Free The Superfox by Ava Lovelace

figure and roast it over an open fire.”
    “Whatever you think you just heard, you're wrong. And I can prove it.”
    She looked up, 99% hate and 1% hope. “You can prove you didn't just talk to David Fuckface Dennihy about banging me? I mean, did you guys have a bet going or something?”
    He held out his hand. “We had a business arrangement.” Even though her mouth dropped open in horror, his warm smile didn't waver. “And it wasn't about you. Lissa, give me one chance to change your mind.”
    “I don't trust villains twice.”
    “Then how about doing some research with one? Five minutes, and we'll be laughing about this, I swear.”
    And although Lissa was a practical woman and didn't believe a single word out of his lying mouth, she uncurled her fingers from the desk and took his too-warm, too-broad hand and let him lead her down the stupid hall to his stupid office where he was probably going to get her hooked on meth or something equally stupid and horrific. Every step cost her something: pride, anger, comfort. But even the smallest chance was still a chance. There had to be some hope that what she'd heard wasn't as damning as it sounded.
    She closed her eyes briefly as he opened his door for her. Once inside, however, she noted that the evidence of their time together had disappeared. Beyond the open door, the photography studio was back to black walls and black floor, the tripod gone. The array of monitors were black, and when he pressed the keyboard, they flickered to life. But instead of sordid pictures of Melissa Martin, stripped and wet and wide open, all she saw was... a gun?
    “This isn't comforting,” she muttered.
    “This is Dennihy's antique percussion dueling pistol. Civil War era. A real collector's piece. It's worth at least five figures, and he's selling it because even though he's supposedly an accountant, he sucks with money. Which is why the douchebag offered me a thousand dollars to take some high-quality images for the online auction. I couldn't do it during normal office hours because, you know, it's a weapon. So I figured the snowstorm was a good chance to get it done and get him off my back.”
    Lissa stared at the gun, presented on three screens. The photos were beautiful, just like Mark had said on the phone. And she knew well enough that weapons were often referred to as women. She wanted so, so badly to believe him. She needed to believe that he was still the guy who'd taken her sledding on a Captain American shield.
    As if sensing that her wall was cracking, Mark held up an SD card. “Whereas this is the card from earlier. Why don't you take it back to your office and check it out? Then see if you believe me.”
    Lissa held out her hand, and he dropped the card onto her palm. She stared at it, such a little, quotidian thing. “Why should I look at it? That won't prove anything.”
    Mark blushed, which looked gorgeous against his pale skin and freckles. “I think it will. I took a peek. It's telling. If you're still interested in talking to me after looking at the images, I'll be here. The offer for grilled cheese still stands.” Lissa looked down and nodded, and he added, “And for the record, I think Dennihy is the biggest bag of dicks I've ever met.”
    Overcome with warring feelings, Lissa gave him half a smile and hurried back to her office with the card cradled in her hand like a hurt bird. She didn't dare review the images on her office desktop, so she pulled out her personal laptop and opened the file named “Wonderful”.
    And... she'd never seen anything like it. All those photos he'd taken at first had been just clicks behind her closed eyes, and she expected to see close ups of her breasts, her panties, her open legs. But again and again, it was her face. Shy and a little scared at first. Then warming and sweet, eyes open and suffused with trust and lust in equal measures. And then closed again, lost in abandon, her mouth open sensually with red lipstick smeared