[Rating: NC-17 - For occasional mild profanity, and for explicit depictions of sexual situations.]
CHAPTER 14
She smiles into his kiss for several moments, savoring the velvety taste of the wine still tingeing his palate. Soon, though, her delight gives way to her desire, and she fully reciprocates his initially slight, but increasingly insistent touches.
His fingertips wandering across her scalp, his hand trailing along her spine, his tongue brushing against her lips - every one of his ministrations entice her longing from her mind and down through her body, manifesting it upon the lace between her thighs. Dizzying, she arches into him, wrapping her arms around his neck to keep herself balanced. In response to her unspoken appeal, he lowers the circle of his arm to her waist, and secures his hold enough to lift her slightly as he shifts out of his seated position and onto his knees. Grateful for his understanding, she maintains their kiss as he leans forward, laying her down amongst the pillows and blankets surrounding them.
As he stretches out his body next to hers, she turns onto her side and drapes one of her legs over his hip. Giving himself over to her, he follows her gestures and cues - running his hand down to her thigh when she slides her leg up to his waist, rocking against her when she presses her hips into him, seeking out her tongue when she draws his forward.
Only now, only after having spent so long suppressing or sublimating her need for him, does she begin to feel how much harder that yearning has been becoming to govern. Now, with their hopes understood and their intentions clear, she can't remember whether it was he or she who suggested them spending an extra night together, whether he woke her up in the movie theatre or she was never entirely asleep, or whether the reconnection she had in mind in them bathing together was more for his sake or for hers. In truth, all of which she can be certain is stirring from her slumber the night before just to make certain he was still there, and asking him to tell her a story just to be assured of his nearness as she drifted back off to her dreams.
The waiting, the wondering, the wishing were reaching a feverish pitch, she now understands. And while his presence has consistently managed to tame down the unruly impulses that have been mounting within her for months, the truth is that she cannot conceive of how much longer she could've endured the increasingly unbearable in-betweens - the at times brief but more often prolonged periods during which he's not around to hug, have, hold her. One day at a time, she may have told herself, though very likely with less and less success as those days wore on. And in the meantime, she'd let him believe that simply being in his company doesn't try her restraint in ways that seem in every way torturous.
Without realizing it, her musings leave her all the more open to his touch, taste, scent, and sound, and her already charged senses inflame to too keen a degree. Growing breathless as much from the overstimulation as from the budding realization of that which she's only ever imagined, she breaks their kiss, and gasps, "Clark…"
Hearing her pleading tone, he spreads his hand against her hip and nudges just enough to coax her onto her back. As she lies out underneath him, clutching at his neck to bring him with her, he covers as much of her body as he can, stills his lips against hers, and presses his thigh snugly between her legs.
Before long, his means achieve their end, dampening and calming her nerves. Listening to her breaths even out and feeling her arms around him relax, he withdraws just enough to brace himself up on his elbow and to slide a hand through her tresses to cradle her head. She warms at his thoughtful gesture, meant to prevent any discomfort she may have eventually felt in her neck, as he leaves a soft kiss to her mouth, and then pulls away to sweep his lips across her cheek.
Little by little, he makes his way along her jaw, down her neck, and across her collarbones, nuzzling and tasting her skin. Her eyes closed, she lowers her hands to the back of his shoulders, feeling the broadest part of him flex and stir with every one of his subtle movements, as he kindles her arousal into a slow burn.
"Mmh…" she sighs, basking in his tenderness and in the soothing caress of his hand running up and down her side.
As his kisses descend lower onto her shoulders and her chest, his hair skims the underside of her jaw, and she happens to open her eyes. Without him in her line-of-sight, her gaze instead meets the candlelight smoldering across the large plane of the ceiling. Taken aback by the stark reflection of the sensations flowing through her, she blinks a few times and swallows in an effort to regain her bearings. But with every part of her body and mind piqued, she's left vulnerable not only to the sight of her desire manifesting before her eyes, but once again to the other, equally affecting features of the atmosphere: The warm air drifting across and along her skin. The light scent of floral overtones mingling with waxy undertones. The saffron glow enlivening the reds, oranges, and yellows spread throughout the room.
But to her, their idyll - sumptuous, sensuous, and serene - suddenly seems too fantastic. And only intensifying her increasingly overwhelming sense of wonder is the man directly above her, entirely focused on her body's every whim and response.
Never before has she felt such a palpable, unrestrained tenor to his affections. Never before has she felt such steady, unmistakable purpose to his touch. But more than that, his every consideration seems nothing short of reverent. And that - the experience of being cared for, rather than consumed; of being adored, rather than devoured - is something she's never known in this context before tonight.
All at once, she feels inundated, overcome as much by the novelty of her situation as by the surreality of her surroundings, and the weight of their intentions and the enormity of her emotions begin to bear down on her. Their past, their present, their future - all of it becomes too much to fathom, let alone embrace, and her mind balks at the irreversible transformation that their relationship is on the verge of undergoing.
Closing her eyes and holding her breath, she tries to suppress the anxiety building throughout her. But, despite her efforts, her disquiet finds another vent.
"Lois?" he worries, lifting his head from her shoulder upon perceiving the sudden tremblings deep within her body. When, in response, she only pulls her arms away from him and covers her face with her hands, he grows all the more concerned, and tries again. "Lois? What's wrong?"
"I'm fine," she lies, sharply releasing her breath and then gasping.
"No, you're not. You're shaking."
"I'm fine. I'm okay."
Uncertain of what's happened, never mind what to do about it, he starts to unthread his fingers from her hair in order to hold her cheek. But before he can, she moves her hands from her face, wraps them back around his shoulders, and pulls him down. With her face buried in his neck, hidden from him, he pauses for a moment, forcing himself to remain calm, and then attempts for the third time, "Lois, what is it?"
"Please, don't hate me."
"For what?" he tenderly presses, before trying to reassure her.
"For asking."
Releasing her thigh and circling his arm around her shuddering back, he insists, "You know I could never hate you, and you know you can ask me anything." Holding her to him, he ventures, "Are you alright? Do you feel sick?"
"No."
"You're not sick? Or you're not alright?"
"I'm not sick."
"But you're not alright?"
"I don't know."
"Okay. That's okay," he cajoles. "Just tell me what's going on, and we'll figure it out."
"…You'd never hurt me, right?"
Her whispered reply sinks his stomach and knots his chest. Not once during and not once since their first open dialogue about their physical relationship has she articulated any doubt in its regard. Where he's been conflicted, she's been confident. Thus, that she may now be qualifying the absolute certainty that she's maintained up until this point, that she may now feel anything less than safe in his arms, trusting of his touch, devastates him.
Still, out of respect for her misgivings, he starts to let her go. When she only tightens the clinch of her arms, though, he stops himself. Given her reaction and given his own wish of having heard her incorrectly, he endeavors to fight his initial supposition. Swallowing the knot in his throat, he steadies his voice and braces himself, before quietly asking, "What do you mean?"
