Cherry Red, Chapter 7

Kal/Chloe
Season 6
Rating: Adult. If you're under eighteen, please go elsewhere now.
Disclaimer: These characters belong to the CW and DC Comics, not to me.
Author's Note: This is an AU in which Clark and Chloe are both still virgins and unattached. Title suggested by red_dwarfette and used with permission... thanks!

"I really don't think that's a good idea, Clark. I should be going."

Clark sighed. He could practically see Chloe's mental processes come back on line. She was still worried about him, worried she was taking advantage of him somehow. Just as he'd feared, now that he'd given her what she wanted, she was trying to back away from him, trying to put their relationship back to the way it had been before. Back to when they were just friends, instead of fuck buddies.

The thing was, he liked being taken advantage of. If there really was red K in the Cherry Red, which he doubted. But either way, he very much wanted to be her fuck buddy. Not just tonight, but for a very long time to... come. So to speak.

They were still linked together, and his body was already stirring inside of hers. He was fully aware that he wanted her again. And again, and again. He doubted he'd ever have enough of her.

"You can't go already," he wheedled, trying very hard to sound persuasive, struggling to look earnestly hopeful. She'd never had much resistance against what he thought of as his puppy-dog look. "We haven't used the magazine yet."

"The magazine?" She frowned, clearly puzzled. "What's it for?"

"I noticed it's all about sex." He grinned. "We're going to get an education."

She stared at him a minute longer, then her cheeks flushed a brilliant red, and she attempted to wiggle away from him. "I really think I'd better be going."

"Stay," he whispered, blowing into her ear.

She quit struggling. Maybe it was the ear blowing thing, or maybe it was just her recognition that he weighed two hundred and twenty pounds, and getting out from under him wasn't all that easy. He let one hand begin to roam over her again, cupping her breasts, squeezing her nipples, stroking her soft skin, and with the other arm he reached out and grabbed Glam Girl.

"Let's see," he said, flipping the pages. "Hmmm... 'Going down?' I think we already covered that one."

She turned redder, and he uttered a soft laugh, amused by how embarrassed she was by an act that he'd found sheerly incredible. As far as he was concerned, there was nothing dirty about oral sex. He'd discovered it was almost a religious experience.

He continued to scan pages. "Ah," he said at last. "Here we go. Fifteen sex tricks to make him scream." He glanced away from the magazine and flashed a smile. "Cool. I like screaming."

"Clark..."

"There are a bunch of different sexual positions listed here. Number one: Missionary position." He tilted his head and considered that description thoughtfully. "That must be the only sexual position you're allowed to do in church."

"Clark."

He grinned at her outrage. "I think we already covered that one, anyway. So I figure we've already graduated from Sex 101. Let's see what the advanced class has on the syllabus."

"Clark." Her voice was very small. "I really should go."

"You can't go till you come." He grinned more broadly, amused by his joke. For some reason she didn't look amused. Maybe he wasn't quite as funny as he thought he was. Or maybe she just didn't have much of a sense of humor about sex.

He looked back down at the magazine. "Wow. Did you know you can do it standing up?" He considered the matter, his head on one side. "I'm not sure how well that'd work, though. You're a foot shorter than I am."

"I most certainly am not." She sounded indignant. "I'm only eleven inches shorter than you are."

He chuckled. "I guess that one inch makes all the difference." He kept reading. "Now this sounds interesting. Sex doggie style."

"That must be when the guy has to beg for it," she quipped.

So much for her not having a sense of humor about sex. He grinned. "Nope. It's sex from behind."

"You have got to be kidding me."

"Nope. It's right here in the magazine."

"Ick. I don't think I'm really interested in..."

"Not that kind of behind, Chlo. At least it doesn't have to be." He thought about rolling her over and thrusting into her sweet, soft body, and suddenly he was a lot harder. It sounded sexy as hell to him. He studied the illustration for a second, then tossed the magazine aside and lowered his head.

He nuzzled her throat and drew in a deep lungful of her fragrance. She smelled good, her skin scented with her sweat and his, her body redolent with the odors of feminine arousal and male come. It was the sexiest scent he'd ever breathed in, and instantly he grew so hard he ached for her.

"Roll over," he whispered against her throat.

"Clark, I really don't think..."

"Chloe." He spoke impatiently, because he was rapidly developing a terminal case of blue balls. "Quit arguing about every little thing, okay? Let's just do it."

