We Belong, Chapter 3

Clark/Chloe
Season 8, after "Turbulence"
Rating: Adult. If you're under eighteen, please go elsewhere now.
Disclaimer: These characters belong to the CW and DC Comics, not to me.
Read the story from the beginning here.
Read Chapter 2 here.

He tried to keep it platonic. He really did.

She was married, he reminded himself firmly. Even if things were a little turbulent with Jimmy right now, she was married. And he couldn't be the one to interfere with that. He couldn't be the one to widen the cracks in their relationship into a chasm, and break them apart. He couldn't. It would be wrong.

But the moment his lips touched hers, all his good intentions flew right out the window.

The light brush of her mouth against his sent a surge of emotion through him. God. He'd wanted to do this for so long, to take her into his arms and kiss her thoroughly, until she was moaning for more, and then lift her and carry her to bed and kiss her everywhere, to make her realize just how much she meant to him, how unique she was in his life, how irreplaceable...

It was like a dam had broken in his mind. He tried to push back the flood of thoughts and images and desires, but his brain wouldn't have any of it. He'd been repressing too much for too long, and now he was totally at the mercy of his rampaging emotions.

He pressed his mouth against hers, just a little harder, and felt her yield to him, felt her arms wrap around his neck and her lips part. His tongue slipped into her mouth, because he just couldn't help it. And when her tongue brushed against his, a soft caress of velvet, he felt goosebumps race over his skin.

His arms tightened around her, pulling her closer, and he grew a little bolder, kissing her a little more intensely. Their tongues tangled together, stroking and exploring, and he felt his body's reaction right down to his toes, felt the heat flooding him, felt himself getting...

Well, hard. Really hard.

She was right up against him, and he wanted to move against her, more than he'd ever wanted anything. But he couldn't, because that would be taking this further than it could possibly go. French kissing was already way, way over the line.

Dry humping was so far over the line that he wouldn't be able to see the line in the rear view mirror.

He somehow managed to hold himself still, despite his body's relentless urgings to move. The kiss went on, growing steadily deeper and more intense, and he felt her hands sliding over his back, caressing him through his t-shirt. A low groan rumbled in his throat.

And then she rubbed her body against his.

Sparks burst inside him like an explosion of fireworks. He groaned again, and his hands slid right down to her hips, pulling her against him again.

And that was wrong. Very wrong. He knew it, but he couldn't stop himself.

She pressed her abdomen against him, rubbing, and he nearly collapsed from the intensity of it. It felt so damned good.

But he needed more.

No, he told himself firmly. No more. You need to say goodnight and head right out that door.

Yeah, right, a slightly more honest voice answered. Like I'm going to walk away from this.

No, he definitely wasn't walking away. He wanted more. She pressed against him, and he realized she wasn't positioned quite right. He needed to fix that.

He tugged her toward the bed, half afraid she'd come to her senses, half afraid she wouldn't.

She didn't. She sank down onto the bed, and pulled him right down on top of her.

He should have resisted, but he didn't. He let his big body press hers into the mattress, shifting a bit so that he was right where he needed to be, her parted thighs cradling his swollen erection. He moved against her, and another groan was torn from his chest. Embarrassed by the sheer neediness of the sound, he lowered his head and kissed her more deeply than before.

Kissing her didn't stop the groans, but it did muffle them a bit. Her arms went around his back, holding him close, and her legs lifted, wrapping around his hips, and he found himself rocking against her, in a steady, hungry rhythm, while he kissed her mouth and her cheeks and her throat.

"Clark," she whispered, her hips rising to meet his, her hands all over him. "Oh, Clark, I've wanted this for a long, long time..."

So had he. He wanted it so badly that all his innate decency seemed to have deserted him. He shouldn't do this to Jimmy. Hell, he shouldn't do it to her. She was emotionally vulnerable right now, fragile, needy. He'd heard her crying, after all. He knew that she was grieving for everything that had happened, everything she'd lost.

But a raw, primal need was taking him over from the inside, grabbing him in razor-sharp talons and refusing to let him go. He needed her, more than he'd ever needed anything. He'd always needed her. He couldn't stop touching her or kissing her. He couldn't stop any of it. The need was way too far out of control for that.

She seemed to need him just as badly. Her body moved beneath his, and her mouth was all over his throat, kissing him hungrily, while her fingers trailed all over him, stroking up under his shirt, down under his jeans. He writhed beneath her touch, moaning.

She tugged his shirt off, and he let her. And then he was pulling off her shirt and bra, his big fingers fumbling with awkward eagerness. He sank back down on her, feeling her breasts warm and soft against his chest. A desperate need grew inside him, the need to strip off her jeans, to sink into her soft, wet core...

No. That was not happening. Really. It wasn't. It couldn't.

But her fingers caressed down his spine lightly, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake, and he shuddered, and admitted to himself that sooner or later, it probably was happening. Because as good as this was, it wasn't enough.

He rocked against her harder. She lifted her legs more than before, wrapping herself around him, and heat swelled inside him. A long unnnnhhhhh rose from his throat, a sound of desperate need and hunger.

He remembered her words: I feel like I took a wrong turn somewhere.

This, he thought, would have been the right turn a couple of years ago. Maybe even eight months ago, before she and Jimmy got engaged, and then married. But right now... right now it wasn't the right turn for them to take. It was wrong, and he shouldn't be doing this, shouldn't be rolling around half naked in a bed with a married woman, no matter how much she meant to him.

They needed to stop, before this came to its natural conclusion, and they both regretted it.

He lifted his head and spoke. His voice sounded gravelly and hoarse, even to his own ears. "Chlo," he said roughly. "We shouldn't... I mean, this isn't..."

She caught his face between her hands and looked up at him, her eyes burning with a fierce golden flame.

"Don't you dare stop now," she whispered.

She pulled his head back down and kissed him, and he was lost. Maybe he'd been lost since the first moment they'd kissed tonight. Hell, maybe he'd been lost since the day he met her. She'd planted a sweet and innocent kiss on him that day, and on some level, he'd never forgotten it.

Regardless, he knew his good intentions were not going to win out.

He surrendered, kissing her deeply, his hips moving hard and fast against hers. Heat built inside him, a gathering storm he couldn't hold back much longer. He heard her soft whimpers and knew that she was close, too. A film of sweat broke out on his skin, and a deep groan rumbled from him.

And then he heard a door open.

Oh, shit.

He lifted his head and twisted his neck around.

Jimmy Olsen was standing at the door, staring at them.

More to come...