The Depths We Sink To (Chapter Sixteen)

Chapter 16

"Is it worth it?" Lex was staring at her from across the island. "After all your whining?"

"I'm trying to figure that out." She put down her coffee cup. "And I wasn't whining. And, when I let you have your phone back, I told you not to order in."

"I didn't order food."

"You just ordered appliances." She wasn't complaining. She did have her fancy, French coffee and there were a few million labeled containers in the fridge and freezer that they now had the means to eat hot, but... "I assumed you'd just call a member of your staff, ask them how to work and/or find your existing machines?"

He shrugged and poked at the penne pasta. "This was easier."

She had to laugh, looking at the microwave, propped on a stool in the corner, then to the drip and grinder on the island between them. "You mean less embarrassing. Imagine the head of a big corporation having to call his cook to find out where the microwave is."

"I've been meaning to get these, anyway. I always thought my study needed its own kitchen area and..."

"You can't even admit it." She shook her head and stood, picking up her plate.

"What are you doing?"

She picked up her mug as well and moved to the sink. "Cleaning up."

"Why? It's not like I'll run out of dishes." 

"That's not the point." She turned on the faucet. She could work the sink in here, at least. She pushed down on the dispenser and soaped up a sponge, carefully washing her dish and putting it in the drainboard. "Are you done?"

"I guess."

"Then bring your plate." She felt him behind her and moved aside, handing him the sponge. "Here."

He took it and just stared at it.

"Don't tell me you don't know what it's for."

"I know what it's for." He put his plate and the sponge in the sink. "But someone will be here Monday and they can..."

"I knew it." She pointed at his chest. "This is what I mean about you. You don't do anything for yourself. I even had to show you how to work an automatic drip. Am I going to have to show you how to wash a dish now?" 

"I know how to wash a dish," he growled. 

"From where? TV?"

"I just see no reason to do it," he finished, red-faced. "Come here." He pulled at the sash of the robe she was now wearing, but she slapped his hand.

"No. We just got cleaned up. And you're just trying to avoid..."

He pulled harder on the sash and tugged her to him. "We can get cleaned up again. Not like we don't have time." He bent and ran his lips along her jaw. "We can even get cleaned up together." He found a spot behind her ear that made her entire body just purr.

"Mmmmm. Only if you do a little something for me." Her hand slipped into the sink. She gripped the sponge and pushed it into his chest, pushing him back. "Clean up your mess." She backed away and untied the sash, letting the robe drop and dangle from one hand. "Come find me when you're done," she said, turning and dragging it behind her as she left the kitchen.

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

He was tempted to wait a few minutes and come after her, then. But he found himself washing the damned plate and fork. Not only that, he ended up drying it and hers, opening the cabinet door to stack them with the others before he realized what he was doing... or he knew what he was doing. He was doing... chores... with the hope of some kind of reward for good behavior. 

It was something he hadn't done since his mother had been alive. After her death, he'd tried to do things like that for his father, but Lionel had been less than impressed. His feelings on it had been neatly summed up with "I'm raising an heir, not a maid." He'd stopped trying. He'd soon been too far away to try anything to impress his father at all, sent to school after school...

He slammed the cabinet door closed. This was ridiculous. This was his house and if he didn't want to do dishes, then he wouldn't... at least after the ones he'd just done. And he'd tell her that, too. He stalked out of the kitchen and headed upstairs. When she wasn't in his room, he checked the guest room he'd pointed out to her last night. Nothing. Why did this house have to be so god damned big? She could be anywhere...

At the bottom of the stairs, he heard a light clacking. The study. The door had even been cracked open. How had he missed that? As he came closer, he stopped. She was on his pool table, haphazardly stuffing balls in the pocket, then stopping with the cue ball in her hand, holding that as she draped the robe from one breast to her hip in a long sweep. She leaned on one elbow, holding the ball in the palm of her other hand in a pose that belonged in some fussy Renaissance painting, then giggled and shook her head, just laying on her side, head propped in one hand, pushing the ball back and forth on the table and sighing.

The light from the stained glass window was hitting her in patches and fragments. Blue where her neck met her shoulder. Red on the top of her head. Green where the robe slid from one breast...

And he couldn't move.

He'd once compared her to pie, as opposed to the untouchable diamond that was... any other woman he'd ever slept with. Merely pretty. Not statuesque and graceful. Not untouchable in the least, not unapproachable. She was something that had to be taken, had, even devoured, yet... he still couldn't move.

He couldn't even remember what he'd wanted to say to her.

She huffed slightly, then readjusted the drape of the robe. "Take your time, why don't you?" he heard her mutter.

