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milknhonies · 7 days

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Lassoed In Love

|| Masterlist || Chapter 2

Chapter Summary: An investigation turns into a car accident rescue, a cup of coffee, an argument...and heated kisses.

Pairing: Farmer!Clark Kent X Teacher!reader

Chapter Warnings: 18+ Dead Dove Do Not Eat, No Sex in this chapter, Slowburn, descriptions of car accident, anger management issues, no sex but lots of kissing, topic of rape being mentioned.

Word Count: 8k

Author Notes: To save me from total writers block I thought I'd share this story. I will repeat. I HAVE NOT ABANDONED MY OTHER STORIES.

Inspiring Song: "Too Sweet" by Hozier

CLARK

Tossing and turning in the blankets, Clark sighed with frustration. His head turned and stared at the empty space on the mattress. He had half the mind to drive to the dump and collect the old one again. But it still smelt like her. That selfish bitch. The mother of his daughter...Lois.

His body yearned for intimacy, aroused for the warmth of a woman. He grabbed himself beneath the sheets and groaned softly. What was he to do? Porn was starting to be an issue. Some nights he felt like a teenage boy covered in acne hiding porn magazines from his mother, only now it was deleting the internet history off the computer he shared with his daughter and hoping he wouldn’t wake her up with the wet squelching.

He sighed clenching his eyes shut. The crickets outside chirped like an obnoxious symphony. He wasn’t going to sleep tonight again. Not with how his thoughts consumed him.

‘Coffee...no...I need a whiskey.’

With a heavy set groan he rose from the covers, naked and larger than life. His muscular body moved with soft cracks down his spine. The icy floor beneath his bare feet was a gracious gift, cooling down his hot blood and calming down his own erection.

Padding to the living room, he crouched low to the liquor cabinet. All the bottles were in different places than he last recalled. He didn’t dwell as he poured himself a drink and sniffed. No smell. He lifted the glass to his lips. Water.

He blinked. Sighed. Couldn’t help the tiny jerk rise to the corner of his lips.

‘Fucking kids.’

Lara and her friends were going to the newest Mission Impossible movie, or at least that’s what he was told. Clearly, they’d snuck into the cabinet at some point and helped themselves to the joyful adult treasures while sneakily topping it off with water.

‘She is grounded. That’s for sure.’

Lara was only sixteen. His sweet pride and joy. She had been through a lot in her young life, a life Clark could only sympathise and try his best to be a good father. He knew he wouldn’t sleep, so he put on the kettle, dragged on a pair of jeans and sat outside on the porch. He gazed out at the road and fields consumed by the growing frost.

The icy air cooled down his body. His nipples grew taunt. The bright white moonlight beamed across the strong lines of his features, his years of hard labour and history in the maps of his crow feet and smile lines. His voluminous black hair with hints of silver through it fell to his shoulders, he would need to start tying it back or cut it short again. His thick pink lips pursed just sitting above his jawline, he was like a blade, sharp and strong.

His veins ran with the blood of two different worlds...but there was a certainty that he would never be able to return to one.

With his strong desire for companionship, he knew himself well. Though he controlled it, there were times when he needed the physical touch of a woman. He often met with Diana Prince, a widowed woman who lived in Cottonwood Falls. Theirs was a purely physical arrangement, with neither interested in marriage. Clark tried to keep their visits infrequent, aware that her gossiping neighbours would be shocked to know she was seeing a man in the middle of the night...a man who had a criminal record, a dark past.

The next day was going to be a Saturday. He would carry out the planned chores and duties on the farm. The upkeep was falling apart and he desperately needed to fix the barn roof hole and retighten the fences and cut the firewood. And in the evening he would ride his truck out to Cotton falls, park and walk the rest of the way to Ms Princes house and extinguish all the fiery rage of his loins inside of her.

He didn’t like riding his truck on the icy roads. He chewed his lips as he glanced down at his erection rising again in his jeans. He needed a woman. God help him.

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YOU

You had your own chores and plans for the Saturday. In particular there was one plan on your list you were desperate to investigate and find a resolution.

Miss Lara Kent

The girl had left highschool prematurely three months ago, a month before you had arrived to take over the role as teacher after Ms Rampling died at the age of eighty four. You had deep shoes to fill. Smallville had quite literally a small school it would seem ranging from kindergarten all the way to year twelve with only four hundred students in total.

Not a single student or teacher had mentioned her name, it was by sheer luck you’d come across her school records. It was rather bizarre that such a successful student to drop out. A straight A student. Nothing in the file indicated a decent reason to why she had left school but it had been approved none the less....the burning passion of your life work was lit a flame.

