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“So why’d you do it?”
Damn, I thought I’d managed not to wake him up, Maria cursed herself, replaying the past couple minutes in her head as she tried to figure out what she’d done, what noise she’d made, that had woken the man she’d slept with last night.
Sheet around his waist, hair tousled, Tony Stark looked every inch the debauched and decadent billionaire playboy. And she had to admit, the look suited him to a T. It wasn’t just that he was a billionaire playboy. It was some intangible thing that was part of his skin as much as the arc reactor pulsing in his chest.
Cyborg, Maria thought with wry disgust. You’ve managed to avoid sleeping with any of the mutants and super-heros for all these years only to decide to throw all that control away on a man who might as well be half machine. How does it feel to have compromised your morals this far, Maria? Did you like it? Was he good? Was he worth how far you’ve just fallen?
Still half sitting in the giant bed she’d so recently shared with him, Tony was still waiting for an answer. Back turned still, Maria pasted an expression of blasé disdain onto her face before she finally let him see her face.
“I wanted to find out if the rumors about you were true,” she tossed the statement at him like a challenge. “And having just thumbed my nose in Osborn’s face, it seemed like a celebration was called for.”
“So,” he had that damned cocky smirk ghosting across the corners of his mouth again. Infuriating, egotistical, chauvinist. “Did the celebration live up to your expectations, Ms. Hill?”
“Really Mr. Stark, if you have to ask that question, you probably need more practice.”