"You'd never hurt me?"
At the sound of her reiteration, the wrenching down his torso lets up, even if only a little, as he realizes what she's actually asking him. Certain that he can assuage her on at least that count, he takes her with him as he leans up and sits back onto his heels. "Lois, look at me." When, after taking a long breath, she finally pulls away from his neck to find his eyes, he firmly replies, "Never. I would never hurt you."
Though believing him, she can't help still being unsettled. "I'm really sorry," she apologizes, sliding both of her hands around to his chest.
"For what? You have nothing to be sorry for."
Her jaw and hands quivering, she tries to explain, "It's just… It's just that you're an amazing guy, Clark. You really are. And I'm saying that as someone who's known a lot of different kinds of men. I mean, even when you couldn't stand me, even before you actually started to like having me around, you were still one of my favorite people in the whole world, because you just weren't like everyone else. You were special. You are special. And I know that I'm not exactly - Well, I mean that I know that I don't tell you that as often as I probably should, but -"
"- That's not true," he says, unable to keep himself from trying to comfort her. "You tell me that all the time."
"No, I don't."
"Yes, you do. Just not out loud."
"Please, don't confuse me right now."
Regretting having interrupted the ramble that was bound to reveal whatever's sent her reeling, he moves his hands to her upper arms and rubs them as he offers, "I just mean that you don't usually talk about that sorta thing. You just kinda show it. Like… Okay, for instance, you usually only bother arguing with people who you think are worth your time. And, well, you fight with me every chance you get. That says a lot."
"That's a terrible example."
"Well, it's only one," he allows, kicking himself for his poor choice. "There are lots of others. Like how protective you are of me, and how you share your food with me, and how you -"
"- I really do like you, Clark," she blurts out, unable to contain her whirling thoughts any longer. "You're a total spaz, and a total nerd, and a total walking, talking, flying cliché. And you're way too nice, and I don't understand why. And you're way too sentimental, and I don't understand that, either. And - god, help me - I like all of those things." Taking her eyes from his and looking around them, she pauses and sighs, before quietly continuing, "And you could not have made this room look like any more of a fairy tale. And I know that you wouldn't do this any other way, and you have no idea what that means to me…"
Encouraged by her sentiments but still concerned by her agitation, he waits a moment after she's trailed off. When she doesn't start again, he moves his hands from her arms to cup her cheeks. Guiding her gaze back to his, he finds her eyes, and then gently asks, "What are you trying to tell me, Sweetheart?"
His use of the only common endearment she's ever allowed him and of the address to which they both know she's most susceptible reins in her agitated mind. Finally managing to respond clearly, she tells him, "You're my best friend, Clark. I work with you. I write about you. And now, I share a bed with you. But no matter what we're doing or where we are or how we're dressed, when I look at you, I still see the best friend I've ever had. And I don't want that to change. But after tonight, if anything ever happens to us, then it will."
At last understanding her, he affirms, "That's not something you have to worry about."
"Which part?"
"Both."
Taking a hand from her cheek, he uses it to grasp the back of one of her palms and to slide her hand over his heart. Having spent every moment of their relationship prior to his reveal prohibiting himself from imagining the future with her that he knew his duplicity disqualified him from, and having spent nearly every moment since questioning whether his physical reservations made him similarly undeserving, he has only recently, over the course of their day together, allowed himself to begin envisioning a lifetime with her. And it is that notion, about which he's grown ever more hopeful as their night has progressed, that emboldens him to assure her of what he never has before.
Holding her gaze and articulating each word with the conviction he feels, he tells her, "Lois, you are the greatest partner, the greatest ally I've ever known. I will never stop caring about how you feel, what you think, or the things that you say. And you will never stop being the most interesting, most challenging person in my life… I am going to take care of you and I am going to keep us safe for as long as you'll let me. I promise… On my shield, I promise."
Her eyes watery, her tremblings having ceased as he made his vows, she gives him as much of a smile as she can manage. Fighting back her tears, reluctant to make what she would deem too much of a display, she bites her lip and blinks a few times. Then, with only the flames around them to bear witness to their exchange, she whispers, "Me, too. All of that. I promise."
She watches as the brightest smile she's ever seen from him blooms across his features, and she chuckles a bit at his gaiety. Beaming, he leans down and presses a quick kiss to her smirking mouth, and then lifts her onto his thighs and wraps her up in his arms. Seated sideways across his lap, she relaxes into his warmth and into the silence that befalls them.
Peering around the room as he runs a hand through her hair and along her back, she finally manages to embrace their surroundings not as a dream, but as a reality as extraordinary as the man in whose arms she now rests.
After a long while, he feels her turn her head to press her lips to his cheek, and then hears her murmur his name against his skin.
"Yes?" he replies.
Pulling back to find his eyes, she looks at him with an expression that perfectly conveys her meaning as she quietly utters a single word: "Please."
"…Are you sure?"
"I am."
Convinced of both her certainty and his, he takes a moment to gather and refocus himself. After which, he seeks out and then picks up the red garment bunched near his knees, and slips one arm around her back and the other underneath her thighs. Without needing any direction, she drapes her hands around his neck in the same manner that she's done countless times before, and then kisses his cheek again as he lifts her up into his arms and stands.
In a silence far different from the one through which he led her after she first left the bathroom, he carries her across the pallet and onto the carpet. When they arrive at the middle of the right side of the bed, he recalibrates his strength to hold her in just one arm, as he lets go of her back and smoothes out the cloth in his grasp over the far larger surface of the sheet-covered mattress. Then, he secures his hand to her back again, and leans forward to gently rest her on the outspread material.
As her feet dangle several inches off of the floor as a result of the bed's height, she gives him a generous smile as a thank-you for his thoughtfulness, and grasps his hips to center him between her knees.
Reaching off to the side, he takes her pillow from amongst the many others gathered at the head of the bed, and places it behind her. "Is this okay?" he checks, peering around the area closest to her, gauging its dimensions and suitability.
She nods.
"Good," he smiles in return, resting his hands in the curves of her waist, and closing the distance between his mouth and hers.
Taking his time, he runs his hands along her sides, down her legs, and around her back, as he carefully attends her lips and tongue with his. Contented, she luxuriates in his thorough, unhurried touches, letting him re-spark and re-grow the warmth diffuse across her skin, but concentrated at her core. When, after some time, she begins arching into him and mewling into his mouth, he cradles her head and presses into her a bit, reclining her onto her pillow and the bed.
She shifts farther down underneath him and wraps her legs around his back, and then smiles into their kiss as she feels the state of his arousal pushing out against the thin fabric of his boxers. When, to her surprise, he doesn't recoil, she presses up into him and smiles a bit more as he not only lets her writhe against him, but also runs a hand down to her backside and holds her to him as she moves.
