the mouth. I’m sure Octavian would never approve of this.” Between bites, she asked, “Do you always do what Octavian asks? Is he, like, the final word around here in Crazy-ville?” Clarke’s mouth tightened. “I think a certain amount of respect is due him. He did raise me.” As whipped as she was, as hungry as she was, it didn’t keep her from needing to know what that meant. “Octavian’s your father and the one responsible for naming you Clarke Khent? I’d have a bone to pick with him were I you.” “I didn’t say he was my father. I said he raised me.”

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Andy took the last sumptuous bite of her sandwich and licked her fingers. “Is this one of those ‘I’m not allowed to talk about it’ subjects? You know, top secret and all?” Her eyes began to close of their own will, though she definitely wanted to hear his answer. He removed the plate from her hands and set it on the floor. “Yeah. It’s one of those subjects.” Andy felt her head begin to droop, and when it hit the side of his shoulder, she had no reservations about stopping it. It would seem The Collector had a nice shoulder. It was a little overly worked out, but she could nestle between hard muscle and soft flesh just fine. Clarke’s arm went around her waist and the most natural thing in the world to do was drape her arm around his shoulder as he laid her back on the lumpy bed, taking the blanket with him. He covered her while she clung to his neck. Dayum, he smelled nice, and she’d tell him so if A, he wasn’t such a meanie-butt and B, if she could make her lips move, but her mouth was out of order right now. She giggled at that. “What’s so funny?” The caress of his whisper floated across her cheek. Andy patted his chest with a limp hand. “Noth…ing…” was all she managed as she snuggled into him, forgetting he was a ’tard who’d blown a hole in her fuzzy pink bathrobe. “I like you like this,” he mumbled against the top of her head. Andy stirred, catching the beginning of some drool at the corner of her mouth. “Like what?” she only just managed to murmur. “Quiet. It becomes you.” “I’m tired. Tired always makes me quiet. I did a thousand loads of laundry as penance for being outspoken. That’ll shut anyone up.” “Why not try and see if you can’t at least work this out, Andy? If you really don’t have a superpower, testing will reveal that and you can go home. This experience can be what you make of it.”

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He’d called her Andy. He hadn’t used her first name since they’d met. It bothered her that she liked how it sounded coming from his lips. He’d trashed her bathrobe, and in some circles that could be called unforgivable. “I keep telling you, there’s nothing to work out. I’m not The Impersonator’s daughter. I’m not. No test is going to say otherwise and I think it so sucks that I’m being treated like a caged animal.” “I say we make a deal.” “I say you let me go to sleep with the fond memory of your serving me dinner in bed and not fuck up a good thing.” “Andy…” His voice held a warning and made a sexy rumble in his chest. Fine. It wouldn’t kill her to play the game. There weren’t many other choices, anyway. Not unless she developed the keen ability to zap herself out of here. It was a heavily guarded, high-tech gadgeted, electronically maintained facility -- underground, no less. For a pansy ass like her with her only superpower being her big mouth, she might want to cooperate. She just wouldn’t do it quietly. “Okay, fine. But rest assured, I’m not shutting my yap about how crappy you people treat us while I undergo these tests. When you all find out you’ve made a heinous mistake, I expect ubercompensation or the shit will fly. Got that?” “Affirmative.” A slight smile lifted the corners of her mouth, but her heavy eyes refused to open and she drifted off to sleep, molded against his hard shoulder with a final sigh of contentment.

Dakota Cassidy

40

Chapter Five Did I get here before you?

Andy woke with a slightly adjusted attitude. Slightly. Not major, mind you, but enough to realize she needed to get these evaluations done so she could go back to her life. She missed her shoes. Hence, when she found herself being dragged off to the “Telekinesis: Mind Moving Matter” class, she went with little complaint. She plunked herself down in the chair and waited for whatever happened next. While she waited, she tortured herself over Clarke and last night when his body had been so close to hers. Had she not been so whipped, she couldn’t have promised restraint. Where that crazy sexual thought had come from, or why she was so fixated on him was lost to her. He had tasered her, for shit’s sake. Blown a hole right in her new bathrobe to boot. She’d been hot for a guy before, but it took a whole lot more shit than just her head resting on his shoulder to do it.

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Yet, she just couldn’t get the night before out of her head. Clarke’s hard shoulder against her cheek, the gesture of some badly needed food, all added up to a warm fuzzy she was sure they’d be lambasted for if anyone found out. Not that he’d seemed to worry much about it, but surely with all the rules these crime fighters had, there had to be one for fraternizing with the unwillings. Bruce rushed into the classroom and sat next to her with a hesitant nod, then averted his gaze to the wall opposite her. Andy nudged his beefy arm with a flat palm. “Soooooo, how goes it this fine morning, Water Man?” “Fine and it’s Amphibian Man, Junior, FYI.” His answer was short and clipped. “What’s wrong with you?” “You were really scary yesterday. It kinda freaked me out. I don’t make trouble and I don’t want to get in trouble, or hang around people who get in trouble. I just want to get this over with and go back to Esteban…” He looked away sheepishly, sinking lower into his chair. “Esteban?” “My partner. Yes, I’m gay.” Andy shrugged her shoulders. “Yeah, and?” “I’m just sayin’ I know how to lay low and that’s what I plan to do here. All that screaming you did yesterday makes us look bad.” Her sigh was filled with exasperation. “Yeah. Sorry about that. I get a little crazy when I’m held hostage, treated like shit, and fed food even a homeless guy wouldn’t eat because of mistaken identity. Forgive me, huh?” Bruce hid a chuckle behind his thick hand. “All right, all right. I see your point. But really, Andy, do you really think they made a mistake? I just can’t believe that. They don’t make mistakes.”

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Leaning back in her chair, she threw her feet up on the desk and tilted backward. Her eyes caught a glimpse of her ugly shoes and she cringed. Gawd, they were horrifying. “Puuulease. Everyone makes mistakes. Even big honkin’ crime fighters aren’t void from screwing up. At least all of you have some abilities, even if they might not be up to snuff. But I have nothing. Not a single super ability. Honest.” Andy held up her hand in Girl Scout’s Honor. “I believe you. But it isn’t me you have to convince. It’s them.” He pointed to the team of telekinetic specialists, dressed in white rayon shirts and black pants to signify their positions. “Watch me,” she whispered when one of the team of men waggled a finger in her direction, motioning for her to come to the front of the classroom. “Sit,” he ordered, pointing a finger to a chair and table that had different colored objects on its flat surface. They looked like the colored blocks that came from the balls toddlers played with. Like the ones you had to find the hole to fit the appropriate shape. Andy plopped down in the hard chair and cocked her head, waiting to hear what was next. The stern instructor looked down at his clipboard, and when he saw her look of confusion, he rolled his tongue inside his cheek, then barked an order. “Do your thing.” Andy looked first at him and then at the primary colored, different shaped blocks on the tabletop. “Uh, my thing?” “Yes, Ms. Greer. Your thing.” “Care to explain what my thing is?” He sighed, his wide chest inflating. “Make the objects move.” Andy picked up a blue hexagon and held it up to show him. “Like this?” She watched his face harden. Oh, he looked tweaked. “Ms. Greer, I’d suggest you don’t play around today the way you did yesterday. You have no idea how many potatoes a crowd here at the academy can eat.”

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She gulped and put the block back. “I’m not sure I get what you mean. Is this like a puzzle? ’Cause I so suck at puzzles. When I was a kid, my dad, Morris Greer, not The Impersonator, could sit for hours trying to put one of those thousand piecers together, ya know? And I’d sit with him, but I never found one single piece. Not one --” “Make them move with your mind, Andy,” Franklin said as he breezed by, chasing after a floating tennis ball, his eyes focused solely on the round, lime green object, the faint odor of smoke trailing behind him. Oh. Well, then. Sure. Easy peasy. She sat up straighter and stared at the objects on the table, eyeing them with an intensity she didn’t know she had in her. Maybe if she just pretended they were a hot pair of leopard stilettos… Two hours later, Andy had a headache throbbing on either side of her temple and her eyes burned to the point of tears. “Ms. Greer?” Her instructor stared down at her, his eyes glacial. “I have to believe you’re just not trying.” Andy gasped in outrage. “The fuck you say! I’ve been sitting here for over two hours, squeezing so hard I should have given birth to quintuplets by now, and you have the unmitigated gall to say I’m not trying? Know what I think, you goon? I think you guys just can’t admit you’re wrong. I think it’s clear I have no telekinetic powers and I’m not doing this anymore.” She reached up and popped the underside of his stupid clipboard, knocking it to the floor. Those crazy cyborgs came rushing in, probably to haul her off to potato peeling duty, but then Clarke was suddenly there, holding up a large hand to stop them. Each cyborg stopped within an inch of her chair, weapons cocked and at the ready. Gawd, everyone was so weapon happy ’round these parts. Always threatening. Harsh, harsh, harsh.

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Clarke looked at her meanie-butt instructor with an authoritative cock of his eyebrow. “The problem, Ralph?” Ralph. Huh. Not such a scary name for the imposing figure he made. Ralph shuffled his feet and refused to meet Clarke’s eyes. “She won’t cooperate, sir.” Andy’s mouth fell open in astonishment as she hopped up from her chair, letting it fall behind her, poking a finger at Ralph’s solid chest. “The hell I haven’t cooperated, you heathen! I tried, Clarke. I really, really did. For two fucking hours I tried to make those stupid blocks move. I can’t make these crazy abilities you all seem to think I have appear out of nowhere. I definitely can’t make stuff move with my mind. Check that off your list of super shit I don’t have, you fucktard!” Clarke placed a hand on her shoulder to thwart her. A hand that wasn’t at all unpleasant. A hand that left her feeling protected from big, bad Ralph. A hand that left a small undercurrent of something all tingly. Well, huh on that, eh? He looked to Ralph. “Is that true?” Ralph glanced at his watch and nodded. “Yes, sir. It is.” “Well, then, Ralph, check a ‘no’ off for telekinetic powers on the chart for Ms. Greer’s super shit. Understood?” Andy fought a giggle, but knew it was wise to keep her mouth shut. She’d do anything to get rid of this headache and if it meant not stepping over a boundary, she was all in. Ralph’s eyes narrowed, but he stooped to pick up the clipboard and popped the top of his pen, scribbling on the paper. “Understood, sir.” “Good. I think Ms. Greer’s done here for the day. I’ll trust you’ll excuse her without delay.” Ralph nodded curtly. Clarke leaned into her ear as he ushered her toward the door. “So, no telekinetic powers, huh?”

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His words were amused, but the warmth of his hand at the small of her back made her shiver. “Are you kidding me? I didn’t even get a jiggle out of those blocks. I have to tell you, it’s damned intimidating to be in a classroom full of unwillings who can make tennis balls float. I didn’t know you could have more than one ability. Jesus, I mean, Franklin can start fires and make stuff float. Float, for God’s sake. I think I feel inadequate.” His chuckle slithered along her spine. “Oh, you’re anything but inadequate, Ms. Greer. C’mon. It’s almost time for lunch. If you’re really nice to me, I might let you have some of my tuna sandwich. It has lettuce and tomatoes -- on toast, even.” Andy giggled, smoothing a hand over her ridiculous inmate-like uniform while she followed his broad back through another series of hallways that led to a solitary, dark green door. When he opened it with a magnetic card and she got a good look at his quarters, she nearly had a chicken. “Shut the fuck up,” she murmured, aghast at the utter fabulousness of it. Walls of brushed steel held large monitors -- one of which was a massive, big screen TV. His bed was six times the size of hers and the floor was covered in a cushy material she didn’t think was carpet, but felt like she was walking on a cloud. It was like an apartment. An apartment that was way bigger than hers and hands down beat her quarters. The small dinette to the left of Clarke’s bed held two plates with thick tuna sandwiches on wheat. “This too could be yours if you play nice,” he commented teasingly, then pulled out a chair, motioning for her to sit. Andy slid into the chair and shook her head, picking up a half of the sandwich and letting it hover at her lips. “None of this can be mine because I have no superpowers, and I

did play nice. Swear to God, but Ralph there seemed to think he could get blood from a stone. I really did try. In fact, I’d swear on my Jimmy Choo shoes.”

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“I saw.” Clarke took a big bite of his sandwich and Andy found her eyes drawn to his mouth. The firm line of it was delish and she found she had to fight a girly sigh of appreciation. “You saw?” “Well, someone has to observe our first ever student gone wild. We wouldn’t want the cyborgs to be hurt, would we? I have to tell you, you’ve created quite a stir with the big guys.” She took her first bite of the tuna, chewing it slowly to savor every nuance of the creamy mayonnaise. “Have I? Good. Maybe some stirring is what they need. I don’t know about the other unwillings, but I feel like some kind of outcast. Like those people you see on

Court TV who get thrown in jail for life because of some technicality, but are really innocent, ya know? We didn’t sign up for this like those little suck-ups, so there’s no reason to treat us like we’re in boot camp.” He wiped his mouth with a napkin. “I understand.” “Do you? How could you? You have superpowers.” She paused for a moment and then blurted out a question that had been nagging at her since she’d met him and his gun. “What are your superpowers? I’ve only seen your bathrobe shredder, but you must have something other than a gun. I know you do a lot of clean up duty, collecting the bad guys and unwillings, but that’s not a superpower.” Clarke’s head dipped in consent. “Yep, I do have other powers.” “And they are?” “I have what’s called reverse polarization. Oh, and superhuman strength.” “What the hell is reverse polarization?” “It means when a villain attempts to use his power against me, I can reverse the effect. Rather like a mirror. It bounces off of me and sticks to the bad guy.”

