Season 2, "Rush"
Rating: Adult. If you're under eighteen, please go elsewhere now.
Disclaimer: These characters belong to the CW and DC Comics, not to me.
She wants him. She's always wanted him, and she can't imagine why she's never tried to seduce him before now. Maybe because she thought Clark was a nice, sweet boy who'd run screaming the first time she approached him. She's always figured he might pass out if she tried to kiss him, and that he'd definitely have a heart attack and collapse onto the floor at the first glimpse of boob.
And he'd certainly reacted that way in the Torch, when she was teasing him by sucking on that lollipop. His cheeks had turned red, and he'd looked terminally embarrassed, like he'd caught her with a vibrator or something.
But now he's acting totally different, like he's just been waiting for her to come onto him. His tongue is in her mouth-- and how weird is it that Clark Kent is French kissing her?-- and his hands are on her butt, and he's moving his hips against hers, grinding against her in a way that says clearly, I want to fuck you. She can feel the hot, hard press of his erection through their jeans, and there's a corresponding ache between her legs, a physical ache of need and longing and hard-edged desire.
As he kisses her, digging his fingers into her rear, she can feel herself growing hot and wet, so wet it would ordinarily be a little embarrassing. But she's not into embarrassment today, so she focuses on the feel of his body against hers, and how good it feels. And she thinks about what he might do to make her feel even better. That ache between her legs is driving her crazy, but her nipples ache, too, and she really wishes he'd touch them.
His hand slides up along the side of her waist, but he's moving too slowly to suit her. She grabs his hand and places it firmly on her breast.
He doesn't scream or faint or have a heart attack. His big hand cups her breast, kneading it softly, and she can feel her nipple thrusting, erect and swollen, against his palm. The pressure of his hand against her aching flesh is exactly what she needs, and she moans into his mouth and writhes against him, her abdomen brushing over his hard-on over and over again.
He groans and wrenches his mouth away from hers. "Chloe. Quit wiggling."
"Oh... God. I can't help it."
At the desperate words, he looks down at her, and she can't miss the masculine interest lighting his eyes. He squeezes her boob a little more roughly, and she whimpers.
"So you like that, huh?"
"Ohhhh..." She's so turned on she can't even put sentences together. "God. Yes."
She presses against his hand shamelessly, seeking more pressure against her nipple. His palm presses against it as he squeezes her, and she sobs, all but collapsing against him, her body suddenly boneless and fluid. Her nipples and her womb and her clit pulse with a deep, aching need she's never felt before. She wants more, so much more, but doesn't know exactly what she wants or how to articulate it.
All she knows is, there's a desperate need burning inside her body, and she's pretty sure Clark can put it out.
He's turned on, too. She can feel it in the violent, erratic movements of his hips, the sudden jerks and thrusts of his pelvis against hers, the harsh sound of his breathing. He smells good, like hay and fresh air, just like he always does. But today there's something sexual added to his usual smell, something a little sweaty, a little raw... a little addictive. She presses her face against his shoulder and inhales, breathing in the scent of him, letting herself grow intoxicated with it.
His hand leaves her breast, to her immense dismay, but then his hands are sliding up under her shirt, pulling it off over her head, and then he's touching her through the lace of her bra, and it's so much better with less fabric in the way. Her head falls back, her eyelids flutter shut, and a long, keening sound emerges from her throat.
"Chloe." His voice is gravelly, deeper than usual. He sounds much older all of a sudden. "Jesus Christ. You're so sexy."
His finger traces along the top of her bra, over the sensitive flesh of her breast, and she sobs again, clutching at him, digging her fingers into his t-shirt and holding on in desperation. "Yes," she whispers. "Yes. Don't stop."
He doesn't stop. His fingers trace along the edge of the lace, and then they slide down over the lace, and then his thumb is stroking over her nipple, the light touch sending explosions of pleasure through her. She can feel heat between her legs, and if she thought she was embarrassingly wet before, she ought to be a lot more embarrassed now, because her panties are soaked.
But she doesn't care. She just wants him to keep on doing what he's doing. She hopes he'll never ever stop.