“Oh Lara?...Lara...oh...Kent...that farmers kid...yea, best be left alone,” said Miss Lana Lang, the eighth grade teacher.

How could you though? Clearly this girls future was in jeopardy if she just left it so suddenly. You needed to understand what was the choice behind this important decision. You recalled being sixteen and feeling so ready for the world only to find even yourself so unprepared when you moved out of home.

You stood in the kitchen, stirring a cup of tea as you stared out your window up at the lonely moon, naked of the wreaths of stars...how could you sleep when this poor girl was making such a bad life choice?...you couldn’t imagine what her parents were thinking.

The cold wind was spreading white fog and frost against the window panels.

You were sure it would probably snow the first day of November at this rate. You rubbed your eyes and shivered. You would need to hire a handy man to fix the heater soon or else you’d freeze to death. It was never so cold in Metropolis city where you were originally from.

You’d moved here only after a month. You felt it was a sign of luck. You were struggling to find another teaching job while juggling to afford your rent....and then one-day you received a call on the phone. Out of some miracle or curse you had a great-great aunt Gwendolyn-Lee and she had a fat inheritance and a whole house left for you, her only surviving heir.

Oh and a ginger cat named Oz. With all the movie posters you had to assume your great aunts favourite film and book was none other than the Wizard of Oz.

He sat stop the old floral print arm chair, staring out the window. He turned his head and meowed wistfully. He kept to the floor and trotted over to you, threading his body around your ankles.

You sighed, “I know Ozzie, your poor bean toes must be getting cold like mine, I might need to see if there’s a pet store in this tiny town. See if they have socks for kitties.”

His meowing reply was lighter as if he had approved of your comment. You crouched to his level and ran your fingers along his orange stripe spine. It hadn’t taken him long to warm up to you. At first, he refused to leave the space beneath the bed in the master bedroom. You wondered how he had survived so long after Gwendolyn passed. You didn’t know who was feeding him. He mewled softly as you began getting dressed.

Despite the wonderful fortune you’d gained, tragedy struck when the moving van forgot to pick up the box with all your clothes.

So naturally you borrowed your dead great aunts hand made, outdated dresses. You’d never met the woman and yet the genetics were clear to be positive considering how you were both the same size.

You went with the white shirtwaist dress with lilac astor flowers embroidered along the edge and collar. You would’ve gone out to the town and bought a new wardrobe...if the shops sold anything that wasn’t still the same style from 1970.

Who were you even trying to impress, yourself? You sighed looking at the mirror. You reached for your flat shoes. ‘No one.’ Your hands ran down the front of your dress. ‘What type of man wants a woman that dresses like a grandma?’ you rolled your eyes.

You scratched Oz behind the ear, his little golden bell jingled away as he kept up onto the mattress and stretched his lithe body.

“I guess you’re the only man in my life to impress Ozzie,” you giggled as he flopped on his side and purred, snuggling his cheek on the patchwork quilt to take a fat cat nap.

Fetching the wool cardigan and car keys off the hook you grabbed the school record file and handbag.

Outside your car waited. You knew you’d have to drive carefully along the road. You prayed the address on Lara’s record was correct.

You pulled out of your driveway and watched as the small town buildings became trees and dead orange leaves. Halloween was just around the corner. Everyone was setting up their decorations, you felt strangely naked with such a bare house. It was on your shopping list to buy candies for the kids in the neighbourhood. You didn’t feel obligated to decorate or participate when you lived in your shitty city unit. But now you lived among families and country locals.

Even though the farm lands were carpeted in brown, red and orange leaves, you were looking forward to the gossip that come spring the lands would be blooming with green lush grass and waves of flowers and forests of apple trees with rushing blue creeks soaring through the valley. Smallville wasn’t very small in the proportion of its farming lands.

As you peered over to look at the map sitting on your passenger seat, you struggled to clearly see the street names.

Above the sound of your engine, you heard the sound of a moo before glancing up back over your hood. A large beast, a black bull the size of a fridge was haphazardly trotting across the road in line of your cat. You slammed the butt of your palm against the car horn before you hit the breaks hard and instant lost control on the loose dirt road. Spinning out, you uttered a prayer the big bull would move in time. You squealed as the tires burned across the trail and fields you crashed against flying dirt smoke and dry leafy grass up. Your body was lunged slightly forward before the car fully stopped and your ass hit the seat hard. You were finally caught in a man dug gutter, the cars nose diving down and the boot hanging up half on the road.

Your chest had been strangled by the seat belt when the loud bang and buff of white slammed up into your face, knocking your head back against your car seat.