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Holy fucksticks. “You know, I remember reading something about some lunatic who tried to freeze all of South Florida and you saving the day. He ended up a popsicle, right?” Clarke smirked. “Yeah, he did.” Andy shifted in her chair. “So this crime-fighting thing must be crazy stressful, huh?” “It can be.” She absently ran her finger around the clear glass plate her sandwich was on. “So did your mom and dad name you Clarke Khent out of respect for the caped one like Bruce’s dad did with the bat guy?” The atmosphere between them changed almost instantly. Clarke stiffened, sitting upright and pushing away from the table. He rose and took his plate to an opening in the wall and pressed a button with the hard punch of his finger. It disappeared instantly, but Clarke didn’t turn around to look at her. Hoookay, awkward moment here. What the hell had she said wrong this time? Dropping what was left of her sandwich, she went to stand behind him, placing a conciliatory hand on his back. “Okay, what’d I say wrong?” When he turned back around, their bodies almost touched. The heat from his long frame made her flush from head to toe. He pressed a thumb to the corner of her mouth. “Crumbs,” he muttered, husky and low. Andy’s eyes slid closed and a hard lump formed in her throat. Shit. Dude was killa hot and his lips were calling her name. Suddenly her uniform was too restrictive; her breasts straining against the tight rayon material made it hard to breathe. Clarke loomed over her, his chest rising and falling with harsh intakes of breath. “This is wrong.” His head dipped, his lips moving closer. Well, duh, it was wrong. She’d known him all of two days and even though she was no prude, she’d definitely never boinked a guy after just meeting him. But hell’s bells, she’d also

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never been this attracted to anyone before either. And hold on there, tart. Who said anyone was boinking? “Said who?” she managed to stutter, placing a hand on his chiseled chest and forcing herself not to knead the hard flesh. His hand wrapped around her waist, hauling her to him. “Says Octavian, among others.” The press of his cock through his tight pants drove against the place between her legs, insistent and so damned hard it made her catch her breath. The words she managed to string together came out more clearly than she might have given herself credit for. “Who says Octavian has to know? Who says anyone has to know?” Clarke’s hands cupped her ass, pulling her even closer, nuzzling her chin with his. “Morally I know I shouldn’t do this. You’re an unwilling. I’m your superior. We hardly know each other…I trashed your bathrobe…” Jesus Christ Superstar, he smelled good -- felt good. “Yeah, you did and I’m not as unwilling as I was, say, two days ago, and if you met me outside of this hot mess I’m in, would any of this matter?” Her eyes rolled to the back of her head when his lips finally grazed the tender flesh of her neck. His words were tight. “No. It wouldn’t matter. I can date whomever I want as long as it has nothing to do with any fraternization amongst superiors and unwillings.” Her breath hitched when he reached the corner of her mouth, he let his tongue snake out to stroke her bottom lip and her breath hitched. “Then problem solved. Trust me, it won’t be long before you people boot me outta here because I keep telling you, I have no super anything.” “But right now I’m in charge.” “You can be in charge all you like.” Wow, who’d said that all kittenish and flirty? Certainly not the Andy Greer who was never, ever forward sexually… His breath caressed her face. “But I can’t seem to stop myself.”

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“Then don’t.” “I have to.” “Then we’ll stop.” Clarke’s groan echoed hers when they tried to pry themselves away from each other. “Scratch that. I say we don’t stop.” “Then don’t stop.” “Okay, not stopping.” “Know what might help?” “What?” he muttered low against her ear as he worked his way to her mouth. Andy grabbed his head, threading her fingers through his short hair to clutch either side of it. “You shutting up,” she responded before she clamped her lips to his and damned the consequences. By God, they were boinking. She knew he was torn, but it wouldn’t matter in the end when Octavian all but bought her cab fare home for troubling him with how little in the way of superpowers she had. Had they met under any other circumstances, like, minus a gun and some stupid computer print out, it wasn’t out of the ordinary to consider they might have dated. So they were just speeding things up. The moment their tongues touched, hard and firm against pliable and needy, her legs buckled, but Clarke held her up, dipping his other hand into the tight waist of her trousers. He tugged them downward, pushing them to her knees, taking her panties with them as he went. Andy’s breath was ragged, marked with small whimpers against the soft but unyielding press of his mouth against hers. Wrapping her arms around his neck, Andy pulled tighter to him, letting his fingers slide between the lips of her cunt.

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Clarke lifted her off her feet with one arm, carrying her to the big bed in the center of the room and laying her on it before covering her body with his. Andy shoved her boots off and managed to kick her trousers and panties off too before crushing his hand between their bodies. Her hips lifted, encouraging him to explore her pussy. She tore at his so she could feel the heated surface of his skin against hers. Clothes flew, incoherent words were muttered until they were naked and panting. Her coy glance downward left a pleased smile on her face. Andy curled her fingers into the sparse hair on his chest, luxuriating in the firmness of his pecs, running her fingers along the ridges of his abs, admiring the bulk of his thighs and the dark hair that sprinkled them. Clarke’s eyes scanned her body briefly too before he smiled and took her lips once again, molding her flush to his length. His skin was like flames licking against her flesh, his shaft, thick and rigid, pressed against her belly. Andy let her hands roam over his well-muscled back, digging her fingers into the sharp planes when his lips found her breast and wrapped around one rock-hard nipple. White-hot heat shot to her cunt, spreading upward until she felt her cheeks flush. She heard her sigh of contentment when Clarke released her nipple with a pop and skimmed the sensitive flesh of her ribs, then her abdomen until he tugged her thighs apart and settled between them. The first swipe of his tongue against her clit made Andy rear up, seeking the heat of his tongue. Over and over he stroked her, sliding a finger into her passage, intensifying the raging need coursing through her veins. When his finger hit her G-spot, combined with the soft flicks of his tongue exploring her pussy, Andy let go, fighting not to scream out her orgasm and instead took hold of the soft comforter beneath her, clutching it in her fists. Sharp stabs of pleasure-pain assaulted her, dragging her to a height she’d never reached before this. The slam of her heart against her ribs clanged in her ears. Her breathing was raspy, her head dizzy and filled with flashes of brilliant color.

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The descent was slow as smaller orgasms wracked her body while he stroked her with gentle hands, allowing her time to catch her breath. Clarke moved upward, trailing kisses along her flesh until he reached her mouth, latching onto it and driving his tongue between her lips. The head of his cock slipped between her needy flesh, tantalizing her with slow strokes, delicious glides of firm and hot against wet. Her hands slipped between them as she widened her thighs and circled his cock with a firm grasp, stroking him with long, slow pumps of her hand. Clarke’s groan of pleasure rumbled from his chest. She let go of him when he poised at her entrance, obviously savoring the tight passage by the sound of his groan when he slipped the head of his cock inside her.

Sweet mother, was the only thought she had, a whisper in her mind about how ready she was to have him take her. Clarke hesitated for only a moment, but when he sensed her acquiescence, he took control once more, driving into her with a force that took her breath away. The slick slide of his cock plunging into her balls deep left her clinging to him, burying her head in the corded muscle of his neck. She enveloped him, sheathing his cock inch by delicious inch. When his hips bucked, when their tempo increased, the crash of their hips rolling together quickened, Andy felt the tight spiral of climax hit her once again. Clarke tensed too, each bulky muscle in his body rigid and strung tight like a bow. They hung there for a moment, suspended, waiting each other out until Andy could no longer hold off the throbbing need to come. It hit them both almost simultaneously, pushing their bodies closer, tearing them apart until all that was left was the final burst of adrenaline that left them both rocking together.

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Glued together by the sweat gathering between her breasts, they each struggled to breathe. Clarke rose up on his arms, bracketing her head. “You do realize what we’ve just done, don’t you?” Andy placed her palms flat on his chest. “Yep. We had lunch. It was great. Thanks,” she said with a giggle. His hard face softened, but only a little before the warning tone came. “Andy, we’ve broken every rule about fraternization there is.” Her grin was playful. “By eating tuna together? C’mon, they can’t be that pissed about some tuna. Or maybe the tomatoes are what’ll push them over the edge?” His chuckle rumbled in her ears. “Okay, I get it. Look, I’m not saying this might not have happened if we’d met somewhere else, but here, well, here it’s --” “Sticky. I know. Don’t worry. It’s not like I’m going to shout it from the rooftops and like I keep saying, in the end it won’t matter because I have nothing to offer AAAAH. I’ll leave and maybe if you’re really nice to me and sneak me another grilled cheese, I’ll let ya come woo me or something.” He ran a finger down her nose. “Deal. Now up and at ’em. I have a weaponry class to teach and you have to explain where you’ve been.” Andy rolled out from beneath him, looking for her clothes as she went. She scurried off to the bathroom to clean up, pulling on her clothes afterward and sending him a saucy smile as she headed for the door. He met her there and gave the tip of her nose a quick kiss. “I bet I could dig up a grilled cheese tonight if you want to meet somewhere discreet.” Andy smiled up at him. “Look at what a little sex does for the tough guy -- it makes him all soft and mushy.” She held her hand out for him to shake. “Deal. But what’s clandestine in this place? There are monitors and cameras and all sorts of stuff everywhere.”

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Clarke’s lips grazed hers lightly. “Trust me. I have it all figured out. I’ll come find you tonight about seven.” Andy nodded and shot him a smile before peering around the corner of his door and out into the hall. When the coast seemed clear enough, she hurried down along the hall and back to the elevator, ignoring the cold chill that skittered along her spine and opting to silently squee over the complete elation she was feeling because Clarke wanted to see her again. Booyah.

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Chapter Six Anything you can do I can do better.

“Move, lady!” Air whooshed past Andy’s head in a gust and she scrambled to scoot out of yet another over-achieving child’s way. Today her class included the smug little shits who really wanted to be here, and they’d whizzed through this obstacle course like it was no big thang. The little fuckers. She trudged through the last of the tires to end with the daunting glare of her instructor. “Think you might wanna pick up the pace, Ms. Greer?” Nope. “Um, not a lot.” She bent over at the waist to catch her breath, then motioned to the rows of tires she’d just stumbled over in the heavy boots they made them wear that were ugly and, well, ugly. “I did it and I really did think about being much faster. Much. But alas, that didn’t quite work out as I’d hoped. I always sucked in gym class. But isn’t it the thought that counts? I mean, I thought about running through the tires like I still have the lungs of a middle schooler -- I just can’t -- because I’m not -- a middle schooler and all.” She gave him a smug look.

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He looked at his watch and scowled. “Ms. Greer?” Andy took a long, cleansing breath. “Now what?” “You’re not done yet.” “Uh, no, I think I really am.” “No, Ms. Greer. You haven’t climbed the wall yet.” The wall. He said it with such reverence -- like it was Mt. Kilimanjaro. Andy rose from the waist and looked ahead. Oh. Nice. Hookay, so it was Mt. Kilimanjaro. No way was she ever going to make it up over that wall. No way. Her boots alone weighed

her

feet

down

like

cement

blocks.

“Well,

Instructor

Whateveryoursuperheronameis --” “Right now I’m just Instructor Cates.” “Suh-weet. Whatever. I really don’t think you ought to count me in for this one. I say we just mark me as incapable of scaling anything but maybe a fish. Yeah, I did that once with my dad. Bleh.” His look of surprise made her chuckle. “No, I don’t mean The Impersonator. I mean, my dad-dad, Morris Greer. The rumors of my DNA are greatly exaggerated, I promise you.” She winked for emphasis. Cates crossed his arms over his solid chest, fingering his stupid, shiny whistle. The very whistle she was going to jam down his throat if he blew it one more time in her ear because she was too slow. “Either way, Ms. Greer, you have to finish.” Stretching her arms over her head, she grimaced when Terri passed through the tires and headed straight for the wall. “I say finishing is overrated. Seriously, what exactly do you suppose my finishing will mean in the scope of say, world peace? Not a lot.”

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He strode over to her, his face hard and chiseled. Was there no one here who wasn’t hard and chiseled? His whisper came from the corner of his mouth. “Ms. Greer, may I ask a favor of you?” His request didn’t sound at all harsh, totally taking her by surprise. Andy answered with hesitance. “I guess -- unless sweating’s involved. Then it’s a no can do.” “I’m a new instructor here at AAAAH. I only got in because in the bylaws, as a descendant of a crime fighter, I’m due access. But it certainly wasn’t because my father had an outstanding record here.” Andy’s look was one of sympathy. “No shit? Who’s your dad?” “No one as impressive as The Impersonator, believe me.” “Well, he’s not my father either. No matter what the fine people here at AAAAH tell you. My dad, my real dad is a dry cleaner. So go ahead, ’fess.” His face grew sheepish. “Weather Man.” “Never heard of him.” His expression was plaintive. “Exactly. No one really cared that he could predict the weather with almost 99% accuracy. He was about as useful as Al Roker here at AAAAH. But I inherited the ability to create a weather situation.” Andy’s smile was filled with weariness. “Dude, that so rocks. So whaddaya say you make it rain on these smart-mouthed little fuckers and we call it a day?” Instructor Cates shook his dark head. “I can’t do that. I’m here with the promise I’d prove myself and that’s why you need to finish the obstacle course.” “But you just said you can create weather situations. That’s an ubercool power. Doesn’t AAAAH need the occasional hurricane? Tsunami?” He gave her another sheepish grin. “Well, here’s the thing. I can create, like say, a blinding snowstorm. Trouble is, the last one I created left us with an avalanche that I lost a lot of brain cells trying to stop. I’m here by the hair of my chinny-chin-chin and I came

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because I want to learn how to control my power and possibly be useful. I can’t do that anywhere but at AAAAH. So I was told if I’d take on some instructor classes in physical fitness, because in my real life I’m a gym teacher, they’d let me bunk here and allow me to hone my skills.” Andy barked a laugh. “You know, you should have waited until they came and hunted you down like they did me. I thought all spawn of crime fighters had to go through this because of that jack-off Mind Control, Junior?” His lips pursed. “Oh, they do and I did, but they discovered I don’t pose a potential threat to society so they were going to just cut me loose. I asked to stay -- well, begged, if I’m honest.” Andy patted his shoulder sympathetically. “I think that’s just fucking crazy. I can’t think of anyone I know who’d want to subject themselves to this kind of torture.” His face grew serious. “It’s all for the greater good.” Yadda, yadda, yadda. “Right. Okay, so what’s the favor?” “Finish the obstacle course.” “How about I get you a good deal on some combat boots instead? I sell ladies footwear in my real life and that’d be a whole lot easier. I have connections in the men’s department.” He chuckled with a soft lilt. “No. I need you to finish because I can’t have these little shits, as you call them, going back to my superiors and telling them I can’t handle a student. And they will, trust me.” That burned Andy’s ass. Here was a guy totally willing to devote his life to eating the equivalent of dog food and running himself ragged just to be a part of this crime-fighting shit, and the powers that be were yanking his crank. She, on the other hand, could care less what kind of impression she made. Andy sighed. “Okay, fine, but you owe me -- got that? Like, say, next Christmas. If Rotham City doesn’t have snow, I’m giving you a ring-a-ling.” He smirked. “Deal. Now go and at least try. Hurry up.”

