｡˚✿˚｡ eden rose – xcii

Clark’s lips curve against your throat, the smile almost smug as his fingers slide under your shirt and over the warm curve of your waist.

“Oh really, baby?” he murmurs, the words edged with that Kansas drawl that always makes you weak. “I had you wrapped around me all night, and you still couldn’t wait for more this morning?”

You gasp, heat flooding your face. “Did I say that out loud?!”

His chuckle is low and dangerous, vibrating against your skin. The pad of his thumb dips lower, brushing the waistband of your sleep shorts, and you can feel that infuriating patience in him, like he’s savoring how restless you are.

“You’re gonna get me in trouble,” he teases, rolling you onto your back with ridiculous ease. His body covers yours, the bed creaking softly under his weight, and then his mouth claims yours. It was all teeth and hunger.

Your fingers tangle in his curls, pulling him closer. When his hand finally slips between your thighs, you spread them without thought. He doesn’t go for where you need him most—he’s back to taking his sweet time, and the contrast is driving you crazy.

His palm cups you through your shorts first, pressing slow, steady circles against your clit until your hips twitch up to meet him on their own, your brain able to focus on nothing but his touch.

“That’s it,” he murmurs, lips dragging along your jaw. He strokes over you lazily, the friction maddening. “Already soaked for me, sweetheart… and we haven’t even had breakfast.”

Your whimper earns you a firmer grind of his palm, and you feel your aching core pulse in response. He uses his middle knuckle to rub up and down your slit through the fabric, catching on that sensitive spot with each pass until you’re clinging to him.

When your whimpers turn to whispered pleas, he slips his fingers under the waistband and brushes over your sensitive skin. His fingertips find bare, slick heat, and both of your breaths hitch. He keeps up the same slow circles, teasing your clit until your thighs are shaking.

“Shh,” he whispers against your lips, even as his hips nudge forward his cock straining through the fabric of his underwear, begging you to touch.

“Gotta keep quiet for me. Think you can do that?”

You nod, desperate.

Only then does he slide his index finger into you, slow, testing your soreness from the night before. The tiny moan that escapes when he curls it into your sweet spot is swallowed by his kiss. He pulls back just enough to look down at you, lips parted, eyes glassy, mouth open around a sharp inhale. The sight makes his cock throb.

“Mmm… there’s my needy girl. You ready for more?”

A second finger joins the first, the searing ache making you clench around him. His other arm braces behind you, hand cupping the back of your neck as he starts to work you open with deep, deliberate thrusts of his hand. His palm slaps against your wetness, the filthy sound echoing in the quiet room.

The pace never falters. The pleasure builds too fast, and you’re both trembling with the effort to stay quiet. Your nails bite into his shoulders; he bites back a groan at how quickly you’re unraveling for him. Lips brushing your temple, he feels you tighten around him.

You’re right there, teetering. “Ohhh, god, I’m gonna...”

“Clark! Breakfast!” Martha’s voice calls from downstairs.

He freezes, forehead dropping to yours as you both fight for breath. Then that slow, wicked grin spreads across his face.

“Guess we’d better make it quick, sweetheart.”