#lex luthor preference

That night, as the city glowed below, Lex Luthor sat in his penthouse scanning everything about you, your name, your routines, even the coffee shop you stopped at every morning on 8th and Alder.

He told himself it wasn't an obsession, it was just preparation. Information. He always did his homework.

By morning, he had crafted the perfect plan. Subtle, unassuming, harmless enough. A simple walk, a coincidental encounter, just enough to get you to speak to him. Then, he would handle the rest.

So that’s what he did. He dressed down, in a tailored coat with no tie, trading his usual intimidating presence for something warmer, more approachable. He timed it perfectly, arriving just ahead of you, waiting near the flower stall across from your favorite coffee shop.

As you turned the corner, earbuds in, coffee in hand, he began to walk. At just the right moment, he glanced at a passing car and took a deliberately clumsy step sideways, right into you.

Your coffee jostled but didn’t spill, thanks to his quick reflexes as he reached out to steady you.

“Oh god, I’m so sorry,” he said smoothly, eyes widening with manufactured surprise.

You blinked up at him, your hand still on your coffee cup, eyes narrowing just slightly.

“I know you,” you said after a second. “You were at the restaurant last night.”

Lex offered a faint, sheepish smile. “I was. Small world.”

“No, I mean… I know who you are,” you added, studying him now. “You’re Lex Luthor.”

He let out a quiet chuckle, tilting his head. “Guilty.”

There was a flicker of something unreadable in your expression, curiosity, maybe a hint of amusement.

“Well,” you said, pulling one earbud out, “you’re a lot more charming in person than I expected.”

Lex smiled, something genuine this time. “Then I suppose I’m off to a good start.”

You took a slow sip of your coffee, still studying him, not quite smiling but clearly intrigued. “So, Mr. Luthor,” you said, voice cool but playful, “do you always take morning strolls along this exact route, or was that just fate giving you an opening?”

Lex didn’t laugh. He simply tilted his head, eyes sharp behind the charm he wore like a tailored suit. “I don’t believe in fate,” he said. “Only opportunity.”

You arched a brow. “Right. And I just happened to be an opportunity?”

He smiled, and there was something dangerous about it. Calm, measured, almost too perfect. “More like a disruption,” he said. “I don’t get distracted easily. You managed it twice.”

There it was, that cold clarity beneath the warmth, the precision of a man who calculated every word before it left his mouth.

“Well, I guess I should be flattered,” you said, shifting slightly, your curiosity piqued now. “Not every day I get knocked into by a billionaire in the middle of my coffee run.”

Lex’s eyes never left yours. “You should be.”

You let out a quiet breath of amusement, unsure if you were unnerved or intrigued. Maybe both. “You’re not exactly subtle, are you?”

“I find subtlety wastes time,” he replied, his tone still smooth but with a razor-thin edge. “And I don’t like wasting time.”

You weren’t sure if he was flirting or threatening. Maybe, again, it was both.

Still, you held his gaze. “Well, Lex Luthor,” you said, deliberately using his full name, “if this was your idea of an introduction, it certainly worked.”

“I was counting on that,” he said simply.

You studied him for a second longer, then pulled one earbud out. “Then maybe I’ll see you again tomorrow. Same time. Same coffee shop.”

Lex nodded once. Not a smile, not a bow, just a quiet acknowledgement, like a man sealing a deal. “I’ll be there.”

You turned and walked off, the weight of his stare lingering between your shoulder blades. He didn’t move, didn’t call after you, didn’t try to follow.

He didn’t need to.

In his mind, the board was already set. He had studied every piece, every move, every outcome.

And now, Lex Luthor had made his first move.

….

The next day, as promised, Lex was there. He stood just outside your favorite coffee shop, his posture relaxed, his coat neatly pressed, his expression unreadable. He wasn’t the kind of man who waited around for anyone, but somehow, waiting for you didn’t feel like a waste of time. It felt like progress.

He saw you approach, earbuds in, a soft breeze catching the edge of your coat. When your eyes met his, you smiled, warm and effortless, and for a moment something in him went quiet.

“Morning,” you said, your voice easy and warm. “Didn’t think you’d actually show.”

“I said I would,” Lex replied, his tone even, though beneath the surface everything was shifting. “I don’t say things I don’t mean.”

You gave a small laugh, brushing your hair off your shoulder. “I’m starting to see that.”

You fell into step beside him, the conversation picking up like it had never left off. You told him about your morning, how your alarm hadn’t gone off, how you nearly tripped over your neighbor’s cat on your way out, how you had dreamed about a staircase that never ended and woke up laughing. You joked about the awful construction noise outside your building and how you were convinced the workers were intentionally targeting your sleep schedule.

Lex listened, every detail sinking in like a thread stitching him deeper into whatever this was becoming. It wasn’t just curiosity anymore. It was fixation. The way your voice rose and fell, the way your hands moved when you talked, the way you glanced at him so openly—it pulled him in with every step.

He didn’t want to study you. He wanted to know you. He wanted to be the reason you were late to work, the one you thought of when you smiled at your phone, the person whose absence left you restless.

“You know,” you said as you reached the corner, slowing your pace, “you’re not what I expected.”

Lex turned to you, his gaze steady. “What did you expect?”

You gave a small shrug. “Someone colder. Harsher. Less… human.”

He smiled, not wide, but enough. “Then I’m either better at pretending than I thought, or you’re worse at judging character than you’d like to admit.”

You let out a soft laugh, your eyes narrowing slightly. “Maybe a bit of both.”

“I can work with that,” Lex said.

As you crossed the street beside him, your pace slowed, the sound of the city humming around you. Lex stayed close, every movement precise, his attention fixed on you like nothing else around him mattered.

When he said, “Have dinner with me,” you stopped and turned to face him, brows raised.

“As a date?”

“Yes,” he said, his answer immediate and firm.

You gave a quiet laugh, but there was an edge to it. “How do I know this isn’t just some little date where I end up like one of your girls?”

Lex paused, and then, to your surprise, he laughed. It was low and brief, not dismissive, but genuinely amused.

“I suppose that’s fair,” he said, his eyes never leaving yours. “But if that’s what this was, I wouldn’t be here asking. I don’t waste time on what I plan to forget.”

You studied him carefully. You had heard the rumors, the whispers in tabloids, the stories about his short-lived romances with actresses, heiresses, women who vanished from his life as quickly as they appeared in it. Lex Luthor was a billionaire, and billionaires didn’t exactly have reputations for consistency when it came to dating.

“Right,” you said, still watching him, “because billionaire CEOs are so great at commitment.”

Lex smiled, just slightly. “You think this is about money?”

“I think it’s hard to tell when you live in a penthouse and probably have a different watch for every day of the week,” you said. “It’s hard to believe this is anything more than a temporary distraction for you.”

“If I wanted a distraction,” Lex said quietly, “I’d be with someone who didn’t challenge me.”

You blinked, caught off guard by how calm and certain he sounded.

“Come to dinner,” he said. “Not because I’m Lex Luthor. Come because I asked you. Because I meant it.”

You were silent for a moment, weighing your options, your doubts. Then you let out a slow breath, shaking your head with a small smile.

“Fine,” you said. “One dinner. But if this turns into some predictable billionaire cliché, I’m walking out before dessert.”

