Taking a moment, she uses her heat vision to light the candles she had strategically placed around the room earlier in the evening. At the time she thought it was stupid and talked herself in and out of it numerous times, finally settling on the notion that if she didn't feel comfortable lighting them, then she wouldn't. But when Mon-El had chosen to be honest about the kiss in the infirmary and about his desire to win her heart, this had become something more than a favor among friends. This became an event for which one uses candles.
"That's a neat trick," he comments, though he's fully aware of all the powers being a Kryptonian affords her.
"You know," she says, lighting each candle in turn. "I didn't fly for the first time until last year."
"Really?"
"I mean…I could fly for short periods when I was kid, but then I decided to be normal and didn't use my powers again – not until I had to. Alex was in a plane, and it was crashing. I had to save her."
"I see," he says, wondering where her story is leading.
"And I was fifteen when my heat vision first manifested. 'Hormones,' Eliza said. My powers came a little at a time, except for the strength and the speed and super hearing, those were there very early on. Freeze breath at fourteen, telescopic vision at…seventeen, and microscopic vison at twenty-one. But twelve years to fly – really fly. And I learned I was invulnerable when..." she thinks better of telling that story, or remembering it in Technicolor detail just now. "Let's not talk about that. But let's just day…it's not like I ran around stepping in front of speeding bullets or throwing myself in front of out-of-control cars, let's be honest You don't know you're impervious until…you just do."
She watches him watching her out of the corner of her eye. Mon-El slowly peels off his shirt as he listens, in no real rush to disrobe. Tugging it from the waistband of his slacks, he tosses the shirt over the back of the reading chair situated in the corner of her room. His chest is pale, a little too pale from spending too much time indoors, but his body is well-formed and his workouts with her have left his arms and chest bulging just enough for her liking. His abdomen is tight, with a trail of rich brown hair that disappears into the waist of his pants. Increasingly nervous as new skin is revealed, Kara continues to babble on. "You've only been here a few months, Mon-El. There's no reason to think you won't get heat vision eventually, or even the ability to fly. And I know that Eliza is working on an antidote to your…lead problem."
This is news to him, and it touches him deeply that Kara and her Earth mother care enough about him to keep him alive and healthy. But he sees her prattling for what it is, an avoidance tactic brought on by nervousness. Clearly, she handles their foreplay better when he is the one in control and providing her with leadership.
"Kara," he directs, his voice laced with authority, "Come here and kneel on the edge of the bed, facing me." Thankfully, he is well-trained in the care and handling of a skittish partner, particularly those that need a firmer hand.
There's something about the way he speaks—the confidence—that makes her want to follow his every command. Perhaps it's because she knows, if she were to make a demand of him, he would follow it without question, understanding it as her right to seek pleasure. As she climbs on the queen-sized bed and kneels at the very edge, he takes his shoes and socks off and places them next to the chair.
Kneeling before him in her barely-there negligee, she is a sight to behold—as always—but he considers himself blessed to be allowed to see her this state of vulnerability. Her hands twist anxiously in front of her and his heart twists a little at the sight. He knows just how to better occupy them though. Familiarizing her with his body, with nothing between her hands and his flesh is an important first step in the pursuit of intimacy, especially when one partner is untried. Mon-El returns to her, clasping her hands in his before raising them to chest level. Turning her hands upwards, he places a soft kiss on each palm before resting her palms against the bare flesh of his pectorals. "Now," he says, "I want you to touch my body, Kara. Wherever you want, I'm at your disposal."
Kara is stunned at the heat of him, his skin burning against the tips of her fingers. She thinks he must feel like he needs to crawl out of it. Caressing his chest, she feels his pectorals contract in reaction to her touch and she knows that his desire for her made that happen. His breath falters in his chest and her power over him made that happen. Lightly exploring with her fingertips, her feather light touch traces a candlelight shadow at his collarbone, following the hard ridge from the edge of his shoulder inward until it meets its mate at the base of his neck. She trails her fingers down and down, through the patch of hair in the center of his chest and lower to the dusting of fur on his belly, flirting with the belt at the waistband of his trousers.
As she investigates his chest and abdomen, his fingers toy with luxurious hair. As he's fantasized more times than he can count, he plays with the golden ends, rubbing thick portions of it between his fingers. He returns to her scalp over and over, massaging her there before sliding back down the long strands until reaching the ends. He longs to see her hair spread out on the pillows like a golden halo, her warm thighs cradling him as he works her body to its fever pitch.
Throughout it all, Kara can feel him watching her face intently, so she knows she must have revealed something when he reminds her in a husky voice, "Tell me what you want."
"I want you take your pants off," she answers, after a moment of hesitation.
"Is that really what you want, Kara?" he inquires, notching a knuckle under her chin and tilting her head until their eyes meet. "Tell me what you want."
She licks her lips. "I want…I want to take off your pants."
"Then you must do so," he nods. Mon-El's chest fills with pride when she's honest with him about her needs and desires. She is an apt pupil. He cups her face in his hand, stroking her cheek with his thumb and rewards her courage with a sweet, sultry kiss that has her leaning against his chest. When he releases her, he takes her hands and guides them to his belt buckle.
Her fingers trace the silver horseshoe shaped buckle before sliding the leather strap out of its enclosure and tugging the pin free from the hole. She likes the sound the metal parts of the belt buckle make when they jangle together, no longer separated by the leather. With a tug, the belt slides free of its loops, dropping his pants half an inch lower than they were before.
His erection tents the crotch of his trousers and he's not the least bit embarrassed or self-conscious about revealing how attractive he finds her. She is a goddess he had given up finding long ago. Surrounded by beautiful women in the court of the Crown Prince, Mon-El wearied of their conceits and fashions and self-idolatry soon after commencing the search for an acceptable mate to whom he could latch himself. So instead, he contented himself with taking as many women as possible for his pleasure. Watching her now, witnessing her innocent curiosity combined with her unassuming bravery, Mon-El knows he will never find another like Kara Zor-El.
For Kara, it is a heady feeling to know that she can bring him to this state. Thankfully, the button of his pants falls apart in her hands, and for a moment she's afraid that in her haste she tore the button off, but a check reveals everything to be in its place. She would be mortified to destroy his clothes in her eagerness.
"Gently," he whispers as her fingers clasp the zipper tab. She particular likes the sound the zipper makes as it comes undone without sticking in the slightest. His slacks slide down his legs without protest and he steps out of them and kicks towards the chair in the corner of the room.
Now, Kara's fingers toy with the elastic band of his boxer briefs, before she raises her eyes to meet his once more.
"Tell me what you want?" he asks.
"I want to take off your boxers," she replies, this time without a sign of embarrassment.
"Good girl," he praises her. Not for her admission, but for the fearlessness she displayed while confessing it. He rewards her with another kiss, this time his tongue slipping into her mouth to meet hers, before pulling back to catch her lower lip between his teeth, biting down ever so gently.
