Superman tapped gently at the glass of Lois’s window, his super-hard fingernail producing a sound not unlike the cliché pebble thrown by a teenage paramour.
Perhaps Lois thought that was what it was, until she remembered her apartment was thirty stories up.
With the realization—fast as it was—Lois rushed out of her bedroom, robe tied over the T-shirt and panties she’d been planning to sleep in.
She was a gorgeous woman—raven-haired, athletic, her tanktop clinging tightly to a body that could rival many of the goddesses Clark had known.
Her lacy panties topped firm, creamy thighs and long legs, but best of all, she wore it all with a confidence that would be intimidating to a less self-assured man.
To Superman, it was only endearing. She made no move to adjust her robe, considering it modesty enough to have simply thrown it on, and trusting him not to leer at the exposed flesh on display.
Or, perhaps, wanting him to.
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