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Lois doesn’t know what came over her. One minute, she was getting drunk and thinking about Clark and generally feeling sorry for herself, and the next, it was raining, she was in a trendy bar, and she was kissing . . . whatshername? The hot lady with the accent who flirted with her at that charity event Bruce Wayne threw a few weeks ago.
In her defense, she had no idea she would do that. She wasn’t dressed for the occasion. She was in flats, her blouse was wrinkled after a long day at the Planet, and a sharp eye would notice that wiped-off mustard stain on her vest, but Hot Lady With The Accent had licked her lips and looked at her like she wanted to eat her alive, and Lois was lonely enough and horny enough for that to be just what she needed.
“Hey, you!” she shouted, and before she could stop herself, she pounced on Hot Lady With The Accent—God, she’s tall—and smashed their mouths together in a sloppy kiss. When they finally parted, Hot Lady gently set her back on the floor.
“Take me home,” said Lois.
They stand in the middle of Hot Lady’s gigantic living room while rain batters against the wall-sized windows and soft soul music plays on the very expensive-looking stereo. Lois wonders if Hot Lady is a drug czar or arms dealer because seriously who can afford all this? If Hot Lady is a drug czar, the article would write itself. That kind of story sells papers, so Perry would be ecstatic. Maybe there’s another Pulitzer—
A cool glass filled with amber liquid is pressed into her hand. It smells like brandy. Lois hopes it’s brandy. Hot Lady sips her own glass of whatever this is. Lois gulps hers, relishing the burn running down her throat into her belly.
“So this is what happens? You bring me here, put on this song, make me a drink. And then we—we sleep together?”
“I hope so,” says Hot Lady. Goddamn, that accent’s going to be the death of her.
Get a grip, Lois. You can do this. You’re an adult. You’ve done this before. You’ve done this with women before. You got this.
“Look, I know I seemed all confident at the bar, but that was mostly because I was cold, and wet, and you looked warm and dry.”
Hot Lady smiles. Even toothpaste commercials don’t have smiles that bright.
“You’re adorable.”
“No. No. I’m sexy! I know what happens in the PG-13 version of this, OK? It’s—I get really drunk, and then I pass out, and you cover me with a blanket, and you kiss me on the cheek, and nothing happens, but that’s not why I’m here. I am here to bang the hot chick who flirted with me at Bruce Wayne’s party.”
Hot Lady points to herself and says, “Diana.”
“Oh, yeah. We’re doing this. We’re gonna bang. Mm-hm. This is happening. Take off your clothes.”
Hot Lady—er, Diana—raises an eyebrow and stands. How the hell she gets up so smoothly without tripping is anyone’s guess. Slowly, slowly, slowly, Diana unzips her dress. Not soon enough, the dress slides off her body and pools at her ankles, and—
“Fuck! Seriously? It’s like you’re Photoshopped.”
“Sculpted from clay.”
“Can I t—”
Lois stumbles toward her, hand outstretched like a kid reaching for candy bar. Her fingertips graze the soft skin just under Diana’s ribcage. Lois pokes, and there is no give at all. Diana giggles and squirms. Lois does it again. Jeez, the woman’s all muscle.
“That tickles. Now you take off your clothes.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
“No way, not with all that going on. No, thank you. So now what? What’s your next move?”
“I would not attempt such a thing with you, Lois. It is silly,” says Diana.
“Now I gotta know.”
“You will laugh at me.”
“Tell me.”
“No.”
“Tell me your big move!”
“I do the thing from Dirty Dancing.”
“Dirty Dancing? Like, the movie?”
Diana nods and smiles in a way that’s almost shy. Maybe this is the brandy talking, but it’s almost cute. And this is over Dirty Dancing?
“I don’t get it.”
“You know at the end when man holds the girl in the air? I can do that.”
Lois laughs. It’s not really all that funny, but she’s drunk, so she laughs until she feels like she’s gotta pee.
“That would never work on me,” says Lois, barely managing the syllables between guffaws.
Diana grins.
“Just run and jump,” says Diana. The song from Dirty Dancing playing on Diana’s speakers enhances the happy buzz from the brandy, but those stratosphere-high heels don’t inspire much confidence.