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Andy rolled her eyes and sighed. Fine. With not even a hint of a skip to her step, Andy dragged her ass over to the wall and grabbed the rope and wrapped it around her wrist. This would so never work. She’d always sucked at the ropes in school, but she’d give it a hella shot for Instructor Cates. All that dedication to this AAAAH cause shouldn’t go to waste. She’d watched those little neophyte wannabes scale this wall like whatever was over the top of this thing had a piece of double frosted chocolate cake. She’d seen how they’d done it and it appeared a lot of arm and thigh muscle were necessary. Which meant it sucked to be her. Closing her eyes, she took a deep breath and let the rope around her wrist go, then backed away from the hard surface of the wall until it hung once more. Running at the structure, she grabbed hold of the rope high, digging the heels of her “fashion’s biggest disaster ever boots” into it for all she was worth. And there she remained, her thighs screaming their displeasure, her arms letting out a string of epithets, all while Cates stood behind her, yelling. Sweat dripped from her brow, but she managed to grit out, “Dude -- knock off the bad ju-ju. Yelling ‘climb, newbie climb,’ just isn’t motivational.” “Sorry,” he whispered back up at her. “But that’s my job and I have to make it look good. So no hard feelings. Now move it, Greer!” Andy lifted a hand upward to creep along the rope when she felt the wall bounce with vibration. Oh, for the love of dick. Didn’t Telepathy Man the Third already climb the wall -- like, twice today just for kicks? Her wall-climbing partner giggled, clinging to the rope with only one hand, swaying back and forth closer and closer to her, his face moving in and out of her vision. “Yeah, I did. But I figured you could use some competition to motivate you. Because it looks like it isn’t going to be easy.”

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“Oh, reeeeally? Listen up, you tween. I was climbing ropes while you were still in your mother’s womb. So step off.” A cackle from down below drew her attention to the ground. The little heathens were laughing at her. A crowd of them. Wee little fucktards. She’d show them. Yeah, as soon as someone hoisted her over this stupid-assed wall, she’d challenge them to a “name that shoe contest.” No way could some of these over-achievers know a Prada just by the feel of the leather. Telepathy Man the Third made a face at her as he swung to and fro. The fucking nerve. Her cheeks burned and her arms and hands ached, but the hell she’d let some snotty kid best her “All right, Junior. You’re on.” Or not. No matter what she did, she couldn’t seem to move her feet. Her shoulders began to burn from clinging to the rope. And Telepathy Junior was totally digging her pain.

Bastard. “You shouldn’t call names,” he chided. “What?” she huffed, a wheezing breath of air escaping her lungs. “You called me a bastard. I’m not a bastard. I know who my parents are.” Andy’s eyes widened as he hovered just above her. “How did --” “I am Telepathy Man the Third.” Oh. Yeah. “Well, get out of my head, Amazing Kreskin, and go find your skateboard or something.”

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His look was questioning, the green of his eyes on his unlined, red-cheeked face searched hers. “Who?” Ah, youth. “Forget it. Just-go-away.” Finally, one foot let free when she leaned back and focused every last ounce of energy on making her thighs work. Wrapping his legs around the rope, Junior gripped it with his thighs and hung upside down. “Make me.” “How old are you, anyway?” “Twelve. You?” “Not twelve.” His laughter, youthful and taunting, sent a red shot of color to her cheeks. Okay, so she wasn’t a kid anymore. Not by a long shot. Looking up, Andy clenched her jaw and pulled the rope again, the hot burn of the muscles in her arms screeching, but she’d managed to inch a bit further. “Isn’t it, like, snack time for you toddlers? Don’t they keep Gummi Bears hidden for just such occasions?” He flipped back upright and shimmied further up the rope. “Is that the best you can do?” Okay. That was just it. She’d be damned if she’d let some smug, wannabe, little piss-ant talk to her like that. “You know, Junior. When I get down from here, I’m going to ground you. Better yet, maybe I’ll take away your super-duper cape or something!” He giggled and so did the crowd below her. Which had become bigger. Fabulous. Sweat dripped down her face, but she tugged once more and took at least three more steps. “You’re not my mother,” he taunted.

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“Yeah? Lemme tell ya somethin’. If I was your mother, I’d have taken away your X-Box 360 for a year, sentenced you to death by, like, the Barbie Channel and then, just because I’m a total biotch, I’d make you eat something disgusting like liver every night for a week. Now go ride your skateboard or I’ll steal it during your naptime.” “You’re not gonna make it.” The fuck she wouldn’t. More determined than ever, Andy hauled her ass up another five steps. And still, she was but a quarter of the way up the wall. At this rate she’d be here until the next century, she’d fail Cates, and he’d get in trouble. The cackling from below increased, making her face red with anger. Then suddenly, from the other side of the wall, she heard Terri and Bruce yelling words of encouragement. Well, fuck. Bruce had made it over the wall? Hadn’t she left him way back at the things you jump over on the track? The things she’d knocked over one after the other? “You can do it, Andy!” Bruce shouted. “No she can’t,” her nemesis taunted with a sharp yell. She wasn’t sure what to think when she felt the hands on her ass. Looking over her shoulder, she saw no one, but without warning, she was climbing the wall at an alarming rate, passing the superior, chubby-cheeked pre-pubescent gloat monger with ease. Andy stuck her tongue out at him when she passed him like she was the hare and he was the tortoise. Neener, neener, neener. It had to be the hand of God finally cutting her some slack. Right there on her ass. And it had to be some big set of hands to handle the size of her butt. When Andy crested the top of the wall, she yelled, all warrior-ish -- like she’d just reinvented the wheel. Her feet found the backside of the wall and she repelled down it with grace she didn’t know she possessed, landing with a thunk. Bruce and Terri crowded around her, their looks of disbelief clear.

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“Whaaat? You didn’t think I could do it? Very compassionate, gang,” she chastised them. Bruce scrunched his face up. “Um, no. We sure didn’t.” “Then what was all the yelling about?” Terri clapped her on the back. “We were being supportive, Andy. We didn’t think you could really do it. You sell shoes for God’s sake.” “She didn’t, but I did.” Franklin appeared out of nowhere, grinning. Andy’s eyebrows flew upward. Franklin was the hand of God? “That was you?” He nodded and put a finger up to his lips just as Instructor Cates rounded the wall. “Yep. You didn’t think I was going to let that little shit best you if I could stop it, did you? Now shhhh.” Andy hugged him hard and whispered, “You did it! You had to have been invisible for at least a minute -- no easy feat, huh?” Franklin’s patted her back with a lean hand. “I’ll say.” “Greer?” Instructor Cates shouted, his face once again set in stone. “Um, sir?” “Nice job.” He followed that with a nod and a private wink, then pivoted on his heel, crossing the field with long strides. Andy traipsed behind Bruce and Terri with Franklin by her side. Her thighs screamed with every step she took. When they returned to the barracks, Andy waved good-bye to them with a tired hand. She needed a shower and some time to prepare for her meeting with Clarke. And maybe just a little time to think about what had happened between them yesterday. The suddenness of their encounter left her breathless, but still wanting more. Now if she could just find him…

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Andy stripped off her clothes and sank to the bed with a yawn. Cheerist. No more walls.

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Chapter Seven Playa…

“Well, well, well. Look who’s all on time. Funny that. Did you all of a sudden find your watch?” Andy snarled under her breath at Clarke who just happened to be her instructor for “Know Your Super Villains -- Know Your Enemies.” “Ms. Greer.” He addressed her with a curt nod of his head before taking his hunky self across the room to his desk. Andy strode right behind him, planting herself between him and the hard metal. “Look, you super-powered megalomaniac. If whatever the hell that was the other day was just a one-time tuna sandwich, at least have the balls to say so. Don’t stand me up like it never happened.” He simply stared at her, his mouth a thin line. Andy sucked in her cheeks to keep from screaming. So The Collector was a playa. Fine. Apparently, he didn’t just collect the bad guys. When he hadn’t shown up last night, she’d ended up falling asleep, but not before she’d cursed his stupid ass to Hell and back. All his talk of integrity and fraternization. Fraternize this.

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“So?” “So what, Ms. Greer?” So it was like that. He was going to play confused like he’d totally forgotten all about their intended meeting last night. Alrighty then. “Ahhh. Okay. I get it, you spineless shit. Far be it for me to reveal our little luncheon. Don’t you worry about a thing. I got yer bullshit artist’s back.” His face softened for a mere moment. “Andy --” She flipped a hand in his face. “Nooooo. I so wouldn’t go where you’re going. But may I make a teensy suggestion? Never mind. I don’t care if you care if I make a suggestion. I’m making it. There really doesn’t have to be some big load of smack-talk when you only want to wonk a chick. Just for future reference, let her know it’s a one-time wonk after you’ve wonked the hell out of her. Don’t pretend it’s something you want to do again. Big girls wear big girl panties and mine fit just fine. Not all of us are going to shrivel up and die because you’re a fucktard. Got that? And don’t you worry. I won’t say a single word to anyone about what we did, but just remember whose balls are on the block here. I don’t give a hot nut if they boot me outta here, but I’d bet you do. So maybe the next time you decide to think with your man-tool, you’ll remember that not everyone’s as accommodating as I am, and the next woman you set your sights on just might be the one to end your career at AAAAH.” With that the bell rang and Andy strode to her desk, sliding into her seat just in time to see Bruce, Terri, and Franklin arrive for class. Andy lifted her chin and narrowed her gaze to focus on the clock above the door. “Hey, Andy,” Terri whispered, poking her between the shoulder blades. “What’s wrong?” She waved a hand over her shoulder. If she spoke, it’d likely be in tongues. So she clamped her mouth tight and fought not to stalk across the room and punch him in his killa hot mouth.

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As Clarke droned on about some of history’s most heinous villains, waving his pointer at pictures of faces that became a blur, Andy clenched her teeth together, making fists of her hands. All she wanted to do was go home and forget her encounter with Clarke. Who knew when they’d let her leave at this rate. Yet, she still found she didn’t regret the actual wonking part of this. ’Cause it’d been smokin’. Some of the best wonking she’d ever had. Okay, some serious reevaluation was needed here. Had she been impulsive? Yep. Was their encounter hazardous to future wonking endeavors because of the sheer fabulousness of it? Yep. Was this something she so had never done in her entire adult life? Yep. But she’d let him have it just the way she’d always thought she would if she were ever stupid enough to fall for some line. So, yeah. So there, even. At least she’d saved face. Word.

***** Andy hurried down the long corridor that led to her room. It was only seven in the evening, but with the last of her classes out of the way for the day, and some much needed free time to herself, she totally planned to sleep a good ten. Oh-five-hundred came way too early, and after her run-in with Clarke, she just wanted to go to bed and forget what a gullible dipshit she’d turned out to be. She’d finally decided, after much thought, no sex was so good she’d sacrifice her pride for it -- even if just thinking about being used for nothing more than a good bang still hurt.

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Rounding the corner, she pulled up short when a hand snaked out and grabbed her by the waist. Her instinct to struggle against it kicked in, but she was quickly held solidly in place. A hand clamped over her mouth as she was dragged backward. A male hand by the scent and span over her mouth. Lips pressed to her ear. “Just do me a favor and shut your yap until I get you where we’re going.”

Clarke? “Yes, it’s me, Ms. Big Girl Panties.” He shoved open a door with his shoulder and whirled her around to face him, keeping his grip on her wrists. Son of a bitch. She yanked at the hold he had on her, but his grip was iron. Well, duh.

Super human strength, twit. “If you don’t let me go, I’ll be forced to scream and FYI -- I’m a screamer.” Clarke pulled her arms behind her back, hauling her to his chest, snugly fitting her between his hard thighs. “I’d have never guessed,” he said with a smile. Andy let her neck arch as she looked up at him. “Don’t you smile at me, you user. Let go of me or I swear, the shit will fly.” His lips grazed her chin, tracing a slow, seductive pattern along her jaw. “Oh, Ms. Greer. By now you’d think you’d realize I’m the only one who can fly in this relationship.” Shut. Up. He could fly too? Talk about hitting the superpower lottery. Her knees wobbled when he whispered a kiss over her lips. “We don’t have a relationship. We had a one-night stand. Now let go of me, you beast.” While her lips spoke the words, the rest of her body told her to fuck off. It liked it right here. No, no, no. It was a betrayal of the highest order. To want this man after he’d used her. “But we do, honey. Or at least the beginning’s of one.” His tone was husky, soothing, mesmerizing her until she began to waffle.