"Mmm…" he deeply intones, his temperature rising with every roll of her hips.
Feeling the surface of his back beginning to dampen with sweat, she relaxes her lower body back onto the bed, and murmurs against his lips, "Do you feel okay?"
"Yeah." Despite his answer, though, it occurs to him that she's not yet had so much of his heated skin against hers, and he pulls back enough to inquire, "How about you? Am I too warm?"
"Of course not," she replies, hugging him closer and leaning up to dot a few kisses along his jawline. "I like you like this."
He smiles at her reassurance, slides his hand around to her cheek, and meets her gaze. As she traces her fingers down his spine and he brushes the side of her face with his thumb, they share a long, tender moment.
When he's sure of their mutual understanding, he clears his throat, and then quietly asks, "Do you want me to know anything?"
"Like what?"
"…Anything at all."
Upon grasping his meaning, she smilingly comforts, "I trust your instincts, Clark."
Though grateful for her encouragement, he nonetheless persists in his appeal. "Anything else?"
Sympathizing, she tilts her chin up to kiss his cheek. "Turn your head and close your eyes," she instructs, while taking her arms from around his back.
As he does as told, she threads a hand into his hair and lures him farther down. When she can feel the soft outlines of his ear against her lips, she slides her other hand around his neck, lowers her voice, and purrs, "Are you listening?"
At the sound of her sultry timbre, a tremor runs from his chest to his groin, and he can only nod.
In response, she eases her mouth open, relaxes her tongue, and begins drawing slow, rhythmic circles around and through his crooks and dips. He shivers, mentally noting her movements. Opening her mouth farther, she flattens her tongue and rolls it along his ridges from bottom to top, and finishes by pulling the crest of his ear into her mouth and applying gentle suction while twirling her tongue around it.
After letting go, she whispers, "Just a suggestion."
He takes a moment to steady himself, before turning his head back toward her and kissing her. "Are you comfortable?" he eventually edges.
"Mm-hmm," she replies, insinuating her tongue past his lips.
Assured, he presses his mouth to hers for several more moments, and then finally withdraws.
Drifting down, he dots his lips along the side and front of her neck. When he reaches the dip at the bottom of her throat, he swirls his tongue into the delicate hollow, before running his lips along the bow of her collarbone. With a shuddering exhale, she reaches for his hand on her cheek, and as he grazes his teeth around her shoulder, she drags his palm down to the plane at the middle of her chest.
"Please…" she softly implores, wrapping both of her hands around his neck.
Obligingly, he spreads and tickles his fingers across the bottom of her ribcage, as he trails his slow, moist kisses lower still. Pressing his hand upward, he cradles the underside of her heavy flesh and traces his lips across the upper swell.
She hums in appreciation as he begins gently, steadily kneading her. But when he widens his mouth to cover her straining nipple, he merely runs his tongue around it, momentarily denying her the direct pressure she's after. Taking in a breath, she arches her back and pushes into him. Soon, he gives in, closing his mouth completely over her, and then drawing in as much of her fullness as he can.
"Mmh…" she whimpers.
He smiles against her, his confidence building as a result of her approving responses, and, with increasing insistence, he massages and pulls at her. As her breathing grows more ragged, he kisses his way to her other breast and offers more of the same consideration to it.
When he lightly scrapes his teeth across her hardened nipple, she gasps and trembles as the heat at her core burns ever hotter. She moans softly and pushes her hips up into his torso, seeking some kind of alleviating contact. But before she can find any such pressure, he runs his hand down her side and coaxes her hips back onto the bed.
"I know," he soothes, running a calming hand across her backside and thigh.
Leaving each of her breasts with a final kiss, he drags his tongue along her stomach. As he descends, he happens across the raised surface of the scar near the inner curve of her ribcage, and he takes the time to bestow extra attention upon it, before making his way farther down.
She sighs her need, pleading with him, as he winds his tongue around and into her bellybutton. He feels her trying to push up again, but he holds down her hips while he drifts slightly lower. Lightly, he dots kisses along the line where the upper hem of her underwear begins, before finding himself suddenly overcome and thus arresting his progress.
"…You are so beautiful, Lois," he exhales against her skin and into the air around them. "Nothing compares."
His sentiment, uttered with more impulse than intent, just barely reaches her ears. When it does, though, its sincerity somehow manages to lessen the pangs of her longing and to curb her impatience.
After a significant pause, he pulls away from her a bit and slides his hands down and back up the sides of her thighs, until he reaches the delicate fabric of her underwear. As he hooks his thumbs under and around the material, she lifts her lower body. Then, relishing every bit of her skin as it's revealed, he slowly pulls the sodden lace over her hips and down her legs.
Mesmerized, he sweeps his eyes over her bare figure, thinking it even more radiant and captivating than the candlelight playing across it, and commits her breathtaking image to memory.
When he's finally certain of remembering her every curve and contour exactly as it exists before him in this moment, he sets her underwear down on the floor, gently grasps her waist, and eases her forward until she's perched on the edge of the bed.
Running his hands along her calves, he sinks down to the carpet, as she winds the fingers of one hand into his hair and rests those of the other above her head. After which, she lifts one leg and settles her thigh onto his shoulder, while he hooks a hand under her other thigh and pushes it up and back.
Closing his eyes, he breathes in the exhilarating scent of her arousal. His head spins and his mouth wets in anticipation, as he wraps one hand around the thigh on his shoulder and runs his other hand up to the bend of her knee, holding her open.
More now than perhaps ever before, positioned as a kneeling supplicant before her, he is empowered, invigorated by her warmth. Beaming, his chest swelling with vigor and emotion, he leans forward and closes the small distance between them.
"Mmh…" she softly hums at the first touch, as he lightly brushes his lips against her, tracing them over her glistening flesh.
Pulling away from her just slightly, he runs his tongue over his lips, savoring and memorizing her taste as he recognizes the same complex blend of sweetness and spice that he always gets from her. But here, that intermingling seems all the more rich, all the more unique. And as he leans back into her, relaxing his mouth and extending his tongue, he is as certain as he's ever been that he'll never get enough of her - of this.
Weaving his way across her soft, damp folds, he dips into her curves and eases along her swells. Swallowing, she bites back her desire and lets him explore her, lets him learn her. He moans his delight against her skin, and she shudders at the vibration. With his tongue and his lips, he continues mapping her terrain, noting her whimpers when he slides over the billows of her margins, and her gasps when he swirls against the lines of her middle.
When at last satisfied with his initial discoveries, he drifts up and up, until he reaches the beginnings of her hardened nub. She sharply inhales, and he lessens his pressure, careful to not push too much too soon. Skimming about her bundle of nerves, he exhales his warm, humid breath against her, and feels the muscles in her thighs tense in response, and then release as she sighs in approval.