She smiles against his mouth, her tongue snaking out to soothe her lower lip when he retreats. Returning her attention to the task at hand, she works the elastic band over his erection, at the last second glancing up at his face as though afraid to fully look at the organ she exposes.
Sensing her reticence, Mon-El assists her by re-framing her anxiety as a desire she has the power to grant. "Kara, I want you to look at my cock."
Biting her lip nervously, she shifts her gaze back down to his erection. His confidence is well-warranted, she realizes, if Daximites judge such worth by size as the men of Earth do. Thick and nearly made deep purple by the blood filling it, she doubts she can wrap her hand around it completely. His member is so big and so angry looking, she's struck with a sudden horrifying thought, her entire body tensing.
"It will fit," he promises, the fear so easy to read on her face. "It's my job to make sure that your body is properly prepared to accept me. Do you trust me, Kara?"
Kara sees the earnest entreaty in his slate gray eyes and relaxes. "Yes, Mon-El," she nods.
"Good," he sighs, relieved. "Now, finish what you started first. Let's complete one desire before moving onto the next. It's so much better that way." His precious Kara, he smiles. If there's one thing he's learned about her in the few months of their acquaintance, it's that she's often keen to run before she's learned to walk.
Gathering the waistband of his boxer briefs, she eases them off his hips and down his tree-trunk thighs. Bending over to push them past his knees, puts her face right at the same level of his erection. She can feel her hair brushing against it. Mon-El hisses at the graze of her hair across his sensitive member, sounding for all the world as though he is in pain.
"I'm sorry," she cries, snapping back up to her kneeling position. "Did I hurt you?"
"No," he chuckles, the air skipping in his chest. He steps out of his underwear and, like his pants, kicks them away. "That wasn't a sound of pain, Kara, it was a sound of pleasure."
"Really?" she wonders. "Well, if pleasure sounds like pain, how am I supposed to know the difference?"
"You'll learn," he promises. Impatient to touch her all of the sudden, Mon-El decides to shift the direction of their foreplay. "It's your turn now. Tell me what your body needs from me."
"More kissing," she answers with a smile, her teeth gleaming in the candlelight.
"Yes," he nods, rewarding her with a brush of his lips, "but what else? Tell me…where do you ache to be touched?" His fingertips alight on her shoulders, gliding slowly down her arms, thumbs tracing circles with a touch as light as breath. Goosebumps rise on her skin, trailing in the wake of his caress.
A shiver races down her spine, and it occurs to her that Mon-El is completely naked and yet she still wears her nightgown. The slowly building ache in her core that began with the kissing, intensifies with his teasing touch, but she isn't ready to ask for him there. "My breasts," she breathes in a voice that would barely be audible to human ears.
Thankfully, Mon-El isn't human. "Yes," he agrees, his eyes raking over the obvious arousal of her satin-covered nipples. "They do seem insistent. Tell me how they feel."
"Heavy," she replies. "Like they want to be held…squeezed." The last word is a croak, her cheeks blushing at the request.
"Hey," he says, lifting her chin with a crooked finger. "No embarrassment."
She meet his eyes with hers and nods.
"Now…your nipples?" His knuckles stroke the nipple of one breast, the touch so light a feather would have been heavy by comparison. Yet her body reacts with a violent electrical shock that heads straight for her core, and leaves her fighting for breath.
"They sting" she answers, gasping for air. "Like I'm naked in a blizzard. My whole body is on fire, but my nipples feel like they're frozen."
Mon-El grins and then tries to suppress it by biting down his lower lip. He's smug again because she admitted more than he expected. "Well, let's see what I can do to make you feel better. I want to remove your garment now."
Instead of nodding her assent, she lifts her arms over her head while he draws the fabric up and over her body before dropping the nightgown on the floor. "Good girl," he praises.
Before she has a chance to feel shy about kneeling before him completely naked but for a pair of panties made of the tiniest scrap of blue lace known to man, his hand is cupping her breast, and she has forgotten how breathing is done. He pulls in closer to her, until her other breast is tucked against the heat of his chest, and his stiff cock brushes against her hip.
She drops her head onto his shoulder, her breath coming in tiny gasps. It is the first time she has been skin to skin against a man, and the feeling of it, the heat of it – like a conflagration – takes her breath away. He leans into her, his slightly-stubbled cheek against hers and she can feel his breath against her ear before he speaks.
"You are absolutely beautiful, Kara Zor-el," he whispers. "Perfect in every way." One hand gently cups her breast, the thumb languorously tormenting her tender nipple, while the other glides down to the dip of her lower back to rest there. Her hands stroke the muscles of his shoulders and upper back, filling his veins with swiftly moving molten lava that heads directly for his cock. He squeezes her breast then, flicking the nipple with more purpose, eliciting a squeak of surprise from Kara, followed by a, "Mmmmm". As he expects, she instinctively arches her back, pressing her breast more firmly into his palm. He finds that it fits perfectly there, as though made exclusively for his hand.
Picking up on the sudden rush of her blood, he whispers, "I can hear your heart racing. And the way you struggle to breathe. Are you ready for more Kara? Be honest."
More? The sensations he draws from her body are so overwhelming she isn't certain she can handle more, but she's too curious about what he'll do next to deny him. "Yes," she exhales, nodding insistently. "I'm ready."
"Lay back on the bed for me."
"Okay," she agrees, biting on her lower lip. She's nervous about what is certain to come, but she feels incredibly sexy, as if for the first time in her life she's at home in her own skin, and truly aware of the power that's hers to wield. She's no lamb to the slaughter, which is somehow what she expected this to be like when she was sucking down wine just twenty minutes ago. Not unless lambs are typically convinced of how delicious they'll be as a medium rare centerpiece at a four-star restaurant. Kara slides down on to her back onto the middle of the bed, spreading her long golden hair across the pillows as she raises her arms above her head.
"You're almost enough to make me believe in goddesses," he tells her, his voice thick with awe. She positions herself in the center of the bed as though she plucked the fantasy from his mind. He stands at the end of the bed gazing down at her like she's a work of art, long lost to the perils of war and only just unearthed once more.
The expression of reverence on his face makes her feel like a goddess in a way no newspaper headline ever has. His cock is rigid and ready, pressing up so close to his stomach, and she didn't know it could do that. She knows a fair deal about sex, has read enough to make her want to stop reading, but seeing it and feeling it – it's so different than she imagined. So much…more. She arches her back in invitation, loosely gripping the rails of her headboard as he just watches her. She never knew how much she'd like being watched.
"Mon-El," she beseeches, a rush of wet heat dampening her panties as her core clenches with ever growing ferocious need. She wants to feel his skin against hers again, to feel his weight pressing her into the mattress beneath her. She's almost ready to feel him inside of her.
Finally, realizing he can never look his fill and instead he must act, Mon-El crawls onto the bed, stalking her like a jungle cat. Grasping one of her knees, he moves it aside to open her legs, creating a cradle for his hips. He doesn't use it though, choosing instead to hover over her compliant form, very little of his body touching her at all. Kara huffs a whine in disappointment and he can't help but smile.