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Andy shook her head, freeing her mouth from his. “No, no we don’t. People who’re in a relationship don’t stand each other up. They keep in touch and if they have to break a date, they call. You know, like you use your cell phone. Text message me -- something.” “Now how can I do that when you don’t even have a cell phone? Remember? We confiscated it.” There was that. But that wasn’t enough. “Then you should have found another way. Maybe smoke signals, tom-toms, whatever. You never showed up and that’s all that matters now.” “But you know…” he murmured. Her nipples tightened as he loosened his grip on her wrists and rubbed the small of her back. Damn, and her lower back really hurt… “Know what?” Clarke chuckled, satiny smooth. “If I could have text messaged you I would have.” He moved his hot lips over the curve of her neck. “Re-really? And what would you have messaged? Do they have text for ‘I’m a shithead’?” Clarke’s tongue snaked out, licking tiny circles against the shell of her ear. “I would have given you the 411 and told you I’d see you 2-m-o-r-o because I had pressing bad guy business.” “Huh. Well, wanna know what I would have texted back?” “Oh, absolutely.” “R-O-F-L-M-A-O. Know why that is?” “Again, I’m all ears.” “Because I don’t believe you. I think you just want to get laid and when I leave here, you’ll move on to some other poor, super-powerless girl. Which totally makes us not B-FF’s.”

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He splayed a hand over the cheek of her ass. “Aw, c’mon, you know you like me and what you say is totally untrue. I’ve never done this before either. Wanna ask Lie Detector Man?” Finally, Andy couldn’t hold out anymore. She giggled, ignoring the press of her nipples against his chest. “There is no such person and you know it.” His eyes crinkled on either side when he smiled. “Well, no. That’s not his official name. It’s Fraud Man, but he can tell you I’m being honest and if you’d given me but two seconds to shut your impulsive yap up in class today, I’d have told you that. However, I believe you were hell-bent on giving me shit. Not to mention, there are cameras in every classroom. I had to give good face. We can only hope Communications isn’t busy reading your lips right now on their dinner break.” Andy softened. “Okay, so I was harsh, but you could have found a way if you’d wanted to.” Letting go of her other wrist, he cupped her cheek. “Andy, seriously, sometimes I can’t tell you where I’m going or what I have to do. You know, the whole save the world thing? I know it sounds like a convenient excuse for me to do what I want when I want, but all I can say is you’ll either have to trust me or not. If we get any deeper into this, you have to know that going in. And who could I have given a message to, seeing as this is all supposed to be a secret?” Point. “Okay, fine. I’m just giving you the heads up now. I’m not into hooking up for the sake of hooking up. The other day with you was the first time I’ve ever done anything even remotely like that. So if what this is about is just sex -- be honest enough to say the word and I’m out and the big girl panty department is closed until further notice.” “Is this the part where I have to be all reassuring and feed your insecurities?” She might have rammed a fist down his throat, but his eyes were warm and his smile was teasing. “Yes.”

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He rolled his eyes with feigned irritation and sighed. “Fiiine. I don’t just want to have sex with you. I want to get to know you because superpowered or not, you’re feisty and I like it. But right now having sex with you would be all right too. I’m just sayin’…” He pulled her tighter against the rigid press of his cock. “You can opt out if you’d like and I’ll keep wooing you with grilled cheese and tuna sandwiches.” “Don’t make me regret this. You do not want to see me when I’m pissed. Ugly is just a word when I get mad,” she warned. His eyes held her for a moment. “I’m being very sincere here. Crime fighters’ honor.” Gawd, he was so dreamy when he looked at her like that. “One more chance -- that’s it. Deal?” Clarke smiled. “Deal.” For the first time since she’d been dragged into the room, Andy looked around. The lighting was dim, but there were racks full of buckets and cleansers. “Where are we, anyway?” “Storage closet,” he muttered, finally capturing her mouth with his. She sighed against his mouth and let his tongue slip between her lips while tingles assaulted her. His large hand cupped her breast through the thin material of her shirt, massaging the undersides of them. “I wish there were somewhere else we could go, but my room is likely being watched after this morning in class.” She should feel degraded by the sheer cheesiness of a storage closet. But the naughtiness of it all, instead, felt decadent. Wrapping her arms around his neck, she shook her head. “It is what it is. Besides, this is kinda naughty, don’t you think? And don’t worry; I’ll have you make it up to me when I get out of this dive. I’ll expect a couple of nights at that plush hotel in the middle of Rotham -- with room service. Now stop talking and take my clothes off.”

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His moan was low when it whispered across her cheek and his fingers began the slow, sensual task of removing her clothing. Clarke’s hands stripped her of her shirt by tugging it over her head, then pushed her pants down. Andy struggled out of her boots, kicking them away as Clarke did the same while tearing at his shirt, exposing his thick chest. Her hands shook, roaming the planes of muscle, skirting the definition of each ab. She reached for his waistband, dragging the zipper of his tight-fitting pants down, then jammed her hands into them so she could pull them over his thighs. His hiss of pleasure when she reached for his cock weighed heavily in her ears, making her nipples tighten and almost sting with pleasure. He took a nipple between his fingers, stroking it as she skimmed his body with her lips, tasting every inch of his hot flesh until she stopped at his waist. Clarke’s hands went to her head, cupping it, bringing her mouth flush to his abdomen. She let her tongue rake over his flesh, circling his cock with her hand, stroking him, running her thumb over the bead of precum on the head of his shaft. The first swipe of her tongue was slow, a long pass over his rock-hard flesh. Clarke groaned, arching into her, urging her to envelope him in her mouth, but Andy wanted to taste every inch of him at her leisure. Pulling back, she mouthed the heated length of him, kissing and licking his cock, though not taking him fully. She tangled her fingers in his thick pubic hair, running her fingers through it, teasing him while she cupped his balls. “Christ, woman. You’re killing me,” he ground out. She chuckled against the steely flesh and then without warning, she took every last inch of him into the heat of her mouth, tightening her lips into a circle. Her head bobbed up and down in precise time with her hand, now wrapped around the length of his cock, stroking, licking, sucking, reveling in the salty maleness of the most intimate part of him.

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Andy reached around him, cupping the solid globes of his ass, pushing him deeper into the warm cavern her lips created, kneading the flesh until his fingers tightened against her scalp. “Andy…Jesus Christ…” Her tongue slithered against the satin skin of his cock. She felt the pulse of his shaft, throbbing with each deep plunge she made. The suction of flesh upon her tongue punctuated each pass she took. Carnal and wicked, it made her cunt hot for relief. With a grunt, Clarke pulled away from her, his reluctance clear when the hot warmth of her lips left his shaft. He dragged her up against him, creating a delicious slide of skin against skin -- each inch accentuated by a heated rush of electricity between them. Her heart crashed against her ribs when Clarke spread the lips of her pussy and delved between the folds to sink a finger into her while his thumb stroked her clit. A wave of dizziness made her cling to his shoulders. She dug her fingers into his skin, fighting the scream that clawed at her throat when he thrust two fingers into her, but he withdrew them just as quickly. Clarke turned her then and she found herself facing one of the racks as he backed her against him, letting his cock brush between her ass cheeks. Andy reached up and clung to either side of the metal rack, gripping it until her knuckles were white from the talent of his tongue along her spine. He taunted her with his lips, grazing the small of her back, kissing the roundness of her bottom, tonguing every inch of her exposed skin. Andy heard him drop to the floor, and seat himself directly in front of her pussy. He dragged a finger through her cunt and licked his fingers, wiping clean the slick juice of her cunt. Clarke hummed his pleasure, making Andy buck against the hot press of his breath. His mouth hovering but evading her needy flesh. Her groan of frustration echoed in the small room, her whispered plea hoarse and shaky. When he finally showed mercy, it was small compensation for the heat he stirred in

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her belly with but one stroke of his tongue. He slithered in and out of the lips of her pussy, avoiding her clit until it was swollen and aching. Andy’s back arched, driving closer to him, seeking the moist glide of his mouth, groaning when he finally circled her clit and enveloped it. That wave of dizziness left her head swimming again and she fought to keep her legs from crumbling, letting the weight of her body rest on Clarke’s mouth. Stroke after stroke he pleasured her, driving the last of her control over the edge of orgasm when he slipped a finger into her wet passage and stroked her until her muscles tightened, preparing for climax. Her teeth clenched together when the sweet swell of orgasm took her, making her nipples hard and tight. Andy muffled her mind-blowing release against her forearm, clinging to the rack for all she was worth. When her hands let go, Clarke caught her, letting her sink down against him and directly onto his cock. The floor was cold, a shock to her feet, but the warmth of Clarke’s arms made up for it. His eyes glittered in the dim light, a flicker of emotions skittering across them she had no time to examine. The hard steel of him inside her, still and waiting, sent a new, more intense heat through her. Her breathing was ragged, her arms sluggish as she clung to him and he rocked inside her. Clarke’s hands smoothed down her back, settling at her hips, where he used them as leverage to drive upward. The thick width of him, stretching her, filling her was ecstasy, making her head fall back on her shoulders. Clarke increased the tempo of his strokes, pushing her, thrusting into her with slick, hot slides of rock-hard cock. Andy’s hands gripped the shortly cropped hair on his head, digging into it, clenching and unclenching her fists. She felt the pulse of orgasm with his final upward stroke, hard and sharp. Her cunt tightened, gripping his length, milking it with each downward drive of her hips. Clarke’s hiss

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of approval as she rolled her lower body in tune with his brought with it an explosion of tantalizing tendrils of heat that reached out and wrapped around every nerve in her body. The intensity of it was raw, primal, taking her in its grip and wringing every last ounce of energy from her. Their heavy breathing was the only sound in the small room, raspy and harsh as their chests crashed against one another’s. Andy flopped against him, sweat forming on her brow, her cheeks hot and tingling. Suddenly she realized he’d been supporting them up the entire time. Her head popped up and she immediately went to massage the muscles of his back, running her knuckles over them. “Are you okay?” He grinned at her. “Yeah. The superhuman strength thing comes in handy sometimes.” “And the floor is cold. We’d better get up or you’ll catch a chill.” Andy began to rise, lifting a thigh to move off him, but Clarke stopped her, pulling her closer. “I like you just like this,” he said, wiggling his eyebrows at her. She settled back against him for a moment. “Are you immune to, like, the flu too? Because your ass on this cold floor can’t be good.” He threw his head back and laughed hard, jarring the rack. A dustpan and broom crashed to the floor, narrowly missing her head. Andy slung her thigh off him and rose, holding out her hand to him. With a giggle, she said, “Okay, that’s it. I want three nights at that fancy hotel to make up for boinking in a storage closet, mister.” He chuckled and pulled her close, molding her still naked body to his. The hard length of his cock rose once more. “Yeah, yeah, yeah. And room service, right?” She kissed the firm line of his mouth, nibbling at the corner. “And you’d better hope they have grilled cheese on the menu.”

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Chapter Eight Bonzai!

Fuuuuuuuuck, she was tired. Andy dragged herself to her “Wind Beneath My Wings” class on AAAAH’s rooftop with heavy feet. The past two weeks had been a succession of late nights spent with Clarke, sneaking off to meet for a quick dinner among other naughty things in places that were really not meant to be used for bed-sport, and early, early mornings spent being evaluated. She’d been poked, prodded, attached to things, stuck in metal cylinders that took pictures and monitored her brain activity, all to no avail. She’d taken class after class and failed miserably in every single one. Seriously, how many times did they think they could try to get her to shoot fireballs with her eyes, or, crazier still, how long before they realized no matter what test they gave her, she wasn’t flying anywhere unless it involved an e-ticket and a 747? She was this close to collapsing from these tests that got them nowhere. At least the conditions had become better and she’d bet Clarke had something to do with that. She’d smile secretively if she could summon the energy to make her lips even consider moving, but thinking of Clarke made her heart skip a beat. No matter how much she

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internally warned herself she was getting in too deep, when she saw him at the end of a long day, she was invigorated. Like all E-Harmony over him. Until 0500 came, anyway. “Wow, you look tired, Andy,” Franklin commented as he stretched his compact body with arms high over his head. Oh, Franklin. Jack of all superpowers, master of none. He could do a little of everything, but not enough of any one thing to do any serious damage. And yeah, he could fly. The motherfucker. Day by day, as she found herself not measuring up, she became a wee bit resentful of the other unwillings. Even Terri wasn’t half bad at some of the tests they were given. Andy gave Franklin a tired glance. “Fuck yeah, I’m tired. I can’t keep up with you people and I’m sick and tired of trying.” Bruce patted her on the back, his face filled with sympathy. “They still won’t budge?” Her yawn was loud. “Nope. I still have more tests.” “Class!” A sharp growl of authority, followed by the appearance of a man who’d put Arnold in his heyday to shame, rang out. “Front and center,” he demanded, standing before them on the rooftop, legs spread wide, his hands behind his back. They all lined up, but Andy dawdled behind them, dragging ass. “Greeeer!” her meanie-butt flying instructor howled. “Get your sorry ass in line!” he shouted between clenched teeth, standing over her as she took her place beside a shaking Franklin. Andy gave him a cocky look. “Okay, okay. Quit yelling at me. Jesus, what is it with you hard asses? I might not have the gift of super hearing, but I can still hear. A little kindness would go a long way toward making me feel less like a freak, you know.”

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His jaw clenched. “Shut your trap, Greer. I don’t want to hear another word out of you. I know all about the coddling when it comes to you and that’s not going to happen here in my class. Got that?” Oh, she was too tired to fuck around. “What-EV-er,” she retorted, rolling her eyes at him. Bruce stood on the other side of her, trembling when the instructor turned on his heel and strolled down the line of students, glaring at each of them. “You’d better knock it off, Andy. This thing you have going with The Collector won’t save you from this asshole. The Collector and The Falcon hate each other’s guts.” Uh-oh. “Who said anything was going on between me and The Gatherer? That’s a lie. And what’s The Falcon’s problem with Clarke?” Bruce spoke out of the side of his mouth, keeping both eyes front and center. “Please. Stop. Honey, we all know and so does The Falcon. Don’t bother to deny it. As to the trouble between your boyfriend and him, according to some rumors, they just don’t get along. Too much testosterone in one academy, I guess. Personally, I think they’re both hot, hot, hot, sugar. But you didn’t hear that from me. Now just shut up and go with the flow so we all don’t get into trouble.” Andy grimaced, wrinkling her nose. “Don’t you think if I had a flow, I’d go, Bruce? But I don’t. I won’t be able to fly any more than I can read minds, create tsunamis, shatter glass with my telekinetic abilities, or shoot lasers from my eyes. Ain’t gonna happen. Now, get off my back. I’m beat.” “Greeeeer!” The Falcon shouted above the swirling wind that had picked up. He pointed to a spot in front of his feet. “Here. Now.” Andy sauntered to where he stood. It was precariously close to the edge of the roof. She smiled up at him, waiting for the next test she’d fail. His eyes narrowed. “Fly.”