As he descends, trailing his lips along her, her body moves of its own accord, pushing forward and seeking out more contact. She rubs her fingertips against his scalp and lets out a quiet moan, and he hears the need dripping from her voice, asking him for pacing, for a commitment one way or the other. Heartened by his ability to still recognize her cues, however subtle and however hushed, he tightens his hold on her thigh and pulls her hips farther into him.
Widening his mouth, he flattens his tongue against her, and drags up and back down.
"Mmm…"
Pressing firmer against her, he rolls his tongue along and through her flesh, complementing the tenor of her desire. Sliding over her, rasping against her, he listens as her breaths deepen and quicken.
Licking and then biting her lower lip, she sits up and places her free hand onto the bed behind her, leveraging herself. He accepts her weight and nudges his hand against her knee, lifting her leg until the pad of her foot rests on his shoulder.
Raking his fingers down the back of her thigh, he moans against her again, letting her hear his pleasure. And as she rocks forward, he meets her, massaging his tongue along the smooth, pulsing outlines of her opening.
Holding him to her, she lolls her head back, imagining the flexing muscles of his jaw and the deepening furrows of his brow as he concentrates on her. "Mmh…" she croons over and over, as he moves against her with increasing fervor.
Despite the consistency and clarity of her sounds, though, he can't help wondering at their likewise stifled nature. Knowing her aversion to reticence as he does, he's always imagined her as expressive, vocal. Indeed, he remembers, she intimated as much following their abandoned exchange in his dressing room. But now, even in a setting perfectly suited to that of which she assured him, she seems all the less articulate than before. And for a moment, he considers whether she's holding back.
His concern, however, produces an unintended result, as the reach of his awareness collapses in from the area immediately surrounding them and centers entirely on her. The writhes of her hips, the lilts in her voice, the heat from her core - every one of her responses to his ministrations heightens his senses and further ignites his arousal.
His skin slickens. His muscles strain. And the pressure in his groin rises. If it weren't for what he assumes to be the impossibility of such a prospect, he'd feel certain of the conclusion to which her sounds and sensations seem to be carrying him. But, pushing past the growing discomfort of his underwear against him and rationalizing her volume as that with which she's most comfortable, he dismisses every marginal thought and refocuses on her need.
Moving with her, he pulls with her pushes and pushes with her pulls. Listening to her, he follows her every cue for less here or more there.
Finding her cadence… Matching her tempo… Building a rhythm to entice and direct her mounting desperation for release…
"Please…" he hears her whisper. And though struck by the only actual word she's uttered, he understands her all the same.
Spreading his hand across her hip and remembering her suggestion, he further widens his mouth and softens his tongue.
"Mmm…" she moans, as he drags up toward her apex.
With more pressure than before, he circles her delicate nub - once, and then again - before closing his mouth around it. Deliberately, rhythmically, he glides his tongue directly over her. She clutches at his hair, pushing herself up into him, swaying against him as he suckles and strokes her.
"Oh, god…"
Sensing that she's nearly there, he swirls his tongue under her thin hood and presses flat against her. Keeping himself still, he hears her draw in a last hissing breath, and feels the muscles in her legs pull and tense.
She bears down, holding on for as long as possible, until her entire body exhales.
The keening gasp accompanying her release echoes down into him, and something within him nearly triggers. Distrusting the reaction, he immediately relaxes the grasps of his hands, and, fixing the muscles down his arms in a hard flex, rides out the strongest waves of the force coursing through him.
Even from within the throes of her ecstasy, she recognizes and wonders at his response. But for the time being, racked by the strength of her climax, she can only tumble back onto the bed and wait for her body to recover.
The air around them falls silent except for her pants as she catches her breath. Gradually leaning his mouth away from her, he re-secures his hands against her and drapes both of her legs over his shoulders, taking the entire weight of her lower body. As she descends from her high, he listens to her occasional sighs and hums of satisfaction, and he fills with a thorough sense of tranquility that bespeaks his own relief.
With his eyes closed, he savors their first ever moments after, licking her traces from his lips, resting his head against her inner thigh, and aimlessly running his hands across her legs. Having spent so long in either denial or doubt, he now feels comforted, elated by the assurance that, in at least one way, he can share with her without reservation.
When she finally comes down enough to open her eyes, her thoughts resettle on him. Wondering why he hasn't yet joined her on the bed, she lifts her head just enough to peer down her body at him, but she can only make out his mussed hair and sweat-slicked brow. If it weren't for the languid strokes of his hands against her, she'd question whether he's drifting off to sleep. But, without needing to ask him anything, she empathizes with the emotions he must be experiencing.
Leaving him to his thoughts and letting him enjoy the significance of their moment, she lays her head back down and lowers her lids. In so doing, however, she becomes suddenly aware of the moisture peeking out from the corners of her eyes. Shaking her head at her absurdity, she brushes away two tiny droplets with her free hand and thanks a higher power that she didn't beckon him to her just yet. Otherwise, he may have witnessed her exhibition. How embarrassing, she thinks to herself as she wipes her damp fingers against her pillow, dreading the prospect of any further outbursts. Nonetheless, loath as she is to dwell too long on her self-consciousness, she focuses instead on the coziness of her supine position and the appreciative caresses of his hands.
After some time, his cheek turning and his lips pressing against her thigh stir her eyes behind their hoods. Breathing deeply, she relaxes into his light touch, expecting it to be fleeting. But, rather than withdraw, he sweeps up a little higher along her skin.
Despite her uncertainty as to what's prompted his advance, she doesn't resist the whimper that escapes her throat or the urge to readjust the position of her hips. Upon shifting, though, she realizes the basis of his motivation as she feels the fresh flush of arousal dampening her flesh, her body's instinctive reaction to his wandering hands and to his nearness to the most responsive part of her.
The heady scent of her rekindled desire entices him back to its source as his palate excites from longing for her taste. Still, uncertain as he is to her inclination and wary as he is of presuming, he waits for some sort of sign from her, and, leaving soft kisses here and there, lingers in an area high enough to convey his own disposition. When she shifts again, widening her legs slightly and running one of her heels up the back of his shoulder, he happily accepts her gesture and eases his mouth farther open to tease his tongue across her thigh.
As he nears her heat, he hears her softly say his name in question.
"Hmm?" he intones, turning his head to touch his lips to her again.
"Come here."
Her reply stops him just a breath away from her, and his entire body sinks from his thwarted hope. Nonetheless, after reining in his initial sense of disappointment, he forces himself to oblige her and thus begins sliding out from underneath her thighs. As he rises, taking a second to adjust himself into a more comfortable and less conspicuous position within his boxers, she reaches behind her to push away her pillow, and sits up enough to scoot back off of the red fabric beneath her and onto the cream-colored cotton of the fitted sheet.
