Regret, 3 AM

11:45 PM.

It began as it always did. A touch. A mere touch. As Valkyria, Katie was touched often, everything from a handshake to a punch in the face. But this touch was a simple caress of a desire-filled fingertip on her bare shoulder. A brush of a knuckle down her back followed, and then the soft tease of her hair. Her libido roared to its zenith. The deepest yearning of ten women, combined into the overly curvaceous body of one.

Her lips found his. Determined masculine hands found the clasp of her suit behind her neck. Then, they found her breasts. Her hand found his manhood and signaled her intention. She yielded to his arms as he lifted her and began the lasciviousness filled trek to his bed.

“Keep your mask on,” he said as she ripped off her gloves and boots. “It makes me harder.”

It did. He made love to her for three hours, slaking his lust in her body. She exhausted her own with his body.

That would have been fine, if he was a civilian. But this man was Sal Riggio, the counterfeiting mastermind of the Petrone Family. The enemy. The man she wanted to give to the police tonight. Instead, she gave herself to him. A mere touch felled the mighty Valkyria.

3 AM.

Katie’s libido had returned to normal. In its place, she felt the shame of ten women. No. The shame of ten whores after their very first clients. It would have been bad enough if he had subdued her and violated her. But no. She gave herself to him. Willingly. She wanted him as much as he wanted her. She counterthrusted. She played his flute. She rode cowgirl. She screamed for him. At any time, she could have ended it with a mere fingerflick to his forehead. But she wanted him, dammit! And she took him just as he took her.

Now, it was her turn to work him over, except he wouldn’t like it. Although, his dentist was about to get rich. Then, she would get dressed. She would walk home, as proud as she could, covered in dried perspiration, and oozing self-loathing and his residue. She had fans at even this unholy hour, and they did not need to know she had just slept with the enemy.

4:10 AM.

Home. She did as she had the last three times. She hurled her mask against the wall. A quick shower to wash Riggio off and out of her body, and she crawled into bed. Sleep eluded her. Regret made a horrible bedmate.

She would not pull the covers off her face until time to go to work at noon. No doubt, she would take out her anger at herself on her wards, flattening and cooking the burgers a little too much. After that, she would walk home, as “Little Katie.” The long way. Through Riverside Park. Daring anyone to mess with her, so she could project herself onto that person and send him to the hospital.

But around 9:30 PM, she would suit up again. She always did. Her weakness did not override her need to protect Parthenon. Once again, Valkyria would take to the rooftops. Once again, Katie Ashe would try to control her raging desire, this odd side effect of being a Valkyrie. Riggio wasn’t the first. He probably wouldn’t be the last.

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