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“Huh?” “Fly. Now.” “Are you smokin’ the cheebah? I can’t fly, you buffoon.” He moved closer to her, towering over her with the bulk of his frame. “I said, fly.” Andy poked a finger in his chest. “Thoughts on how?” She licked her finger and held it up to the breeze. “The wind seems right; now, if only I could find me some superpowers lying around that nobody wants anymore. I can’t fly, you fuckwit.” Shit, she’d called him a name. For sure she was eating grits for dinner tonight when his report got back to the powers that be. But enough already. She couldn’t fly. “I think you’re full of shit, Greer. Now do it.” Her brow furrowed. “Why are you always yelling? I think it’s because your mother didn’t cut the crusts off your sandwiches as a child, and no.” The hard planes of his cheeks infused with color. “Don’t bullshit me, Greer. Move it.” “I said, I. Can’t. Fly!” Though she refused to show it, nervous would be a word she wouldn’t use lightly here. He was kinda scaring her, sticking his big chest out and sorta clenching his teeth. “Don’t think you’ve conned me the way you have The Collector.” He took a step closer, so close in fact, she had to arch her neck to look up at him. Over his shoulder she saw her fellow unwillings panic-stricken faces. So maybe she should panic too? “I haven’t conned anyone. Are you batshit? Have you seen my test scores? They suck.” “Fly, Greer.” She bit her bottom lip to keep it from trembling, shoving a shaky hand through her windblown hair. The look in The Falcon’s eyes was giving her cause to freak. What would he do if she couldn’t fly? Push her off? Oh, shit. Would he push her off? “I-I said, I c-can’t.” “You will.”

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Fear rose to clutch at her throat. His icy blue eyes held just a touch of crazy. Scratch that, they held a lot of crazy and he was obviously into proving some point. “I can’t fly.” Oh, now that’d come out much shakier than she’d hoped it would. What a pussy she must sound like for all her screaming. Clearly, he’d reached his final level of irritation. “Fllyyyyyyyyyyy!” he bellowed, roaring the word into her face. And that was it. Whatever it was, lack of sleep, fear, his badgering her like he was the guy from an

Officer and a Gentleman, the fact that she had nowhere to go from here and it was clear her fellow unwillings were too rooted to the spot with terror to help was what made her finally give in to her growing hysteria. “Okay, you wanna see flying, you bully -- just you watch this. I sure hope you’ve saved some crime-fighting sheckles for the lawsuit I’m going to slap on you when I break every bone in my body.” “Flyyyyyyyyyyy!” Hookay, so he didn’t care about his retirement fund and well, right now, she didn’t care what it took to get away from him. Andy peered over the edge of the roof. Okay, if one were to assess in feet how far she’d fall, it was probably no more than twenty-five feet down. Wait, maybe that was a hundred. What the fuck did she know? Math had never been her thing -- shoes -- shoes were her thing, and she’d only said that until she thought her lips would fall off. How could she wear her Choos if she had casts on both legs? The Falcon stuck his face in hers, narrowing his gaze, glacial and angry. “I. Said. Flyyyyyyyyyy.” He had.

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And not nearly in the screeching tone he’d used but moments ago. It was more the eerie, calm kind of order serial killers probably used before they demanded something from their victims. So she hurled herself over the edge of the building -- the tips of her toes first. She sorta heard the screams from Bruce, Franklin and Terri -- all slow motion-like, and just before she closed her eyes tight, she saw Franklin do the same. Probably hoping he was making himself invisible, thus avoiding this mess. But then she saw nothing because she’d closed her eyes so tight, not even Franklin’s laser balls could open them. And with a thwack, she hit something hard, but it didn’t feel like pavement. Which had to be good, considering she’d just done the dumbest thing on the face of the planet. But that’ll learn ’em for always pushing a person to the brink of insanity. “Jesus Christ, Andy! Are you crazy?” Clarke yelled in her ear, throwing her over his shoulder and landing on the ground with a grunt. He slid her down his body to stand her on her wobbling feet. Andy looked up to see Terri with relief written all over her face. “Are you okay?” she shouted, fighting the wind. Andy gave her the thumbs up. She looked up at Clarke. “You can fly too?” “I told you I could fly before. Not well, and only if I have a running start, but well enough if I have to in an emergency. Terri must have manipulated time or I’d have never caught you.” “What can’t you do?” “Keep you out of trouble. What happened?” Tears formed in her eyes. Tears she fought like a wildcat, but they ran down her face anyway. “I think I’m just way tired. Like beyond tired and well into exhaustion. The Falcon was yelling at me, ya know, the push, push, push until you admit you did something heinous

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because you’d sell your uterus just to get away from the people interrogating you? So I did what he said.” His jaw clenched, leaving behind a small tic. “What did he say?” Her voice was meek. “Fly…” “Okay,” he said with finality. “He has to die. You go back to your room and rest. I’ll come find you later.” “But --” “No buts. Go.” His command was sharp, his face angry and hard. So she went.

***** Three hours later, Andy was still pacing the floor when Clarke knocked on her door. His eyes held several emotions when they met hers, one of which she was sure was anger. Andy threw her arms around his neck and hugged him hard. “Please say you didn’t like beat up Falcon Man. I don’t want you to get into trouble for fraternization.” She clung to his neck as he walked her to the bed, and set her down it in his lap. “I never got that far -- though you can bet your pretty ass he’s fucked when I finish my report. But I do have some news I’m pretty sure will please the Jimmy Choos right off you.” Andy let her head fall against his shoulder and smiled. He’d heard her plea for just one more chance to wear her favorite shoes. She sighed. How sweet. “Have I inherited a super mobile? Did I place first in my class for student with absolutely no potential? Like, do I get a trophy or something?” “No, Andy. You’re dismissed.” She leaned back to look into his eyes. “Like, I don’t have to do this anymore? No more trying to make me spit nickels out of my nose or classes that make my thighs feel like they’ll explode?”

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Clarke’s eyes were somber, holding what she hoped was a hint of sadness for her departure. “Yeah. You can go home.” Excitement welled in the pit of her belly. “Tonight?” “As soon as you can gather your things.” “Whoooo hooooo!” she yelped. “Omigod, I can’t wait to see my clothes and my shoes and my -- my fish!” “About your fish…” Andy cast suspicious eyes at him. “You forgot to send someone to feed the fish, didn’t you?” “Er, yeah.” His grip tightened on her waist. “But the good news is your old job’s waiting for you. Not to mention the compensation you’ll receive for attending AAAAH.” “I told you guys over and over I wasn’t The Impersonator’s daughter, didn’t I?” “Um, honey?” “What?” she asked. Her excitement was tinged with a bit of sadness because she had to leave the other unwillings, making it hard for her to sit still. And Clarke. She’d have to leave Clarke. That meant no more rendezvous by the elevator shaft. “You are The Impersonator’s daughter.” Now she was irritated. “Didn’t I just prove that’s impossible after crime-fighting boot camp turned nothing up but my ability to create trouble?” Clarke held out a hand to her. “Put your hand in mine and listen closely. Don’t say a word until it’s over, okay?” She obliged, letting his large hand envelope her smaller one and smiling because first, it was a nice hand and second, she’d get to tell him she’d been right. Nah-nah-nah-nah-nah-

nah. “This is me being quiet.” His eyes told her he was serious and she owed him her ear, if nothing else.

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“Okay, long story short and some serious backtracking and investigation. I couldn’t figure out why you kept denying it, unless The Impersonator, being virtually impossible to find these days, had sworn your mother and you to secrecy. But your dad Morris didn’t fit the puzzle. While The Impersonator has never been seen in his true form by anyone but Octavian, and even that’s questionable -- he and Octavian did a string of busts together over thirty years ago. Octavian knows him and his abilities. He’s seen it first hand.” Andy gulped, but remained silent. “We have The Impersonator’s DNA on file and it matches yours.” Hookay, she couldn’t stay quiet anymore. “But that imposs --” Clarke placed a finger against her lips. “No, honey, it really isn’t. Here’s what happened. Octavian and your biological father did a series of busts in the area your parents lived in just under a year before you were born. Because The Impersonator is so good at what he does, not only can he replicate others, he can see what goes on in their heads. He met your mother after a haircut and according to Octavian, it was the strangest haircut he said he’d ever had because the hairdresser talked to him like she knew him personally -- even kissed him on the cheek and whispered she’d see him later. At the time, she’d only been at the salon for a week, but she worked for a real jerk, and the guy who owned the salon was always worried if hairdressers’ family members came in, they’d get freebies. So she talked about pretty ordinary things, but she mentioned them like he knew what she was talking about. So The Impersonator played along, thinking maybe she was a part of this operation in some covert way. A plant from AAAAH or something.” Andy gasped. Omigod, he was going to tell her her mother had cheated on her father -she just knew it. Fuck and fuck. “No, it’s not what you’re thinking. Just listen. Anyway, because your mother -- Edna, right?” Andy nodded.

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“Because your mother Edna behaved as if she knew him, The Impersonator grew skeptical. When AAAAH had no info on her, she became a suspect of sorts on the operation and he followed her home one afternoon. Basically, when she answered the door, she, well, she kinda hurled herself at him. Had her way with him, but never spoke a word.” Andy’s response was shaky. “So you’re telling me my mother was some kind of floozy? That she wonked The Impersonator behind my dad’s back?” Clarke’s face held sympathy and concern. “This is the crazy part. Not intentionally or at least not knowing he was The Impersonator. What happened is this -- The Impersonator saw the images of your father in your mother’s mind, not knowing it was her husband until just as he was leaving their apartment and saw one picture of them together at some party. Sometimes he was just too damned good at what he did and when he changed form, he didn’t even realize it. He was pretty smitten with your mother and he thought he was replicating the man of her dreams -- what he saw in her head when she daydreamed -- but what he didn’t know was the man of her dreams already existed. Morris Greer.” “But that makes no sense, Clarke. He went into the salon looking like someone else -not like my father, right?” “Yeah, he did, but your mother was in the back checking on someone else when he arrived. The Impersonator saw her picture hanging up on her station mirror and was instantly attracted to her. He watched her tend to another customer and somehow, inadvertently picked up your father’s image from her head.” Holy fucksticks. She was The Impersonator’s daughter. “And you have more proof than just some story?” “Your DNA matches, honey.” Her lungs deflated. There was no reason for him to lie. They were letting her go home and apparently, she really had missed the superpower boat -- so they had no use for her at AAAAH. “Why didn’t he ever try to see me? Come find me?”

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“Well, guilt plays a large part of that. He’d helped someone break their marriage vows because he didn’t think before he did something he couldn’t take back. He let his desire for your mother get in the way of the operation. And anyway, I guess it would have been pretty tough to tell your parents a story like that, huh? To just show up at their door and tell them, ‘Hey, Andy’s mine, not yours.’ That’s harsh, Andy. He didn’t want to harm you or your family. You were loved; that was all that mattered to him. His lifestyle wouldn’t have accommodated raising a child anyway.” “So where is he now?” “No one knows and I’m sorry I don’t have anything more for you than that. No one but Octavian’s ever even seen his true form.” “And we’re relying on Octavian’s word? How did he even know my parents had a child?” “The Impersonator kept track because he really did like your mother. I won’t get into the details, partly because I don’t know them and partly because I understand they’re rather personal. Anyway, when The Impersonator heard we were locating all offspring of crime fighters because of Mind Control Man’s son, he knew of your whereabouts and gave us the head’s up.” “So he just gave me up? If he knew where I was, he knew I wasn’t doing anything remotely superpower-like but selling shoes. Didn’t he care that I’d be caught up in something I knew nothing about? That I might be hurt by this information?” Clarke shook his head. His smile was apologetic. “The crime fighter mentality is always going to put the public’s safety before anything else. You might be his daughter, but he’d give you up in a heartbeat if you created any kind of trouble. That’s just the crime fighter’s way. It’s not always easy to live with that kind of unforgiving moral code. And he really couldn’t be 100 percent sure you didn’t inherit something from him. That’s where we came in.”

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“And this DNA? No one’s ever taken my blood without me knowing about it. I don’t get it.” Again, Clarke’s face was filled with apology. “When we located you, we obtained hair samples from your brush in your apartment to backup his story.” “Stole hair samples is more like it.” Clarke’s look was apologetic. “Yeah. But it was for the --” “Greater good, I know.” Clarke remained quiet, obviously letting her digest what he’d just divulged. Finally he asked, “You okay?” Well, what was okay? To find out you were the child of some big-assed, legendary crime fighter was a lot. “Morris is still my dad,” she said with a whisper. “You’ll get no argument from me. He raised you, loved you, and from all reports, he was --is -- a great father.” “The best,” she murmured. Clarke’s hands smoothed circles over her back, soothing the tension between her shoulder blades. “You wanna talk about it? Or let it be for a little bit.” Her sigh was shaky. “I think I’d really like to go home, if that’s okay. I need a little time to think about this. It doesn’t change much. I’ve never met The Impersonator, but my dad is still my dad.” He kissed the top of her head. “No doubt. How about I help you get your stuff together and I take you home? I’ll come back later tonight just in case you want to talk. How’s that?” Andy’s heart warmed. When he wasn’t being all Collector-like, he was all right. “Will you bring grilled cheese?” His chuckle made her smile. “I’ll bring whatever you want.” Andy wiggled her eyebrows at him. “It’s like that, huh?”