Lex smiled, this time a little more fully. “I don’t plan on being predictable.”

You started walking again, and he fell into step beside you. He didn’t say anything else, but you could feel it, the intensity beneath the surface, the way his mind was already turning, already planning.

There was something about his silence that stayed with you, even as the conversation faded. Something calculated, unfinished.

You reached the corner, gave him one last glance, and kept going.

And when you turned the next street, disappearing into the crowd, it was like none of it had happened. Like this morning had been nothing. 

Lex stood there a moment longer, watching the spot where you’d been, jaw tight, hands still tucked calmly in his coat pockets. On the surface, he looked unbothered, like he had a meeting to get to, like you were just a pleasant footnote in his day.

But underneath the calm, something had already cracked open.

You had said yes. One dinner. That was all he needed.

He didn’t head back to his office. He walked instead, down streets he didn’t normally walk, barely aware of the people passing him. His mind had already shifted into motion. Not with logistics, not with numbers. With you.

By the time he reached the penthouse, the entire evening had already been decided.

Not the menu, not the wine, not the lighting. Those things were handled easily, quietly. They were tools. He wasn’t trying to impress you. He was trying to study you. Disarm you. Figure out what it would take to make you look at him like you belonged there.

Because he could already feel it. You were under his skin.

He stood in the quiet, the city stretched wide beneath the glass, and he thought of you. The way you had looked at him that morning, unshaken. The way you smiled, slow and real, not forced. The way you challenged him without trying to.

You didn’t flinch. You didn’t shrink. And that made him want you more.

It wasn’t about romance. It wasn’t about connection. That wasn’t what this was.

It was curiosity. Fixation. Control.

And when he let himself think about it, when he stopped trying to contain it, the ache hit fast. Deep. Sharp.

His jaw clenched as he exhaled through his nose, shifting his weight. His thoughts didn’t stop. They never did. Not with you.

He imagined you standing in his space, lit by low, warm light. No noise. No crowd. Just you and him. Closer than you had been this morning. Close enough to feel your breath catch when he leaned in. Close enough to hear his name on your lips, quiet and unsure.

He thought about your voice, unguarded, when you finally said it.

I’m yours.

The image was so clear it felt physical. The burn that followed was immediate, settling low in his stomach, tightening hard, unmistakable.

He was already hard. Just from the idea of it. Just from the thought of your hands on his chest, your eyes on his mouth, your voice in his ear saying the words like they belonged to him.

He braced himself against the edge of the marble, fingers tense, every muscle pulled tight like a thread ready to snap.

It wasn’t just attraction. It wasn’t even just need. It was possession.

He wanted you to admit that you were his.

Lex didn’t care how long it took.

He had time. He had power.

And now, he had you.

You just didn’t know it yet.

….

Lex didn’t sit. He stood by the windows, arms crossed loosely, eyes on the city like he was watching for something. He wasn’t.

He was waiting for you.

The room was quiet except for the low hum of jazz playing somewhere in the background. Warm lighting glowed across polished floors and dark wood. Everything was perfect. Not extravagant. Not loud. Just tailored. Measured. Like him.

He didn’t care if you noticed the details. He cared that you walked through the door and didn’t want to leave.

When the elevator finally chimed, he didn’t move. He kept his stance steady, exhale quiet, heart heavy in his chest in a way he wasn’t used to.

The door opened.

And then you stepped inside.

Lex’s jaw tightened instantly.

You wore a soft, fitted dress that wasn’t trying to impress anyone but somehow still did. His eyes moved over you slowly, deliberately, taking in the line of your collarbone, the way the fabric hugged your waist, the way your mouth curved when you saw him watching.

He didn’t speak right away. Didn’t trust himself to.

You walked in like you belonged there. 

“This place is ridiculous,” you said lightly, looking around. “I could get used to the private driver, though.”

Lex smiled faintly, his voice low. “You should.”

You turned to him, your eyes catching his. 

“So this is what Lex Luthor does for casual dinners?” you said with a laugh.

He stepped forward slowly. “Only when they matter.”

You blinked at that, and for a second, he wondered if he’d said too much. 

But then you offered him a smirk.

“Well, I hope the food’s as good as the view.”

Lex didn’t answer. 

He was too focused on the way your dress shifted when you moved, the way your hair framed your face, the way your skin caught the light.

He offered you a drink, poured it himself, watched as your fingers brushed his when you took the glass.

You wandered toward the windows, looking out. “You really can see everything from up here.”

“I know,” he said quietly, still behind you. “But right now, I’m not looking at any of it.”

You turned at that, slowly, your eyes meeting his again. And this time, something shifted.

The silence stretched, heavier now, thicker.

Lex stepped closer, close enough to feel the heat of your body in the space between you. His hand brushed lightly along the edge of your hip, just enough to make you inhale softly.

He watched the movement of your chest rise and fall, the slight part of your lips, the flicker of something in your eyes that wasn’t hesitation.

“You knew what this was going to be when you said yes,” he said, voice low, controlled. “Didn’t you?”

You didn’t look away. “I had an idea.”

“Good,” he said, then leaned in, his mouth brushing just barely against your cheek. “Because I haven’t stopped thinking about you.”

His hand slid around your waist, slow, intentional, drawing you closer until there was no space left to pretend with.

“You walked in wearing this,” he murmured, his mouth now at your ear, “and expected me not to touch you?”

You swallowed hard, your panties becoming wet from his words.

He pulled back just enough to see your face, his hand still firm against your lower back.

“Tell me to stop,” Lex said, voice low and steady, but he already knew you wouldn’t.

Your breath hitched, lips parting like you were about to say something, but instead, you leaned in.

And that was enough.

His mouth found yours with all the restraint he had left, which wasn’t much. It was controlled at first, slow and deliberate, like he was trying to memorize the taste of you. But then your hands slipped into his shirt, your body pressed into him, and control turned into something else entirely.

Lex backed you toward the wall with quiet determination, kissing you like he had waited years instead of hours. His hands moved over your waist, down your sides, fingers curling into the fabric of your dress like he wanted it gone.

You whispered his name once, barely above a breath.

He moaned, low and unrestrained, like it caught him off guard. His head dipped, lips brushing against your jaw.

“Say that again,” he said, his voice rougher now, barely holding onto composure.

You didn’t answer right away. You just looked up at him, your eyes locked with his, your breathing uneven as his thumb dragged slowly along your waist.

He waited, not moving, not speaking. Just watching you. Like your mouth held something he needed more than air.

“Lex,” you whispered again, softer this time.

He groaned, deeper now as his mouth crashed into yours before you could say anything else.

You gasped against him, fingers bunching in his shirt as he pressed you harder into the wall. 

His hands moved lower, sliding over your hips, gripping them tight like he needed to remind himself that you were real. Here. Saying his name like you meant it.

You tugged at the fabric of his shirt, slipping your hands beneath it, fingertips grazing his skin, and he hissed against your mouth.

“You have no idea what you’re doing to me,” Lex murmured, forehead pressed against yours now, eyes shut like he needed a second to breathe.

“I think I do,” you whispered in a teasing manner, your lips brushing his as you spoke.

That made him smile, crooked and dark, eyes opening again, sharp and focused only on you.

“Then keep going,” he said, his hands already moving, sliding up your thighs. “Say it again.”

