No One Like You, Chapter 5

Clark/Chloe
Season 5, after "Fanatic"
Rating: Adult. If you're under eighteen, please go elsewhere now.
Disclaimer: These characters belong to the WB and DC Comics, not to me.

The feel of Chloe’s lips against his throat drove away what was left of Clark’s self-control. He ran his hands over her back, taking care to keep them flat and to touch her lightly, and discovered there was still a strip of fabric in his way. He curled his fingers around her bra and tore it as if it were tissue paper, throwing the remains aside.

“There’s a way to take that off without ripping it to shreds, you know.”

“Don’t have time.” He lowered his mouth to hers and kissed her fiercely, then spoke again. “I’m in kind of a hurry here.”

“Clark…” Her mouth moved down his chest, in an echo of his dreams, and it felt just as good as it had in his dreams. Maybe better. His eyes drifted shut, and a soft sigh of pleasure escaped him. “What about your parents?”

“They’re around somewhere. They might catch us.” He could hear a gravelly note in his voice. “Right now, I don’t care all that much.”

“Me neither.” She spoke between kisses, her voice muffled against his chest. “Turn around.”

His eyes fluttered open, and he looked at her, puzzled. “Huh?”

“I want to kiss your back,” she said.

He wasn’t exactly sure why she’d want to be kissing his back when she could be kissing his front, but he was cool with Chloe kissing him anywhere, really, so he wasn’t going to object too hard. Obediently, he turned around, and her lips began exploring his back. She was still standing on the stair, so his upper back wasn’t out of her reach, and her lips slipped over his shoulders, then brushed over the sensitive skin between his shoulderblade and his spine.

A soft growl escaped him, and his head dropped forward, so that his dark hair fell into his eyes. Her hands slid around him and began caressing his chest as she kissed his back, her fingers playing with his nipples, running over his ribs and abs, exploring him as carefully as if she’d never seen a guy’s chest before, and wanted to memorize him so she write an article on the subject.

He could feel her lips on his back, her tongue sliding out every so often to taste his skin, and his legs started to feel wobbly. He might be the world’s strongest man, but her touch made him weak. He thought his knees might just give out.

And then her hand slid down toward the waistband of his jeans, and his cock gave an eager jolt. He wanted to be touched there, so badly he could barely restrain himself from grabbing her hand and just putting it there.

Her fingers stroked the sensitive skin just below his navel for long moments. At last her hand slid down over the fly of his jeans. The first light touch of her fingers against his throbbing flesh dragged a sound from his throat, a noise of mingled agony and ecstasy, a noise of need and longing and fevered desire. His hips jerked involuntarily, shoving his erection up against her palm.

She took the hint and kept touching him through the jeans, stroking and exploring the length of him through the denim, and he shuddered and writhed against her hand, his eyes screwed shut, his teeth clenched, his breath coming in short, desperate gasps for air.

“Chloe…” He couldn’t stop himself from whispering her name as the touch of her hand drove him higher and higher. “Chlo…”

She began unfastening his jeans, then gently pushed them and his boxers aside, and took him into her hand, wrapping her fingers around him. A long, frantic noise came from his throat, and he responded by thrusting violently against her hand.

She held him carefully, as if he was something very valuable and fragile and rare. Her hand slid up and down gently but firmly, and the feel of her warm, soft palm against his bare flesh was impossibly good. He could feel moisture seeping out from the head of his cock, could feel his balls draw up against his body, and he knew he was seconds away from coming.

Images from his dreams spun through his mind in wild, disjointed flashes, images of them making love by firelight, making love in a blue summer sky, making love in the back seat of a car…

The images turned him on more than before, and pleasure raced through him.

“Stop,” he whispered. “You have to stop.”

She paused in her steady motion, but she didn’t pull her hand away, and he stood shivering, barely resisting the impulse to thrust against her palm just a few more times, until the heat and pleasure overwhelmed him. He dragged his eyes open and looked down, seeing her small, pale hand still wrapped around the dark, flushed skin of his cock. His erection was swollen, the head wet with precome, and a long ripple of need washed over him, so that he had to struggle to remain still.

“Chloe.” His voice was strangled. “I want to make love to you. I have to make love to you.”

“Sounds like a good idea to me.”

He turned around and looked at her. She looked beautiful with no shirt, no bra, nothing but her golden hair, falling to her shoulders. Thank God her hair wasn’t long enough to cover anything. He looked down, seeing her beautiful, round breasts, the oval indentation of her navel… and her shorts. The shorts needed to go.

He dropped his hands to her waist, unfastened the shorts, and shoved at them. She helped, and two seconds later she was kicking her shorts and panties aside. He got rid of his clothes, too, although he was aware that standing naked with a girl in the barn, when his parents were around somewhere, could lead to him being grounded for the rest of eternity. Right now he just didn’t care. Chloe was worth it.

He wanted to pick her up and slide right into her, but he wasn’t quite sure she was ready. He could smell the sweet, hot fragrance of her arousal, but he had a feeling she wasn’t quite as turned on as he was. After all, she’d been touching him, kissing him, licking him, and he’d hardly gotten a chance to kiss her at all.

And suddenly he wanted to kiss her very badly. Everywhere.

The scent of her arousal called to him, a siren song that he couldn’t possibly ignore. He pulled her down off the step, still standing upright, then went to his knees in front of her. The wood floor was hard, gritty with dirt and hay, but he was invulnerable, so he didn’t much care. He pressed his lips against her thigh, and she jumped.