Crawling onto the bed as he ascends her body, dotting several kisses to her stomach and chest, he relishes how inviting the plush surface of the mattress and its toppers feel beneath his hands and knees, and how at home he feels upon entering their shared space.
As he presses his lips to her collarbone, she stops sliding back and reaches for the sides of his face. But when her hands meet his cheeks, he shivers, as her touch, though warm, feels cool to what he only now realizes is the fiery surface of his skin. The sensation jars his mind, awakening him to how piqued his body has become. Suddenly flustered, he bites his teeth and swallows, trying to steady himself, and then lets her tilt his head up toward her.
"Hi."
His thoughts having been momentarily derailed, he couldn't be more surprised at the sound of her affectionate tone and the sight of her smoldering gaze.
"Hello," he whispers with a smile in his voice, wondering if he's ever heard her greet him so simply and so cordially.
Circling her arms around his neck, she coaxes his lips down to hers. Just as he begins to settle into the cradle between her hips, though, he stops short of her mouth, looks away, and winces from the pressure of her against him.
"I know, Clark," she quietly offers in consolation, running a hand through his hair and turning his head back to her.
How he managed to disregard the steady rise in his temperature from the moment he sank to the floor, she's not sure. And while it seemed to level out the moment her body let go, she was surprised that it didn't abate during the quiet minutes he spent with his head resting against her. Still, she can't help enjoying his excitability - the alacrity and intensity with which he responds to her. Something about it, she muses as she wraps her ankles around the backs of his thighs and tilts her head up to capture his lips, makes him all the more alluring. And if it weren't for her understanding that he, even for all his abilities, can only take so much, she'd contemplate permanently keeping him in his present state.
He accepts her compassion and the easy manner in which her mouth melds with his. At first hesitant, however, he parts his lips, letting her seek out his tongue as she pleases. When she soon does, he's met with a low moan as she tastes herself on him. Emboldened by her reaction, he deepens their kiss, angling his head farther to the side. She reciprocates, sliding her hands from his hair, down his back, and over the fabric of his boxers. Holding him to her, rubbing her fingers into the taut curves of his backside, she considers inching around to the front of his hips. But, she's already been confronted twice before today with his tendency to recoil. And no matter her wish of lavishing her care and consideration upon him, she can't - not until she's certain of his comfort and his assent.
Before long, the sumptuous flow of her lips and the provocative kneading of her fingertips unsteady his breaths and further sharpen his awareness of his arousal. His muscles struggling to contend with the overwhelming exhilaration coursing through them, he yearns for something - anything - to allay her both irresistible and tormenting proximity. But her hips, firm against him and yet unmoving, offer no degree of the relief that they have at other times during the past day. Missing her rhythms, in need of what he cannot quite articulate or initiate, he feels his heart begin to pound and the caresses of her hands begin to sting. Still, remembering their assurances to one another, he doesn't try to deny his agitation, and acts on his first instinct to seek out her voice.
"Lois?"
"Hmm?" she intones, hardly registering anything but their points of contact.
The sound of her response, despite being minimal, curbs the initial manifestations of his overstimulation, and he searches for a means of further engaging her. Settling on his only thought besides that of her body nestled beneath his, he gently remarks, "You've been kinda quiet."
His observation, to which she knows there to be considerable truth, penetrates her haze, and she immediately perceives the signs of his instability. Moving her hands to rest on his chest and withdrawing from their kiss to find his eyes, she silently acknowledges his admission. "Have I?"
With both his concern and his desire plainly evident, he gives a slight nod.
She pauses, recognizing his conflicting impulses and trying to think of a way to address them, within the limits of both her present disposition and his. Then, making a real effort, she asks, "Would you like to know what I'm thinking about right now?"
"Yeah."
Running her hands around to the nape of his neck, she pulls him back down to her, and lowers her tone as she tells him, "You."
With both his emotional and his physical anxieties dissipating with every successive word from her, he forgoes her mouth for the time being and presses his to her neck, encouraging her to say more.
She closes her eyes, surrendering to his coaxing touch. "Your kindness. Your warmth… How strong you are. How gentle you can be… How much I've wanted you…"
"You have me," he whispers into the curve of her throat.
She smiles, both appreciative of his eager affirmation and intrigued by the subtle rise in his body heat. "I know," she offers. "But still, you're all I can think about sometimes. Especially when we're apart. Especially when I'm by myself…"
Her reply stops him on his winding path back up her neck, but before he can process her intimation, her hands pressing against him draw his notice. He leans back onto his knees a bit, giving her the space she's asking for, and reflexively glances down between them when he feels her touch abandon him. His discontent with the loss of her contact quickly gives way, though, as he discovers her hands gradually sweeping across her stomach, down her sides, and up her inner thighs. His groin tightening, his breath catching, he watches her with unblinking eyes as her quiet, dark timbre drifts back into his ears.
"Sometimes at night, after you've told me a story and I hang up the phone, replaying the sound of your voice in my mind… Sometimes in the morning, after I wake up, wishing your arms were around me…" Her eyes on his face, she delights in his rapt gaze as she centers one of her hands against herself, deep within the shadows cast between their bodies, and persists, "My back arched. My head thrown back. My fingers inside of me… Touching myself the way I imagine you would…"
He follows her hands as they reappear back into the candlelight, and his palate excites at the sight of a single glistening finger.
"Biting my lip as I get closer and closer, just to keep from crying out your name…" He peers up at her in question, and she smirks as she explains, "I wouldn't wanna trigger your hearing." As a moment of disappointment flickers across his face, she mentally notes his apparent interest, stores it away for a later date, and then offers him the diversion of her hand.
Grateful, he parts his lips and lets her slip her finger into his mouth. As the taste of her fills his senses, he closes his eyes and sighs his pleasure, licking away every trace as she slowly withdraws. Taking advantage of his distraction, she shifts her hips and presses against his shoulders, turning him over.
Only when he feels the stinging friction of the fabric of his boxers settling against his rigidity does he apprehend the change in his position. Instinctively, he does his best to ignore his discomfort, and accordingly laces his hands into her hair, cascading down onto the bed on one side of his face, and starts to sit up to reach for her kiss. But, deterring him, she pushes against his chest, forcing him back down. When he begins to protest, she cuts him short.
"- Do you think about me?" she pointedly asks, holding herself up on her hands, pressed into the bed on either side of his head, and her knees, placed on either side of his torso.
"What?"
"You heard me."
Thrown by the frankness of her inquiry, he wavers, "I, um… I don't - I mean, I'm not sure what you -"
She interrupts his deflection, leaning down and capturing his lips. Grateful for the reprieve, he submits to her ministrations.
Focusing entirely on his mouth, she channels her longing into every roll of her tongue and brush of her lips. Inundated by her sensations, he unthreads his hands from her hair and wraps them as far around her back as he can, holding onto her as he dizzies from want. Feeling his warmth starting to come in waves, she presses farther and firmer into his mouth, eliciting a heady moan from deep within his throat. His chest and shoulders beginning to tremble from what he almost believes to be fatigue, he breaks their kiss, drops his hands down to the tops of her thighs, and strives to grapple with the pressure building within him.