You leaned in, your lips grazing his ear, and said it one more time. Low. Steady.

“Lex.”

This time, he didn’t moan. He growled.

He lifted you in one motion, strong hands steady beneath your thighs as your legs wrapped around his waist, your back hitting the wall with a quiet thud. His body pressed into yours, the weight of him forcing the breath from your lungs in the best possible way.

His mouth found your neck, lips trailing slow kisses across your skin like he was tasting something he had already decided belonged to him.

“You’re mine now,” he breathed against you, voice rough and low, each word curling down your spine like heat.

His hand moved beneath the hem of your dress, inching higher until he felt nothing but bare skin. He froze for a beat.

Then he pulled back just enough to look at you.

You met his eyes, your lips parted, and Lex’s jaw clenched hard.

You weren’t wearing anything underneath.

A muscle ticked in his jaw as his gaze dropped briefly, his control unraveling fast. He swore under his breath, a quiet, guttural sound that made your stomach twist.

He moved quickly, fingers working his belt open, then unbuttoning his pants with practiced ease. You watched, dazed, as he freed himself.

His cock was hard and thick, already flushed with need, and the look in his eyes when he saw the way you stared at him made something dark flicker across his face.

He stepped back into you, one hand braced against the wall, the other still gripping himself. His breath hitched slightly as he looked at you, like he was holding on by the thinnest thread.

“Say it,” he whispered, voice low and sharp with need.

You could barely speak. Your nails dug into his shoulders as your head tilted back, your body arching toward him, aching to be filled. The words broke from your lips, soft and trembling.

“I’m yours.”

Lex groaned into your shoulder, like the sound of it shattered everything he had left. He pressed his mouth to your skin, open and hot, as he thrust into you in one long, slow stroke that knocked the air from your lungs.

He held you tight, both hands gripping your thighs now, his rhythm steady, deep enough to make your entire body tremble against him.

You clung to him, your voice lost in the heat, your breath catching every time he moved deeper, harder, more possessively.

“You’re mine,” he whispered again, his lips brushing your ear. “Say it again.”

“I’m yours, Lex, all yours,” you cried out in bliss as he continued to pound into you.

The sound of your voice pushed him further, his grip on your thighs tightening, knuckles pale from how hard he held you. He was already too far gone to slow down, his rhythm brutal, like he wanted to bury himself in you and stay there.

Your head fell back against the wall, fingers twisting into his shirt, your moans soft and desperate as he kept driving into you, every movement claiming you over and over.

“You feel so fucking perfect,” he groaned against your neck, his breath hot, his lips dragging across your skin. “Like you were made to be here, wrapped around me, saying my name like that.”

You whimpered at his words, your body trembling.

Lex kissed you then, rough and messy, swallowing your gasp as his hips snapped harder, deeper, everything in him focused on you.

“You’re mine,” he said again, this time almost a growl, like he needed to remind both of you. “No one else gets this. No one else gets to touch you.”

Your nails dug into his back and you nodded, too far gone to speak, your body already beginning to shake around him.

Lex could feel it, the way you clenched, the way your voice broke with every sound, and it drove him mad.

He slammed into you one more time, deep enough to make your cry echo in his ear, and that was it.

You shattered for him, everything spilling over at once, your limbs trembling, breath stuttering, your voice catching on his name.

Lex followed, groaning into your shoulder, his thrusts turning ragged as he gave in completely, your name the only thing he could think, the only word that left his lips.

He held you there for a long moment, breathing hard against your skin, your bodies still tangled, warm and spent.

Neither of you said anything. You didn’t need to.

He had you.

And you had said it.

He set his champagne down, adjusted the cufflink on his left wrist, then started toward you.

You sensed him before you saw him.

Maybe it was the shift in air, or the sudden silence that settled over your group as their eyes drifted behind you. 

You turned slowly, already knowing. And when your gaze met his, your expression twisted with disgust.

Your eyes dropped briefly to his mouth, then back up again.

“Luthor,” you said flatly, glaring at him.

He stopped close enough to be inappropriate, like he didn’t care who was watching.

He didn’t.

“Well don't you clean up nice,” he said, his voice low and smooth, with something dangerous simmering beneath it.

You gave him a once-over, unimpressed, though the flutter in your stomach betrayed you.

“Shame about your personality,” you replied, your voice dipped in venom, but your throat tightened when he tilted his head and smiled like he could see right through you.

Lex leaned in slightly, just enough that you caught the scent of his cologne, definitely something expensive. His breath brushed your ear as he spoke.

“You still think about me when you write those hit pieces, don’t you?”

You blinked, caught off guard for a second too long.

“Only when I need to remind myself what unchecked power looks like.”

His smirk deepened, eyes darkening. “Then I suppose I should give you something new to write about.”

Your breath hitched, heat blooming low in your belly before you could stop it. You hated him. You really, truly did.

But god, there was something in the way he looked at you like he already knew how you’d fall apart if he wanted you to.

And that was the problem.

Because part of you wanted him to.

And that was the part that scared you the most.

His gaze dropped then, raking over you like a hand without ever touching. From your painted lips to the soft slope of your shoulders, down to where the dark blue gown clung to your waist and draped along your hips like it had been stitched by sin itself. His eyes lingered there, bold and shameless, before dragging back up to meet yours with a spark that made your breath catch.

You hated the way your skin prickled under his stare. Hated how aware you suddenly were of the way the fabric hugged your body. Of the heat pooling at the base of your spine.

The group around you had gone quiet. You could feel every set of eyes flicking between the two of you, the tension coiling thick and heavy. 

Jimmy shifted awkwardly beside you. Lois muttered something under her breath and someone cleared their throat.

But Lex didn’t move.

He leaned in, just a fraction, voice pitched low enough for only you to hear.

“You know,” he murmured, eyes flicking once more over your figure, “That dress does unspeakable things for your body.”

You inhaled too sharply. Your lips parted, but nothing came out. Your mind, usually sharp, was suddenly blank except for the pulse thudding loud in your ears.

He smiled, pleased, like he had won something without even trying.

Then he stepped back, smooth and poised, letting his gaze linger one last time.

“Try not to write anything about me tomorrow,” he said, voice light, mocking. “Or do. You always did have a talent for making me sound… unforgettable.”

And just like that, he turned and walked away, disappearing into the crowd like he hadn’t just set you on fire.

You stood frozen, every nerve buzzing as you tried to catch your breath.

Your coworkers were staring, every single one of them pretending not to. 

Jimmy looked like he wanted to say something but thought better of it. Perry’s brows were furrowed, clearly already regretting giving you that assignment six months ago. And Lois didn’t even try to hide her reaction.

She nudged your arm, her brow raised so high it practically touched her hairline. “Okay. You gonna explain whatever that was, or should we all just assume you’ve been secretly banging the devil?”

Jimmy choked on his drink. “Oh my god, Lois,”

“I am not-” you said sharply, then glanced around and lowered your voice. “I’m not sleeping with him.”

Lois just stared at you, unimpressed. “But you’ve thought about it.”

You opened your mouth to protest, to snap something back, but the words caught.

You couldn’t deny it.

Not with the heat still simmering under your skin, not after the way his voice still echoed in your ear like a secret.

Not often, and never on purpose. But in quiet moments, in passing thoughts, in that narrow space between rage and something else. 

You had thought about it. 