“Clark. I thought we were going to—“

“Later,” he mumbled against her skin, pressing kisses over the soft flesh of her inner thigh. She parted her legs a bit, unconsciously granting him access, and he could taste the moisture on her thighs. It tasted sweet and sexy all at once, just like her. He licked the taste of her off his lips, then let his tongue slide out to taste more of her.

She shuddered and jumped, and he lifted his hands and caught her hips, making sure she couldn’t get away. He was careful not to curl his fingers, mindful of the need not to hurt her. He didn’t want to hurt her. He just wanted to make her feel good.

His mouth trailed upward. He could hear her gasping for breath, sounding shocked and turned on all at once, and then he parted her most intimate flesh with his fingers, and stroked her with his tongue. She tasted like nothing he’d ever tasted before, wild and exotic and purely sexual, and arousal beat at him in ever-increasing waves. He did it again, and her voice rose in a long, wavering wail of pleasure.

He'd never done this before, but he instinctively fell into a steady, gentle rhythm, his tongue stroking her softly, enough to make her sob with need and quiver and dig her hands into his hair, but not quite enough to let her climax. Her skin grew damp under his hands, and she grew more wet than ever, until the scent of her arousal filled his head, making his body throb in response.

He groaned against her, his own need so intense he could barely stand it. He needed to be inside her, needed to make love to her. He simply needed her.

He imagined himself sliding into her hot, slippery body, and suddenly he wanted to be touched so badly he couldn't quite stop himself from reaching down. He brushed his fingers carefully over his own aching flesh, feeling how swollen he was, how much precome was leaking from him. He suddenly remembered seeing her hand wrapped around his erection, remembered watching her stroking up and down, over and over again, driving him almost to the point of orgasm, and the memory made him moan and lick at her a little more roughly.

She shuddered, tilted her hips forward, and dropped her head back, her hands clutching his hair, her voice breathlessly whispering approval. "Oh, yes, Clark, oh, yes..."

He didn't stop what he was doing to her, but at the same time he began to run his fingers up and down his cock, stroking himself very lightly. He could feel his erection spasming with every touch of his hand, and it felt so good he could barely resist grabbing himself and pumping hard and fast, until he came. He was so close, so damn close, and all it would take was just a few seconds...

He resisted the temptation, because even more than release, what he wanted was Chloe. He wanted to come deep inside her, not all over the barn floor. But the way she smelled, the way she tasted, the little sounds she was making, all combined to make him crazy, and he wasn't sure he was going to manage to hold off his climax.

He stroked himself a little harder, running the pad of his index finger around the broad, wet head of his cock, finding all the most sensitive places and caressing them lightly, and his tongue moved against her faster than ever. Her voice rose to a frantic pitch, and he knew she was about to come. He wasn't an expert on sex, but it didn't take an expert to interpret her reactions. Chloe had always been easy for him to read, frank and open and honest, and apparently she was pretty much the same in bed.

His balls drew up against his body again, so tight and swollen they hurt, and his cock started to jerk frantically, and he realized he was about to lose it, too. Part of him just wanted to let it happen, but instead he stood up. He picked her up and placed her back onto the first step, so the height difference wasn't a problem, then took a step forward, pressing his body against hers. His cock jutted upward, pushing at the entrance to her body, and she moaned and clutched at him.

"Now, Clark."

She didn't have to ask twice. He thrust upward, hard, slamming deep into her, and she cried out. He echoed her with a long, loud groan of satisfaction and pleasure. At this point he didn't really give a damn if his parents heard. He didn't give a damn about anything except this. He was finally making love to Chloe, and that was all that mattered to him right now.

She lifted a leg and wrapped it around his thighs, letting him sink into her even more deeply, and he put his hands on her hips to make sure she didn't fall, although he was careful not to squeeze. He thrust again, and found himself the way inside her, her slick heat surrounding him entirely.

And then there was nothing but the motion of their bodies and soft inhalations and muttered, disjointed, incoherent words. He was a little worried he'd come after one or two thrusts, but somehow he managed to control himself, falling into a slow, smooth rhythm. Her body responded in kind, and they moved together, their skin growing slick with sweat, their hands and mouths all over each other.

She felt just like she'd felt in his dreams. No, she felt better. There was a rawness, a sharp edge to his desire, that he'd never before experienced, whether in dreams or in reality. He couldn't have put words to it even if his mind had been functioning, but there was something primitive about his need for her, something instinctive and primal that quite simply overwhelmed him.

The slow, steady rhythm began to morph into something faster, something irresistible and frantic and wild, and their bodies moved together hard, in a violent storm of heat and moisture and perfect physical pleasure.

And then his cock was pulsing and throbbing as come exploded from him in rush after rush of fire. It felt so good that he could hardly stop himself from clutching at her, and he had to force himself to keep his hands flat against her ass, so as not to hurt her.

She wasn't nearly so restrained. Her fingers dug into his hair, and she arched her head back, her eyes clenched shut, her voice raised in a series of cries that rose almost to a shriek. He was vaguely aware that he was making noises too, sobbing and groaning and crying out, almost yelling, but he couldn't stop himself, because it was just impossible to keep silent under the onslaught of so much ecstasy.

At last the spasms faded, and a warm contentment washed over him. Her cries faded into soft moans, and she collapsed against his shoulder. He held her against him, listening to the slowing thunder of her heartbeat, listening to the ragged sound of her breathing... listening to footsteps on the grass outside.

"Oh, hell," he said. "My dad's headed this way."

Read Chapter 6 here.