"Patience," he instructs with an indulgent smirk, as though reading her desires. "You'll get everything you want, I swear it. But I'm going to start with this."
Swooping down, he takes her burning, frozen nipple into his mouth, circling it with his tongue and then blowing gently upon it, the nerve-enriched areole tightens further at the sensory stimulation. She had thought it had reached the peak of its sensitivity, but she had clearly been mistaken. Her breast must contain a direct line to her center, because searing sparks streak through her, making a bee-line straight to the increasingly impatient throb between her legs. It's like a yawning, gaping emptiness now begging to be filled, even as it burns her from the inside out. She squeezes her legs together in an attempt to ease the ache within, but his thighs are in the way, blocking whatever satisfaction she had hoped to find. A rich chuckles escapes from his mouth, vibrating across her already sensitive flesh; he knows exactly what she was trying to do.
One of his hands works the other breast, kneading it to a hard pebble of sensitivity as though preparing it for his mouth. His warm tongue pulls at her, finding each pleasure point to soothe the frozen fire that earlier tormented her. Releasing her grip on the headboard before she breaks it, her hands find their way to his head, holding him in place as her fingers fist in his thick hair. Her grip doesn't seem to deter him one bit however, because despite her strength he switches to the other breast without missing a beat. Together it seems, as though their bodies find synchronicity in unison, their actions become suddenly needy and urgent. His mouth suckles and soothes with measured skill, while one of her hands grapples with his back, her manicured nails scratching as much of his unbreakable skin as she can reach.
Swept up in deepening, expanding arousal, the room spins around her, her lungs barely taking in the necessary oxygen. She's on fire, burning to cinder from the inside out, but she wouldn't trade the feeling for anything – knowing that should tomorrow come she would give anything to feel it again. Before she can process that his mouth has abandoned her breast, he's kissing down her stomach, and his tongue dips into her navel as one hand continues to toy with her breast. Kara doesn't recognize the carnal sounds coming from deep within her, a begging whine she can't seem to control.
He slips his fingers beneath straps of her panties and tugs them down her hips. Kara has not the strength or the desire to protest. She needs to feel him there, to feel something there, she's just not sure what. "I want to taste you," he rasps, his voice thick with desire.
Oral sex wasn't something she had prepared for mentally. She imagined this as an awkward coupling in the dark, a necessary concession in exchange for a desired result; not this unpredictably enthralling, passionate reach for fulfillment. The thought of being that intimate, of having his face down there, is something for which she isn't sure she is ready. Curious, to be sure, she imagined reserving that sort of intimacy for after she had more experience.
"You're thinking too much. I must not be doing my job right." Mon-El works her panties down her legs and off, tossing them over his shoulder and refocusing his attention on her throbbing core.
"I wasn't," she denies, breathlessly.
"You're crinkling," he points out.
"Am not," she pouts, hating that he can read her so well.
"I'm not even going to dignify that with a response," he chuckles, before returning to task. First, placing light, non-threatening kisses on her inner thighs, he graduates to sucking the soft skin there into his mouth. Though unlikely to remains, he imagines her finding the love bite in the morning during her shower and thinking of the feel of him between her legs.
"Mon-El," she gulps, shaking her head, "I'm not sure if I can—"
"You can," he insists. "You should." He closes his eyes and draws a deep breath and she watches as he reigns in his passion. A moment ago, he was overtaken by his hunger, but now he has regained a part of himself. "There are ways I can make you more prepared, and this is one of them. Trust me?" he pleads, stroking her inner thigh with the backs of his fingers.
She can feel the heat of his breath against her folds. Kara's face blushes a deep red at the intense intimacy in his tone and the open affection on his face.
A moment hangs in the air between them before she nods, shyly. Kara expects him to dive face first into her mound, but instead he reaches between her legs and dips a single finger between her folds. Mon-El unerringly finds her clit and the resulting shot of white fire sensation has her hips bucking against his hand.
"Rao!" she cries out breathlessly. "Oh God!" Her lungs work overtime to gain back what his action has stolen from her.
"You're so wet, Kara. Have you ever been this wet before?" Her petals are slick and glistening for him, waiting his tongue and his cock. He can feel the heat rolling out of her in waves, and he's determined to make her even wetter. He salivates, wanting nothing more to plant his face in her yearning core and lap up the evidence of her desire.
But he knows from the earlier look on her face that she's just not ready for that yet, and so he elects to redraw his efforts for the time being. Like many young women during in the early days of their sexual awakening, she's likely overly concerned with the way she smells, or how her natural lubrication might taste to him. He wishes he could explain to her how alluring the sight and smell of it is. He will have his first taste, he knows; but as with the wine, it won't be directly from this source. Not until she's ready, at least.
Unable to resist, Mon-El slides his middle finger into her entrance, first one knuckle and then sucking the second in the rest of the way. Her hips buck against him and her inner muscles clamped down on his finger, shocking the breath out of him with their strength. She's going to be so tight, he'll have to match her with every ounce of his strength to survive their encounter intact.
Suddenly mortified by the eagerness he's seduced out of her, she pivots her face away from what's happening between her legs, squeezing her eyes shut and covering her breasts with her arms,. Yet, despite her shame, her hips continue to move against his hand, driven by ancient instinct, as a single finger dips into her hot, greedy passage. Her mind, humiliated by the lack of control she has over her own urges, demands that she close her legs, to fight the invasion, but they refuse to follow suit, choosing instead to chase the digit that's giving her such unexpected pleasure. It hurts a little bit though, in the way that unfamiliar things do, as his middle finger reaches further into her soaking depths.
"No embarrassment," he reminds her, his heart aching at the sight of the blushing, cringing vulnerable goddess before him. Someday, if the Universe can find it within itself to side with him for once, she'll beg him for this, unabashed and unashamed. "It's a good thing," he encourages her. "It means our bodies were made for this. Kara? Open your eyes." His voice demands her attention and Kara finds herself following his instructions once again. "Look at me." He slides his free arm alongside her and lowers himself onto his side next to her. "Stop hiding your perfect breasts and put your arms around me."
Slowly he begins pumping his finger in and out of her wet heat, the drag of it converting the air in her lungs to fire and she gasps for air to fill her lungs with air but never quite finding satisfaction. Her hands reach for him, not just because he demanded it, but because they must. She needs an anchor to hold her down, because she's realized that her back is no longer touching the bed, or at least it feels that way.
Mon-El's lips capture hers in a searing kiss, his tongue perfectly matching the movements of his pumping finger, and she loses herself in the unbearable heat racing through her body. Tension deep in her belly cranks tighter and tighter; she's felt this before at her own behest, but it's never been this…promising. Her abdomen constricts and her fingers grip more tightly at his muscled form, reaching for her climax and finding it still out of range. Of their own volition, her legs drop open further now welcoming and encouraging his invasion. "Faster," she begs, lifting her head to watch as his finger moves in and out of her.