Redirecting her attentions, she traces her tongue along the line of his jaw and then around the curve of his earlobe. His desperation growing, he starts to circle his arms around her hips. But, anticipating him, she reaches behind her, grasps his wrists, and pushes them onto the bed, just above his head. He strains to resist, but finds every muscle in his arms unresponsive. Exasperated, wincing, he groans his displeasure at both his helplessness and his painfully aroused state.
"Answer my question," she insists, nipping at the highest ridge of his ear.
Too overcome to deny the truth, he pants, "I think about you."
"In the morning? Or at night?"
"Both," he flatly admits.
"And other times, too?" she presses, leaning up from the side of his face. "Like when you're not answering your phone right before or right after we hang out?"
His eyes fly open upon him hearing her, and he meets her gaze with both disbelief and mortification.
"I told you: I always know."
Reeling, he starts to offer some kind of explanation. "Lois -"
"- Do you want me, Clark?" she whispers, her voice inflected with more sympathy than menace. "Is that why nothing you can do helps even a little bit? Is that why it feels so constant, so inescapable?… Because you know the only touch that can satisfy you is mine?"
He stares at her, taken aback by her insight into that about which he's always tried to be discreet. His every struggle with his desire for her laid bare, he feels exposed, vulnerable. All the same, in having the assurance of her certain knowledge, he simultaneously feels unburdened, free. Thus, he has no fear in answering her as honestly as she questioned him.
"Yes."
She releases his wrists and cups the sides of his face, kissing him soundly. Then, as he runs his hands up her arms to the backs of her shoulders, she withdraws from his lips enough to murmur, "I need you to ask me."
Understanding her, understanding himself, he breathlessly manages to echo her sentiment from not long ago: "…Please."
Upon her finally hearing what she's waited to for so long, her chest fills with a mix of exuberance and relief that she's not experienced to such a degree since he pulled her into their first kiss. Beaming, she presses her lips to his mouth and then to his cheek, as she slowly runs a hand down his neck and over his chest.
His skin alight, his entire body wrought, he squeezes his eyes closed and grasps her waist, fighting back the coursing, pulsing rush coiling tighter and tighter within him, as he feels her nails skimming along the plane of his stomach, and then the pads of her fingers slipping beneath and reaching beyond the hem of his boxers.
He gasps and shudders, overtaken by the first direct contact of her to him. And all at once, the swell of energy pent up at his core sparks, exploding outward with almost brutal intensity. Startled, unprepared, he reflexively moves his hands to the bed and clutches the sheets. Holding onto him, she listens to his voice, gruff from exertion, and watches his face, contorted in ecstasy, as she feels him convulse within her grasp.
When his last tremor passes, he releases the clenches of his fists and sinks entirely into the bed, trying over and over again for an even breath. In time, the caresses of her hand to his cheek and of her lips to his brow pacify his mind and body, and he finally manages to inhale and exhale without difficulty.
At last purged of months of anguish, every part of him now teems with an incomparable sense of serenity and catharsis. And for a while, he can do nothing but relish the contentment he feels.
In the silence that surrounds them, she nuzzles his face and neck, pressing her lips to him from time to time, as his temperature falls and his rigidity retreats. Eventually, she begins to wonder whether he's floated too far off into his euphoric state, and, by way of testing his consciousness, she gradually loosens her hold on him and then sweeps her fingertips across the front of his hip. His stomach twitches, and he withdraws a bit from the sensation. She lets up, spreading her hand against the ticklish patch of his skin, while he finally begins to come back to himself. As his coherence returns, though, his initial thoughts prompt a feeling entirely different from the one in which he luxuriated for the past couple minutes.
Hesitantly, he opens his eyes, only to find her looking right back at him, endeavoring to contain a thoroughly amused grin. But after another moment or two, her mostly disingenuous efforts fail and she bursts out into rolls of giggles. He averts her gaze, and she watches as a deep blush suffuses his features, just before he lifts his hands to cover his face, hiding himself from her.
"Oh, Sweetie. No, no, no. I'm not laughing at you," she swears, bending back on her knees to sit astride his stomach and leaning forward to grasp his wrists. "I'm just surprised."
Still chuckling, she tugs at his arms, trying to get his hands to budge, but he refuses to cooperate.
"C'mon, Clark. Don't be such a guy. After the day you've had -"
Muffling into his palms, he huffs, "- I don't wanna talk about it."
"Because you're embarrassed about your super-sensitivity?"
"Lois…" he groans, shrinking deeper into the mattress.
"You're right. That wasn't funny. Bad timing." Trying a different tack, she dots her lips to each of his fingers, and then starts to spread them apart until she can see his eyes peeking through.
"I don't know what happened," he complains, mostly to himself, as he finally lets her pull his hands from his face and rest them on his chest. And then, entirely to her, he insists, "That's never happened."
"Which could be a good thing, right?" she offers. "I didn't think that was even possible for you."
"Neither did I," he grouses, at a loss as to how she can find anything encouraging about his predicament.
"So we both learned something new tonight."
Ignoring the smirk in her voice, he rubs his temples, pinches the bridge of his nose, and shifts gears. "Lois, I'm really sor -"
"- Oh, no," she insists, wagging a finger for emphasis. "Do not start with the apologizing."
"But this isn't how I -"
"- Clark, stop. I mean it."
"Lois, please, at least let me say -"
"- You're not listening to me," she interrupts, reaching a hand around behind her, out of his view, and down between his legs.
"No. Of course I am. It's just that - Ah!" he exclaims, bucking up from the bed, more shocked than pained at the sudden feeling of her seizing hold of him through his boxers. He starts to protest her brazen means, but he's cut short by her other hand covering his mouth.
"I guess they're not exactly made of steel, huh?" she taunts, firming her grip a bit more.
"Mmph!" he desperately muffles into her palm, the muscles in his stomach and groin pulled tight. Terrified to move, lest he twist or turn the wrong way, he offers her as pitiable an expression as possible.
Unaffected, she tells him, "Don't give me the eyes. You brought this on yourself."
In response to her reproof, his face falls into a look of genuine contrition, which only makes her snicker at him a few moments longer, before she finally decides to offer him an out.
"Do I have your attention now?"
He nods.
"You sure?"
He nods again.
With a wry smile, she releases the clasps of both her hands. As he sharply exhales in relief, he starts to sit up a little farther and to reach for the area she so abruptly handled. But, he hesitates when he sees her regarding him pointedly, daring him to continue. After a contemplative second, he balks, choosing instead to slightly adjust the position of his lower body. As he shifts around beneath her, she chuckles at his awkward modesty in avoiding coddling himself in front of her. Flustered as he already is, he quickly settles back into his seat and tries to silence her laughter with a kiss, but she presses her hands to his chest and slightly shakes her head. Without needing any further dissuasion, he decides against persisting, as he knows she's no intention in letting him distract her from having her say.