He smirked, remembering. He wasn't about to be put to work as if her sexual favors were some kind of coveted prize. And yet...

He'd done it. He could bellyache now, but it wouldn't change the truth. 

He was still seeking some kind of reward for good behavior and he hated that. Sure. He'd been bad sometimes. Some might even say most times if they didn't take into account the ends that justified his means. And someday he might be rewarded, when history remembered him for all he'd done. But he never got anything for all the times he'd been so good...

And he wanted it now.

He pushed the door fully open and she stiffened, lifting her chin and looking off. "What's this?"

"I'm artfully posing," she said, raising one shoulder slightly.

"I can see that." He moved further in, circling the table. "Is there a point to it?"

"Not really." She turned her head to him and met his eyes. One corner of her mouth lifted and he wondered if he should rethink his assessment of her. Not just pretty. Sometimes she was almost... She sunk out of the pose and rolled onto her stomach. "So are you going to fuck me, or what?"

He shook himself. She certainly had a mouth on her. But he was glad of it now. He didn't want to romanticize someone like Chloe Sullivan. With everything they were leaving outside, she could still ruin him. She'd take herself down, too, but still... He moved closer. "I wonder that you're so eager for it, so concerned with keeping clean."

"It's a hassle," she sighed rolling onto her back and sitting up. "But you did clean your place like a good little boy, so you're worthy."

He shot forward, grabbing for her, but she scrambled backward and off the table, snickering. 

"You just hate being called little, don't you?"

"I don't love it." It was the worthy that got him, though. 

"I'm sorry, then." She widened her eyes. "You're huge, gigantic."

"Just get over here." He skirted the table, but she kept out of reach, still holding the robe to her front.

"I can't," she laughed, moving behind his desk. He followed, circling. "I'm just so tiny and just powerful scared of your giant..."

He rushed forward and she seemed to try to dart back, but she tripped on the robe. He caught it and her, pulling on both. "Drop it."

"No way." He tugged on the robe, trying to keep hold on her waist, but she wrenched herself away, panting. "This robe is all I have." She leaned back against the pool table, tucking the robe demurely at her sides. "You got to get dressed again, but not me."

"Someone had to answer the door for the..."

"The point is that I don't have any clothes at all. And you have a houseful." She tilted her head. "Does that seem fair to you?"

"Perfectly." He advanced and she quickly scurried around the table. 

"No. Not yet." She stared him down from the other side.

"What now?" he groaned, just wanting to get to the sex already. 

"Strip," she said, tucking her robe more securely and perching a hip on the table. 

"First the dishes, now this." His hands started on the buttons of his shirt, anyway. 

"Slower."

He lifted an eyebrow. "Here I thought I'd seen every side of you."

She shrugged. "Hardly possible. We don't usually have more than an hour. And I'm very multi-faceted."

"So am I supposed to put on music now and do some kind of dance? Because there's only so much..."

She chuckled and moved slowly around the table. "No. It's just... You're always more dressed than me. You're the one that always gets to... look." Her eyes fixed on what skin he'd revealed. "Don't stop now."

But he did, his fingers frozen on the fourth button. "What kind of game is this?"

"No game at all," she said, moving to work at his buttons herself, her movements sort of inhibited by the robe still tucked under her arms. "I want to leave a few more things outside. No bullshit. No lies."

He caught her hands before she reached the last button. "Could I get that in writing? Because..."

"About us," she cut in abruptly, pulling her hand free and roughly working at his last button. It didn't survive, clattering to the floor. She placed her hand against his chest. "About this." She looked down at her hand, her brows drawing together. "Just about this." The robe was slipping and she noticed, backing away, putting on what seemed to be a rather pasted smile. "See, this is why I wanted you to strip. My hands aren't exactly free."

He pulled off his shirt... but slowly. "This still feels like a bit of a game to me."

"Not a game," she said calmly. "Just something I want. I want to watch you."

He started on his belt. "To what end?"

"Just to take you in."

"Take me in?" He pulled it from the loops. "That has other meanings, you know." [i]Trick, cheat, bamboozle...[/i]

"Not right now." Her eyes moved up and down him and he felt strangely uncomfortable. He knew she was attracted, but he'd always seen that as related to what he could do for her... make her feel wanted, sated...

He pulled at his zipper, then pushed his pants past his hips. He stopped, remembering his shoes. He stumbled slightly as he attempted to toe them off, unnerved by her staring. "Could you stop?"

"No. I've never seen you in daylight and I want to..."

He kicked both shoes away and faced her. "Why?" He tried to look commanding, but it was a little hard, with his pants slipping down his legs.