Mon-El's finger stops moving and Kara groans in disappointment. "Show me," he purrs.
"I don't—"
"Show me."
Reaching down she grips his wrist, holding it in place as she begins undulating her hips, riding his finger toward her elusive eruption. But it's not enough. The climax once building within her slips further out of her grasp, and she groans in frustration, her head dropping back against the pillow. "Please," she sobs.
"Here," he whispers. Pulling out, he adds a second finger and slides back into her. It's a snugger fit and she lifts her knee to her chest to make more room to ease his entry. Again he pumps his fingers in and out, watching her face as he holds her spellbound with his attentions. "Is that better?"
"Yes!" she cries, and then bites down on her lower lip. His fingers thrusting in and out of her produce an obscenely wet noise that somehow ratchets her arousal to a whole new level, and Kara's long past the ability to suppress the kittenish mewling sounds issuing from her throat. A fine sheen of perspiration springs from the pores of her neck and chest as the promise coils within her, preparing to spring itself upon her like snake lying in wait. "Don't stop. I'm…something's happening," she gasps for air. Her neck arches on the pillow, her breasts jutting upwards, as she gives herself over the coming storm.
Mon-El withdraws, a wicked grin spreading across his face. Though he wants to see her fall apart, there's still so many ways to pleasure her. Building tension seeping rapidly away from her, Kara scrambles for his wrist, attempting to grab it to reverse his retreat. But he holds it aloft, just out of her reach.
"I said I wanted to taste you," he explains. "And so I will." To her shock, he slides his fingers into his mouth, sucking her juices from them, his eyes close in ecstasy as he tastes the richest dessert in all the universe. "So delicious…like sweet and spice," he informs her, his grin spreading further across his face. "I think I'll have some more."
Before she can protest, as if she has the wherewithal to do so after that, Mon-El slides his head between her thighs and positions her legs over his shoulders. His fingers widen her soaking wet folds as his lips and tongue fasten themselves around her clit to draw a violent kind of delight from her. While pleasuring her with his fingers, he had studiously avoided the bundle of nerves that promised her an explosive completion, constantly keeping her on the edge and never sending her over. But now he delves in unapologetically and with single-minded purpose: to send her flying apart at the seams.
His fingers join the work of his mouth and tongue, pumping in and out as he draws on her clit at erratic intervals. The pleasure is excruciating and so white-hot her body now wants to shy away from the explosive outcome it wanted to reach only a moment ago. Mon-El places a hand on her belly to hold her down, forcing her hips to remain still as his mouth and fingers work her mercilessly.
How do people survive this?
The tension, which disappears earlier like a fair-weather friend, now rushes upon her, almost without warning. Her thighs clench around his head, her toes curling into his lower back as her upper body arches off the bed. When she comes, her orgasm slams into her like a lightning bolt, a shock striking at her core and then rippling outwards until her entire body hums and buzzes with the power of it. Her abdomen crunches inward as her fingers fist tightly into the pillows at either side of her head. Her back arches so deeply that her head rolls back, corded neck bowing as her throat announces the arrival of ecstasy. She can feel the heat rising as though her blood has flash-boiled beneath her skin, and her cries become a primal sound without words – a savage prayer of thanksgiving. Her hips bucking mindlessly as Mon-El continues to work his fingers in and out through the now-drenched convulsing muscles.
He eases her down gently from her high, and when higher thought returns, Kara realizes she's just experienced her first orgasm with a partner, and it was everything she never thought she could have. Like any other teenager growing up, Kara had experimented with masturbation, and as an adult it had been a necessity, lacking any other choice. She had culled orgasms from her own hands, and from battery operated tools, but nothing like that – nothing with the power to turn her into a mindless bundle of nerves exploding like fireworks. She bursts into tears, her lungs dragging for air that seems just out of reach. It is joyful. It is cathartic, her double release.
As the last of her muscles cease their violent quivering, her body sinks into the mattress a sweaty, boneless puddle of beautiful female flesh. Unsurprised by her tears, Mon-El abandons his place between her thighs and takes her into his arms. Tuning her into his body, his hand runs up and down her body, calming her with long caresses down her back.
"I-I'm s-sorry," she blubbers uncontrollably.
"You have nothing to be sorry for," he assures her, his hand skims up her spine to rest at the back of her neck.
When the tears begin to slow and her breath comes more evenly, she sniffles, "I never thought I'd be able to. Not like this." She tucks her head into the safety of his neck, running a finger down his chest.
"I know," he says. "No one should ever believe that it isn't their right to feel these things." Satisfied that her tears have run their course, he releases her from the warmth of his embrace. "Lay back," he prods her, smiling when she follows his instructions without complaint or uncertainty.
Mon-El kneels over her, taking in her flushed and damp skin, the rise and fall of her chest and the unmistakable appearance of boneless repletion. "You are stunning when you take your pleasure, Kara," he says, his own breath catching in his chest.
She smiles behind heavy-lidded watery eyes, as he now looms over her. He catches her lower jaw and works her mouth open with his thumb, before slipping his tongue inside and tangling with hers in a kiss that's both filthy and intimate. "Now…can you taste yourself?" he asks when he breaks away her.
"Yes," she nods, drowsily. She expects to be disgusted by the musky flavor of her own juices on her tongue, but finds herself craving more. "Kiss me again," she demands.
Mon-El smiles at the languid command in her voice and gladly complies, plundering her mouth to draw her tongue against his. One hand strokes her cheek and jaw as their tongues tangle, finding every flavor and texture left to discover. The fingers of his other hand gently stroke the daintily manicured thatch of fine hair above her wet folds, keeping her primed for what comes next.
With a shift of his hips, he's between her legs, the tip of his cock replacing his stroking fingers, sliding along the wet seam of her core, but avoiding her ready entrance. His full length strokes the seam up and down, using her juices to lubricate the shaft in preparation for the next step. Her legs spread wider of their own accord, her hips canting upwards, that hypersensitive hub of nerves beneath his length sending out sparks of sensation so bright it borders on painful. Yet still she can't resist the lure of it.
"Wait!" she exclaims, her mind recalling a promise she made to herself long before this night began.
"What is it?" He is concerned by the tone of alarm in her voice, and the fact that she is scrambling away from him. Kara turns halfway on her stomach, providing him with a nice view of her backside as she reaches for the foil packet sitting on the bedside table.
"Condom," she announces, holding up the silver square, the candlelight bouncing off the shiny packaging.
"What's a…condom?" he asks. Mon-El sits up on his knees and scratches his head, tilting it in confusion.
"Didn't anyone explain about..?" she begins, nonplussed. "None of the guys mentioned a…?"
Mon-El shakes his head and shrugs his shoulders, one hand lazily stroking his erection, as though it's just another part of his body. "Is it some sort of pleasure-giving device?" he smiles hopefully.
