Deep In The Bottle (Part Five)

She lurched forward. "Fuck you."

He smiled wider. "You should. You probably need it."

He hadn't planned to say that, but he'd certainly been thinking it. It had been hovering at the back of his mind since she'd first bent to look under the sink. She had such nice, compact curves. Sturdy, lightly muscled calves and arms. It made him wonder if she liked it hard. She should. She was built for it.

Now, with her blazer hanging open, her blouse half-untucked, her face flushed with alcohol and anger... He wondered if he'd ever get the idea of a hard fuck with Chloe Sullivan out of his mind.

Her fists clenched at her sides, but she didn't move to hit him. He was glad for it. He didn't like being hit by girls. You weren't supposed to hit back, after all. "There's a man's response for you," she said, her lip curling up. "Is that supposed to put me in my place?"

"Not at all," he said. "It was more of an observation."

He felt a frisson of triumph when she stepped back slightly. "A sick, twisted kind of..."

He advanced a step. "I'd just bet you've never been fucked in your life."

She took another step back. "Stop it," she said, her eyes darting everywhere, but avoiding his. "You have no right to say..."

"And I'm not talking about sweet, fumbling, vanilla sex with Olsen," he went on. "I'm talking about something where you actually break a sweat."

Her back hit the wall at the same time her eyes met his. They were wide and dark. Dilated pupils. An unconscious attraction response. He was sure of it then. He would fuck Chloe Sullivan this night. The only variable was how.

*****************************

She felt sweat break out on her upper lip as she pressed herself closer to the wall. "No." She swallowed hard. "As a matter of fact, I've made love. Something you've never done in your life." Her mind was reeling. She'd been nearly rid of him. This entire insane night was ending and now he was... What? Sexually harassing her? Probably. So why the hell wasn't she slapping him?

Lex smiled. "Oh, I've made love. Even to women I hardly knew. You have to give them what they want." He chuckled and leaned a hand against the wall next to her. God, why couldn't she move? "Some women like it soft and slow. It's easy to get caught up in the fantasy myself. But some women just want you to grab them by the..."

She moved then. Stepping to the side and away. Something had shifted here. "What are you doing?"

He pushed away from the wall and turned to her. "Just making conversation."

She shook her head. "This is not a conversation." The things he was saying were too... Wrong. Dirty. Hot. "Sick," she said quickly, trying to stop her mind from taking it there. "This is a sick game." She backed toward the living room.

He followed. "I like sick games."

"I just bet you do." She retreated further, putting the coffee table between them.

"I just bet you would, too." He licked his lips.

Even though he didn't move, she took another step back. She couldn't believe this. Lex Luthor was pretty much chasing her around her apartment. And what was she doing? Running away. She wasn't the girl who ran away. She was the girl who met things head-on. That was exactly the problem somehow. She was not too eager for the meeting part. "I think you should leave," she said, crossing her arms.

He smiled, his teeth catching slightly on one side of his bottom lip. "I don't think that's what you think."

"Well, it is. So just..." She made a beeline for the door. She didn't make it, though. Her liquored limbs and hazy mind betrayed her. She tripped over the leg of the coffee table, falling on one of her discarded shoes. "Damn it!" She rolled over, tossing the shoe.

"Oh, did you hurt yourself?" She looked up. He was standing right above her. It was like the moment in the horror movie when the girl fell running from the masked killer. That was when she usually got it. Of course, in her case it might not be a knife in the stomach, but a... "Let me help you." He leaned down.

She scrambled backwards and got to her feet. "I'm fine," she said quickly, rubbing her hip. Even through the haze, it stung. She was glad she didn't wear stilettos.

"You're hurt," he said, glancing down. "Want me to take a look at that?"

She shook her head frantically. "You're not taking a look at any of me." She took another step, nearly stumbling again. "I'm fine," she repeated.

"You're drunk," he drawled. "I should put you to bed."

She stared, wide-eyed at him. No. No way. This is not happening. She didn't know how to handle this Lex Luthor. The one who threw hate and insults, even illegal acts at her... That was something she could at least wrap her mind around. But this one--with his silken tone and hooded eyes. This was one was... Laying it on a little thick, she realized, narrowing her eyes. And wasn't it exactly like him to change tacts when he was losing? That was what this night was about: who won and who lost. On a smaller scale, it was everything between them played out.

So what was the game now? Probably something he'd learned from his father. She remembered what Lionel had done to her when he passed himself off as Clark. She hadn't understood it at the time. But Clark had explained nearly a year later. She was not about to play the scared little girl. She was not about to have him run off, a winner, just after she surrendered. She took the hand that was on her hip and slid it down her thigh, then up again. "Yeah, you'd like that, wouldn't you?"

His eyes widened, but he seemed to recover quickly. "You'd like it, too."