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Clarke kissed the tip of her nose and pulled her up from the bed with a grin. “That’s just how I roll.” Andy curled into him and traced circles over his hard chest, letting her head rest against the warmth he emanated. The need to touch something real that was right in front of her rose and swelled in her chest. Her hands roamed over his back to knead the firm muscle with seductive, needy fingers. Clarke clearly recognized it, slipping a finger under her chin to tilt her head upward. “I think you’re in shock, my Shoe Princess, and I’m not saying what those hands of yours are doing isn’t something I’d love to get into, but maybe you should allow yourself a little time to digest what I told you.” He kissed the tip of her nose with gentle lips. Andy shook her head. She needed contact -- close contact with what was real. With something right in front of her. “No. I think I just need to be with you.” Smoothing back her hair, Clarke smiled. “Sometimes, when something this life-altering happens, a person tends to react either one way or the other. Some people withdraw and just want to be left alone and some reach out.” A whisper of a smile flitted across her lips. “Then consider me reaching out.” She needed this. She needed something solid to hold on to in this whirlwind of ancestral information. “So stop with the crime fighter psycho babble and do me.” Standing on her tiptoes, she pressed her lips against his, burrowing against his sharply angled frame. The rigid line of his cock was enough proof that while Clarke was trying to be sensitive, he wasn’t immune to her desire and that made her heart ache all the more. “Do you think you can fit me in between your next class and getting your smack-down on with The Falcon?” Clarke walked her backward to her tiny cot, pressing her knees against the mattress until they bent and she fell back with an easy whoosh. He settled on top of her and unzipped the nylon material covering her entire body. His fingers found her bra and pushed it away to

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rest his lips near her tightly beaded nipple. “I think we can manage,” he said, smiling, before his lips wrapped around the bud, sucking it with a deep pull. Andy bucked beneath him, cradling his head to her chest, threading her fingers through his short hair, lifting upward when he raked his hot tongue over her nipple. Small pinpoints of electricity bolted to her cunt, making her squirm with impatience. Clarke’s hands shoved at her nylon suit, dragged it over her shoulders, unhooked the front of her bra with deft fingers. She sat up on her elbows and struggled out of her suit as he slid down her body to rest at her feet and began to unlace her boots. When he rose before her and tossed aside his clothing, Andy’s breath caught in her throat at the sight. He was lightly bronzed, deeply muscled, and gloriously perfect. Clarke’s eyes caught hers just before he took a thigh in each hand and slid her to the end of the bed, then raised her legs straight in the air. Andy’s gasp came out with a sharp rasp as she clung to the edge of her narrow mattress, waiting. He slung her legs over each of his broad shoulders and pulled her body as close as he could to his. The tops of his thighs brushed her ass, his balls caressing her skin, making her pussy clench with a sharp sting of heat. Andy wanted him to drive into her, consume her in that very moment, absorb her with his skilled hands and cock. Yet Clarke had other ideas. He dragged a finger through her pussy, using the moisture he gathered to sear a path of flames to her clit. Andy sucked in her breath when he teased the swollen nub, stroking it to life. Her toes curled and her nipples tightened almost painfully. Clarke’s groan of pleasure was slow, husky when her hips lifted to seek more of his finger. The head of his cock, slick with precum, rested against her passage, taunting her until she writhed with sharp pricks of white-hot need.

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When he hiked her upward, sliding his hands beneath her ass, Andy held her breath in anticipation, letting the lower half of her body relax against his fingers. His broad hands held her suspended while he kneaded her shaking flesh, his eyes drinking in her slick pussy and hardened nipples. His lean body gyrated against hers, his ruddy skin dusky against her fairer flesh. His rippled abs strained, glistening with sweat; the veins in his forearms pulsed from holding her so still. Her neck arched as she lifted her hips up in offering, begging him to take her, twisting the sheets between her fingers to keep from crying out. He smiled then, a smile that was slow, seductive, revealing his intent to drive her insane. His lips pressed against her calves, raining moist kisses along the length of them while his shaft teased her, slipping between her wet folds to slide against her clit. The first plunge of Clarke’s cock, slick and hard, took her breath away, searing her from the inside out, filling her to capacity. The jolt of flesh meeting flesh made her heart throb, her cunt ache as it pulsed around Clarke’s cock. His hands wound around her thighs, gripping them, levering his body so he could bury himself balls deep in her. Pangs of agonizing heat twisted in her stomach as he thrust into her, slow, easy, gliding with a skill she’d never experienced before him. Andy let go of the sheet, sliding as far down as she could to accept each stroke with greedy, wanton desire. Her hands went to his, clutching them white-knuckled as the force of Clarke’s thrusts increased in tempo. Sweat glistened on his brow, tiny beads of concentrated effort. The cords of muscle in his neck pulsed, the slap of wet, hungry flesh clung to her ears, carnal and deliciously erotic. Her lips grew dry, her clit swelled just as Clarke ran a hand down along her leg to spread the lips of her pussy and thumb the aching nub. Andy let her fingers slide along her abdomen until they entwined with his, luxuriating in the wet pleasure he brought. From just beneath

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her lashes, she allowed herself the decadence of watching him touch her, take her so thoroughly, and it was more than she could bear. Her orgasm began to swell, leaving her thighs weak, but she strained upward with the little energy she had left, arching her back until his cock became so embedded in her they were one entity. Clarke swelled in her, the rise of his cock in her thick and hot. “Come, baby. Come with me.” He almost snarled the demand between teeth that clamped down hard. The light wisp of climax that had begun but seconds ago deepened, dragging her to fulfillment. The staccato rhythm of their hips crashing against each other’s signaled Clarke was riding the edge, so Andy let go with a husky cry. Her head rolled from side to side, her eyes rolled to the back of her head as her climax tore through her while Clarke let go too and drove one final, sinful thrust upward. Andy’s chest heaved, her breasts full and aching. Her stomach clenched tight when the wave hit her with sweet abandon and she ground against him, pushing the tiny explosions of electricity until they burst into a final flame, sending her shooting into a black vortex of pleasure. A multitude of colors floated beneath her clenched eyelids as she stretched upward one last time, accepting the slowing of Clarke’s cock. Her muscles tensed, then let go like arrows from a bowstring, boneless and weary, making her legs fall away from his shoulders. Her hands found the tops of his shoulders, and she pulled him down to lie on top of her. Their breathing shuddered in each other’s ears while she clung to his still hot flesh pressed against her own. “I guess the reaching out thing has its bennies, huh?” he joked. She chuckled, snuggling against his neck. “I’ll say.” “You gonna be okay for a few hours while I finish up my day?” “Does finishing up include wiping the floor with Falcon Man? It wouldn’t really be a fair fight, seeing as you have super human strength and all he can do is fly, now, would it?”

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“If you’re totally against it, I promise not to lay a finger on him. He’s a loose cannon here at AAAAH. Being tough on the unwillings is one thing; brutalizing them, bullying them into something that could get them killed just to prove a point, is totally another -- especially if that unwilling is you.” His smile was warm when he lifted his head to look down at her. “He can be pretty radical, but I say you let him live. However, I’m not opposed to tattling on him so he won’t do it to someone else who’s even stupider than me. I don’t know what made me jump. He just made me feel so cornered and I’m so tired from all this training, my brain cells stopped reproduction and flight or fight took over. Fight sooooo not being an option with Falcon Man. He’s heinous big.” “I do promise you this, he’ll be reported. Now, Ms. Greer, if I don’t get my ass in gear, I’ll miss my class, but I promise I’ll be by tonight. So for the last time, this info I just passed on was big -- are you going to just digest it and let it be, or do something rash like break Octavian’s toys?” Andy chuckled. “I promise, I’m going home and assimilating. No rash. Okay?” He wiped a large hand over her brow then kissed the tip of her nose. “Okay. Now, get your stuff and I’ll meet you at your apartment tonight. We’ll talk then.” Andy slid from beneath him, her body pleasantly sore. She rose and stretched, then leaned over him and planted one last kiss on his lips, followed by a warning. “Do not forget that grilled cheese, mister. I’ve been traumatized and there’s no telling how many grilled cheese sandwiches it’ll take to bring me back from this dark hole of despair.” Clarke threw his head back and laughed as he slide off the bed too and pulled her into his arms. “I promise not to forget. Not even if the world is coming to an end.”

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Chapter Nine They say repetition is Hell

When the doorbell rang, she’d had some time to give this whole Impersonator thing a lot of thought while she’d settled back into her apartment. As she’d sat in her closet of shoes, trying to pick out just the right pair to wear for her date with Clarke, Andy decided there wasn’t a whole lot to say. No one ever saw The Impersonator, and while he might be her biological father, she hadn’t inherited a thing from him. She’d also decided she was grateful for that. His superpowers were too kooky to be believed and so not something she wanted hanging over her head. However, if she hadn’t been The Impersonator’s daughter, she’d have never met Clarke, who she was really, really getting a good ga-ga over. And he was bringing her grilled cheese. Her toes twitched and her thoughts strayed. Hot, hot, hot. Andy popped open the door without looking up, her insides turning to goo because Clarke was here on her turf. “I hope the bread isn’t soggy on that sandwich because if you put it in tin foil to keep it warm, the bread gets icky. And we can’t have icky bread --”

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She never had the chance to finish her sentence. She did, however, see stars, maybe a flashing light or two, and definitely many, many colors of the rainbow.

***** For fuck’s sake, she’d really had enough. Couldn’t anyone knock on her door and just ask her to go with them politely? Noooooo. It had to be this big to-do where she, not to mention her clothes ended up torched and tattered. And as if that weren’t enough, they were always toting big, freaky deaky guns. And she’d bet she was tied up. She couldn’t tell right now because her head pounded with the beat of a bongo and she was mostly numb from head to toe. Did everyone seem to think she was so wild and unruly she needed restraints? “Ms. Greer?” “Before you, who-ever-the-fuck you are, say anything, first, why all the laser tag shit? Maybe if you’d asked nicely I’d have gone willingly. Second, I’d bet a limb I’m tied up. So if that’s true, a heads up would be nice, thank you.” “Heads up,” a low, gravelly, sort of familiar voice said. God, where had she heard that voice? “Am I back at AAAAH again? Jesus effin’. What

is it with you people? Did you find out I’m not only The Impersonator’s daughter, but maybe Mind Meld Man’s sixth cousin removed and you forgot to test to see if I could Vulcan out?” The surprise in his question was clear. “You’re The Impersonator’s daughter?” God, she was so over this. Why couldn’t everyone else be? “Well, yeah, but you fuckwits already knew that. So why am I back here again? Did someone screw up my paperwork? And where’s Clarke? If you haven’t talked to him yet, get on it and he’ll clear this up.” “Ahhh, Clarke.”

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“Yeah, Clarke. So hurry up and go find him, huh?” “Open your eyes, Ms. Greer.” Why did that sound so familiar? Not just that statement but the tone of it. “Um, no.” Fingers, rough and thick, pried her left eye open. Seeing who’d opened her eye made it tear up. Oh. Hell. Every day was like a fucking holiday with these super people. Andy shook his finger off by thrashing her head, then closed her eyes once more. “I told you I didn’t want to open my eyes and with good reason, don’t you agree? I mean, really, can you blame me?” He leaned into her, letting his lips graze her cheek. “Not at all, Ms. Greer.” A slimy chill coursed at the speed of light along her spine, but finding her calm was essential -- especially seeing as she was dealing with a flippin’ nut. “Okay, so why am I here and what do you think I can do for you? Because I gotta tell ya, I was ousted from AAAAH for lack of super abilities due to my pathetic inability to graciously accept super genes via hereditary means. I’m all outta love here.” Andy heard the rustle of his crisp uniform as he leaned in even closer. His hot breath, not unpleasant, fanned her already flushed cheeks. “You’re here because it’s time my son came home and stopped playing crime fighter. He belongs with me and then we’ll rule the world -- together. With all the information he’s gathered from his years at AAAAH, and when I’m done plucking it from that genius brain of his, we’ll own the planet.” Andy tried to assimilate that information. Oh, no fucking way. “Wait, are you, like, my grandfather or some crazy shit? Am I here as bait for The Impersonator? Because if that’s the case, good luck with that, dude. No one’s seen him in forevah. So I say we unchain me and let me go home to live my mild-mannered, very boring life as head of ladies footwear.”

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From one squinted eye, she watched him tip his head back and howl with laughter. “No, no, no. I’m not your grandfather. I’m Clarke’s father.” Oh, that totally deserved a gasp, but she fought it, pretending it was no big thang, but it also explained why his voice sounded familiar. Talk your way out of this now, fret over this

latest information later. The last thing she needed him to know was she was Clarke’s squeeze. His chuckle was laced with sinister glee. “You’re here to lure Clarke to me. Not The Impersonator. He’s a dried up hack.” Wee doggies. So, cover blown. But it wouldn’t hurt to at least try and throw him off the trail. “What does Clarke have to do with me? He’s a big-assed bully. He’s done you proud, Mastermind.” Holy shit. Mastermind, the most heinous super villain, like, ever, had her chained to a pole. Upside down, no less. Her head began to increase the tempo of its throbbing when she finally realized the reason it pounded was because she was upside down. He trailed a finger down her nose, his face taut and lean, his eyes piercing and black. “Oh, that’s rich, Ms. Greer. I know all about you and Clarke. You can save the denials for someone else.” She scrunched her eyes closed again. Tee-rrific. Now what? Sell, sell, sell. “You know what? He’s just not that into me. I swear to God. If you’ll just unhinge me or at the very least, turn me right side up so my head stops feeling like it’s going to explode, I’ll explain.” She opened her eyes to see he’d seated himself just below her, his black olive eyes glittering with a special kind of crazy reserved for, well, for wing nuts like the Mastermind. Jesus Christ on a cracker, she was in the Mastermind’s mansion. Of all the things. This place was like a fortress and here she was just hanging around in a joint she’d only read about in the papers.

