The rooftop of the old Metropolis Tribune building was a jagged silhouette against the midnight sky, a forgotten perch overlooking the neon heartbeat of the city below. Flickering lights painted the horizon in electric blues and pinks, a restless pulse that mirrored the thrum in T/I’s chest. She crouched near the edge, her camera slung around her neck, a notebook clutched in one hand, her trench coat flapping in the sharp wind. She was no stranger to late-night stakeouts, but this one felt different—personal. Her target wasn’t just a story. It was Clark Kent. Mild-mannered reporter by day, and something far more intriguing by night, if her instincts were right. And damn it, they usually were.
“Get a grip, T/I,” she muttered under her breath, the wind snatching her words and tossing them into the void. “You’re not some lovesick puppy panting after a pair of glasses and a shy smile. You’re a journalist. Act like it.” But even as she scolded herself, her heart gave a traitorous lurch at the thought of seeing him—those broad shoulders, that infuriatingly gentle demeanor hiding something she was determined to uncover. She’d been chasing leads on him for months, piecing together whispers of a man who could bend steel and outrun bullets. If Clark Kent was more than he seemed, she’d be the one to expose him. And maybe, just maybe, get close enough to feel that quiet strength for herself.
A sudden rustle behind her snapped her out of her thoughts. Her notebook slipped from her fingers, hitting the concrete with a dull thud as she spun around, her breath catching in her throat. There he stood, silhouetted against the moon, cape fluttering like a dark omen. Superman. But beneath the iconic S, she saw the familiar jawline, the piercing blue eyes she’d studied over countless cups of newsroom coffee. Clark.
“Well, if it isn’t the Man of Steel sneaking up on a lady,” she snapped, her voice cutting through the night air like a blade. She crossed her arms, masking the jolt of adrenaline with a glare. “What’s next, X-raying my underwear?”
Clark’s lips curved into a smirk, his voice low and teasing, a velvet edge that sent an unwelcome shiver down her spine. “Only if you ask nicely, darling.” But there was something dangerous in his tone, a quiet warning that made the air between them crackle.
T/I stepped closer, her chin tilting up defiantly, refusing to let his towering presence rattle her. “Don’t flatter yourself, farm boy. I’ve got bigger scoops to fry than your ego.” Her words were sharp, but her pulse betrayed her, hammering as she caught the faint scent of him—clean, like fresh earth after rain, with a hint of something untamed.
He moved forward, closing the distance in a single, deliberate step, his height and sheer power overwhelming. His hand brushed against her arm, a slow, intentional graze that made her breath hitch despite herself. “You’ve been chasing me for weeks,” he murmured, his voice a low rumble as his grip tightened just enough to remind her of the strength coiled beneath that crimson cape. His breath was hot against her ear, sending a traitorous heat curling through her. “Let’s see if you can keep up.”
She yanked her arm back, or tried to, but his hold didn’t budge. Her defiance flared, her eyes narrowing as she fired back, “Oh, I can keep up, big guy. Question is, can you handle a woman who doesn’t swoon at your spandex?” Her voice was steady, but the proximity—his sheer physicality—was unraveling her usual iron control.
Clark’s eyes darkened, a predatory glint flashing as he backed her against the rooftop ledge. The city lights blurred into a kaleidoscope behind them, the drop below a dizzying reminder of how high they were, how far she could fall—literally and otherwise. Her heart pounded, a volatile mix of fear and something hotter, something she refused to name. His presence was a force, pressing against her, daring her to push back.
She shoved against his chest, her palms meeting unyielding muscle, her voice sharp but trembling at the edges. “Back off, Superman. I’m not your damsel in distress to manhandle.”
He chuckled, a deep, rumbling sound that vibrated through her hands and straight to her core. “Who said I’m here to save you, sweetheart?” he countered, his tone dripping with challenge. “Maybe I’m here to break you.”
Her mind raced, caught between the raw power radiating from him and the dangerous pull of her own attraction. She was always in control, always the one steering the narrative, but here, pinned between Clark Kent and a hundred-foot drop, she felt her grip slipping. Still, she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of seeing her falter. She glared up at him, her voice a venomous hiss. “Try me, Kent. I bite back harder than kryptonite.”
The tension between them was a live wire, sparking and sizzling in the cool night air. His hand slid to her waist, his grip unyielding, fingers digging just enough to make her acutely aware of every point of contact. He leaned in, his lips a whisper from hers, his voice a dark promise. “Let’s see just how much you can take.”
T/I’s breath caught, her body a battlefield of defiance and dangerous allure. She was caught in his storm, and for the first time in a long time, she wasn’t sure she wanted to escape.
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