"I don't know." She moved toward the front door, slowly... and successfully this time. "Sleeping with the enemy is typically considered undesirable and, in some cases, dangerous."

"Dangerous?" He tilted his head. "Maybe. But undesirable?" His eyes travelled the length of her. "Definitely not."

"Well, it's not unheard of, I guess." She arched her back away from the door. "Two adversaries working together on a joint project."

"Happens all the time," he said, a half-smile on his lips as he moved closer.

"Hmmm. Could be a learning experience."

He was right in front of her now. Almost... "I'd love to teach you a few things."

"So... How about it, then? Less talk, more..." She smiled. "Teach," she finished, wetting her own lips.

He leaned down slowly. She waited, grasping the doorknob. He had to close his eyes first or he'd ruin the surprise. It seemed an eternity, but they finally slid shut. She turned the knob and pushed backwards, holding tight to the door. Her head spun as it swung outwards, but she managed to stay upright. Lex, however, was another story. If she gained nothing else from this, the image of Lex Luthor flailing his arms and stumbling forward would keep her warm at night. She pushed at his back, savoring the image of him sprawled on the landing for a moment before moving inward and pulling the door shut. She turned the lock quickly. "Great lesson," she yelled through the door. "Have a good night."

She heard shuffling on the other side. So he wasn't unconscious. Darn. "Chloe... you might as well let me in."

"And you might as well go to hell." She strolled toward the dining room. "Who's the winner now?" she called over her shoulder. She spotted the bottle on the table. Not much left now. She was about to indulge herself in a victory sip when she spotted his coat, still flung over the chair. "Oh, you forgot your coat. Cold out, too. I hope you walked." She poured a little scotch on the coat before lifting the bottle to her lips. She hoped expensive scotch and had as lingering a smell as it did a punch.

She heard a click behind her. "You forgot something, too."

She turned slowly, the bottle suspended just in front of her lips.

"I have a key," he said, dangling it from his fingers before placing it in his pocket.

"Fuck."

He smiled. "Glad you agree." He moved toward her.

"No," she breathed. "This is over. You don't get to win."

He pursed his lips and moved closer still. "Why can't we call it a tie? You could win, too."

She felt the edge of the table on her bottom. "I don't want to win with you."

"But I want you to win, Chloe." He took the bottle from her numb hand. "I want make you win till you can't walk."

Her eyes nearly rolled backward. Walk. She was having a hard enough time standing. He brought the bottle to his mouth and drained the last of what should have been her victory sip. He tossed it behind him. The dull crash jarred her, waking up her senses just as his hands found her hips. "No." She pushed weakly at his chest. "This is not how this ends."

"No, it isn't." He leaned down, his head moving out of her bleary vision. "Because it's not over," he said against her ear.

Her hands somehow went from pushing to gripping fistfuls of his shirt. "But... This is so... wrong," she finished on a gasp as his teeth nipped her earlobe.

His lips traveled down her neck. "I know."

"I hate you," she whispered as her hands slid to his shoulders.

"Likewise." The hands on her hips moved downwards, gathering her skirt. His fingertips brushed her outer thighs as his lips slid up to her jaw. "That's what makes this so good."

Was he right? Did hate make for better sex? She'd loved Jimmy... in her way. But the sex? She'd never come, not that he knew it. She'd never have hurt Jimmy by letting him think it was less than wonderful. She'd only ever come alone by her own hand. She figured some girls were just that way. Now...

His hand slid under her bunched-up skirt, slipping inside her panties, zeroing in on her clitoris without fail... without direction. She'd never thought... She inhaled sharply, tasting the booze on his breath as his lips hovered above hers. Two fingers moved in quick, tight circles. She closed her eyes on a moan.

"God, you're wet already." He sounded smug. She'd be pissed if she wasn't so busy watching colors burst behind her eyelids.

Her body jerked upwards. Her teeth clicked with his and she opened her eyes. She figured they'd meet fangs-first. Nothing would ever be soft or pretty between them. Even when his lips finally met hers, it was hard, probing, punctuated by quick nips and softly growled obscenities.

His tongue touched hers just as his fingers stilled. She gripped his arm, trying to pull his hand back. His mouth left hers. She opened her eyes, wondering if this was how he wanted to win. Working her into this state, then leaving her. "No," she whispered, gripping his neck, trying to pull him back. "Don't you dare..."

Her words cut off as he gripped her hips and lifted upward. Her skirt was still bunched. The table felt slightly cold against the backs of her thighs. She shivered slightly as he pulled her thighs apart. She shook in earnest when he dropped to his knees, his eyes hard on hers. She'd never... Jimmy hadn't...

"No," she moaned, trying to close her thighs. "Oh, no."

He held them apart, one corner of his mouth twitching up. "Oh, yes..."

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