And now that he had stood close enough to feel the heat off his body, now that he had whispered things that made your chest tighten, those thoughts didn’t feel so abstract anymore.

You looked down, tried to cool the flush on your face. “He’s manipulative. Arrogant. Smug.”

“Hot,” Lois said with a shrug, her lips forming a smirk as she raised her eyebrows suggestively.

“Objectively, sure,” you muttered.

Perry finally spoke up, his voice dry. “For the record, I don’t care what that man whispered in your ear, I’m not pulling your next exposé just because he made you blush.”

Everyone laughed at that.

You groaned, pressing your fingers to your temples. “This night is cursed.”

Jimmy, still recovering, piped up with a grin. “At least if it did happen, you wouldn’t have to worry about messing up his hair.”

The group burst into laughter again.

Lois giggled. “Oh god, Jimmy, stop.”

You glared at both of them. “You all are genuinely insufferable.”

Lois snorted. “Honestly, that man looked at you like he was planning world domination and trying to undress you with his eyes.”

You didn’t respond. You couldn’t.

Because somewhere in the back of your mind, Lex’s voice still purred like silk.

Lethal.

And the worst part?

You wanted to hear it again.

….

It had been three days since the ballroom.

Three days since Lex Luthor looked at you like he could unravel you with a glance and then had the nerve to whisper in your ear like he already had.

You’d tried everything to forget it. Buried yourself in drafts, interviews, even sat through a two-hour Zoom meeting just to dull the static. But it hadn’t helped. He had taken up residence in your head like it was his latest acquisition.

And when the black envelope appeared on your desk with no return name, just his initials pressed into wax, you already knew you were going.

The note inside was short. A location. A time. No explanation. But you didn’t need one.

Now, you stood in the middle of his penthouse suite, windows framing the city like a painting, the only light coming from the low glow of a few recessed fixtures and the skyline beyond. The room was silent, except for the soft clink of glass as Lex turned toward you, swirling something dark in his tumbler, watching you like you were already his.

“You’re late,” he said coolly, eyes dragging over you like he was measuring something, like you were being appraised.

You arched a brow. “I wasn’t aware I accepted an invitation.”

He stepped forward slowly, the sound of his shoes against the polished floor sharp and deliberate. “You showed up, didn’t you?” he asked, voice low and calm, but there was something sharper under it. “You always do.”

You didn’t respond. Not right away.

His eyes flicked over you again, from the slight curve of your mouth to the dip of your neckline. “Blue again,” he noted. “You must like the way it makes you look obedient.”

Your lip curled.

“You think I wore this for you?” you scoffed, crossing your arms.

“I think,” he said, stopping just a breath away, “you want me to look.”

“And you want me to slap you.”

He smiled, something wicked curling at the edge of his mouth. “I’d recover.”

You hated him.

God, you hated the way he made your blood run hot, the way his voice crawled down your spine like silk.

But you didn’t move.

You didn’t stop him when his hand came to rest at your waist, firm and possessive, his thumb brushing slow circles into the fabric.

“You hate me,” he murmured, his face now so close you could feel the heat of his breath, “but I’ve seen the way you look at me when you think no one’s watching.”

Your heart stuttered, your breath caught.

“Careful,” you said, voice thinner than you meant, “you’re starting to sound obsessed.”

Lex leaned in, lips brushing your ear, the heat of his words making your knees go weak. “Oh, I am.”

And then he kissed you.

It wasn’t gentle. It wasn’t sweet. It was bruising, like he had been waiting for this moment and was going to punish you for making him wait.

His mouth claimed yours with an unforgiving kind of hunger, and you matched it, biting his lip hard enough to make him growl low in his throat.

He backed you against the cold glass window, his hands dragging along your sides, one moving up to grip your jaw and tilt your face to his liking.

“You’re such a goddamn brat,” he murmured between kisses, his voice rough, breath unsteady.

You smirked against his mouth. “And you love it.”

He pulled back just enough to look at you, eyes hooded, mouth swollen.

“No,” he said. “I crave it. There’s a difference.”

Then his mouth was on your neck, his hands sliding up your thighs, dragging the hem of your dress with them. You gasped when his fingers dug into your hips and when his teeth grazed your skin.

“You think you’re in control,” he whispered, lips brushing just beneath your ear, “but the second I touch you, you forget your own name.”

You let out a shaky breath, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a moan. “I still know one name. And it’s the one I’ve torn to pieces in print.”

He laughed, low and dangerous. 

“Oh, sweetheart,” he said darkly, “keep pretending you can destroy me. It makes fucking you so much more satisfying.”

Then he kissed you again, more possessive, his body pressing into yours until there was nothing left between you but heat and friction and a pull you couldn’t fight anymore. 

“Tell me to stop,” he said again, his voice rough and low, words vibrating against your lips.

You looked up at him, defiant, breathless, every inch of your body alight and aching.

“Not a chance.”

Your voice barely came out, breathless and defiant, but it was enough.

His expression shifted immediately, like the answer had cracked something open in him, something dark and patient that no longer felt like waiting.

“Good because I wasn’t planning on it,” he murmured.

Then his mouth was on yours again, rougher this time, like he was done holding back. His hands roamed your body fast, gripping your waist, pulling you against him until your spine met the cold glass and you gasped. 

One of his hands slipped beneath the hem of your dress, moving up the inside of your thigh with a kind of control that made your breath catch.

He hooked his fingers around your panties, tugged them down with one clean movement, and caught them just before they hit the floor. 

You blinked, barely able to react before he shoved them casually into the pocket of his slacks like he was pocketing a favor you’d just handed over willingly.

“Are you kidding?” you breathed.

Lex looked pleased at your reaction. 

“Call it insurance.”

You stared at him, torn between smacking him and grabbing him by the collar.

“You’re unbelievable.” you rolled your eyes.

“And you’re not stopping me.”

Your lips crashed into his again, hard and messy, hands fisting into the front of his shirt as he shifted closer.

He kissed you back like he was starved for it, like this was something he’d thought about too many times. And then he broke the kiss, just long enough to free himself.

You glanced down on instinct.

He was big.

Your breath caught.

“Oh.”

He stilled, a smirk curling at the corner of his mouth. “Really?” he said, voice low. “That’s the reaction?”

“I just-” you started, then shook your head.

“You know what just shut up.”

He leaned in, lips brushing your jaw, clearly savoring the moment. “I’d be flattered if you weren’t already soaking for me.”

You would’ve slapped him if you weren’t so focused on the heat curling deep in your stomach. He didn’t give you time to respond. Instead, he lifted your thigh around his waist, lined himself up, and with one slow, devastating thrust, pushed inside you.

The stretch stole your breath. Your head fell back against the glass, a soft, broken sound catching in your throat.

“Fuck,” you whispered.

Lex groaned low, his fingers digging into your hip. “So tight,” he breathed. “You were made for this-made for me,”

He pulled back, just enough to drag out the next thrust, and your body jolted with it. You clung to him, nails pressing into his shoulder through the fabric of his shirt, your whole body arching into the rhythm he was building.

“Is this what you pictured?” he muttered, breath hot against your neck. “When you wrote all those nasty little articles about me? When you said I was heartless?”

You moaned quietly, but didn’t answer.

“Tell me,” he demanded, snapping his hips into yours harder this time. “Tell me that you thought about it.”