"Let's just do it?" She sounded annoyed. "Oh, you crazy romantic fool, you. You really know how to sweep a girl off her feet, don't you?"

"This isn't about romance, Chlo." He reached down and pinched a nipple, fairly hard. She gasped, writhing against him. Her thigh brushed against his erection, and he had to bite his lip to hold back a moan. "It's about sex. Hot, raw sex."

Her eyes drifted open, and she stared right into his eyes. She looked heavy-lidded, like she was lost in a sensual fog, but beneath the sexiness, he thought he saw a touch of sorrow. He wondered if she was disappointed that he thought this wasn't about romance. But he wasn't sure why she would have thought this had anything to do with romance, considering his exact words earlier had been Fuck me, Chlo... not exactly a declaration of undying love. She was hot as hell, but he wasn't in love with her or anything.

She was just incredibly sexy.

"Roll over," he muttered huskily.

She looked at him a moment longer, her whiskey-gold eyes full of some sort of emotion he couldn't begin to label, and then she rolled over onto her stomach.

He levered himself up on his arms and admired the view. She looked just as sexy from the back as she did from the front. Her dark blonde hair fell in a somewhat tangled mass around her head, just brushing her shoulders. He admired the sleek lines of her back, the graceful arch of her spine, and the way her waist curved in, so slender he thought he could probably span it with his hands. Her ass was beautiful, pale as alabaster and beautifully rounded, and there was a little birthmark on her right cheek. He caressed it lightly with his thumb, and she shivered at his touch.

"Get up on your hands and knees," he whispered.

She did. He rose up on his knees, wrapped his hand around his engorged cock, and guided himself slowly into her soft, wet flesh. She made a small noise, whether of shock or encouragement he wasn't quite sure, and he suddenly realized he hadn't done a thing to prepare her. He pressed his face against her back, trying to wrest back his self-control.

"Did I hurt you?"

"No," she whispered. "It doesn't hurt, exactly. It's just... I think I'm a little sore."

She was wet with their combined moisture, but he felt the resistance of her body, and he realized she wasn't quite ready yet. And she had just lost her virginity, after all, so it figured she'd be a bit sore there. Remembering the article's advice, he slid his hand down to her belly, then lower, and began to lightly stroke her clitoris. She was wet, and his finger slipped against her easily.

She quivered against him, and her head jerked back hard. "Clark."

"You like that," he said softly.

"Oh, God... yes..."

He kept circling his finger there, teasing her, and she shuddered, thrusting her hips back against him in a reflexive motion. He slid into her a little more deeply. She was wet and hot, and her body was already squeezing his in rhythmic little ripples.

"Chloe," he whispered. Still on his knees, he straightened up, pulling her upright with him, and she leaned her head back against his shoulder, her eyes shut tightly, her breath coming in quick, hard gasps. His body slid into hers, all the way, and he groaned and shuddered.

He didn't stop touching her, but he suddenly wished he'd thought to do this in front of a mirror. He wanted to watch everything, to watch her naked body moving against his, to watch his hand stroking her clitoris while his other teased her nipples. He wanted to see the tanned skin of his hand against the pale white flesh of her breasts, wanted to watch her pale body writhing against his darker one.

He wanted to watch the rapture on her face as she came, with him deep inside her.

Even without a mirror, he could see the images in his head, and they were so vivid and explicit that he almost came right then and there. He managed to control himself and began to move inside her, thrusting hard and deep. She cried out, twisting against him, and he rubbed her with his finger a little faster.

Her mouth fell open, and then she sobbed aloud as she came, her body shimmering around his in an unmistakable orgasm. She was wet, slick and hot, drenched with cream. He didn't stop touching her, and she came again and again, her body convulsing around his, until she was incredibly wet. The scent of orchids filled his nostrils until he was intoxicated with it, until his head swam dizzily.

"Chloe." His voice sounded hoarse and breathless, even to his own ears. His fingers dug into her thighs, hard enough to leave red impressions, and his teeth sank into the side of her neck, biting her gently, marking her as his. "Oh, yeah, Chloe... oh, fuck..."

Pleasure built inside him, so powerful he could barely keep himself upright. His balls tightened to the point of pain, his cock hardened beyond bearing, and heat rushed through his veins like a windswept fire. He slammed into her with desperate need, a low, savage, guttural growl rising from his throat.

His cock throbbed, pulsed, jerked, and then ecstasy overwhelmed him. He climaxed in long, intense spasms, his come pouring into her in endless waves.

Read Chapter 8 here.