Accepting his concession, she moves her hands to grasp and rub his upper arms. Confused, he looks left and then right at his shoulders, trying to understand her gesture. When she exaggeratedly clears her throat, though, he realizes what she's doing - mocking him. Narrowing his eyes and setting his jaw, he finds her gaze and waits.
"There are two ways we can look at this," she dryly begins, ignoring his plainly apparent annoyance. "One: As your karmic payback for initiating this little romance by force. -"
"I didn't maul you," he grumbles, too preoccupied with other thoughts to question why she'd relate their first kiss to their present moment.
Speaking over him, she goes on in a far less sardonic tone, "- Or, two: As one of the best compliments you've ever given me." She watches as his exasperated expression begins to soften in response to her latter suggestion. Dropping the affect, she wraps her arms around his neck, leans her forehead into his, and lowers her voice to a whisper. "I like that I can do that to you, and I like that you can have more than one kind of experience with me. So as hard as your super-sized ego may find this to hear: I'm flattered."
He takes a long breath, considering her reasoning and her reassurance, as she runs the tip of her nose up and down the bridge of his. "You're flattered?" he asks, after ruminating for a bit longer.
"Mm-hmm."
"You would be," he retorts, tickling his fingers across her sides.
She starts and giggles, and his mood brightens as a result. At the same time, however, her sudden movement across his lap brings a separate matter to his mind. As she works her way through her continued mirth, she watches a look of discomfiture form on his face. Bemused, she lifts her eyebrows in question.
He swallows the nervous tension in his throat, nearly choking on it, as he glances down between them and then in the direction of the bathroom. "Um… I should, uh…"
"Oh," she replies in understanding, though immediately finding such a notion needless. "No. Let me."
He tries to think of something to say as a means of preventing her, but before he can conceive of such a deterrent, she's already begun shuffling off of his thighs. As he watches her in staggered silence, she leans over the footboard of the bed, surveys her options, and then picks up the small stack of towels and the goblet of water still resting on the bench. Catching sight of the things in her grasp, he starts to reach for them, saying, "Lois, I can just -"
"- Hush," she tells him, holding the items away from him and making her way back to his spot in the middle of the bed.
He does as told, and thus receives a peck to his lips for his good behavior. As she leans away from him, she takes a sip of the water and then offers him the glass. He shakes his head, the thought of food or drink thoroughly disagreeing with his unsettled stomach. She smirks at the sight of his fixed jaw and motionless body, while she sets the towels down on the bed and reaches past him to place the goblet on what she assumes he's dubbed as her nightstand.
As she resituates herself in front of him, though slightly off to his side, the scent of her hair drifts back into the air nearest to him, and he breathes in. Forgetting his uneasiness for the moment, he lifts a hand to stroke a loose tress and tilts his head forward to better appreciate its light fragrance. She gazes at him in silence and brushes her fingers down his sides, leaving him to his diversion.
After a brief while, the feeling of her fingertips playing across his waistband surmounts his pleasure in her long locks. He turns his head a bit and finds her eyes. She offers him a kind smile and another quick kiss, which he reciprocates in spite of his foremost thoughts. As she withdraws, he regards her with an expression of fearful acquiescence, waiting for her next move.
"Sit up," she instructs, slipping her fingertips just underneath the hem of his boxers.
He lets her hair fall away from his grasp and presses his hands into the bed to brace himself. Then, with a deep breath held in his lungs for added fortification, he obliges her, lifting his lower half.
Careful of his apprehension, she holds his gaze with hers as she gradually pulls his only bit of clothing down his legs. The air in the room meets the remnants of his desire, smeared across the entirely bare skin that he reflexively started to deny earlier in the day. Acutely aware, thoroughly put out, he clenches his teeth, doing his best to remain composed.
With slight, knowing movements, she takes her eyes from his, drops his boxers onto the carpet, and plucks a hand towel from the stack next to them. As she leans over him again - though in the direction of his nightstand rather than hers - he wonders at her purpose and turns his head to observe her. Careful of disturbing the floating candles in the basin atop the small table, she dips half of the cloth past the rose petals covering the water, which the melting wax of the lit candles has warmed. Comprehending her aim, he directs his gaze elsewhere and tries to focus on something other than his embarrassment.
After wringing out some of the excess from the towel, she returns to sitting back on her heels, glancing at him long enough to see him looking anywhere but at her. For a moment, she considers suggesting that he count the tealights, as doing so helped her not long ago. But, rather than pose what she's certain he'd hear as a gibe, she lowers her gaze and keeps her attention on her present task.
As she lightly touches the towel to just beneath his navel, he bites his teeth even harder and tenses noticeably.
"It's not cold, is it?" she checks, looking up at his averted eyes.
He intones a quick negative, regretting that the sensation that ran through him wasn't one of discomfort, for he can already perceive the initial flickers of what his experiences with her have taught him is an unavoidable flame. She takes him at his word, though, and begins gently rubbing the soft, damp cloth down between his legs, wiping away the vestiges on his skin. As she drifts back up, a few of her knuckles happen to sweep across the most sensitive part of him. His blood charges and starts on a direct path to his groin. He closes his eyes and shakes his head at himself, knowing from her brief pause that she can very well see what he can very well feel.
Nevertheless, as he reopens his eyes, he finds himself caught by the ethereal manner in which the candlelight surrounding them holds her lithe form, and, all at once, his dismay gives way as his focus shifts entirely to her. Making the most of his present vantage, he runs his gaze over her neck, her breasts, her hips, her legs. His hands suddenly teeming with energy, he reaches out to trace his fingers up and down the curve of her waist, almost as if to assure himself that she's real.
He watches the corners of her mouth perk up as she smiles from his gesture, and he warms upon seeing her so pleasantly affected by his touch. Just like that, the echoes of her burning, breathless voice fill his ears, and he can think of nothing but embracing her, testifying to her all over again.
Having not quite finished blotting his skin with the dry half of the towel, she's surprised to feel him brushing her hair behind her shoulder and leaning over to press a lingering kiss to the side of her throat. But his palms and his lips, far sultrier than they were just a few minutes ago, convey his present mindset every bit as much as his flushing skin and swelling girth. She closes her eyes for a moment, absorbing the tenderness in his advance. As he leaves another kiss just beneath her ear, however, she tries to dissuade him. "Clark…" she edges. Still, the only response she receives is his hand running down her arm and taking the towel from her grasp. She whispers his name for a second time as he drops the cloth over the side of the bed, but she again fails to receive a spoken reply.