You gasped, the impact knocking the words out of you. “Maybe,” you choked.

Lex grinned, vicious and satisfied. “Thought so.”

His hand slipped between you, fingers toying with your clit, and your whole body tensed. 

The pleasure built fast, sharp and hot, your legs beginning to shake from the way he kept thrusting.

“Say it,” he growled, hips slamming into yours. “Say you’re gonna come.”

You refused, biting your lip hard, but your body betrayed you. 

You were so close, your moans catching in your throat, your hands scrambling for something to hold onto.

“Say it.”

“I’m-fuck-I’m gonna-”

His mouth was right at your ear when he said it, voice low and filthy, wrecked at the edges.

“That’s it,” he breathed. “Come apart for me.”

And you did.

You came hard, your whole body locking up, a cry torn from you as you clenched around him, shaking against the glass as he kept fucking you through it. 

Your vision blurred, your fingers digging into his arms, and somewhere in the haze, you heard him groan low, rough, his rhythm faltering.

Then he shoved his cock in deep one last time and came with a sharp exhale.

For a second, neither of you moved.

Your heartbeat pounded in your ears, your head resting back against the glass, one of his hands still holding your thigh in place, the other gripping your waist like he wasn’t ready to let go yet.

Eventually, he pulled back slightly, eyes flicking to your face, still smug even as he caught his breath.

“I’m keeping those,” he said with a smirk as he tapped his pocket.

You looked at him, lips parted, still trying to breathe. “You’re a menace.”

Lex leaned in, kissed you slowly this time, like he was savoring the ruin.

“You’ll come back,” he said softly against your mouth.

Then, as he pulled back, his eyes lingered on you like a challenge already won.

The news was everywhere.

He had dismantled whatever Lex had been working on behind the scenes, exposed it with effortless precision, and saved a crowd of people while doing it. Per usual the cameras caught the whole thing. The media was already painting Superman as the flawless hero.

Again.

Lex didn’t speak at first.

He just sat there with his hand clenched against the armrest and the muscles in his jaw ticking as he stared at nothing. His breathing was shallow and uneven.

Then his eyes snapped towards you.

“You’re still standing there,” he said, voice low and sharp. “Why?”

He stood up slowly as he stared daggers at you, like he was holding himself back from ripping into the nearest thing he could reach.

“You think sorting paper makes you important? You think standing there, playing obedient, makes you useful?” He moved closer, voice colder. 

“You’re not here because you’re good. You’re here because it would waste more of my time to replace you than to put up with your constant incompetence.”

The words landed hard.

Despite his cruel words, you didn’t flinch, but it took effort. It always did.

“You waste my time. You ask too many questions. And you look at me like you think I need saving.” He scoffed, disgusted.

“I don’t.”

You didn’t speak. Your face stayed still, but your chest was tight. You weren’t sure if it was anger or shame.

Maybe both.

You didn’t even know why you still worked here. It wasn’t the job. It definitely wasn’t the hours. It wasn’t the way he treated you, because God knew he made it clear you were expendable.

He barely looked at you like a person half the time. But still, something in you wanted to matter to him.

To be seen. Maybe even needed.

You had always found him attractive in some sick way.

You didn’t try to reason it out anymore. It was something about the intelligence, the control, the way he moved like he owned everything and didn’t have to ask for anything. Even the cruelty pulled you in. The way he never apologized for it, never explained himself.

And sometimes, you thought he might have found you attractive too. There were moments when his glances lingered too long, a shift in his voice when no one else was around. The way he said your name like it tasted wrong but stuck to his teeth anyway.

Maybe you were just in your own head. Maybe none of it meant anything.

Maybe you just wanted it to.

Then his voice dropped.

“I need your mouth.”

Your breath caught at his words. He heard it. You knew he did.

He stepped closer. The space between you didn’t feel like space anymore.

“Now,” 

He didn’t move at first. Just stood there, watching, like he was giving you one last chance to do what he wanted without being told again.

Then, slowly, he turned and walked back to his desk.

He sat down like he owned the world and was already bored with it.

He leaned back in the chair, spreading his legs, one arm resting lazily on the armrest. His other hand tapped once against his thigh expectantly, like he was giving you instructions without saying a word.

You stared at him a second too long, your mouth hanging open like a goldfish.

You couldn’t lie. He looked good like that. Calm, in control, and cruel. 

Just like always.

You had dreamed about this. You hated that you wanted him. Hated that he could treat you like nothing and still leave you wanting more. Still leave you hoping he’d look at you like this.

And now he was.

Not ignoring you. Not talking over you. Just waiting calmly.

His fingers tapped again against his thigh.

“Wipe that dumb look off your face,” he said, voice cold. “And please me. I’m not going to ask again.”

You stepped forward, your pulse loud in your ears.

The space between you disappeared inch by inch, until there was nothing left but silence.

He shifted slightly in the chair like he wasn’t even thinking about it.

Like he didn’t have to think about you at all.

Then, just loud enough to hear, his voice cut through the quiet.

“Good girl.”

Your heart practically fluttered at his words.

You hated how easy it was for him to pull that kind of reaction out of you. Hated how a single word could make your breath catch like that.

Your knees lowered to the floor with ease as you stared at him.

The carpet was cold beneath you. Your hands rested still against your thighs.

You felt dizzy.

He didn’t say anything.

He just leaned back, like this was nothing new. Like this was exactly where he expected you to be.

His cold eyes bore into yours as he waited.

You didn’t look away.

You weren’t sure why.

Maybe part of you wanted him to see it. The conflict. The want. The part of you that hated this, and the part that didn’t.

He tilted his head slightly, the corner of his mouth barely moving.

“Keep your eyes on me,” he said as he began to unbuckle his belt.

You swallowed hard as he released his cock from his pants.

You stayed still with your knees pressed into the cold carpet, your hands resting flat on your thighs, and your heart thudding beneath your ribs.

His gaze didn’t soften.

“Well it isn’t going to suck itself, go on,” he said with a twinge of annoyance.

You didn't waste any time.

You leaned forward, licking a bead of pre-cum from his tip before slowly wrapping your mouth around him. Heat crawled down your spine as you took him in, inch by inch, your tongue tracing along the veins on his cock.

You placed your hands on his thighs to steady yourself, fingers curling against the tense muscle as you sank down further.

Lex’s head fell back against the chair, a sharp exhale escaping his chest as his eyes fluttered shut. For a moment, you felt him melt into it, into you, his body slackening under the weight of pleasure. 

For a moment, you felt the power in your hands, in the way you moved, in how his body reacted to you. You moved slowly on purpose, every stroke of your tongue teasing, knowing exactly what you were doing.

But he felt it too.

His thigh tensed beneath your palm, and his breath hitched, just slightly, like he was trying to hold something back.

You could feel the control slipping from him, could see it in the way his fingers twitched, the way his jaw clenched tighter with every second you dragged it out.

Then his hand shot out, threading hard into your hair, yanking your head back with a roughness that stole the air from your lungs.

Your mouth slipped off him with a wet gasp as you stared up at him with wide eyes.

He stared down at you, and there was nothing soft about it. His eyes were dark, glazed over with something deeper than just want. His grip tightened, holding you there.

“You really think you’re in charge right now?” he said, voice low, thick with heat. His thumb dragged across your bottom lip, pressing down just enough to make your breath catch. 

