For a dew days after that moment me and Elena comforted my mother, offering her support during her separation from dad. After a while she insisted we continue with our lives , it was hard for me to focus on anything else but mum was right, and she was only next door if she needed us.
The afternoon sun slanted through the
bedroom windows, casting warm patterns across the rumpled sheets where Elena and I lay entangled. We'd just returned from a quick patrol—nothing major, just dispersing a group of thugs harassing street vendors in the market district—and the adrenaline still buzzed in our veins. Elena pushed me back onto the bed with playful force, her catsuit unzipped halfway down her chest, exposing the swell of her full breasts. "I can't wait anymore," she murmured, her voice husky as she straddled me, grinding her hips against my growing hardness. Her long raven hair cascaded over her shoulders, framing her face like a dark halo, and her brown eyes burned with that familiar fire—the one that always made me ache for her.
I gripped her thighs—thick and toned, the fabric of her suit straining against her curves—and pulled her closer. "Neither can I," I growled, unzipping her fully, her breasts spilling free, nipples already peaked and begging for attention. She moaned as I took one in my mouth, sucking hard while my hand slipped between her legs, fingers brushing her pussy through the suit. "You're so wet already... always ready for me."
She arched, pressing into my touch. "For you? Always. Fuck me, Alex... I need your cock inside me now." Her super strength made it easy for her to pin my arms above my head, her breasts brushing my face as she unzipped my suit with her free hand, freeing my throbbing length. She positioned herself, sinking down slowly—her pussy gripping me like velvet fire, super muscles clenching in waves that sent shockwaves through my body. "God... you're so big... stretch me... fill me up."
I thrust up to meet her, our rhythm building fast—her bouncing with force that made the bedframe groan, ass slapping against my thighs in rhythmic thunder. "Yes... ride me, Elena... take what you need. I love watching your tits bounce... so perfect." My hands roamed—squeezing her breasts, pinching nipples until she cried out, purple sparks dancing from her skin to mine.
"Faster... harder... I love you... make me cum all over you!" She leaned back—hands on my knees for leverage, hips rolling in that hypnotic way, pussy milking me with every drop. I reached between us, thumb circling her clit. "Yes... right there... I'm close... fuck, Alex... don't stop!"
Orgasms hit like a shared nova—her walls fluttering, gripping so tight it bordered on pain, purple energy exploding outward as she screamed my name. I followed—thrusting deep, spilling inside her with a groan, violet sparks merging with hers in a dazzling display. We collapsed—sweaty, breathless, laughing softly. "I don't think we'll ever stop," she whispered, nuzzling my neck. "Craving you every second."
"Me too," I replied, kissing her deeply. "Happier than ever."
We lay there for hours—talking, touching, making love again and again. Slow missionary with her legs over my shoulders, deep thrusts building tender; her riding reverse, ass grinding as I spanked lightly, "Yes... mark me... I love how you own me." Quickies in the shower—her against the tiles, water cascading as I pounded from behind, "Fuck my pussy... make it yours." Even, before, after and sometimes in-between "missions".
People cheered when they saw us now—crowds forming for autographs, kids beaming: "You're our heroes!" No more boos; faith rebuilt. But we savored the normalcy—dinners out, cinema dates, feeling human amid the chaos.
Everything felt perfect.
Until the call.
It came on a Friday evening, three weeks after the asteroid. We were in bed—her head between my legs, mouth working my cock with super speed, tongue swirling as she hummed, "Mmm... taste so good... cum for me, baby"—when my phone buzzed on the nightstand.
Elena paused, lifting her head with a wet pop. "Ignore it... or answer quick. I need you back in my mouth."
I glanced—Dad. "It's my father. Better take it."
She nodded, kissing my thigh as I answered. "Hey, Dad."
"Alex! Good to hear your voice. Listen... Valentina and I want to host you and Elena for dinner. Tomorrow night? Our place."
My stomach twisted. Mad at him for leaving Mum, I snapped. "No. I'm too mad, Dad. Mum's shattered—emotionally broken because of you. How could you?"
Silence. Then a soft voice—not Dad's. Valentina. "Alex... please. It's important. For your father. For family."
I don't remember what was said next. Her voice was light yet commanding, soothing to the soul—like a warm breeze carrying whispers of calm. It wrapped around my mind, gentle but insistent. Next thing I knew, I was agreeing. "Fine... tomorrow at 7."
Elena raised an eyebrow as I hung up. "What was that?"
"Dinner. With Dad and Valentina."
She nodded slowly. "Okay. But if it's too much, we leave."
The next evening, we arrived at Dad's new apartment—modern, sleek, in the city center. Dad opened the door, looking nervous but happy. "Alex, Elena... come in."
Valentina stood behind him—stunning in a green dress that hugged her curves, long dark hair loose, emerald eyes sparkling. "Welcome," she said, voice that same soothing melody. We hugged Dad—half-hearted on my part—then Valentina turned her cheek for a kiss. I leaned in, but at the last moment, my face turned—lips brushing hers softly. I pulled back, shocked. "Sorry... I didn't mean..."
She smiled—knowing, unfazed. "No harm done."
Elena saw—her face unreadable, but her hand tightened on mine.
Dinner was light conversation: how they met (at a conference—Dad's work trip), the weather (unseasonably warm), nothing significant. Valentina dominated subtly—her laugh light, eyes locking with mine occasionally, emerald depths like infinite forests pulling me in.
As we left—half-hug for Dad, cheek kiss for Valentina (careful this time)—I thought: What the hell was that? Why did I turn? Valentina was beautiful—same age as Elena, alluring—but Elena was my heart, my universe. Why?
We drove home in silence. Elena stared out the window. "You okay?" I asked.
"Fine," she said tightly. "Just... tired."
Halfway, our comms buzzed—a minor situation: jewelry store robbery, shots fired, officer down.
"I'll handle it," Elena insisted, voice sharp. She was mad—I could tell.
"Elena—"
"Alone." She flew off—purple streak vanishing into the night.
The news later detailed it: robbers exchanging fire with police, one officer killed. Elena arrived—rather than disarm, she battered them. Reports showed the scene: men left broken, bones shattered, alive but mangled. She hadn't killed—but her rage was clear.
When she got home—late, bloody knuckles (wounds healing slowly, an hour or two for full recovery)—I waited on the couch. "Elena... what happened?"
She stripped her suit—curves exposed, but her eyes distant. "Tired. Shower. Bed."
No invitation. I slept on the couch—thinking: What the fuck was that? Why try to kiss Valentina? She's beautiful, but nothing compared to Elena—my heart, my everything. Clear now: Valentina was no ordinary woman.
The threat had arrived.