violette

making out with clark .ᐟ

he was losing his damn mind. your lips were so soft against his, molding to his lips like they were made for him specifically. his large hands gripped your hips, effortlessly lifting you up and setting you down on the countertop. your fingers tangled in his curls, the digits curling and tugging on his strands.

“you taste so good…” clark murmured against your lips, not even bothering to break the kiss to speak. you felt your heart flutter, grinning against his lips as his compliment. his hands dipped beneath your shirt, and he groaned softly at the feeling os your soft, delicate skin beneath his calloused hands.

you two had been making out for so long, you were positive you would never forget the feeling of his lips on yours. the feeling would be permanent engrained on your lips. and you were in no way, shape, or form complaining about it. your lips were swollen, cheeks flushed and hair tousled. clark’s tongue gently traced the curve of your bottom lip, a shiver running down your spine.

your arms wrapped around his neck as he stood between your legs, his hands gripping your hips as if he would fly away if he let go. his hands eventually moved to your lower back, pressing gently against your back and practically molding you against him. his control was slipping second by second, his hands grabbing a handful of your shirt and clenching the fabric tightly in his fist.