“Cute.”

He leaned in close, his breath brushing your cheek, his words a quiet threat against your skin.

“Try that again, and I won’t be so patient.”

Despite the tension in his grip and the warning in his tone, you could feel yourself growing wet, the heat between your thighs building so fast it made your breath hitch.

He didn’t wait. His hand stayed tight in your hair as he pulled you back down, slower this time but more in control. 

Your lips parted easily, taking him in again, letting your tongue trace along him with careful pressure. 

You moved the way he wanted you to, steady and obedient, but he could still feel the way you pushed at the edge.

“Eyes on me,” he said, voice strained as he looked down at you. “Don’t fucking look away.”

You immediately did as he said, your glassy eyes looking up to meet his gaze.

His jaw was tense as he stared back down at you, letting out a breath that sounded like it had been dragged from the center of his chest.

“Good,” he muttered, barely audible. “Just like that.”

He never said things like that. Never praised you, nothing. So hearing it now, rough and breathless from his mouth, made something inside you snap. 

You moaned before you could stop it, the sound spilling out around him, and he felt it. His whole body tensed, his fingers twitching in your hair, the other hand gripping the armrest like he was holding on for dear life.

That one word made you ache. You dragged one hand down from his thigh and slipped it beneath the waistband of your pants, your fingertips finding the heat that had been pulsing ever since he pulled your head back the first time.

The moment your fingers moved, his grip in your hair snapped tighter.

His hips jerked forward, driving himself deeper into your mouth, and you choked around him, eyes watering as he held you there.

“Oh, you think you deserve that?” he growled, voice low and furious as he started to thrust harder. “Think a little praise means you get to help yourself?”

You whimpered, lost against him as he fucked into your mouth rougher now, the rhythm brutal and unforgiving. 

His hand pulled your head into each thrust, making you take everything, no choice, no space to breathe.

“You don’t get to touch yourself,” he snapped, teeth clenched, eyes burning down at you.

Your hand froze inside your pants, fingers trembling, overwhelmed by the pace, and by the way he looked at you like you were his and he was reminding you of it with every second that passed.

“You want more?” he asked, voice wrecked and breathless. “Then earn it.”

You didn’t dare move your hand again. You just looked up at him, your mouth still wrapped around him, your tongue dragging slow and deep as you sucked him harder. Your eyes were glassy and wet, your jaw aching, but none of that mattered.

Not when he was looking down at you like that. Not when every sound from him made you feel even wetter than you already were.

He cursed, his hand tightening in your hair again, his other gripping the armrest like he needed something to hold on to.

“God, you feel too fucking good,” he muttered, voice rough, falling apart word by word. “So fucking perfect like this.”

More tears slipped from your eyes, trailing warm and silent down your cheeks as your mouth stayed around him.

His hips bucked forward, sharper now, more desperate. His rhythm faltered and you knew he was close. Every part of him was tense, from the sharp line of his shoulders to the way his thighs trembled beneath your palms.

“Fuck,” he breathed, eyes locked on yours. 

His hips jerked again, and then he was gone. 

He came with a broken moan, deep and guttural, his whole body shuddering as he spilled into your mouth. His grip in your hair didn’t ease, holding you there as he needed it.

“Swallow,” he breathed, voice rough and wrecked but still commanding.

You did slowly, your throat tightening around him as you took it all. The moment he felt you obey, another curse slipped from his lips.

“Fuck.”

He groaned again, quieter this time, breath catching as the last of his seed spilled out of him. 

His hips stilled, his fingers loosened in your hair, and he just sat there, breathing hard, like he was trying to pull himself back together but couldn’t quite manage it yet.

You stayed there, mouth still parted, breath shaky, eyes locked on him from where you knelt. 

Neither of you said anything. He just stared at you with his jaw tight and his chest rising and falling beneath his shirt like he still hadn’t recovered.

Then he moved.

He zipped his pants without a word, his hands steady even though everything in him still felt tense. When he finally looked at you again, it was like nothing had ever cracked in the first place.

“You’re free to go,” he said, voice calm again, quiet, but laced with that same heat that never really left his eyes. 

He watched you for a long second, gaze heavy. “But don’t go far.”

A beat passed. His mouth curved just slightly, not quite a smile, more like a warning dressed up as something smoother.

….

The summer came faster than you expected.

Your first day at LutherCorp felt like stepping into some kind of movie.

You woke up early, way earlier than necessary, and still second-guessed everything from your outfit to your hair. After way too much overthinking, you settled on a crisp white blouse tucked into tailored slacks. You wanted to look like you belonged there.

And now, here you were, walking into the towering glass building you had seen a million times in articles and headlines.

The lobby was sleek and quiet, all polished marble and subtle luxury. You tried not to gape like a tourist.

A woman in a sharp pencil skirt and heels greeted you with a polished smile. Her name was Michelle, and she introduced herself as your onboarding contact.

“Welcome to LutherCorp,” she said, handing you a slim folder with your schedule inside. “We’re thrilled to have you.”

You nodded, trying to play it cool even though your heart was racing again.

Michelle led you through the halls, pointing things out as she walked. Executive suites, research labs, restricted access areas. You barely caught half of it, too busy soaking in everything, the place, the people, the fact that you were actually here.

And maybe, you were also keeping an eye out. Hoping for a glimpse.

You hadn’t seen him yet.

But little did you know, he had seen you. From the corner of his eye, standing near the elevators with that wide-eyed look that most new interns tried to hide.

He didn’t say anything. 

But he noticed.

….

It had been two weeks and it seemed like you were finally starting to settle in.

Your days were packed, your head constantly spinning with data models, meetings, and endless revisions. You had barely slept, running on caffeine and adrenaline, but it was worth it. You were determined to prove you belonged here.

You had just printed out a report and were heading down the hall to deliver it when the door at the end opened.

Lex Luthor stepped out.

Alone.

Your stomach dropped.

He wore a black suit and dark shirt.

He was reading something on a tablet, brows drawn tight, but when his eyes lifted and landed on you, everything else stopped.

You froze. Completely.

Your heart started pounding so fast it was almost embarrassing.

He didn’t say anything at first, just stared, like he was trying to place you. Then he spoke.

“You’re the intern,” he said.

You managed a nod, your grip tightening around the folder in your hands. “Yes, I—”

“You’re the one who corrected the energy projection in Langston’s file.”

You blinked, caught off guard. “I… I noticed it didn’t align with the previous inputs. I wasn’t trying to interfere.”

His eyes stayed on you, unreadable, but for a second, just one, you could have sworn there was something else there. Amusement, maybe. Like he found your goldfish-level panic mildly entertaining.

He lowered the tablet slightly.

“Most interns would have let it slide,” he said. “Either they didn’t catch it, or they were too afraid to say something.”

You couldn’t tell if that was praise or a warning. Your pulse was still out of control, like your body couldn’t decide whether to be proud or terrified.

“Next time, send it to me directly,” he added. “I don’t like hearing about corrections secondhand.”

You nodded quickly. “Understood.”

He turned to leave, then stopped again.

“Don’t confuse being right with being useful,” he said. “Plenty of people are right. Very few are necessary.”

Then he walked off, calm and cold like he hadn’t just shattered every coherent thought in your head.

