Still spoiling Exile.
Chapter Three
She was in shock. That's the only way she could explain it. It was shock that made her body pliant as he hooked her leg over his shoulder and moved in to kiss her in a way she'd only read about. Shock made her clutch at his hair as his tongue sped up, moving in ever-faster circles against her distended clit. It had to be shock. Because Clark would never do this to her and she'd never do this to Lana. It was her own moans that pulled her back to herself as tiny shocks raced all over her body.
She sagged against the door as he got up from his knees. "Mmm. Chloe. That was easier than I thought."
She squeezed her eyes shut. Yes. Easy. Apparently, she was easy on top of a big, fat Judas. She felt a tear slip from the corner of her eye.
"Stop that!" Clar... Kal said harshly. She opened her eyes to see his boring into her. "You start crying and I'll leave so fast, you'll..."
"Yeah. You keep saying that," she spat. "But I don't see you leaving." She was angry with herself, but she was angrier at him. He knew how she felt. He knew how hard it would be for her to resist him. And he took advantage of that. He'd turned her into this creature with torn panties that stood in alleyways and let herself be used... or was she using him? Using Clark's body and Kal's empty conscience to give her the kind of orgasm that she'd only tasted before, alone at night with thoughts of Clark.
"Why don't you just leave?" she sighed, broken.
He laughed softly. "We're not done." His hand went to his jeans as his mouth moved to her neck.
She pushed at him. "Yes, we are." She may as well have been pushing at a brick wall. His mouth never stopped nibbling at her neck and she could hear the dark clink of his belt. "I can't do this to Lana."
"Good." His mouth moved toward her breast as one hand came up to push the neckline of her tank aside. "Because you aren't doing this to Lana. You're doing it to me."
"I... I can't," she gasped, even as her head lolled against the door and her resolve crumbled.
"Then, don't," Kal said silkily. His hand grasped her thigh, pulling it up and over his hip. She felt the other at her waist and her foot was suddenly dangling just above the ground. He smiled. It was almost playful. It was almost Clark. "You just sit there feeling guilty and I'll go about my business."
Her body arched as she felt him probing at her entrance. This was happening. This was actually happening. It wasn't her first, but it might as well have been. He was so large and it stretched her in ways that were both painful and glorious. Her first had been a sweet, awkward fumbling encounter after sampling a few beers at a party celebrating the end of her first internship at The Daily Planet. There was nothing sweet about this. A dumpster to her right. To her left, the open end of an alleyway where anyone could walk by. But she didn't care. Because someone who was and wasn't Clark was pumping in and out of her, gripping her hips, his mouth open against her throat.
She groaned and closed her eyes, not caring that her head was aching where it periodically thumped against the door, almost in time to the bass vibrating against her back from inside the club.
"Open your eyes," he rasped. She obeyed. She had to. She was too afraid he'd stop. His eyes burned with a faint, but steady glow. She wasn't imagining it. What was that? "Say my name," he growled, his pace not letting up.
"Cl..." No. She knew better. This wasn't Clark. And it broke her heart even as it racked her body with spasms. "Kal," she heard herself moaning as her eyes fluttered shut again. "Kal."
"You're mine," she heard him whisper.
A dark thrill washed over her. "Yes. Yours," she panted as her body clenched around him and her torso arched away from the door.
His grip didn't falter, not even when his own body shook and she felt hot, warm spurts deep inside her. The conscious, rational part of her thanked God she'd been on the pill since she was fourteen. The lustful thing that churned deep down knew she wouldn't care if she wasn't.
"You're mine," he breathed against her ear, still now. He slipped out of her and picked her up as if she weighed nothing at all. She clasped her hands behind his neck, mesmerized by his eyes, now so blue, so almost-Clark's that she wished he would let her cry for him. "You're mine," he repeated. "And don't you forget it."
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