The metal zipper parted with a soft, agonizingly slow hiss.
In the cramped, leather-scented cabin of the Audi, the sound was deafening.
Ethan dragged the tab down her spine, millimeter by millimeter.
He let the back of his knuckles graze the bare, shivering expanse of her skin. The contrast was startling. The air conditioning blowing from the dash was freezing, but her skin was blazing hot.
Gwen’s breath shuddered in her chest.
Her hands gripped his shoulders. Her nails dug half-moons right through his shirt, grounding herself against the dizzying spin of the alcohol.
The silk of her dress pooled at her waist.
The amber glow of the streetlamp washed over her. She was flushed, her chest heaving in short, frantic pants.
The black lace of her bra did absolutely nothing to hide the heavy, rapid thumping of her heart. It hammered against her ribs like a trapped bird.
Ethan didn't rush. He wanted her to feel every excruciating second of this.
He leaned in, his lips brushing the sensitive curve of her jawline.
She tasted like expensive Stark-brand champagne and electric, primal anticipation.
He trailed open-mouthed kisses down her neck. He felt her pulse jumping wildly against his lips, a frantic, syncopated rhythm.
He found the sweet spot right above her collarbone. The delicate dip of her throat.
He opened his mouth and bit down.
Just a nip. Sharp enough to shock her system, soft enough to ache.
Gwen let out a jagged, breathless gasp.
Her head fell back against the roof of the car, exposing the long, beautiful column of her throat to his mercy.
Ethan dragged his tongue over the faint red bite mark, soothing the sting with his saliva, before moving lower.
He slipped his fingers under the thin straps of her bra. With a gentle pull, he pushed the lace aside.
Her breasts spilled into his hands. They were warm, heavy, and impossibly soft against his calloused palms.
He didn't devour her. He teased.
He leaned down, his breath ghosting over her skin.
He gave a single, hesitant lick to the tight, pink peak of her nipple.
The sensation sent a violent jolt straight to Ethan’s core. The taste of her skin, the way the tiny bud hardened instantly against the wet muscle of his tongue—it made his vision blur.
He felt a sharp, heavy throb in his groin.
Gwen arched her back violently off the leather seat. "Ethan..."
The whisper was a desperate, begging plea.
He answered it. The hesitant lick turned into a slow, agonizing swirl of his tongue.
He drew the rigid peak deep into his mouth. He sucked gently, rolling his tongue over the sensitive nerve endings.
A high, melodic moan tore from her lips. She tangled her hands in his hair, pressing his face closer, offering herself entirely.
His free hand drifted south.
He traced the flat, toned plain of her stomach, feeling the abdominal muscles quiver under his fingertips.
He slipped beneath the lace waistband of her panties.
She was already drenched.
The slick, hot, syrupy evidence of her desire coated his fingertips the second he touched her.
He traced the soft, swollen outer folds, sliding smoothly through her wetness, but refusing to enter. He was drawing out the torture.
Gwen’s hips jerked upward off his lap, instinctively chasing the pressure of his hand.
"Please," she whimpered, her thighs parting wider. She practically trapped his hand between her legs, begging for friction.
Ethan dragged his middle finger slowly, deliberately, along her sensitive slit.
He felt the exact moment her breath hitched. Her inner thighs trembled violently under the unbearable tension.
Then, he pushed inside.
It was like slipping his hand into a velvet furnace.
A tight, wet, suffocating warmth completely enveloped his fingers.
Gwen’s eyes rolled back into her head. She let out a long, high moan that vibrated against the rain-battered windows.
He curled his fingers, pressing upward. He found the swollen, spongy bundle of nerves hidden deep inside her.
Squish. Schlock.
The wet sounds echoed loudly in the quiet, steamy cabin.
He pumped his fingers in a slow, torturous rhythm.
With every deep thrust, her inner walls clamped down on him. She milked his fingers in involuntary, rhythmic spasms that felt like liquid fire.
She was incredibly tight. Every clench she made sent a phantom ache straight to Ethan’s own heavily confined groin.
Gwen wasn't going to just sit there and unravel alone. The champagne and the overwhelming sensory overload gave her a desperate, feral courage.
She reached between them.
Her knuckles brushed against the heavy, straining denim of his jeans.
Ethan’s jaw locked. His entire body went rigid.
Her fingers were clumsy, frantic, shaking with need. She undid his belt, popping the metal button, and dragged the zipper down.
She reached inside the fabric and freed him.
The cool, air-conditioned air of the cabin hit his heated, throbbing length for only a fraction of a second.
Then, her warm, incredibly soft fingers wrapped completely around his base.
Ethan’s head fell back against the leather headrest. A low, gravelly groan tore from the very bottom of his throat.