Get it together, Lane. What’s the worst that can happen? Both of you breaking your necks?
“I swear to God, if you drop me—”
“I won’t drop you.”
Thank God I’m drunk. Lois runs and jumps, and Diana lifts. Those shrieks and squeals can’t possibly be coming from her. Grown women don’t make sounds like that. They certainly don’t kick their legs and wave their arms like an epileptic pigeon. Wow, this really does feel like flying. Lois stretches out her arms.
Lois’ feet gently touch ground, but Diana still holds her by the hips. Standing this close, Lois catches a whiff of Diana’s perfume, something exotic and earthy with a hint of leather oil. She stumbles on her heels, but Diana steadies her before she can completely embarrass herself.
“Are you alright, Lois Lane?”
Lois loves how Diana says her name, as though every syllable is meant to be savored. Diana’s rich, throaty voice is so intoxicating that Lois wonders if it’s possible to get drunk off a sound.
Lois lies beneath Diana on a queen-sized bed. Her shoes and clothes are piled on the floor. Diana is a really good kisser. It’s been years since she’s kissed a woman, and she’s forgotten how soft and supple it is. She misses a woman’s unique ability to be both forceful and gentle at the same time.
Lois wants to bring Diana closer and have that flawless olive skin flush against her own, but their underclothes are in the way. A soft, warm hand slides under Lois’ bra and gives her breast a tender squeeze. There is gentle nuzzling against her neck followed by soft kisses. Lois shudders.
“Shall I make love to you now, Lois Lane?”
Lois nods, though she would have done so even if Diana had asked if she wanted to be set on fire. She wants more kissing, more touching, more Diana. Diana murmurs something that sounds like thank the gods, but that could be a trick of her rapid heartbeat throbbing in her ears.
Lois’ clothes somehow make it off her body. Just as Diana starts to unclasp the bra, Lois crosses her arms over her chest because she is not a superhero or blessed by the gods. She’s just plain ol’ mortal Lois.
Diana’s gently rubbing her arm now, gaze intense with yearning.
“I wish to see you, Lois Lane. May I?”
Oh, well, fuck it. Lois nods. The air hardens her nipples when Diana gently unfolds her arms and tugs off her bra and panties. She’s done this countless times, but not even when she was a virgin has she ever felt so exposed. Then Diana undoes her own bra, and holy moly—
Diana’s so perfect that it’s almost too much. Maybe if Lois closes her eyes, her insecurities won’t eat her alive. In the darkness behind her eyelids, there is a soft hiss of fabric sliding against skin as Diana removes her own panties. Then, Diana’s warm, solid, and very naked body settles on top of her, and she’s peppering kisses all over Lois’ cheek, neck, shoulders—oh, God. It’s taking too long. Lois needs this now.
“Please go down on me,” whines Lois.
“Soon,” Diana whispers. Lois shudders as lips and tongue wrap around her nipple. Soon doesn’t come soon enough, so she dips her hand between her legs and cups hot, wet flesh. A finger barely touches the aching bud, lightly traces tiny circles around it while Lois bites her lip and thinks about Diana doing this to her—oh, fuck!—just like that. Then she’s close, so close she can feel it coming on her like tiny ripples of pleasure before the big wave, until—
“Not yet,” says Diana. Her voice is deeper, more guttural, as if some great mythical beast has been awakened inside her. It makes Lois shiver.
Diana gently spreads her farther apart and stares at her as though she beholds the Holiest of Holies. There’s something pure about the way she gazes at her with such open lust and awe, untarnished by jadedness or cynicism, that reminds Lois of Clark.
Oh, God, why does she have to think about Clark right now of all times, when this gorgeous woman is settling between her legs so that Lois can feel really good. But even so, it’s hard to turn off her mind and not notice the similarities. Diana’s got curly black hair just like Clark, and kind, soulful eyes just like Clark, and she’s tall just like Clark. Is that why she’s so drawn to her? If Clark were a woman and Greek, would he be Diana? If Diana were a man and from Kansas, would she be Clark? But Diana isn’t Clark, and she never will be, and if Clark were here, what would he think about what they’re doing? Hot tears streak down her face.