"No," she shakes her head. "It's…birth control." She thinks it best at the moment to avoid mentioning that it could also prevent the spread of disease, since she knows from her mother that he is free from both Daxam and Earth diseases. "You wear it on your...," She struggles with choosing the best moniker.
"My cock," he answers for her when her mouth grimaces adorably in defeat. "That seems to be the most widely used and acceptable term on this planet. Although I hear 'dick' a lot, mostly in the locker room. People tend to avoid the more clinical 'penis'…unless they're a doctor. There's also 'prick', 'schlong', 'one-eyed snake'—there are a lot of slang terms for the male genitalia on this planet. It's ridiculous, really. Which do you prefer?"
She thinks for a moment, her eyes drifting to the ceiling as though actually rolling the words around each other in her head. "Cock," she finally says, with a nod. "It sounds…complimentary," she decides. "Unlike 'dick', which can also be an insult."
"Of course, you can call it whatever you want," he suggests. "Name it, if you like."
"Your mighty weapon?" she snorts.
He laughs along. "Mmmm. That's a lot of pressure, considering I haven't even shown you its true power yet." He leans down and captures her smile with his lips, dipping his tongue in for a taste. He had worked to prepare her for what comes next, and if he doesn't press forward soon all his painstaking efforts will have been for naught. He'll have to start all over again – not that he'd complain. But his own needs would like to be answered at some point, as his cock is constantly reminding him. Mon-El reaches for the foil package in her hand, but she pulls back, placing her empty hand on his chest and pushing him away.
Kara shakes her head. "I want to put it on you. I've been practicing," she explains.
This information brings Mon-El up short. "Practicing?" he demands, the unobscured bite of jealousy in his tone.
"On a banana," she quickly qualifies, a coquettish smile forming on her lips. "I've been watching videos on Youtube and practicing on a banana. Not on an actual…person. We did it once in Health class when I was in high school, but that was a long time ago. I needed to brush up." She's tensing with anxiety again, her words building a head of steam until Mon-El places his hands on her shoulders and lets them drifting slowly down her arms.
"Go on then," he urges. "Show me what you've learned."
Nervously, she reaches for him, her fingers shaking almost imperceptibly as they wrap around his girth, already semi-lubricated from her own juices. Beads of milky fluid slip from the head as she lightly strokes him up and then down, her fingertips lightly caressing the sensitive underside.
"You, Kara Zor-El, are a Vartine," he pants breathlessly, his eyes slamming shut with immeasurable hunger. She will be the end of him, he has no doubt, as her warm hand strokes his steel. Though she could use a bit more pressure for his preference, he's confident that in time she will learn what pleases him best.
She has heard of the Vartine, in the archival data on Daxam available to her. It speaks of the planet's history and some of its myths. The most prevalent myth was of an angelic creature with the ability to seduce any man and leave him drained of all but the desire for more of her. Similar to the Earth myth of the Sirens. It is a legend central to the evolution of Daxam's hedonistic culture.
Mon-El grabs her wrist, ceasing its tantalizing movements. "You mustn't," he growls, his teeth grinding together.
Kara smiles – finding she likes this side of him, clinging frantically to control but so close to letting it slip away. The part of him so effected by her touch his eyes flash with ferocity, his muscles tensing and rolling beneath his skin, like a wild animal ready to lunge. The part of her that revels in her femininity hungers for him to throw her on the bed and take her without a thought for tenderness. To reveal to her the beast he keeps so carefully leashed.
Sensing that his control is a hairsbreadth from snapping, she terminates her teasing and sets about completing her task. Pinching the tip of the condom and placing it over the head, she rolls the latex down his shaft with a deftness that surprises even herself, all while explaining to him the proper disposal technique.
"All done," she declares, her eyes shining with the pride of a task properly accomplished. She stops short of clapping for herself.
Mon-El wastes no time pressing her onto the mattress and attaching his mouth to her breast once more, sucking and nipping at her breast until her body writhes beneath him and she's breathless again. Her taste for fulfillment now kindled, he uses his hand and mouth to stoke the flame of her desire again, until it burns bright and threatens to devour them both.
"Mon-El," she pleads, his lips now pressed to her pulse point. She spreads her legs for him, seeking a remedy to soothe the throbbing hunger there. It consumes her; a need unlike any other, but she knows she must answer its call lest it incinerate her from within. The ache of emptiness is engulfing, swallowing her whole and stealing her breath. She must assuage it no matter the cost. "Please."
He doesn't ask her if she's ready, or tell her what would bring him pleasure. Mon-El reaches between their bodies and aligns himself with her waiting, wanting entrance. The moment of truth has arrived and Kara sends a quick prayer to Rao that this will work, and that Mon-El won't be damaged by the effort.
Sliding forward, he presses just the tip of his cock into her, rocking his hips gently as he attempts to ease his way in. So tight, her heat swallows him, ensnares him, and threatens to steal the balance of his hard-earned discipline. He releases a shaky breath before pushing forward another inch, feeling her muscles clamping down on his unlike with all their considerable power. It's unlike anything he's ever felt before, or likely to feel again with anyone but her.
Kara tenses beneath him, his girth of his cock stretching her to capacity before he's even fully seated. She hisses with pain, tears pricking behind her shut eyelids. She spares a thought of concern for Mon-El, that he will find the resistance just as impenetrable as any human male might. Her own pain she can handle; it's no more than she's experienced in battle. "Mon-El," she whimpers, afraid not for herself, but for him.
"You need to relax," he chokes out. "Your body is resisting me. Breathe, Kara. Close your eyes and let your body go limp. There's nothing to be afraid of." Leaning down he flicks his tongue against her nipple, earning him a gasp. "I only want your pleasure."
Kara would give anything to see his smile again, but as always, his commands become her compass, leading her through this strange new wilderness. She inhales as deeply as her lungs will allow and released the breath; repeating this procedure until at last her body begins to relax, her muscles loosening around the tip of his cock.
I'm sorry," he grinds out, his teeth clenched, the muscles of his jaw ticking. Taking a breath as deep as his lungs will allow, he plunges ruthlessly into her tight warmth, until he's buried to the hilt inside of her. Everything in her body ceases to function with the exception of her pain receptors. It's not a feeling she's accustomed to experiencing, certainly not with the frequency that accompanies human frailty, and certainly not in the places she's experiencing it at this moment.
With a groan, Mon-El lowers himself into the cradle of her hips, covering her upper body with his. He clasps one of her hands, intertwining his fingers with hers while his mouth cascades up and down her neck, attempting to redirect her pain back into pleasure.
"It's okay," he croons, soothingly, as though speaking to a skittish puppy. "You're okay."
And when the pain subsides, the sharp, piercing sting ebbing into a dull ache, she realizes he is right. The worst is over and she can almost sigh with relief. Her theory about Mon-El's capabilities in this arena had, until this moment, been just that – a theory. There had always been a chance that she was wrong and this moment could have gone horribly awry. Kara wants to laugh, but can only manage a wan smile.