His thumb strokes her in a steady back-and-forth motion, and the need grows worse than before. She's throbbing deep inside, her inner muscles squeezing so hard she can feel them convulsing, and her nipples ache so badly she thinks she might scream with mingled pleasure and need. She loves the way his hand feels on her, and yet she wants more.
His hands move slightly, and there's the sound of ripping fabric, and suddenly her bra is in pieces on the floor. And then his thumb is touching her bare skin, tracing circles around the nipple, stroking lightly over it, and it's so impossibly good the deep throbbing intensifies. She's climaxed before, by herself, and she knows what it feels like, and she thinks maybe she's going to come just from having her nipple touched.
Which shouldn't surprise her, because it's Clark. There have been times when she was sitting in class, studying him surreptitiously, and she thought she might just come from looking at him. So it's not really a surprise that his touch makes her this hot. Clark has always made her hot.
And then he's dropping down in front of her, to an awkward, half-kneeling position that ought to be uncomfortable. But if he can be hit with a baseball bat and not feel it, maybe he doesn't get muscle cramps. Either way, he doesn't seem uncomfortable. His mouth moves gently over her breast, brushing kisses over it, and she moans again. She thinks she'd just sink to the floor if he wasn't still holding her firmly by the waist.
And then his tongue is darting out, teasing her nipple with wet little strokes, and she sobs and digs her hands into his hair and tries to drag him closer. Unfortunately, she can't seem to move him, any more than she could move one of the barn's walls, and yanking on his hair doesn't have the slightest effect. He just laughs, a soft, low, sexy laugh that gives her goosebumps.
"What's your hurry, Chlo?"
"Please." Her eyes are clamped shut, and her jaw is clenched, so that she's speaking through her teeth. "Please, Clark. I need this. I need it so badly..."
His tongue slides over her a little more aggressively, circling her nipple, then stroking right over it, a long slow slide of soft moisture. She groans at the sensation of his warm wet tongue against her aching flesh, and the ache between her legs intensifies almost to the point of pain.
Touching herself never felt like this. She's never experienced this desperate need, this intense ache, this throbbing, pulsing drive for release that overwhelms everything else in life. She feels purely physical, like she's nothing at all except an ache that needs relief.
He bites her nipple, very lightly, and she gives a startled cry. He hesitates.
"Did I hurt you?"
"No." She speaks in a breathless rush. "No, oh God, no, please don't stop..."
He bites her just a little harder, catching her nipple between his sharp teeth and nibbling lightly, rolling it between his teeth, making her flesh so much more sensitive that she writhes, so near to the edge she can hardly stand it. If only he'd take his hand and put it between her thighs and rub, just a little...
He doesn't. Despite being an alien, he's a normal teenage guy, and he's totally focused on her breasts right now. He continues to bite one nipple, stroking the other with his thumb, and his caresses drive her higher and higher. She stands there, knees trembling, her body twisting and arching desperately under his attentions, so full of desperate longing it hurts.
And then he slowly draws her nipple into his mouth, and begins to suck hard.
The heat and moisture of his mouth is too much for her. Suddenly her clit is throbbing fast and hard, just as intensely if he were stroking it directly. Her womb clenches rhythmically, deep inside, and long, powerful waves rush through her cunt, the muscles there convulsing in forceful spasms.
Scalding moisture spills from her body, and she trembles violently, her hips moving wildly, as flame bursts in her womb and explodes out into her body in pulse after pulse of ecstasy. She's crying out, but hardly aware of it, because all she knows is the heat and the pleasure and the incredible release of sexual tension.
He doesn't stop, just sucks harder, and she comes again and again, sobbing and shuddering and wailing with the rapture of it. Heat explodes in her like fireworks, and she clutches his hair, hanging onto him like she'll never let him go.
The truth is, she doesn't want to let him go. She doesn't want to move on from this moment, back to their normal, everyday relationship, and she wishes things could stay just like this forever. She doesn't want to go back to a nice, safe friendship, back to sublimating everything they feel for each other beneath the guise of "just friends." This moment, in all its raw sexuality and hot passion, is so perfect that she wishes it could somehow never end.
In this moment, she's totally and completely his.
Read Chapter 3 here.