“Lois Lane?” coos Diana, who now lies atop her, wiping away her tears. Worry is written all over her beautiful face. It’s so genuine, so real, and that reminds her of Clark too.
“Have I done something wrong, Lois Lane?”
Lois shakes her head, but the sobs keep coming. Diana’s worry quickly shifts to alarm. Of course she’d blame herself first; Clark was the same way, but he’s—
“Please tell me what ails you, Lois Lane,” says Diana, stroking Lois’ cheek and giving her a tender kiss. Why does she have to be so . . . good?
Lois says, “I miss him.”
“Oh. I see,” Diana says. The sadness that blooms on her face makes Lois feel like she kicked a kitten.
“You’re so much like him.”
“But not enough.”
“No, no, it’s not you. You’re wonderful. You’re kind and smart and gorgeous and charismatic, and you smell good, and you make me feel good. I just—I can’t.”
Diana cups Lois’ face and kisses her. She says, “I understand.”
Lois isn’t ready to go home yet, so they talk. Well, Lois talks, and Diana listens, really listens, in a way that people don’t seem to have time to anymore. It makes her so easy to talk to, and Lois finds herself relaxing into the conversation. Then Lois’ stomach growls, so Diana insists on making her something to eat. She listens to Lois chat about an essay contest she won her junior year in high school while she whips up two plates of bread, honey, olives, grapes, and cheese. It tastes wonderful, nothing like she’s had before. Maybe it’s organic or something.
“Where’d you get this cheese?”
“Mother had it sent to me from home. She worries that I don’t eat enough.”
Lois laughs. The idea that this literal Amazon has a mom who fusses over her and worries that she’s going to starve to death in the big, bad outside world just cracks her up. She tries to apologize, but it’s just too funny.
“You have a beautiful smile,” says Diana.
“Really?”
“Mm-hm. In fact, I want to do something to make you smile everyday.”
“That’ll be something. Wait, you’re serious?”
“Why wouldn’t I be?” asks Diana. She licks her lips and gives Lois a look that says Just give me the word, and I’ll jump across this table and make wild, passionate love to you. It’s sexy as hell, but Lois needs to behave herself, at least until she’s sure it’s Diana she wants and not a replacement for Clark.
“I should go,” says Lois.
Diana says, “OK,” but there’s a hint of sadness in it. Lois finds her purse and calls an Uber while Diana moves the dishes to the sink. When Uber calls her back to let her know they’re waiting, Diana escorts Lois to the door.
“Stay,” she whispers, gently stroking Lois’ cheek.
“I want to,” says Lois, “and that’s why I have to go. Thank you. For . . . ”
For making me feel interesting and sexy, for giving me hope that I can survive this, for reminding me that I can love again.
“Everything,” she says.
“You’re always welcome in my home, Lois Lane. Please call me when you get home, so that I know you’re safe.”
See, there Diana goes again, being perfect and amazing and wonderful. Lois stands on her tippy toes and smooches her on the cheek, just shy of the corner of her lip.
There’s another charity function hosted by Wayne Enterprises. Perry has said in no uncertain terms that she will attend, she will report, and she will get a quote from Bruce Wayne about the Batman who’s terrorizing Gotham’s underworld. It’s a puff piece, and they both know it’s a puff piece, but readers like fancy galas and pictures of rich people in designer clothes.
So here she is wearing a rented evening gown that’s almost too small for her but makes her feel glamorous. Wayne’s leering at some tall, skinny blond (typical) and making himself a stay-in guest at the wet bar. She needs to get that quote before he gets too drunk to say anything.
“Lois Lane?”
Lois turns. Holy. Shit. Diana stands less than arm’s length away from her. She seems to glow in the shimmery white gown draping over her, and it’s not the ambient lighting, either. Those dark, piercing eyes stare right into her. Then Diana smiles, and it takes Lois’ breath away.
And what does she say when confronted with this goddess?
“Diana, hiiiiiii. Um . . . you look great! How long’s it been?”