"You're okay?" Her voice is shaky and thick with emotion, her tight throat holding back tears.
"Never been better," he announces while sucking at her collarbone. He's redirecting his own instincts as he kisses whatever flesh is available to him. It's no easy task to forget for a moment that he's buried to hilt inside of the hottest, tightest pleasure haven he's ever experienced, or that it threatens to choke the life out of him while he begs it for more, and she hasn't even come around him yet. And that he must allow her the time to adjust to his not inconsiderable size before he can continue.
His invasion stretches her untried passage to its limits, filling her in ways she hadn't known she was empty. And where there was once two people, now there is one creature, gasping in unison, breathing each other's air, their skin melding together until there is no beginning or end to separate them.
After another moment, she tentatively reaches around to clutch at his back. His body weight isn't heavy in the slightest – not for her – but she finds she needs to adjust to this unprecedented incursion into her personal space. Kara rolls her hips, seeking something…she isn't quite sure, but testing the last dregs of pain within her to see if more will follow. She breathes a sigh of relief when none is forthcoming. Mon-El moans in response to her undulating movements, his lips pressing so tightly together that a white line forms around outer edges as he drops his head into the crook of her neck.
"Just...be…still," he grounds out, his voice tortured beyond anything she's heard before. Even when Jeremiah was digging a bullet out of his leg.
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," she whispers, stroking her hands down his back to soothe his pain. "Am I hurting you?"
"Gods, no!" His head, tucked in her neck, shakes vehemently. "But you're so tight and I'm trying not to hurt you. And you moving isn't helping the situation. I swear to all the gods of Val-Or, Kara, it's taking everything I have to not fuck you into oblivion right now."
"Oh," she replies, biting her lower lip. His declaration sparks a new and naughty flame inside of her, the dull ache of his penetration shifting to a wilding and suddenly ravenous pool of desire in her belly. Of their own accord, instinct trumping higher thought, her muscles clench around his cock and his entire body turns to stone.
"Gods!" he shouts, a grimace of pain (pleasure?) overtaking his face. She thought him rigid before, but the muscles beneath her fingers, quivering with the effort of remaining still just a moment before, now have all the malleability of granite.
Whether attempting to pull away from her or simply heeding his body's unrelenting demand, Mon-El withdraws from her clenching depths, but then slides back in as though instantly regretting it. The drag and pull of it, her core clasping and clamoring to bring him back to her, his pubic bone pressing against hers as they reunite, is nothing as she imagined.
"Oh!" she exclaims, her hands gripping at his back. Her voice light and breathy, as though rediscovering something long since thought lost in the last place she expected to find it. She wants more of that – the feeling of emptiness followed immediately by the fullness – the sensation that his body is staking claim to her emptiness, making it his. More of the nerves in her core spark like a flint strike, wanting only kindling to light a fire. The pain is still there, just a hint of it, but it's the good kind. The kind that reminds her she's alive, that she's still a person, no matter what some people may think of her.
Sliding his forearms under her upper back he wraps his fingers around her shoulders, seeking leverage as his hips shift once more. He begins a gentle rocking motion, his cock retreating only a fraction before sinking back in, familiarizing her with the feel of him, his width and length. It isn't long before the hunger in the pit of her grows restless and greedy; her hips answer by tilting up to meet his in hopes of finding more friction.
"All right?" he manages, barely.
"Yes," she replies, nodding her head, trying not to lose herself to the feeling of him buried so deep. "More."
He shifts up and away from her body, leaving her breasts cold for want of his heat. Balancing on his hands, so that he can better judge her experience from the shifting expressions on her face, he alters his rhythm by withdrawing completely and driving fully back into her with a snap of his hips.
She moans in response, a primal sound that starts low in her chest, but speaks only to unexpected and unquantified pleasure. Mon-El repeats the action, feeling as she grows wetter and more pliable around him, hearing the sound of his sweat slicked skin as it slaps against hers with a satisfying sting. As a youth, he had been trained in the various arts of bringing pleasure to a woman (or a man), a necessity in the Daxam court that could make or break political relations. Using that training now, he quickly finds a tempo he can maintain to push her towards her waiting ecstasy. As his hips piston against hers, his cock pumping in and out of her soaking heat, her moans ratchet up in pitch and transform to whines of need. The faster he moves, the higher her pitch.
"Mon-El," she cries in euphoric anguish. Her delicate but nonetheless powerful hands grip at the toiling, driving muscles of his back, as she stares up at him, pupils blown wide, an expression of wonder written across her face. With each passing moment, each delectable grind of his pelvis against hers, the boiling tension building at the place where their bodies connect rises to a new level. Like a bow-string pulled taut, waiting for permission to fly, every muscle in her body contracts inward as though preparing to release long stored shares of energy. "Please," she begs, the word stuttering on the way out. She's unsure what she's asking but the word spills forth anyway. "Don't stop. I can feel it."
Reaching down he grabs her prone knee and hikes it up on his hip. Her eyes squeeze shut at the change in angle and the subsequent sensations that blaze through her. Following his lead, she raises her other leg and begins experimenting with their position to find which feels best. She finds that sliding her legs alongside his flanks until her knees are tucked just under his armpits has his thrusts hitting a spot that send fireworks exploding in her core. But still she needs more.
"Harder…?" she asks. Is it harder she wants, or faster? She isn't sure.
"What?" His breathless voice demands, but his body leans down to steal a heated kiss before she can answer. "Tell me what you want."
"Harder," she commands. Her hands slide down his back and grab hold of his rear-end, squeezing the rock hard cheeks to guide his movement. He complies with fervor, grunting agreeably with the effort of pleasuring her, a delicious smirk on his face as he looks down upon her. He has her trapped in a web of carnal worship and Kara finds she can't tear her eyes from his steely gaze, no matter how hard he pistons in and out of her.
She's so close – so close, but just before she reaches the waiting pinnacle her whole world shifts around her. Kara finds herself face down on the mattress, her fingers gripping at the bedspread, and the feeling of fullness stolen from her by her capricious tutor. Putty in his hands, Mon-El manhandles Kara until she kneels before him, her back to his front, and uses his knees to spread he legs wider apart. His strong arm clamps around her waist, holding her flush against his chest. His other hand holds her hip steady as he eases again into her waiting heat, his chest rumbling with satisfaction.
"Ah!" she groans, her head falling back against his shoulder. Her long neck exposed, Mon-El wraps a hand around it, squeezing the graceful column gently as his fingers detect the racing pulse at her artery. He holds still for a moment before beginning a new pattern of slow withdrawals followed by vigorous thrusts.
"Tell me what you're feeling," he insists, his breath hot against the shell of her ear. Teeth grinding together, he ignores the gathering, churning storm between his legs, threatening to swamp him far too soon for his liking. "Am I hurting you?"