You stood there for a moment, completely still, folder still clutched to your chest.

Your first real conversation with Lex Luthor.

And you were pretty sure he had just warned you and complimented you at the same time.

You were also pretty sure he had smirked. Just a little.

….

Another couple of weeks passed.

You were starting to feel more confident, even as an intern. The nerves were still there, but quieter now, easier to ignore when you had work to focus on and people who actually wanted your input. Analysts were starting to trust you. You were being looped into meetings, asked for your opinion, even pulled aside for clarification more than once.

And Lex.

He had worked with you a few times now. Nothing major, nothing long, but enough. Enough for him to remember your name without ever asking. You could feel it sometimes, the way his eyes lingered, the way he looked at you like he already knew what you were about to say.

Today, the room was tense.

You sat against the wall, notebook open, watching as the projection glitched through its numbers. Something was off.

Lex was already pacing, his voice sharp and cold.

“This is wrong,” he said, pointing to the screen. “And I’ve said that three times now. Either someone finds the problem, or someone finds a new job.”

No one moved.

Someone muttered something about data lag, and Lex slammed his hand down against the table.

“It’s not lag. It’s not delay. It’s incompetence,” he snapped, eyes burning now. “Fix it. Or leave.”

You looked at the numbers again. The formula was wrong. Same as before.

You didn’t wait.

“It’s in column three,” you said, voice steady. “The formula is still pulling from the wrong cell. If you correct the reference, the model should recalculate clean.”

Silence.

Lex turned his head toward you slowly.

He didn’t ask if you were sure. He didn’t question it. He just walked over, adjusted the input himself, and watched as the screen updated.

The numbers aligned.

He stared at them for a second, then turned back toward the room. His face was still tight with frustration, but when his eyes landed on you, something shifted.

“It’s nice to see someone here still remembers how to think,” he said, voice low but clear. “Not that I’m surprised.”

You held his gaze, trying not to show the way your heart jumped at the sound of that.

He looked at you for a second longer, like he was waiting for you to say something, then turned away and kept going like nothing had happened.

….

You were starting to get other kinds of attention, too.

At first, it was small. Offhand compliments, the kind people tossed out casually when passing your desk or waiting for the elevator. But it didn’t take long before it shifted. The looks started lasting longer. The comments got bolder. Analysts who had barely spoken to you before were suddenly finding excuses to stop by your desk.

Some of them asked you out. Some of them flirted like it was a joke, just loud enough for others to hear. It happened in meetings, in the halls, in the break room.

And they never seemed to care who was around.

You had just stepped off the elevator one morning when it happened.

“Damn,” someone muttered from behind you, not even trying to hide it. “Didn’t know the interns dressed like that.”

Another voice followed, smug and unbothered. “You think she wore it for us? I hope she did.”

Your face flushed immediately. You gripped your folder tighter, kept walking, and said nothing. But your skin burned. You heard every word.

Lex heard them too.

He had just come around the corner. You didn’t see him, but they did. The hallway fell quiet for a beat too long. The voices stopped.

You didn’t notice the way Lex stared after them as they disappeared, expression carved from stone.

That morning, you had thrown on the only clean thing you had left. A black skirt you hadn’t worn in years. You hadn’t planned anything. You hadn’t thought twice. It just fit.

But the second you walked in, you knew.

You could feel the attention, the weight of it, crawling up your legs and settling between your shoulder blades. It made you stand a little straighter. It made you want to disappear.

Lex didn’t say a word. But something about the way he looked at you that morning felt different. Tighter. Sharper.

Later that day, your pencil rolled off the desk.

You bent down to grab it, distracted and still typing with one hand. You didn’t think about the skirt. You didn’t think about anything at all.

But Lex had walked past your open door.

He stopped. His eyes dropped for a second, caught the curve of your thighs, the flash of soft pink beneath the hem that had risen too high.

And then he looked away, fast, like the sight had hit a nerve. His jaw clenched. He walked off without a word.

The boardroom was cold that afternoon, but Lex was already burning.

You sat near the back, flipping through the printout, trying to focus, but the energy in the room was suffocating. Lex didn’t sit. He paced.

Someone opened the meeting with a nervous explanation. He cut them off before they hit the second sentence.

“That’s not what I asked,” he said, voice low and tightly controlled. “Try again.”

Another analyst stepped in, flustered. He tried to redirect the conversation. Lex slammed a folder down onto the table.

“You think this is acceptable?” he asked, gaze sweeping the table like he was daring someone to nod. “You’re wasting my time. You are all wasting my time.”

No one spoke.

You could feel your heartbeat in your throat. The numbers on the screen didn’t line up. The projections were off. And no one was going to say it.

So you did.

You pointed it out clearly, calmly. You didn’t look at anyone. Just the data. Just the facts.

Silence followed.

Lex turned his head toward you slowly. His expression didn’t shift, but his gaze lingered.

“Everyone out,” he said.

No one moved.

“I said out!” he screamed.

Chairs scraped. Pages rustled. No one looked back as they left.

You stayed seated.

Lex didn’t move for a while. He stood at the front of the room, one hand braced on the table, the other curled loosely at his side.

When he finally looked at you, it wasn’t careful.

“You wore that skirt on purpose,” he hissed.

Your breath caught, but you kept your voice even. “I didn’t. It was the only clean thing I had.”

He let out a laugh that had no humor in it. 

“Right. And the pink underwear? That just happened too?”

Your heart hammered in your chest as you stood up slowly.

“I didn’t ask anyone to look,” you said. “I didn’t ask for the comments. And I didn’t ask you to stare either.”

He moved toward you, slow and controlled, like he was trying not to break something.

“You didn’t stop them,” he said, voice low and tight.

Your heart was racing now. “You think it’s my job to stop men from being disgusting?”

“I think you knew exactly what you were doing when you put that on.”

He was standing too close now. You could feel the heat radiating off him, the storm behind his eyes barely contained.

“You think I dressed for them?” you asked, almost breathless.

His jaw clenched. “No. I think you dressed like that and didn’t think I would notice.”

You swallowed hard, your cheeks flushing.

“So you did.”

He didn’t deny it.

“You’re smarter than every person in this building,” he said, voice low and rough. “You know how to run circles around them. You’re the only one in that room worth listening to.”

You didn’t move.

“So what do you want from me, Mr. Luthor?”

He stared at you like he hated that you asked, like he didn’t know the answer, even though you could tell he liked the way his name sounded on your lips.

“You distract me,” he said. “And I can’t decide if I want you out of this building or closer than I already let you get.”

The air between you was too still. Like the silence itself was waiting.

You didn’t flinch. “You’ve already let me get close,” you said, voice steady. “You just don’t want to admit it.”

You weren’t even sure where the boldness came from. Maybe it was the heat in the room, the look in his eyes, the pressure building since the first time he said your name. But you didn’t back down. You couldn’t.

His jaw tensed. Something flickered behind his eyes, sharp and unreadable.

“I don’t have time for this,” he muttered, more to himself than to you.

“Then stop making time for it,” you said. “Stop walking past my office. Stop asking for my input. Stop looking at me like that.”

He stared at you, cold and silent.

“You think this is simple?” he asked finally, voice tight. “You think this is just... attraction?”

You swallowed, your heart pounding in your chest. “No. I think it’s something you can’t control. And that terrifies you.”