“Four months,” says Diana, “four months since we almost had sex, and you didn’t return my phone calls. Or my e-mails. Or my text messages.”
Oh, yeah, those. Diana was so sweet, even apologetic, about how far things got that night.
Hello, Lois Lane? This is Diana. I wish to apologize to you about last night. I did not mean to make you uncomfortable. Please let me make it up to you with dinner.
Lois, this is Diana. I must apologize again. I realize that dinner may seem too intimate. Would you like to have coffee instead?
Hi, Lois. It’s Diana again. It was never my intention to upset you. Please call me.
Those messages are still on her phone. Diana must be furious. She should be furious. If it was the other way around, Lois would be furious, but Diana is smiling like it’s so goshdarned cute that Lois ignored her for four months. Then again, a tiger baring its teeth must look like it’s smiling too. Lois briefly imagines Diana pouncing on her and overpowering her, tearing the clothes off her body and devouring her flesh with kisses.
Lois snatches another glass of champagne from a waiter carrying a tray and downs it in three gulps.
“Come with me,” says Lois, grabbing Diana’s hand and making a beeline for the ladies’ restroom. Thankfully, no one’s using it, so she drags Diana inside with her and locks the door behind them.
“Lois?” asks Diana, “Are you alright?”
“Do you still feel the same way about me?”
“Yes,” says Diana, stroking her cheek just like Clark—no, not quite. Diana’s gaze and touch are more heated than Clark’s. God, she’s missed this. She’s even touched herself thinking about all the things she should’ve done that night.
Lois grabs Diana’s gown and pulls her toward her, kissing deep and hard. Diana surges forward, pushing Lois’ back into the sink. Lois feels herself being lifted, and then she’s sitting on top of the sink, kissing and being kissed, licking and being licked, biting and being bitten.
This is nothing like being with Clark. Whenever they touched, Clark seemed to whisper, Please, want me, but Diana’s every look and touch says, I want you. Clark wanted to give her orgasms. Diana wants to make her come.
As Diana tears off her bra and panties as if they were made of tissue paper, it dawns on her: Diana is nothing like Clark. Beneath her beauty, beneath her poise, beneath her genuine courage and wisdom and selflessness, lurks something wild and a bit dangerous in a way Clark never was.
Lois gasps and nearly falls off the sink when Diana touches her clit. Diana holds her steady and kisses her. She needs more. She needs Diana inside her, so she spreads her legs wider and guides Diana’s hand where she wants it.
“Inside, inside. Ah! That’s it, just like that.”
Just when Lois is so close, Diana slides her fingers out of her and slips to her knees, kissing Lois on her way down. A lock of hair has escaped her updo, and her lipstick’s gone. If anyone were to walk in on them, there’d be no doubt about what they’ve been doing. Lois’ ass is numb from sitting on this cold sink, and her tits are getting cold because Diana’s not touching them. Then, Diana’s mouth is on her, and nothing else matters.
There’s no way that nobody hears the moan she lets out, or her shouting, “Fuck!” as loud as her lungs allow. They’re definitely gonna get caught, but Lois doesn’t give a shit because the vibrations from Diana’s low moan sends her into the stratosphere.
When she finally comes back down, someone’s banging on the door.
“Other people have to use the bathroom too, you jerk!” shouts whoever it is.
Diana helps Lois off the sink, eyes still shining with desire as she wipes her mouth and gives her a deep, wet kiss that tastes like—oh, is that what she tastes like? No wonder Diana loves it so much. Lois’ gaze falls on her torn bra and panties. She plucks them up and shows them to Diana.
“Sorry,” says Diana, a sheepish expression on her face, “I’ll replace them.”
“Open the goddamn door!” shouts the person standing outside the bathroom. Diana opens the door. Standing there is one of the Kardashians, though Lois can’t recall which one she is.
“Oh, uh, Miss Prince,” she says, looking up at Diana then over at Lois. “Y’know what? Nevermind.”
“I think it’s time for us to go home,” says Lois, “Not to sleep, by the way. To finish.”
Diana grins, “In that case, let’s take my car.”