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 Chapter 1 here.
Chloe sighed, torn between concern and exasperation. Clark on a red K bender was impossible to argue with. When he was under the influence, he wanted exactly three things: sex, sex, and sex.
Even so, she made a token effort at putting up an argument. "Clark, we're supposed to go to a movie..."
"You really want me to show up at the movie theater with glowing red eyes?"
She hesitated, then nodded, conceding the logic of his argument. "Okay, no movie. Let me just call Lois..."
"No." His voice was suddenly implacable, and he rose to his feet, looming over her. Her eyes dropped to his crotch, and she gulped, because his erection was very clearly outlined through his jeans. It looked huge. She knew from experience that it was huge.
"Clark," she said weakly, rising to her own feet and skittering backward. "I really need to give Lois a call..."
"Forget about Lois." He was suddenly on her side of the table, his arms pinning her against the plaster wall, his big body leaning into hers. "I don't want you thinking about anything but me."
She swallowed. The truth was that with him this close, it was almost impossible to think about anything but him. He smelled good, the warm sweetness of cherries combined with the earthy scent of sex, and something urgent began to burn deep down in her body. She'd speculated before that red K inebriation made him produce pheromones that made him irresistible to her.
Or maybe it was just that he was sexy as hell.
Regardless, she wasn't going to fight very hard. She didn't have a good reason to put up a protest. They were dating, and they made love all the time, and when he came out of this state, he wasn't going to be terribly upset that she'd ravished him.
She sighed, and relaxed into his arms.
God, she felt good.
Clark let his hips press against Chloe's warm, soft abdomen. The pressure against his swollen cock gave him some measure of relief from the ache. But not enough. Not nearly enough.
He rocked his hips forward, rubbing against her, and groaned.
"Clark." The word was a soft sigh of submission. Her hands slipped around his shoulders, then slid down his back and dug into his ass, pulling him against her a little harder. Thus encouraged, he moved faster against her.
God, he was almost ready to come already. Desire, feverish and hot, burned inside him, scorching his veins, scalding his skin. His erection pulsed, hungry and eager for release, and he moved harder. Precome spilled from him, and his breath came in uneven, desperate gasps, because he was almost there... oh, God, yes, almost...
"Clark," she whispered, but this time there was a reproving note in her tone. She wanted him to slow down. Of course she did.
Women, he thought with annoyance. They were always trying to get you to go slow, always trying to transform the raw, primal power of sex into something sweet and romantic and gentle. They just didn't get the attraction of a fast, hard fuck.
She pulled back a bit and put her hands on his shoulders, pushing him away, and he groaned.
"Oh, Chlo." His voice sounded thick with passion to his own ears. "Don't make me stop, don't, I have to..."
"You can wait a minute or two."
Easy for you to say, he thought, not without resentment. She didn't understand the burning need that had taken him over, the way his body was so hard, so taut, so utterly out of his control. She didn't understand how badly he needed release from the pressure and the heat that scorched him from the inside out.
He grumbled in protest, but even in his current, mind-altered state, he wouldn't force her into anything. "Chlo..."
"Trust me, this will be better," she told him softly, and pressed her hand against the front of his jeans.
Read Chapter 3.