She just stared harder, tilting her head slightly. "You don't know, do you?"

"I don't know a lot of things. You'll have to be more specific if..."

"Don't you ever think that you're... something to see?"

After numberless taunts of "bald freak," he knew he was something of a rarity. But he sensed that wasn't what she meant. "If you want to make this into something prettier," he said, pushing his pants down brusquely and stepping out, "by trying to convince me I'm some kind of eye candy, then don't bother."

"Eye candy?" She snorted. "God, no. Not the kind for the pages of Teen Beat or anything, but you have to know you're kind of..."

"Okay," he pushed at his boxers and kicked them away. "Done. Now drop the robe."

"Fine, then." She lifted her arms and the robe slithered to the floor. "But it's a little nutty that you're so shy about being looked at. How many hundreds of women have you..."

"I'm not being shy," he ground out.

"No, don't apologize. It's just... precious," she said grinning.

He couldn't take much more of this. "I wasn't apologizing," he growled, charging forward and finally getting a hold of her, lifting her onto the table. He went for her mouth, but she held her arms stiff between them.

"Why so eager? It's only been a few hours since..."

"Why are you being so... difficult?"

"What?" She half-laughed. "I'm staying for a weekend of sex, sex, and more sex. I think that's nearly the definition of easy."

"So far, you're the most demanding houseguest I've ever had."

She snorted. "Like you have houseguests. And I'm not even demanding anything." She slid off the table and against his body. "Kind of the opposite, actually. I want you to..."

When she didn't finish, he threw up his hands and backed away. "What? What is it now? Do you want me to grout my tiles or buy a... new iron?"

"Hey, I never asked for that. You were the one who went and sent for appliances instead of swallowing your pride and just calling the cook."

"Fine. Do want me to fill the room with fucking candles or something? What do you want me to do?"

"Nothing," she answered. And loudly. It sort of echoed off the ceiling and back at them. She took a deep breath, her face red. "God! I was only... I was only trying to have a little fun, but since you're incapable, then whatever. I'll just hop on the table and let you have your angry way with me." She stepped back and pulled herself onto the table with jerky movements. "Oh, please, Lex. Please fuck me," she said in a monotone.

He looked down. "I'm not incapable of..."

"We have one, maybe two hours a few times a week of rushed, frantic, mostly half-clothed sex and, here we are, with all the time in the world, and you can't relax long enough to... enjoy it. Jesus! I thought that was the whole point!"

He glanced up, surprised. "Is that why you stayed, to... enjoy it?"

"Isn't that why you asked me?"

He'd asked her because he needed to know if she would, if she could... He hadn't exactly expected her to say yes. And he hadn't truly expected to find her there when he got back. And he'd never examined why she would. And he'd never thought it had anything to do with enjoyment. He thought her, giving in to him, was about raw, sexual need, and indulged always against her better judgement. But if this was about...

He swallowed hard. "What do you want me to do?"

"Nothing," she said quietly, staring down.

"Well, if you're going to be petulant now..."

"No. Nothing." She met his eyes. "I want you to do nothing and just let me... touch you."

"You did that last night."

"Yeah." She slid down from the table and moved to him. "For, like, five seconds."

"That's your fault." She put her hands on his chest and pushed him backward. He went. "You spurred me on, then fell asleep right in the middle of..."

"I was tired," she cut in. "I'm rested now." She gave him a harder push and he fell to the sofa. "Don't touch me. It's my turn to do all the touching." She placed a hand on either side of him against the back of the couch and leaned over him, lips tracing loosely over his neck.

Her knee slid along his thigh before resting on the couch. Her breasts just barely brushed his chest.

He clenched his fists at his side, not sure what to do with himself. To just sit here and let her... He gasped as she bit just behind his ear. 

"Is that good?"

"Yes," he breathed. It was very good, but also a bit like a punishment. He dug his fingers into the cushions. This was usually the part where he rolled her over and buried himself inside her until they were both sweaty and satisfied. But there was something about her reason for staying that stopped him. If this was enjoyable for her, then she could have her fun. He'd get his.

"I still want to have sex on that table." His eyes closed as she kissed her way downward.

"Not like we don't have time," she said, throwing his words from earlier against his stomach. "We have nothing but time."

When her mouth closed over him, it felt less like a punishment and a little more like... a reward.


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


She sat back on her heels as he slumped on the sofa, eyes closed, slick with sweat. Aside from being a prize bastard most times, he really was a lovely specimen.

He opened one eye. "What are you doing?" he asked, barely opening his mouth.

"Looking at you."

"Well, stop it."

"Why?"

He closed his eyes again, head lolling against the back of the sofa. "Because it bothers me."