His gaze darkened, something dangerous flickering underneath the surface.

“You’re not afraid of me,” he said quietly, almost like it was a problem he couldn’t solve.

“I should be.”

He took a slow step forward. 

“You’re a risk,” he said, his voice cold, deliberate. “And I eliminate risks.”

“Then why haven’t you eliminated me?”

He didn’t answer.

You felt your breath catch, your pulse sharp and fast.

“I didn’t ask to be here, Lex. You let me in. You asked for me.”

“And that,” he said, voice rough now, “was the first mistake I’ve made in years.”

You didn’t move.

“Then make the second one,” you said, your voice low and steady despite the heat crawling up your neck.

He exhaled once, slow and tight, like the tension was choking him.

His hand twitched at his side. His eyes stayed on yours, hard and focused, like he was memorizing the way you looked right now.

He stepped in close. Closer than he should. Still not touching.

But his restraint was crumbling.

And you could feel everything unraveling.

He didn’t warn you.

One second he was standing still, and the next his hand was in your hair, his mouth crashing onto yours like it had been building for weeks.

It wasn’t soft or patient.

It was sharp, demanding, all precision finally unravelling.

He kissed like he hated it, like he’d held himself back so long it had turned into something else entirely. His grip tightened at your waist, pulling you closer, like space itself had become the enemy.

Your hands fumbled against his chest, fingers clutching his shirt like you needed something to hold on to, anything to keep yourself steady.

He didn’t slow down.

His teeth grazed your bottom lip, and when you gasped, he kissed you deeper, like he had been waiting for that sound. Like it confirmed something for him.

The table was behind you. You barely noticed when the edge pressed into your back. His hands didn’t leave you. 

His mouth broke from yours for only a second, his breath hot against your ear.

“You think you can wear a skirt like that and get away with it?” he murmured, low and dangerous, like the thought had been simmering since the moment you walked in.

You felt the heat rush through you so fast it made your knees weak.

Before you could answer, his hands were on your hips, turning you and pressing you against the glass table. It was cold against your skin, a contrast to the fire in your chest.

His hand slid down, fingers curling around the hem of your skirt. He lifted it slowly, deliberately, like he wanted to see every reaction he could pull from you.

You felt the air hit the back of your legs, and how little space there was between the two of you.

He leaned in again, his mouth close to your ear. “You’re shaking,” he said quietly, like he already knew why. Like he liked it.

One hand stayed on your waist. 

The other brushed your clothed panties, featherlight, just enough to make you whimper.

“Already like this and I’ve barely touched you,” he murmured, and you could hear the smirk in his voice. “Tell me, was it those imbeciles that got you this worked up?”

You shook your head like the thought itself was ridiculous. 

His hand lingered, fingers pressing a little firmer against the thin fabric, enough to make your hips buck without thinking.

“No,” you whispered.

His chuckle was low and satisfied, warm against your neck. 

“Didn’t think so,” he said, his voice calm and cruel in the way it made you want more.

He dipped his head, lips grazing just beneath your ear as his fingers slipped beneath the waistband, unhurried, like he had all the time in the world. 

You gasped, not just from the contact, but from how easily he took control of every inch of you.

“There she is,” he murmured, like he was seeing something he had been waiting for, his words quiet and dangerous. “So responsive, it’s almost pathetic.”

He brushed his fingers along your cunt, slow enough to make you tremble, drawing lazy circles that made your thighs tighten around his wrist. 

You bit your lip, trying to stay quiet, but he could hear your breathing, feel every subtle shift as your body betrayed you without hesitation.

Lex leaned back just far enough to look at you, his hand still moving. 

His pupils were blown wide, dark with want.

“Moan for me,” he said softly, like a request dressed in command.

And when he slipped his finger inside you, your head fell back, a quiet sound escaping your lips.

He smiled, not just pleased, but possessive, like he had just claimed something that was already his.

“Good girl,” he murmured, voice low and velvet smooth, his finger curling just enough to pull another sound from your throat. 

You didn’t mean to, but it broke out anyway making him grin even more.

The table pressed harder against you as he leaned in again, his chest brushing yours. His mouth hovered near your jaw, not kissing, just breathing, like he was letting you feel the restraint he was barely holding onto.

“Look at you,” he whispered, like it was amusing, like it thrilled him. “So desperate and quiet now. Where’d all that attitude go?”

You tried to answer, but his hand moved again, and your breath caught before you could form a single word.

His eyes flicked down, watching your chest rise and fall, watching the way your fingers gripped the edge of the table like it was the only thing keeping you from slipping under completely.

“You should see yourself right now,” Lex said, voice dark with something that felt close to wonder. “Completely undone, and I’m not even finished with you”

He thrust a little deeper, and your body jolted, a strangled moan catching in your throat before your eyes fluttered shut.

“Ah ah,” he said softly, hand coming up to cup your jaw, thumb brushing your cheek with almost mock tenderness. “Eyes open. I want you to remember exactly who did this to you.”

You looked at him with clouded vision. And he looked back like he owned you, like he always had.

“There you are,” he whispered, and then he leaned in, finally pressing his mouth to yours again.

The kiss shattered whatever composure you had left, drowning you in heat and pressure, and his hand never once stopped its slow, deliberate rhythm between your thighs. 

It was too much, too focused, too deep. The table pressed hard into your back, grounding you only barely as everything else threatened to spiral.

Your breath broke against his lips, and when you managed to pull away, just barely, it was only to speak, though the words came out slurred and broken.

“Mr. Luthor, I-” you tried, voice shaking.

He said nothing as he plunged another finger inside of you.

You whispered his name again, soft and helpless, your voice catching mid-word, and that was all it took for him to pause, just for a second. His smile curled, slow and knowing.

“Oh,” he said, voice thick with amusement. “We’re babbling now?”

Your body trembled, legs unsteady, breath hitching with every passing second. You couldn’t speak, not clearly, not when his fingers kept moving, slow and precise like he knew exactly what you needed and was giving you just enough to keep you desperate.

“Use your words,” he murmured, leaning in closer. “Is it too much, or do you want more?”

You tried, you really did, but your lips parted into a moan as his fingers pressed deeper, his thumb continuing to circle your clit.

“That’s what I thought,” Lex said, voice dark with satisfaction. “Completely gone for me.”

The pressure rose fast, sharp and dizzying, until it broke all at once. Your release came in a rush of heat and sound, your breath stuttering as your head fell back against the glass, body trembling, the world collapsing into the feel of him and the echo of his voice still ringing in your ears.

He didn’t stop right away. He kept working you through it slowly like he wanted to feel every tremble. 

Every twitch of his fingers pulled another moan from your chest, every second stretched until you were too wrecked to move.

“There it is,” he whispered, lips brushing your ear. “That’s mine.”

You couldn’t speak. Could barely think. Just lay there against the table, breathless and flushed, the aftershocks still curling through you as his hand finally withdrew.

He leaned in again, and when he kissed you this time, it was slower like he was sealing the moment into your skin.

“Look at the mess you made,” he said, voice soft and wicked, his thumb brushing lazily across your thigh like he was admiring his work.

A moment later, you heard the slow drag of his belt unbuckling, the sound sending chills down your spine.

Your eyes snapped back to his just as he leaned in, lips grazing your ear, his voice lower than before.