"No," she groans. "So good! Feels so good." Her response is followed by a series of short panting cries timed to each one of his fierce thrusts. Searching for some purchase to anchor her, she reaches her hands behind her to grasp at his moving hips, bowing her back and thrusting her chest forward. "Don't stop," she begs. "Don't stop."
"As if I could," he grunts into her ear. "You're so tight, Kara. So hot and tight. You don't know what it does to me…knowing I'm the first one inside you." One of his hands slides from her neck to her perfect, bouncing breast, cupping and squeezing it before pinching the engorged nipple between his thumb and forefinger. His other hand fists in the lushness of her hair and turns her face towards his. Mon-El tweaks her nipple, twisting it between unrelenting fingers until Kara's mouth opens in a gasp of surprise. He seizes her mouth then, tongue tangling passionately with hers as his pelvis hammers her buttocks.
She hovers in a state of nearly insensate bliss. Her climax swims so close to fruition part of her wants to push it away so that the intoxicating pleasure of him moving inside of her will never stop. In this position, he's not as deep as he was before and she thinks it's because he doesn't want it to end either. Mon-El twists her nipple again, and though it hurts she finds the novelty of the pain to be strangely arousing – it's an experience no human man could provide for her.
Switching to her other breast to pay it equal attention, Mon-El releases her hair and glides his hand down her body until he finds the wet nest of pleasure-providing nerves and dips his middle finger inside. "I want you to come for me, Kara. Can you do that?"
"Yes, please," she moans. "Please make me come." She shrieks when he pinches her clit, biting her lower lip until the wild sounds coming from her mouth turn to suppressed groans.
"Don't bite your lip, Kara," he coaches. His finger circles the swollen bundles of nerves and then presses against it, before repeating this pattern. He adds a second finger and increases the speed with which he torments her. "I want to hear you scream. Let yourself scream."
When his fingers move at near-vibration speeds, her climax devours her as if catching her unawares. Kara's body stiffens painfully, her toes curling, her fingers clenching as her scorching sheath convulses and flutters around him. Hoarsely, she screams his name over and over, her passage viciously clamping down on his cock, determined to hold him hostage even as he continues to pump in and out of her core. Mon-El groans in response, sensuality radiating from the sound of it as her body rewards him for his enthusiastic efforts. His bliss does nothing to deter the thrusting of his hips, his fingers and his cock working together to draw out her orgasm, extending the excruciating ecstasy until another wave hits her, drowning her in rapturous agony.
He slows his thrusts then and withdraws his fingers from their task, allowing her to descend from the heights of her euphoric frenzy. Boneless and replete, she mewls with exhaustion as he releases her to fall forward onto the mattress. Kara whines—a sad, discontented tantrum—when his cock slips out of her. She lands face down, her legs spread invitingly before him, her thighs slick with the evidence of her desire. Her hips roll, frustrated, against the mattress, seeking what has been lost.
His shaft is steel between his legs, his balls ripe for release but denied the privilege. He might struggle more against the sudden shift from Kara's heavenly heat to the coolness of the room, were it not for the birth control device she asked him to don. Drawing his fingers along the slick surface of the condom as he gazes as Kara's naked and deliciously prone body before him, he finds that the casing only slightly dulls his own sensation, a fact that makes it easier for his long-untested discipline to remain intact.
Mon-El's court-training had stressed mastery of technique and the importance of longevity and endurance when pleasuring a partner, and he finds that his training stands in good measure still – if only barely. If required, he could remain at the ready all night, as was often a necessity when servicing more than one partner at a time during his days in the palace.
But Kara is tapped out, he fears, her mind as overwhelmed by his attentions as her body. By his judgement, he could coax four, perhaps five, more orgasms from her and if his own selfish desires were all to consider this night, he would. But her lack of experience with such licentious activities could leave her unable to function for a while, and National City needed its heroine on-call at any given moment. It's best to take things slow, until they see how quickly she recovers. He fears that surrendering to his own venal inclinations would only backfire, angering her should she be unable to answer her city's call in its time of need. The trust of the breathtaking woman on her stomach in front of him is a commodity he has no desire to lose.
Firm hands on her hips have her rolling onto her back and spreading her legs once more. Aligning his cock, he slides balls deep into her heat as they moan their satisfaction in unison. He needs to finish, and he wants to do it inside of her.
"Hold on to me."
She complies without question, or the slightest desire to resist, slipping her arms beneath his and splaying her hands in the dip of his lower back. Balanced on his forearms, Mon-El tucks his face into her neck and sets his pelvis moving to a rhythm that is both punishing and rewarding, he will not last long – he is not meant to. After a moment, he moves to her lips, prying them open to take her moans into his mouth while giving her his own. Their sweat-slicked bodies touch at every possible point; her breasts crushed against his chest while his belly skates slickly atop hers. His powerfully laboring legs brush alongside the limp, boneless-ness of her limbs as their pelvises thrash against one another. Mon-El's hands cup the back of her head, fingers clenching and unclenching in her golden tresses, timed to the plunging of his cock.
A mewling cry, the beautiful sound of her surrender, punctuates his every thrust, but she has little strength left to do anything but lay there and clutch helplessly at the bunching musculature of his back. His rhythm falters upon his will, speeding at first and then thrusting erratically and fully; once, twice, and then a third final time. His entire form seizes in her arms and his guttural groans become feral growls that sends a flurry of shivers down her spine. Muscles gradually releasing, he breathes hot air into her open mouth as his hips spasm a few more times, her hands clutching at his lower back as his body expels the last of his release.
He collapses into her arms and wants nothing more than to stay there, to stay buried within her, but her instructions earlier were clear. He must be rid of the condom before the steel of his cock softens completely, lest the casing's entire purpose be defeated…a moment he fears is rushing upon him. With a sigh of disappointment, he reaches between their bodies and takes hold of the condom before slipping from her precious heat.
"No," she begs, grabbing for his retreating form. His cruel abandonment in her moment of utter repletion borders on painful, and her throat constricts with the sudden and unexpected need to sob again. Her arm drops over her eyes to hide the rush of emotion.
"I have to," he reminds her. He slips off the condom, but is gratified nonetheless by her vocal unwillingness to be parted from him. "I'll be back."
He disappears into her bathroom, the light flicking on. She hears the sound of the toilet flushing, followed by the tap turning on. He rummages around in there for a few minutes, long enough for her to struggle to her elbows and wonder if she should go in there. He finally emerges, turning off the light as he leaves. In one hand he carries and glass of water and in the other, a wet washcloth.
"Drink," he says, offering her the glass. She takes the glass from him and drains the glass in the three swallows.
"Thank you." She hands him back the glass, which he sets on the bedside table.
Climbing back on the bed he uses to warm cloth to wipe down her thighs before pressing it against her center. "You should take a warm bath," he advises. "To help with the soreness. I could run one for you…if you like."
Embarrassed by the intimacy of his attentions, she blushes, heat rising to her cheeks. But she doesn't allow her awkwardness to put an end to it, instead choosing to lay back and let him finish cleaning her. "I'll be fine," she replies with a gentle shake of her head. "Probably sooner than you think. Benefits of a yellow sun."