Her grip was firm. Perfect.
She stroked upward, her thumb dragging heavily over the slick, ultra-sensitive ridge of his crown.
The contrast was maddening. His rock-hard, aching length pressed against her soft, delicate palms.
But she didn't stop there.
Gwen shifted her weight, sliding down off his lap. She dropped her head into the narrow space between his knees.
Her blonde hair spilled over his thighs like silk.
She let out a soft, shaky breath. The warm air ghosted directly over his leaking tip, making his stomach muscles violently contract.
She extended her tongue.
It was a hesitant, agonizingly slow lick. The wet, hot muscle dragged right over his slit, tasting his pre-come.
A shockwave of pure, unadulterated pleasure hit Ethan’s brain like a physical blow. He gripped the steering wheel so hard the leather groaned under his hands.
Gwen took his violent shudder as permission.
She opened her mouth, parting her lips, and took the thick, swollen head past her teeth.
The heat inside her mouth was suffocating. Absolute perfection.
She sucked him like a child with a sweet popsicle. Her cheeks hollowed out as she created a tight, wet vacuum around his flesh.
Squelch. Schlock.
The wet, obscene sounds of her mouth filled the cabin, competing with the rain outside.
She bobbed her head, sliding down his thick shaft.
Her tongue swirled continuously around his frenulum, attacking the most sensitive cluster of nerves he possessed.
Then, she let out a soft, vibrating hum from the back of her throat.
The vibration traveled directly through his cock. It rattled his bones, short-circuiting his brain and threatening to shatter his control entirely.
He was losing his mind.
He tangled his free hand in her messy blonde hair. He guided her rhythm, pushing his hips up off the seat to meet her mouth with every downward bob.
Every wet slide, every pop of her lips as she pulled back, drove him dangerously close to the absolute edge.
"Gwen," Ethan rasped, his voice a hoarse, unrecognizable growl. "Stop. Wait."
If she kept going for another ten seconds, he was going to finish right there in her mouth.
He gently, reluctantly pulled her up by her shoulders.
She resurfaced, gasping for air.
Her lips were swollen, slick with saliva. Her blue eyes were incredibly dark, the pupils completely blown out with pure lust.
She didn't hesitate. She climbed fully back into his lap, straddling his thighs once more.
She reached down between them.
Her wet, sticky fingers guided his aching, heavy tip right to her slick, waiting entrance.
She rubbed him against her swollen folds.
The friction of his blunt tip sliding against her wet heat was unbearable. It sent sparks behind Ethan's eyes.
Ethan grabbed her hips, his thumbs digging firmly into her skin. He looked up into her eyes, the golden glow of his magic bleeding heavily into his irises.
"I'm going in," Ethan whispered, his voice dark, possessive, and absolute.
Gwen nodded frantically, biting her lower lip to stifle a whine. "Yes. Please. Now."
He thrust his hips upward just a fraction.
He felt the tight, wet resistance of her entrance yielding to his rigid tip.
The connection was about to be absolute. They were a millimeter away from crossing the line.
CRASH!
The sound of buckling metal tore through the steamy, romantic haze like a bomb detonating.
The entire front suspension of the Audi screamed in metallic agony.
The hood violently caved in under an impossible, crushing weight, pinning the tires to the asphalt.
The windshield exploded inward.
A tidal wave of jagged, safety-glass diamonds rained into the cabin, bouncing wildly off the leather seats and the dashboard.
Gwen shrieked.
The heavy, intoxicating haze of lust evaporated instantly, completely shattered by the brutal reality of the hunt.
She collapsed forward against Ethan’s chest, throwing her arms over her head.
Ethan moved on pure, Plumber-trained instinct. He threw his arms tightly around her, shielding her bare back and shoulders from the lethal shower of falling glass.
His heart was still hammering a frantic, lust-fueled rhythm. But his blood instantly turned to absolute ice.
He looked up through the jagged, empty frame of the windshield.
Crouched on the crumpled hood, crushing the V10 engine block under massive steel talons, was a nightmare of green metal.
Razor-sharp turbine wings stretched wide, completely blocking out the ambient light of the streetlamp.
Glowing green eyes locked onto them through the pouring rain.
The Vulture.
"Found you, little spider," the mechanical, heavily distorted voice hissed through the storm.
Ethan stared at the metal talons currently embedded deep in the hood of his borrowed car.
His cock was still agonizingly hard. His breathing was still ragged.
But the lust was entirely gone.
It was replaced by a cold, apocalyptic, world-ending fury.
He slowly, methodically zipped his jeans.
"I am going to rip your wings off," Ethan whispered, his voice carrying the terrifying weight of a dying star. "And I am going to shove them down your throat."