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“What kind of super villain would I be if I just let you go, Ms. Greer? Clarke belongs here with me. Not with that do-gooder Octavian.” Now there was a question. Clarke had said he’d been raised by Octavian. Why was that? “Well, maybe if you’d been a better father he would be here with you. What kind of father names his kid Clarke Khent, anyway?” His laugh was littered with menace. “The kind who owed the caped one a good slap in the head so he’d know who the real genius was.” “Nice. That’s some nice parenting skills ya got there. What the hell does that mean?” His chiseled cheekbones became more prominent when he sucked them in with irritation. “It means the caped one couldn’t sire children back in the day. It was my way of mocking his very existence. They make movies about him. Me? Nothing. I’m a damned genius and not a single, solitary nod for it. No comic strips -- no television series -- nothin’.” He shrugged his shoulders, the tight rayon of his jumpsuit straining against his lean muscles. “Ahhh, so it was a “fuck you’ of sorts.” Mastermind winked. “You got it.” “Well, there’s your answer in a nutshell. You deserved to lose Clarke to Octavian for being spiteful.” Wrapping his hand around a length of her hair that hung helplessly to the floor, he yanked it. Like, hard. She bit back a scream. “Clarke’s mine, you useless bitch, and he’ll come for you, of that you can be assured. If he wants to keep you alive, he’ll stay.” He yanked again for good measure, banging the back of her head against the pole. Crap, for all the kvetching she’d done about not having any superpowers, they sure would help now. On the other hand, a concussion would not. She clenched her teeth clenched, fighting the nausea forming in the pit of her belly. “Okay, okay. I have another question.” “I have all the time in the world. At least until Clarke shows up. Fire away.”

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“Who’s Clarke’s mother and what’s she got to say about this kind of behavior? If I were your wife, you’d be in deep kimchee with me, partner.” He smiled again, his goatee lifting when his grin widened. “Clarke has no mother.” Yeah. “So he was the Immaculate Conception?” “He was an experiment.” Andy’s heart ached. She didn’t want to know the how or why of Clarke’s existence. Only that Clarke had clearly begun his life with a fucking loon and no mother. How dismal. And how was she supposed to warn him? What good was she chained to a pole? “How did Octavian get him if you’re his father?” “He didn’t ‘get’ him, Ms. Greer. Clarke ran away when he was nine.” She snorted. “And do ya suppose maybe he did that because you’re one freaky dude? What kind of example are you if you’re plotting the end of the world around a little, impressionable kid? You probably scared the shit out of him. Gave him nightmares or something.” “Clarke may lack my super villain genes, but he’s needed here now and you’re the bait that will bring him to me. I’ve waited a long time for an opportunity like this. Women came and went in his life until you.”

Until her… “How do you plan to get him to carry out your evil plan? I’m assuming there is one of those -- an evil plan?” “Oh, that’s simple, Andy. I’ll hunt you down and kill you if he doesn’t stay here. You live if he cooperates and Clarke is smart enough to know I can get to you, given proper motivation.” Hoo boy. Okay, one last ditch effort to get this freak to let her go was in order. She had to do something or Clarke would walk right into this. Because he would come. She knew he would, and even if it wasn’t because he was coming to feel as strongly as she did for him, it would be because his sense of honor wouldn’t allow him not to.

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Crap on all this integrity. She swallowed hard, ignoring the tight bonds and the pain that seeped into her bones from them. “Look, I told you once and I’ll tell you again. Clarke and I are so over. We had fun. It was a nice way to pass the time while they did those stupid evaluations on me at AAAAH, but it was just a passing fancy. He’s moved on to -- to -- Ice Cube Lady’s kid or something.” “The Freeze. Her name’s The Freeze and she has twin sons.” He tweaked her nose with a chuckle. “Andy!” someone bellowed with a harsh yell. Fuck, fuck, fuckity-fuck. Her heart slammed against her ribs, her words almost caught in her throat. Clarke. At least it looked like his thighs from where she was hanging. “Andy! Are you all right?” The pounding of his feet as he thrust himself into the room echoed in her already pounding head. No, she wasn’t fucking all right. Jesus, what kind of question was that? She was hanging upside down while the blood rushed to her brain, chained to a God damned pole. There’s your all right…but she thanked God he was here anyway. He’d have a plan. Didn’t all crime fighters have a plan? “Clarke? I think we need to talk, pumpkin.” Hauling Mastermind up from the floor by the front of his jumpsuit, Clarke threw him against the far wall, capturing him there by wrapping his hand around his throat. “Let her go,” he gritted out. Mastermind’s eyes narrowed, his smile wide and eerie from her upside down position. “The girl can leave unharmed if you stay here with me” -- he paused for a moment, then on a harsh intake of breath he finished with -- “forever!” Oh, the drama. Clarke suddenly backed away and shoved his father with a rough jolt. “Fine.”

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Fine? Fine? What the fuck was this fine? This was so not fine. Her voice strained, her chest throbbed against the chain that held her in place, but no way was she going to let him sacrifice anything for her. Even if it was flattering as all hell. God, he was dreeeaamy. Finally she sputtered her thoughts. “Whoa. Hold on there. Don’t be so impulsive. You’re just going to up and dump Octavian and all those cyborgs to save me? Me? Helllloooooo. What happened to the greater good?” Clarke began to pop the chains that held her firmly to the pole, not with his super human strength, but with some kind of gadget. What. The. Fuck? “Just be quiet, Andy. Do what I tell you to do.” His arms wrapped around her torso to keep her from slipping to the floor; then he scooped her upright, allowing her a moment to cling to him and shake off the dizzying head rush. Letting her cheek rest for a moment on his shoulder, she whispered, “You have a plan, right? Because I don’t have a fucking plan and if you really think I’m going to let you stay here because of me, you got another think coming. Don’t make me hurl myself off a building to keep this from happening. You know I got it in me.” Clarke lifted her chin, his eyes sending the oddest vibe, the line of his mouth grim, but determined. “If you’ll just be quiet, everything will be okay. I promise. Just follow my lead.” Okay, he did have a plan. Phew. Andy nodded her head, letting him rub life back into her wrists, still cold and limp from being chained together. She said, “Okay,” but something just wasn’t right about this. What his plan entailed, superpower-less to figure it out as she was, escaped her. “Go, honey. Go now. And you” -- he turned to Mastermind -- “if you ever harm a single hair on her head I’ll kill you -- that’s the deal. Take it or leave it, Dad.” His callous tone regarding his father was obvious and meant to show him where he stood. Mastermind opened is arms wide. “Come to Papa, son.”

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Clarke gave her one last squeeze, inhaling the scent of her hair. “Go. Don’t stop for anything or anyone. There’ll be someone waiting for you outside the mansion.” That was it? He must have some kind of plan. No way would the Clarke she knew forfeit his integrity for sludge like Mastermind -- even if he was his father. She stood on tiptoe and pressed a kiss to his cheek, catching his ear. “O-okay, but remember, you owe me grilled cheese and now, I think it’s a double.” He gave her an odd look then kissed the tip of her fingers before setting her away from him. “Go!” Andy ran from the room, where one of those cyborg dudes scooped her up and threw her over his shoulder while running for the exit to the mansion. He took the long, winding steps three at a time, the hard crunch of metal leaving behind an eerie trail of sound in her ears. No sooner had their feet hit the sandy beach below than she heard the shriek of a blast. It knocked the cyborg down and her with him. They landed with a crash to the ground as a back draft of flames shot upward from the mansion. Flames, orange and blue, streaked the night sky, blowing violently with the wind. Huge explosions went off one by one, sending pieces of brick and glass upward to rain down on them. The cyborg hurled himself on top of her to protect her, but what difference did it make? Clarke was in that mess. No. No, no, no. No way anyone could have survived that. A scream for Clarke, for the relationship she’d hoped to embark on with him in a setting that didn’t include anything but everyday stuff, careened from her throat, hoarse, helpless, defeated. “We have to help him,” she cried.

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“There’s no help for him. My orders are to bring you back to AAAAH. Come with me, Ms. Greer. I promise you’ll be safe with me. Everything will be fine.” What was it with the word fine? There was nothing fucking fine about any of this! Andy clawed her way back up the sandy hill. No! Clarke was a crime fighter -- he had to be okay. She’d go find him. She might not have some crazy ability, but she wasn’t going to sit around and let her man die without at least trying to save him. Rising to her feet, she started back up the hill, dragging herself up the winding steps, fighting the intense waves of acrid heat. But the cyborg dragged her back down. “Please, Ms. Greer, don’t make me do this.” “Get off of me, you weapons freak!” she screamed, twisting her body to escape him. “Clarke’s in there. I have to try and get him out!” Andy kicked at him, clawing at his shoulders like some kind of wild animal had possessed her, but he was so much stronger. He grabbed her by the waist and dragged her over the rough stone, shredding her top as he went. He pressed a button at his wide-belted waist and they shot off into the night, rising almost above the clouds. Andy shuddered, knowing it was unwise to struggle now or she might fall to her death. Stars passed her head as they whooshed through the inky black of the night, and it was only then she allowed herself to sob. Fat, salty tears streamed down her face, disappearing into the rushing night sky.

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Chapter Ten I cannnnn’t heeeaaarrr you

“Andy?” “Hmmm?” “Wake up.” She groaned. Every inch of her body protested the request. Not only did she ache, but she felt groggy and disoriented. She could hear the demands made of her, but they were sort of warbled and distant. “No.” “C’mon, honey. I brought you something.” She felt a nudge to her side as someone sat next to her. Her fingers felt around beside her and realized they were touching sheets that were soft. Not the harsh sheets she’d slept on at AAAAH. Nice. Very nice. However, wherever she was, no matter how comfortable, it wasn’t going to take away the ache in her chest over losing Clarke. Wouldn’t it figure that just when she was this close to nailing a guy, maybe for life, he had to go off and get jacked up by some creepy villain? Taking Franklin’s approach to life was beginning to hold appeal. If she just kept her eyes closed, no one could see her, and therefore, no one could remind her of what had happened back at that crazy bastard’s crib.

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“Andy?” “What?” “What is it with you and not opening your eyes?” “I think it’s self-explanatory. Every time I open my eyes, something either really shitty or really sad happens. Or I lose more clothing.” “But if you don’t open your eyes you can’t see the surprise I brought.” “If it’s not a new bathrobe, a facial, or Clarke, then I don’t want whatever it is that you have. Now go away. I just want to sleep.” Lips, firm but gentle, pressed to hers, coaxing her to accept their warmth. Huh. They were nice lips. “But it is me, Andy. Open your eyes and focus. I think the atmospheric pressure got to you on the flight back.” “Identify ‘me’.” Andy allowed herself to mentally drift. Wherever she was, it was fly and she didn’t want to leave. Strong fingers weaved through her hair. “It’s Clarke, Andy.” A sob caught in her throat. “Clarke’s dead. I saw it happen. So whoever you are, keep your lips to yourself and go away.” Arms, strong and hard, encircled her body, hauling her upright, and a chin nuzzled her neck. “I didn’t die, honey. That was The Impersonator.” Andy let herself slump backward, hanging onto a very lean forearm. “I don’t believe you. It was Clarke. I saw him with my own eyes. I’d know Clarke and it was Clarke.” Except for that odd expression in his eyes just before she’d fled Mastermind’s mansion. That hadn’t seemed much like Clarke, but hindsight said it was probably the confusion and urgency of the situation.

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“You don’t know Clarke as well as you think because it wasn’t Clarke. I’m Clarke. So the guy at my father’s mansion had to be someone else. Now open your eyes and look at me.” Yammer, yammer, yammer. Clarke was dead. But what could it hurt to look and see who was trying so hard to convince her he wasn’t? She lifted her hand and pried her own eye open this time. And then her mouth fell open. As weak as she felt, she threw her arms around his neck and bawled like the wussy she was. Relief, worry, fear, and all variations thereof flooded her body. She was here in his quarters at AAAAH, and he was alive. “It is you. Jesus Christ, Clarke! What the hell kind of stunt was that back there? You scared the living shit out of me. Haven’t I had enough already?” “It wasn’t a stunt. It really was The Impersonator. Somehow he got wind of what my father was going to do and got there before I did. I was on my way when I got the call from Octavian that your father was inside the mansion. Two minutes after I arrived, the place blew. For a time there it was pandemonium finding out exactly where you were. So how about you don’t do that to me again?” Andy shook her head and inhaled the scent of him against her cheek. “Like I could think up something so dastardly on my own and as if I had a choice. Dude is as taser happy as you, honeybunch. He knocked me out and tied me up. Sound familiar? You have some loon for a father, huh?” She felt his jaw harden on the top of her head and clench tight. “That I do. It’s why I ran away. When I realized -- even at nine -- that I was nothing like my father and I never would be, that his intention to turn me into some kind of monster was very real, I found out about AAAAH and ran away.”

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“Smart boy. Oh, and I already know about everything, by the way. You don’t have to explain anything to me. In fact, I’m not sure if I even want to know how you came to be. Just that you did.” “We’ll have that talk someday. I say for now you rest here with me.” She snuggled against him, but wisps of sorrow pinged at her heart. “The Impersonator’s dead and so is your father. I’m sorry.” “There was no stopping The Impersonator when he found out my father had you, and as to my own father -- I wish I could feel something one way or the other, but I just don’t.” “That’s because you have a good heart and he doesn’t have one at all. You got the shitty end of the stick when it comes to familial relations, my friend.” His chuckle vibrated against her ear. “Nah, I got to come to AAAAH, and as a result of that, I met a very unwilling you. Can’t be all bad, even if you have no superpowers.” Andy leaned back and smiled. “Well, there is that. So what’d ya bring me?” Clarke leaned over to grab something from the nightstand beside his bed. He held up a plate. Grilled cheese. “I see that pleases you,” he said with a grin. “Indeed.” She responded by grabbing a half of the sandwich and taking a bite. “So does that mean I get a check in the box for ‘handled the situation with courtesy and professionalism’?” Andy giggled and kissed his lips. “Let’s see where the night takes us before we get all crazy. There has to be some way you can make all that worry up to me.” Clarke reached for the plate and threw it to the floor, giving her a lascivious grin. “I like how you roll.” “Prove it,” she whispered with a teasing grin, tugging at his jumpsuit.