He wraps an arm around her back and rests a hand on the side of her face. She turns her cheek into his palm, yielding to him in spite of herself. But even as he dots his lips to the underside of her jaw, she remains wary of the end to which his gallantry would carry them if she let it. And no matter the appeal of spending the rest of the night as the object of his doting nature, she'd regret setting a precedent of that one-sided sort.
He tilts his head up and around, withdrawing from her neck and focusing on the ripe oval of her mouth. His lips, his tongue electrified with anticipation, he leans into her.
"Stop, Sweetie."
Hearing her utterance, regardless of its gentle phrasing, he immediately abandons his pursuit and pulls away from her. She smiles at his unwavering chivalry, and then chuckles at his look of concern when their eyes meet.
Confused by her amusement, he wonders, "What?"
"Nothing," she assures him, sitting up onto her knees. "Lie down."
As she pushes away the rest of the towels, he accommodates her request, reclining back onto the bed. She grasps her pillow, and he smirks as she slides it behind his head and starts to crawl on top of him.
"What's so funny?" she asks, slowing her progress.
Echoing the answer she just gave him, he quips, "Nothing."
"C'mon. Let's hear it."
Settling onto her pillow, he chuckles a bit in expectation of her protest as he replies, "You're not nearly as mean as you like people to think you are. That's all."
She scoffs in indignation and knees his thigh. "Those are fighting words, Kent."
"You scared I'll spill your secret?" he teases, ignoring her threat.
"It's not a secret if it's not true."
"Is that what you'll say to everyone after I tell them?"
"You wouldn't."
He runs a hand along her back, bidding her down onto him, as he counters, "I would."
"I doubt that. Because you know what I'd do to you."
"Something involving kryptonite, I'm sure."
"Smart-ass," she retorts, finally stretching out her body above his.
His expression changes and he stifles a moan as the front of her hip rubs across his rigidity, hardening him all the more. Pleased by his response, she presses against him again and watches his jaw tremble as a wave of elevated warmth flows through him. In need of the kiss he's yet to receive, he sets his sights on her mouth once more, as she brushes her hair to one side, out of her way, and tilts her head down to his. He closes his eyes in eager anticipation, relishing her breaths washing over his lips, just before she eliminates the space between them.
His pulse quickens as she sweeps over and pulls at him, offering him the kind of slight touches that leave him tingling, frantic for more. She widens her lips and seeks out his tongue with hers. He reaches to meet her, but she slips away, tempting him to follow after her. Defiantly, he tells himself that he won't give in that easily - not this time, anyway. She smiles from inside, amused by his futile efforts, and changes tactics. Angling her head far enough to the side, she extends her tongue again and outlines the corner of his mouth. He shudders, a deep groan escaping his throat, as she continues exploiting her knowledge of him, attending an area too sensitive for him to resist.
In as clear an admission of defeat as he can make, he cradles the back of her head and circles an arm around her waist, preparing to turn her over. But, discouraging him, she plants her hands on the bed and hums a negative tone. He sighs his discontent, and she offers him the consolation of her tongue, her taste. His spirits lift and he relaxes farther into her pillow, letting her guide his movements and further ignite his arousal.
More quickly than she supposed possible following so strong a release, his temperature once again reaches a familiarly heightened degree. Easing their tempo and slowly withdrawing from him, she whispers a question against his lips.
From deep within his haze, he barely hears the words she articulates, but their meaning still manages to penetrate his awareness. He opens his eyes to find hers, and, with his silence, asks her if he understands her correctly.
"Are you comfortable?" she softly repeats, in such a manner as to dispel any doubt.
The ruddiness in his cheeks deepens in consequence of her reply. He shifts a little and clenches his teeth, trying to quell his discomposure. Then, in as casual a tone as he can muster, he replies, "Yeah. I'm okay."
She smiles, warming from head to toe upon witnessing the blush and the physical tics that belie his feigned poise. For all his power and for all his influence, she muses to herself as she continues regarding him, he's still such an innocent - unaffected, unguarded in the realm of his personal relationships. How he can be so free with his feelings, she may never know. How the words, the testaments that at times terrify her can sustain him, she may never understand. But in moments like this, as she feels herself falling for him all over again, she can at least appreciate the openness that seems so far beyond her own capacity.
He watches her as she lifts her chin high enough to press a kiss to his brow. "What was that for?" he asks, attributing her gesture to whatever thoughts went through her mind during her pensive few seconds.
"Ask me some other time," she tells him, combing her fingers through his hair and running her lips back across his cheek.
He draws in a sharp breath as she approaches his ear, thus bracing himself for the tormenting sensations of her tongue winding around his lobe and through his ridges. Nevertheless, he finds himself unprepared for her provocative display as she flicks and rolls her way over his skin.
The rate of his breaths increases and he grows ever more aware of the heat at his core. Feeling his coherence waning, he uses what's left of his willpower to ask, "Are you sure about this? Because I don't want you to think that -"
"- I'm sure," she insists, leaving sumptuous kisses down the side of his throat, savoring the salty taste of the sweat still on his skin.
"Well… Should I, um…" he clumsily begins, glancing in the direction of the closet and thinking of the various items he stored away behind its closed door.
"Should you what?"
Her hair sweeps across his shoulder and his chest as she readjusts her angle, pressing her lips to the other side of his neck and nipping at the strongest sinew she finds. He glances up at the ceiling, searching its surface for his resolve, but he doesn't manage to find it until she repeats her question in a taunting tone that he hasn't the presence of mind to find vexing.
Clearing his throat, he tries again, "It's just that… I mean, I know we agreed not to, but that was a while ago, and I didn't know if you changed your mind between then and now… So I bought, you know, in case you want me to -"
"- I don't," she maintains, raising her mouth from his throat and offering him a quick kiss for his thoughtfulness. "Do you?"
"I don't care," he absently replies, as she turns her lips into the palm of his hand cupping her cheek. But then, checking his offhandedness, he corrects himself. "I mean, I do care. I'm just saying that this should probably be mostly up to you. Because, well…" He loses his train of thought once more as he watches her trail her lips across the base of his hand, and then guide his thumb into her mouth. His breath catches at the suggestiveness of her subsequent motions, all hidden from his immediate view.
"You were saying?" she presses, after finishing her spectacle and leaving a chaste kiss to the pad of his thumb.
He blinks several times and shakes his head a bit, clearing away his fogginess. Finally remembering the basis of his concern, he hesitates a moment before quietly asking, "What if I, um… What about later?"
"What about it?" she needles, daring him to clarify his meaning. But when he looks at her as if to entreat her sympathy, she decides against causing him any more awkwardness than he already feels. "I'm actually okay with that," she tenders in response to his question. "But if you're not, then I understand."
He nods in acknowledgement of her reply and readily reciprocates when she captures his lips.
After some time, she murmurs through their kiss, "I do have one request, though."
"Anything," he promises her without a second thought. "Anything you want."
"…Try to not let me go this time."
...