She knelt up, sliding her hands up his thighs. He hissed in a breath as her fingers grazed his softened cock. "That's just because you don't see it."

He lifted his head. "Stop saying things when I can't think."

She ignored him and flicked her tongue over his nipple. "I don't think you hear it, either."

"Hear what?" he grunted.

"How sexy you are."

"No. I've been told many times."

She chuckled and bit the side of his ribs. "By Mrs. Luthor wannabes with motive. Like you actually believe it from them." She moved her lips to his neck as his adam's apple bobbed slightly.

"What makes you think I believe it from you?"

"I have no reason to say it, except that it's true." She licked behind his ear and he stiffened. She took that as a good sign until she felt his hands gripping her arms and pushing her away. 

"Would you stop talking for two seconds?"

She found herself seated on the couch as he stood, legs slightly unsteady as he moved to the sideboard. He even stumbled a little as he neared it. Despite her disappointment at him stopping the fun, she found herself smirking. She'd just seen Lex Luthor stumble on account of a blow job from her. It could make a girl preen just a little. With her two seconds up, she ventured to speak. "What's your problem?"

"I don't have a problem," his back said to her as his hands worked in front of him.

"Really? Because I thought we were having a good time before you got all... twitchy."

"I'm not twitchy," he snapped, turning, a low tumbler of amber liquid and ice clinking in front of him. "I'm just... I think we agreed leave the bullshit outside."

"We did."

"So... just stop it. I can get hard for you again without... all that talk."

She stood, scoffing. "You mean all that talk about you being sexy?" He'd seemed to balk at it before, too. "I really don't get you." 

"Jesus, Chloe... Come on. I know my way around a clit, so I get that I can get you off, but... Sexy? It's like saying a hairless cat is cuddly. It's not. At best, it's... unique."

She opened her mouth, then closed it again. 

"I'm not saying I'm hideous, here. But I know that the women that don't want to fuck me for my money and power do want to fuck me for the... freak factor." 

"You're not serious." 

"The line 'Are you hairless everywhere?' comes to mind."

"Well, they're just stupid. There's so much more to see." She moved to him. "You have such a nice, toned..."

"Seriously, stop."

She did, watching him take a long sip. He had to know that she wasn't coming to him for money and power, but did he think this was some derivative of the... freak factor? Not just about his baldness, but about where they stood with each other? He'd often pointed out that she got off on danger. "That's not why for me, you know."

He rolled his eyes and took another sip. 

She slinked toward him -- actually slinked. There was no other word for it. She felt so strangely confident, especially with him so discomfited. She'd suspected it before, but now she knew. He was embarrassed. "I'm not only leaving the bullshit outside, but I'm speaking the truth." She grasped his tumbler before he lifted it to his mouth again. "I don't keep coming back because it's so novel, sleeping with a prick like you."

He reached for the tumbler, but she held it away.

"That novelty wore off the first time." She took her newfound confidence one step further and drank the remaining liquid, holding back a slight gag. She hadn't had scotch since that night and she remembered the first sip having a slightly disgusting kick then, too.

He smirked, then opened his mouth. "You might want to..."

"You want to know why?" she asked before he could say something snide and take control back. She leaned in, placing the tumbler down on the side of him and pressing her breasts against his still-damp chest. "Because it's just... that...good." She bit lightly at his jaw and heard a dull series of clinks as his body hit the sideboard. She smiled and bit harder. It was nice, all this power...

"You... fuck... You just don't know any better," he breathed, pushing away from the sideboard. "Only been with one other..."

"I don't have to screw every guy in town to know what feels good." She ran a hand down his stomach. He was hardening again. She licked at his slightly salty neck, then moved her hand around and slapped his bottom. "I think you seriously don't know how good you are, Luthor."

He grasped her hands and pulled her away. "What's your game now?"

She tilted her head. "No game."

"Really?" He walked her backward slightly. "Because it feels like you're playing something."

She bit her lip. Maybe it was a bit like a game, pushing at him when he was so obviously uncomfortable. But he always held such power over her. It was heady, taking the reins. "I'm not saying anything that isn't true."

"Fine. I'll bite."

"Wish you would," she said, smiling slightly. Who said he got to have all the innuendo fun? 

Her back met the pool table and he pressed into her. "Why are you saying all these true things? To butter me up?"

She passed on the innuendo that came to mind and moved her hands, still in his, downward. His knuckle brushed her clit and she leaned back. "Now what would I get out of that?" She licked her lips. "Except... more."

"More?" He released her hands and his own hovered just over her mound.

She waited for him to touch her. When he didn't, she lifted her hips slightly. "Lex..."