Your mouth filled with blood and your face felt like it had been soccer punched. You managed to move your face to the side, sobbing at the feeling of your throbbing nose. Eyes closed in a mixture of fear and disbelief, you felt like you could barely breath, spitting up blood and crying in pain. You were gasping for air, your lungs stung like a million cuts.

You didn’t register the sound of a man’s voice asking if you were alright, nor how he flung open your door and used a pocket blade to slice through your seat belt.

The car hood was clouded in white, billowing out steam like the smoke of a Pompeii volcano.

What you do remember about your saviour was how he had the most bluest eyes that reminded you of the cleanest ponds. His hair was jet black like a crow. You stared up at those features when he curled his arm under your knees and behind your back and shoulders and hauled you out.

Your guardian angel...or the grim reaper carried you away from destruction as your head grew heavy and your eyes rolled like heavy marbles to the back of your skull.

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CLARK

He was riding along and moving his cattle from his main property over to the Nell Potter’s who had lease out her land to him for grazing before all the frost took the sustaining grass. He had watched your car, assuming that a group of cattle with legal crossing signage would have you slowing down....but your speed never changed until Chief was last in line and taking his time to walk across the path.

By some miracle you’d managed to miss the bull but only to twist out of control and crash into the edge of his corn crop before the wheel took you back up and the car slammed into the road gully.

He leaped from his saddle, yelling out to the stranger in the car as he did. He tore the car door open, slamming the bags, struggling to click out your seat belt before succumbing to using his tool knife in his pocket to cut your trapped, weak body out. You were awake, your eyes droopy, but you weren’t responding to his questions.

“What’s your name?” no answer. He tore out the keys from the car, turning the damn thing off before it had the chance to explode or catch fire.

You weren’t answering.

“You alright darlin?”

He swore loudly, shuffling your body from one arm to the other, carrying you back hurriedly down to his house. He managed to whistle his horse back over. It had to be said you were lucky he managed to get off his horse in time before you suffocated against the airbag.

He trusted his cows to stay in the Nell property, grazing on the new grass, too stupid to leave the paddock back onto the road.

Chief had run into that yard the moment your horn blared.

Clark was a strong man yet that did little to change his worries. Racing up the steps of his porch, he kicked open his front door and planted you with care along his sofa lounge.

Clark stared at you with disbelief. How could anyone be out in the bitter cold so poorly dressed? How had you managed to not slow down for such a huge bull? He wondered how you’d almost hit the massive beast instead of slowing down and breaking in time. Thank god the car had swivelled on ice for a quick turn or else he would have a dead Kerry Bull and a female corpse he’d have to talk to the police about, again.

But his anger at your careless driving was eclipsed by his grand concern. You seemed so vulnerable; underdressed and out in the middle of the countryside, if your car flipped Jwho but him or Lara would be here to come save you?

Who the hell were you?

The moment he asked himself however, a sense of recognition flooded him as it became clear who you were. There was no mistaking that you were the new schoolteacher he’d heard so much about in the farm tool supply barn store. With the way you were dressed, it was like staring back at a significantly younger, prettier version of Ms Gwendowlyn-Lee.

That old bag died just around the same time as Ms Rampling died too. And it was to be well known the pair were...special roommates for a time in their youth, but that was just gossip and talk.

He snorted softly. Of course you were hers to replace not one But two ancient Smallville women.

Nonetheless you were severely underdressed for the climate. He hastily moved to the kitchen sink and began running a pot of hot water for you. He paused as he thumbed your front buttons. Your dress was soaked in your own blood. Did you know his history? What if you came to full awakening and saw him looking over your chest and touching that spot...would you start screaming that vile word too?

He huffed annoyed, shaking his head. He got up and returned to the warm water pot. If you didn’t wake up in the next ten minutes, he’d throw you into his truck and speed to the local hospital. Even if it meant he might risk spending a night in jail. God knows the average folk never listened to reason or logic – always jumping to conclusions.

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YOU

It felt like a split second, cut up into spliced moments. You in the car. The bull. The devilishly handsome guardian angel and then waking up on a full purple lounge.

Your eyes fluttered wide open. Your head felt like it computer weighed like a bowling ball. The sensation of nausea took hold of you as you tried sitting up. You decided to give in to your body and laid back down. The room was slightly rocking. You shut your eyes again and sighed before slowly opening them, focusing on breathing and looking around the room.

The room was covered in similar decor as the stuff at your aunt’s home. Old ornamental decorations and wallpaper from the 70s. The dated furniture and lack of television in the living room except there was a and desk in the corner.

Beside you on the coffee table was a folded out box filled with first aid kit items. Bandages, syringes, gauze and disinfection creams.