Mon-El nods and chuckles, before retreating back into the bathroom to dispose of the used the washcloth and replace the water glass by the sink. He saunters back to the bed and sits on the edge, but comes no closer. He's so at home in his skin, she thinks, as though he wears clothes only for the sake of others, but personally feels no need for them. While a big part of her wants to cover her nakedness (the part of her that wants to be brave won't allow it), Mon-El seems to be unaware of his, as though it is a most natural state. The steel gray of his eyes rakes slowly over her contentedly used body, flushed and glistening with quickly drying perspiration, and she shivers at his blatant admiration.
Taking her shiver as a chill, he pulls back the comforter of her bed and bids her climb inside. She does, finding the sheets delightfully cool against her heated skin.
"Would you like for me to go, Kara?" he inquires, sitting now just out of her easy reach.
"What? Why?" Her eyebrows crease together in confusion. Didn't he want to stay with her?
"In the beginning…it's what you wanted," he reminds her. "A favor among friends. If that's still how you feel, then I will dress and see myself out. I'm told that when a 'one-night-stand' is complete, the visiting party dresses and departs with minimal fuss. I'm afraid I may already have overstayed my welcome."
"Mon-El, no," she shakes her head. Sitting up in defiance of his inference, the bedsheets fall to her waist. He turns his face away from her, his jaw visibly clenching, fighting his desire to touch her. Kara slides across the mattress and reaches for his cheek, turning his face towards hers. This time her lips are the ones descending upon his and he is bewitched by the supple invitation she offers. Blindly, his hand finds her shoulder and follows the trail of curving skin up her neck until he cups her cheek.
Now, after having felt his heated skin moving against hers, she wants to curl into him like a contented kitten and sleep in his arms. It is a feeling she didn't expect to feel when this night had begun. He took such care with her and drew out of her emotions she didn't know she could experience. She knows now she doesn't want that to end with just one night.
Pulling away from him, she slides back to her side of the bed and drags back the comforter for him. "I want…for you to stay," she whispers, her sky-blue eyes coquettishly hidden behind half-closed lids. "That would bring me pleasure."
His gray eyes darken upon seeing her bring his lessons of boldness to fruition. He climbs under the covers with her, wrapping one arm around her as she curls into his side with a contented sigh. It won't be long before he wants to take her again, and when that time comes he hopes that she will be willing.
Kara tilts her head up and finds his mouth ripe for the taking. She presses her lips against his, tracing the seam with her tongue until he opens for her. The tips of their tongues, dancing indolently but make no demands for more. Her fingers pluck at the thatch of coarse dark hair in the center of his chest as she throws one leg over his, brushing her thigh against his flaccid manhood.
"Kara," he warns, his voice deepening with empty threat.
"Sorry," she grimaces, tucking her head to his chest.
"You should sleep," he advises, closing his eyes and tightening his arms around her. Mon-El attempts to ignore the proximity of her thigh to his now re-awakening cock, or the fact that he can feel the heat of her core scorching his hip.
She closes her eyes and sighs deeply. Her body tired but thrumming with an energy she doesn't yet understand, as though she's been plugged into a new, more efficient power source for the first time. Kara, behind closed eyelids, searches for that place in the darkness that will lead her a long night of dreams, but find that it eludes her. Instead all she can see are mental recordings of their lovemaking and over and over she recalls the growl he made when he took his pleasure inside of her. Her hip writhes mindlessly against his, searching for the pressure to ease the slowly building ache within her.
"Kara," Mon-El hisses, his teeth gritting together. He wants to be stern with her, to teach her about respecting a partner's limits, but truthfully all he wants is to do is laugh.
"Sorry," she squeaks again. Her body curls tighter into him, embarrassed by her action. "It's just that…."
"It's just that…what?" he sighs, regretting his seriousness a moment earlier. He knows he has to be patient with her. Up and down, he strokes her back in a comforting, coaxing manner, hoping to make her feel safe.
"I want you again," she confesses, so open and honest, his heart falters in his chest. "Is that wrong?"
"No," he chuckles, hardly believing the apprehension in her voice. "There's nothing more right, Kara."
"Then why won't you?" she asks, insecurity leaking into her tone. "Don't you…want me too?"
"Kara!" Mon-El lifts his head and looks into her nervous eyes, all pretense of trying to sleep now gone. "What a thing to ask! Did I not make you feel wanted? Did I not bring you pleasure?"
"Yes, Mon-El, but—"
"I could be inside you for days without ceasing," he tells her bluntly, tightly gripping her thigh in place so that she can't move. "I could take you to the precipice over and over but never let you fall, or I could have you constantly coming apart at the seams with a few well-placed touches until you are a mindless jumble of impulses. I could have you in hundreds of positions, rutting into you like a beast over and over until you begged me to stop. Then I could teach you the line where pleasure becomes pain and where pain becomes pleasure." The heat against his hip—her heat—becomes hotter and slicker on his skin. "But this night was your first...you must be sore. I won't overtax you…no matter how much I desire you."
"But I'm not," she insists.
"Not what?"
"I'm not sore." Her fingers draw invisible designs on his chest, drifting over one of his nipples and causing the muscle to contract in response to her touch. "I mean…I was…at first. But now I'm not." She leans down and flicks her tongue over his other nipple just to see how he will respond. Like her own, the dark pink skin around his nipple tightens in arousal. Mon-El sucks in a breath and his hips jerk beneath her thigh, but a smile spreads across his face.
"What am I going to do with you?" he wonders aloud, on the precipice of giving in to her. She is irresistible with her lush tresses, her perfect body and pert breasts, as well as her willing and eager sheath for his hardening steel. But it is the openness of her spirit and brightness of her soul that makes her truly impossible to resist, and he wouldn't risk any action that might close off her spirit or tarnish her soul – not for the entire world. Making up his mind, he places his hand over the smaller one on his chest before it can wander further and dangerously afield of its own accord.
Kara sighs, disappointed at his cessation of her attempted seduction. Until his hand takes hers and guides it down his chest and past his stomach, right to his hardening cock. Kara smiles victoriously.
"Take me in your hand, Kara," he instructs his darling apt pupil, her eyes wide with eagerness.
She wraps her small hand around his substantial member, following the motions of his gently guiding grip. Kara likes the way his eyes close and he bites on his lower lip as she brings him pleasure. She's enthralled by how silky and hard his shaft can be at the same time. She's curious about the drop of milky fluid that appears at the tip of the head.
"Can I taste you?" she asks, hopefully.
Mon-El's heart races in his chest at her artless request. There are many things yet he could teach her about the arts of pleasure and if she allows he will teach her every last one of them, he vows to himself. And perhaps there are many things she can teach him about the giving of oneself so freely.
"Oh, Kara," he sighs happily. "I just may make a Daxamite of you yet."
She giggles at the notion as her open mouth descends upon him.
The End