He kept his hands away. "You know... You aren't the only woman..."

She snorted. "If that isn't an understatement..."

"You gonna let me finish?" He brushed her clit and her voice stuck in her throat. "Are you?" She nodded and he smiled. "Good girl."

Her eyes narrowed she opened her mouth, but the only thing that left it was a strangled moan as he flicked at her.

"As I was saying, you aren't the only woman who's come back for more. Granted, the more you actually want is a bit refreshing..." He circled her clit with one finger, looking down as he worked her. She closed her eyes and breathed his name, feeling her power slipping away. "The way you keep coming back, as fucked up as this is..." He worked her faster and she dimly registered his breath on her neck. "I may be good, Chloe, but I don't kid myself that its some God-given skill that makes this enough for us to fuck away every reason we shouldn't." His movements suddenly stopped. "It's you. Because I'm fucking you," he breathed in her ear.

She opened her eyes.

"You make it this good. Even that first night..."

She forced a laugh. "Now who's buttering..."

He suddenly gripped her hips and lifted her onto the table. "You think a first time fuck, with half a bottle of scotch in me, always goes off without a hitch?" He ran his hands up her stomach and cupped her breasts. "From that first time, I knew just how to touch you." His fingertips grazed her nipples and she sucked in a breath. "Because of that," he said, eyes hard on hers. "So fucking responsive." He leaned in, biting her bottom lip. "Every little noise from these lips told me," he breathed into her mouth. "Every tiny movement told me what to do and when and harder and faster..."

"Stop it," she panted. Her head was spinning.

"Even that tells me what you need." His tongue ran along her lips. "Except it really means to start."

His hands met her shoulders and her back hit the table and she felt the last of her power leave her. He'd caught onto the game. She couldn't be too much of a sore loser because his mouth was moving down her neck, down her stomach, biting the inside of her thigh and then...

"Lex!" His tongue pressed her clit harder at the sound of his name and she wondered if he was right about her. Maybe her body was an open book and altogether too easily read. But she could hardly complain when he was... "Unnnh! God..." such a good reader.

His lips and tongue danced over her as she shook beneath him. He gripped her hips, pressing them down on the felt and nibbled, fingers digging into her as she bucked upward... or tried to. Her arms flailed to release the tension, gripping either side of the table so hard, she wondered if chunks of it would come away in her hands. They didn't, but there was something about to break, here. Her body tightened, ready to fly apart into a million...

"Not so fast."

She came down to find him rising up over her, hefting her nearly lifeless body backward. "Wha... Damn it, Lex," she said blearily. "I was gonna..."

"I told you I was gonna fuck you on this table."

"And I told you we had time to... Mmmf!" He was pumping inside her before she could complain about the orgasm denied her moments ago. It would have been time wasted, anyway. Best to concentrate on the one that was coming...

Her hands gripped the table above her head, bracing herself, both against his thrusts and the quaking of her... entire body. She lost her grip on the slick wood, as well as all control of her body, as her hips pushed back, nearly bucking him off her as her orgasm ripped through her with a scream of his name.

She wasn't sure if she'd blacked out or not. When she came to, things were nearly the same. He was still pumping away inside her, but one hand was between her head and the wood, the other slipping against her thigh, trying to hold her in place.

"Lex..." Her eyes slipped closed. Too much work, looking at things.

"No." He squeezed her thigh hard. "Not yet. Gonna... make you... come again."

"Can't," she sighed sleepily, fading. "Lex, just..."

"Don't you dare..."

She jolted as her body was pulled downward. Her feet nearly met the floor before the world turned upside down.

When she opened her eyes, she was facing the stained glass window and... "Jesus!"

She was suddenly wide awake. The edge of the table was digging into her lower abdomen and her nipples were scraping against the felt and her toes were just grazing the floor as he pumped into her powerfully from behind.
"
She heard a dull slap every time he connected with her. She could feel his balls bounce against her clit with every inward smack of his hips. Maybe she could come again, from that alone if he could keep... His thrusts slowed and she nearly cried out in protest. Then his hand slipped between her and the table, sliding against her embarrassingly wet folds and over her clit. Her second orgasm went from possible to inevitable as he ground his thumb into her, in counterpoint to the rhythm of his hips, still pushing, pumping and...

"Chloe..."

It was him this time, crying out as her mouth opened in a silent scream.

She collapsed, boneless, as he emptied himself inside her.

She was ready to fall asleep, bent over a table with her feet dangling and all, when she felt a light slap on her bottom. 

"I think you seriously don't know how good you are, Sullivan," he panted before slumping over her.


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