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“What is it with you and a good trauma?” Andy giggled. “I think it’s called affirming life, and after tonight I need some affirmation.” His hands caressed her back, then skimmed the underside of her breasts with his knuckles. “Honey, you’ve been through a lot today and as much of a temptation as you are, all a mental mess after an encounter with Mastermind, I think you should rest.” She kissed his lips, slipping her tongue between them to stroke his. “I can rest when I’m dead -- which, BTW, I almost was today. So maybe we should celebrate life instead.” Clarke’s body shuddered against hers, and she knew then it was because he’d feared she’d been killed in the explosion. “Point.” “So stop talking and have your way with me.” She’d already begun to shrug out of her clothing with hurried hands; then she set about pulling off Clarke’s. Her fingers on the hot, taut skin of his chest made him hiss, leaving her tingling with pleasure. Andy tweaked a nipple, rolling her hand over the flat disc, molding herself to his length. His cock burned hot between them and he groaned when her fingers encompassed his length. Clarke slid a hand between them, slipping into her ready pussy, stroking her clit as his lips consumed hers, their tongues dueling in slick, wet passes. Andy twisted her hand in an up and down motion, reveling in the hard swell of his shaft as Clarke tore his mouth from hers and skated along her neck and collarbone. When he firmly tugged a nipple with tight lips, her hips bucked upward in response to the moist tongue meeting molten flesh. He laved her nipple, bringing it to a tight peak, then drawing it into his hot mouth only to let it go and lick at it with light swipes. Her cunt wept, clenched with sweet need as he inserted a finger into it. Clarke’s short, dark hair bristled against her skin with delicious friction when he slid along her body and positioned his head between her legs.

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Andy allowed her legs to fall wide open, already anticipating the exquisite pleasure his tongue always brought. Clarke nuzzled her clit with the tip of his tongue, rasping it along her flesh with agonizing slowness. Her heart began that rapid thump she’d become familiar with and her legs instantly went around his neck, bringing his mouth as close to her pussy as she could. He suckled her, twisting his tongue along her slit, making, her whimper her delight. Climax was near, gnawing at her gut, wrenching her insides to submit. Her fingers curled into his shoulders, digging into his flesh, gripping him until the first wave of release hit her. The hot bolts of electricity promised relief, drove her to raise her hips further as Clarke licked her. The world tipped sideways, her nipples tightened; goose bumps broke out along her exposed flesh as she careened into an orgasm that rocked the core of her being. She shivered with a groan that was almost feral to her ears. Gasping for breath, she tugged him upward, rolling him to his back to straddle him. The brief glimpse she caught of him was of solid muscle, thick, waiting cock, and eyes darkening with hot need. Andy wasted no time; straddling his hips, she positioned herself over his straining cock and drove downward her hips downward. Their hiss of pleasure was simultaneous, raw, hungry. Her hands went to her breasts and tweaked her nipples, allowing the surge of power he drove into her to take her away. Away from the madness this night had been and escaping to the intense pleasure only Clarke could offer. Andy rolled her hips, undulating against him, pressing so close her clit scraped his pubic hairs with exquisite friction. Clarke drove upward, a slick, heated thrust, touching the core of her, tearing the breath from her lungs. Andy fell forward on his chest, kneading his hard pecs, moving the lower part of her body in tight circles.

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Clarke hauled her upward, capturing a nipple in his mouth while grasping her thighs, almost bruising the tender flesh, pounding into her with a force that made her cling helplessly to him. Fear, need, desperation turned into an entity Andy couldn’t control. Clarke’s hard shaft within her became her sole focus. His skin flush to hers, his lips circling her nipple, made for a heady combination. The sharp sting of pleasure didn’t warn her this time; instead it assaulted her, washing over her in a smoldering wave of endless heat. Andy came hard, and Clarke followed shortly thereafter with a husky moan of completion. His arms encircled her, arms that could create havoc given opportunity, and Andy let her head rest on his shoulder, blowing out short, raspy puffs of breath. “Wow,” she muttered against his still warm skin. “You sorta rock.” He nudged her with his shoulder and winked. “Yeah, I’m all about a woman in crisis. You really should be resting, baby.” “Does this mean I get a check in the box for ‘survived a crisis with a stiff upper lip while super-powerless’?” Clarke threw his head back and laughed. “Why, yes, Ms. Greer. I think you win hands down.” “Think there’s a shiny trophy involved?” He ran a finger along the length of her nose. “I’d have to lean toward no. However, you did get me out of this experience.” “And grilled cheese sandwiches?” she asked with a warm smile and a kiss. Clarke’s flaccid cock stiffened in her once again, stirring her desire with a slow burn for a second time. “As many rockin’ grilled cheese sandwiches as you want, Ms. Greer,” he whispered against the sigh that escaped her lips.

*****

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Two years later

“Mr. Collector?” “Mrs. Collector?” “Did you double check with Bruce to be sure he had the diaper bag with the new diapers I bought for Junior? Esteban told me about them and I promised to pack them for little Clarke’s overnight.” She’d given up her position at the shoe store when they’d had Junior, and while she sometimes missed the smell of a good Cole Haan, she loved being a full-time mom. Clarke whispered a kiss along her collarbone, cupping her breasts and thumbing her nipples as she sat astride him, his cock firmly embedded deep within her. “Honey?” “Hmmmm?” she moaned. Andy lifted her hips, letting the silken glide of his shaft scrape her clit. Gripping his shoulders, she kneaded the bulky flesh. “I did remember and I say we don’t talk right now. We don’t get chances like this often anymore.” He lifted a nipple to his mouth and circled it with his tongue, snaking it out over the pebbled flesh. He was right. As Clarke Morris grew, he demanded far more attention than Andy ever thought possible. A night alone with her husband was like the Second Coming these days. “Oooo-kayyyy,” she whimpered, sliding a hand between their bodies to caress his shaft as he plunged into her. With a sudden jerk, he pulled her upward, sliding between her legs and setting her pussy on his mouth. The sweet swipe of his tongue sent a white-hot arrow of fire to her cunt. Her fingers entwined in his hair, pulling him closer as she absorbed the feel of his lips and tongue on her hot flesh. Andy rocked back and forth, savoring the slick glide, her nipples tight and hard in reaction to his muffled groan of pleasure.

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Buried in her pussy, Clarke lapped at her, stroking her with his tongue and fingers until the rising flood of orgasm drove her hips into a frenzied dance. She came hard and heavy, gripping his head and screaming his name. It was always like this. Electric, hot, fast, and slow all at the same time. “C’mere, woman,” he said with husky tones, lifting her off him and settling her back on his still rigid cock. Her heart throbbed at the sight of him beneath her, his sharp features outlined in their candlelit room, the rugged planes of his body pliant to her touch. Andy leaned back, letting her head fall on her shoulders as Clarke drove into her, his delicious cock touching the spot inside her that made her writhe every time. Bracing a hand on his abdomen, she let his rigid flesh drag her to the edge, the sweet promise of a second climax calling to her. Clarke thumbed her clit, spreading her wet flesh and moving his finger in a circular motion. It was all Andy needed to send her spiraling out of control. The slap of their hips crashed around her, a flood of hot currents assaulting her nerve endings. She rode him hard, grinding against him until she felt him tense beneath her. His body jolted, tightening, clenching, pounding into her until he made her surrender. Orgasm was a flash of light, swift and sharp, dragging her over the edge until she could no longer let it linger, but allowed it to sweep her away. Clarke’s howl of satisfaction was greeted by a smug smile from Andy. She fell on top of him, letting her nipples graze his sculpted chest. “I love you, Mrs. Collector,” he said before kissing her jaw. “I’ll say, if that was any indication, and I love you back,” she teased. “I have something for you, honey.”

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Andy rolled away from him and circled his cock with her hand. “If you mean this, I’m all in.” “No, babe. It’s something else.” He slid from the bed in all his naked fabulousness and went to their dresser. He pulled out a note and brought it back to her with a hesitant smile. “This came for you today. To my office at AAAAH.” Andy took the paper from him and eyed him with curiosity. “What is it?” “Just read and then we’ll talk.” She glanced down at the signature. No. Way. Her eyes drank in the words with a shaky breath. She let the letter drop to their bed as Clarke got back in beside her and pulled her to him. “He’s alive,” she mumbled. Clarke smiled at her. “Yeah. It looks that way.” “How do we know it’s from The Impersonator?” “It’s been authenticated, honey. It’s from him.” “How in theeee hell did he get out of that explosion?” She shuddered just remembering it and how afraid she’d been for Clarke. For a long time she’d wondered why The Impersonator had done something so foolish. Until she’d had a child of her own, that is. Only then had she really understood the lengths she’d go to, to protect their own child. “I’m grateful to him. I wish I could tell him.” Clarke kissed her lips with a gentle mouth. “I think he knows, Andy.” “I hope so. I wouldn’t have you or Clarke Morris or anything if it weren’t for what he did that day.” Her throat clogged and she fought back tears. The Impersonator would never be her father in the cookies-and-bedtime-stories sense, but he’d definitely left an impact on her she’d never forget. Thankfully, that impact had nothing to do with having any superpowers and everything to do with an understanding of his commitment to keep evil at bay.

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The phone jingled, startling them both. Clarke looked at the caller ID. “It’s Bruce.” His face held concern and it touched Andy’s heart. He was everything his father hadn’t been and more. He loved Clarke Morris with everything he had. Andy rubbed his arm. “It’s probably nothing, honey. Here, I’ll answer it.” She took the phone from him and pressed “talk.” “Hey, Bruce, what’s up?” “Um, listen, you two overachievers need to get over here and get over here now.” He sounded distracted and on the verge of hysteria. She could hear Esteban in the background, shouting. Andy’s heart began to slam against her ribs. “What? What’s wrong?” “You know, it just wasn’t enough that you bagged the hottest, most well-superpowerequipped guy at AAAAH, was it? You had to spawn with him too, didn’t you, and now look.” She gripped the phone to her ear as she slipped from the bed and reached for her jeans. “Bruce, what the hell is going on?” Clarke was right beside her, handing her clothes with one hand and jamming his legs into his jeans with the other. “Have you checked Junior’s superpowers lately?” Andy held up a hand to Clarke to stop his forward motion for a moment. “Huh?” “I told him, Andy. When Uncle Brucie says no, it’s no. He doesn’t like the word no. Isn’t it enough that he can pick me up, which is no easy two hundred and fifty pound feat, but that he can also reverse polarize and now --” There was a rustle of sound and then, “Junior! You put Uncle Esteban down right this second. Right now or you’ll hurt him! No waaaiiiiiiiiiiittt!” Bruce shouted. “Don’t look away or Uncle Esteban will have the boo-boo of the millennium. That’s it, Junior, focus on Uncle Esteban -- don’t let him -- faaaaallllllll!” A resounding crash echoed in her earpiece and then a dial tone.

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Andy grinned, looking at Clarke with affection. Ahh, the spawn of The Collector was a mighty thing. “Um, honey? I think we have a triple threat on our hands.” “Oh. Shit,” Clarke said with a grin. “What now? Can he freeze stuff at a hundred paces? Hell, is he lasering Esteban?” Andy wrapped her arms around his neck. “Um, I think we’d better arrange for him to attend ‘Telekinesis: Mind Moving Matter’ as soon as possible and I think we’d better get to Bruce and Esteban’s pronto. You know I can’t control Junior when he gets going.” “Jesus, he’s only thirteen months old. We have some serious cultivation coming our way.” She kissed his jaw as she laughed. “Uh, no. You have some serious cultivation. I can’t help you there. I’m superpowerless.” Thank Christ. His eyes held hers. “Do you regret marrying me and my superpowers?” “Now, Mr. Collector. Do I look like a girl who regrets marrying you?” She gave him a coy smile. “Besides, it’s a little late for regrets. Wanna know why?” “Because I’d hunt you down and kill you like so much prey if you thought about leaving me?” he teased. She poked a finger into his chest with a smile. “Nah. I’m not afraid of you, buddy, but I think I just might evoke fear in your heart when I tell you what I found out today.” His look was skeptical. “So ya wanna know?” “Why do I feel like I have no choice?” Andy laughed. “Because you don’t, Daddy.” He cocked his head in question.

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Andy wriggled out of his embrace. “C’mon, honey. Let’s go get The Terminator Two and I’ll tell you all about the twins we’re going to have in seven and a half months…” Her heart contracted. Clarke’s face, surprised, happy, overwhelmed said it all. That alone beat a pair of Cole Haans any day of the week.

Dakota Cassidy Dakota Cassidy lives for a good laugh in life and in her writing. In fact, she almost loves a good giggle as much as she loves hair products and that’s saying something. Her goals in life are simple, (like really simple): banish the color yellow forever, create world peace via hot rollers and Aqua Net; and finally, nab every tiara in the land by competing in the Miss USA, Miss Universe, and Miss World pageants, then sweeping them in a stunning trifecta of much duct tape and Vaseline usage, all in just under one week. Oh, and write really fun books! She loves people, loves to chat and would love it if you'd come say hello to her on the Yahoo! group she shares with two other terrific authors at -- The Truth About Big Hair, Books, and Babes. Join Dakota and friends in the chaos and send an email to [email protected] or visit her website.