Rating: Adult. If you're under eighteen, please go elsewhere now.
Disclaimer: These characters belong to the WB and DC Comics, not to me.
Chloe looked stunned by his words, and Kal took advantage of her brief moment of speechlessness and started moving against her with the rhythm of the music. Her abdomen pressed against his erection, sending bolts of heat lightning through him with every movement, and his hand tightened convulsively on her ass.
"Nice dress," he commented. "I haven't seen it before."
"It's... it's new."
The idea that she'd bought a sexy red dress for Ollie sent jealousy roaring through him in a green sheet of fire. "You should wear crimson more often," he said, sliding his hand down to her thigh and finding the hem of the dress. "It looks good on you. Very sexy."
"You mean it makes me look like a tramp," she said dryly.
"I think the word I used was tart."
"Oh, that makes me feel so much better. Thanks."
He tugged gently at the hem of the dress, pushing the crimson fabric aside, and his hand slid between their bodies and started to move up her bare inner thigh. She jumped in shock. "Hey!"
"Relax," he said softly. "No one's looking. Even if they were, they wouldn't care."
"But... but..." She sputtered helplessly. "We're right in the middle of the dance floor!"
"If you're going to dress like a tart," he said coolly, "you shouldn't be surprised when guys treat you like one."
She snarled and lifted her hand to slap him again, then thought better of it and dropped it.
"Smart girl." His hand slid gently against her panties, exploring her heat, and she jumped more violently than before.
"You may be dressed like a tart," he said in her ear, "but you're a good girl underneath it all, Chlo. A bad girl wouldn't be wearing anything at all under this dress."
"Clark." She sounded breathless. "What are you doing?"
"If you have to ask, then you and Ollie haven't gotten very far." His hand slid over the silk of her panties. "You're really wet, Chlo. I can feel it right through the fabric."
"Clark." She clutched at his shoulders. "Clark."
"Call me Kal."
"No. I won't." She shook her head, her hair drifting over her shoulders like summer sunlight. She looked up at him, and he could see a spark of the usual stubbornness in her eyes. "I don't care what games you're playing tonight. You're not Kal. You're Clark Kent, just like you've always been."
"Really?" His fingers stroked her carefully. "Has Clark Kent ever felt you up this way?"
A little sound escaped her, so soft that only his superhearing enabled him to hear it over the pounding of the music, and her fingers dug into his shoulders harder. "No," she said breathlessly, closing her eyes. "But..."
His fingers moved a little faster. He could smell the scent of her arousal mingled with her vanilla fragrance, could feel her dampness on his hand, and he bent his head, listening to the raspy, harsh sound of her breathing. "You're about to come, Chlo," he said in her ear. "Right here on the dance floor. Aren't you?"
She dropped her face against his shoulder and shook her head helplessly.
"Yeah. You are." He slowed the movement of his hand, and she moaned into his shirt. "Too bad you're such a good girl," he said softly. "If you were bare underneath this dress, I could slide my fingers right up inside you."
She moaned again, a little more loudly. "You like that idea," he whispered. "Maybe I should just rip off these panties and do it anyway. Is that what you want, Chlo? My fingers thrusting into you, over and over again?"
He stopped moving his hand. "Kal," he reminded her.
"Kal," she murmured, her face still buried in his chest.
"Good girl." He brushed his fingers over her again, very lightly, and she cried out, oblivious to the crowd around them.
"Chloe," he commanded softly. "Open your eyes."
She lifted her head and looked up at him, her eyelids heavy, her lips parted, a fine sheen of sweat gleaming on her face. He could see her pulse beating rapidly beneath the fragile skin of her throat, could hear her heart pounding wildly.
"Look around," he said. "There are hundreds of people in here, Chlo. You're going to come, right in front of all of them."
She swallowed, staring at him as if mesmerized, her eyes wide. She looked shocked and bewildered and aroused all at the same time, as if she couldn't quite believe she was standing here on the dance floor with him, letting him touch her this way.
"Kal," she whispered, her voice barely audible. "The song ended. The dance is over."
Another song began, bass and drums pounding in a fast, sensual beat, and he smiled. "It's not over yet, Chloe."
She blinked rapidly, still staring at him. "Let's go outside, then. Please."
"I don't think so." He held her gaze as he moved his hand harder and faster, listening to her gasp for breath, watching her bite her lip in an effort to keep quiet. Suddenly she dropped her head forward, her hands closing on his shoulders, grasping handfuls of his shirt in her fists, and he felt her body shake violently with the force of her orgasm.
She tried to muffle her cries against his shoulder, but he could hear them clearly, and a fierce arousal gripped him, squeezing his balls and making him so damn hard he couldn't see straight. He'd never in his life heard anything as sexy as Chloe Sullivan coming in spite of herself, right in front of hundreds of strangers, and it made him want to fuck her more than ever.
She belonged to him, not Ollie. And by the end of the evening she was damn well going to accept that.
He was going to make sure of it.
Read Chapter 4 here.