You were startled to rise a little as the sound of loud foot steps entered the room. An enormous man held a bowl of warm water and a cloth. His face was stern while his brows lifted.

“Oh fuck, he’s huge,” you thought, watching how his hard face twitched in a smirk that appeared and disappeared in a blink. You realised with horror you’d murmured that thought aloud.

He got onto his knees beside you, touching your shoulder lightly and softly guided you back down onto the soft cushions. He wet the towel and gently dabbed at a spot on your forehead. You hissed. It stung. You winced and jerked back, quickly apologising.

“Care to share why you were tryin’ to kill my prize Kerry, Miss?” you heard him mutter. Your mouth dropped at hearing how deep, rich and sensual his voice was. You never had heard such a pronoun southern drawl sound so seductive.

He washed the dirt front your face lightly, he let he droplets wash away the marks.

You warmed, feeling butterflies in your belly as you tried to mentally find your bearings, “Wh-what? Could you repeat that sir?”

His brows lifted again, this time a firm frown was on his face, “Miss, you were in an automobile accident, are your brakes broken or are you just a bad driver?”

That’s when the black bull came back to your mind once more. You swallowed, your mouth was dry.

“I didn’t-,” you stammered and shook your head, “I wasn’t trying to hit it.”

He snorted with a hint of disbelief.

You curled in your lips, your eyes skated over the home again. You were almost at the Kent property according to the map address. You would’ve gotten there if it wasn’t for his dumb stupid bull.

You licked your bottom lip timidly, “I’m Y/N Y/F/N, I’m a schooltea-.”

“I know,” he said sharply.

Your eyes widened, “You know?”

“I know,” he repeated. You felt a discomfort in his responses even when his voice sounded like deep warm honey over buttered toast. Maybe his toast was burnt black in way.

You lightly nibbled your bottom lip and dared to ask, “Are...are you Mr. Kent? Sir?”

His ocean blue eyes darkened to the pitch of the night sky, his rosy lips peeled back, showing his white teeth in a tight grimace, “I’m Clark Kent.”

Oh.

You cleared your throat, “You’re Clark Kent?”

“I’m Clark Kent,” he repeated, again.

Granting him a small tight smile you then asked, “So you’re a farmer?”

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CLARK

When you spoke so easily to him, it caught him off guard. Had no one warned you about him? Had the rumours not gotten to your darling ears? When you raised your brows in that inquisitive manner, it only added fuel to his frustration.

“Yeah, dairy and maize,” he grunted.

The delicate curves of your face and those sweet eyes had a curious effect on him; it set his teeth on edge. He was not going to hurt you, but he could if he wanted. That primness about you irritated him to no end. His first instinct – to shock you out of your prudishness – scare you into fearing him, make you see the monster everyone but his daughter called him. Your beautiful eyes were so innocent; it was frustrating that you couldn’t see how vulnerable of a situation you were in. There was something so twisted in his mind that even he was surprised by the urge to protect you from himself.

He tore open a packet of povidone-iodine and cupped your cheek and held the curve of your jaw, “Best hold still,” he warned, his eyes bore into yours, “This goin’ sting now.”

He pinched the wipe and ran it over your forehead. Clark had been focused on cleaning the cut but his gaze flickered up at the pitched whine you made, right into your wide teary eyes. The whimper that came from your lips had the air sucking out of his lungs. What a delicious noise. Your eyes right then were his new favourite colour, he decided. Your delectable lips had turned into an ungodly knot as they quivered in pain. And they were just inches away from his and the unfortunate desire to kiss them flashed in his mind.

He ran a thumb over one of your wet cheeks,

He wondered if your skin was just as soft and sensitive all over...your breasts, your belly, your thighs...the petals between your legs. Your body trembled under him. And the brief thought of making you tremble naked made his loins stir beneath his jeans. Holy fuck.

You’d just met him and made yourself a nuisance but the thought of kissing you sent an overwhelming surge of desire through his body. It was like an electric shock to his entire system. As he drew nearer, he noticed that you smelled exquisite. Your scent was tantalizing and all he could think of was how much he wanted to taste it. The urge to kiss you was nearly unbearable. But you would probably squeal and run out the door if he lifted your dress the way he wanted to and buried his face against your silky thighs to inhale the honey of your cunt.

He launched fast up onto his feet and walked away.

“I ugh, I’m makin’ coffee,” He marched back to the kitchen and turned on the pot for some coffee. No...he needed whiskey. Fucking damn it Lara.

He splashed cold water from the sink into his face. What the fuck was wrong with him.

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You

You sat in quiet solitude as he took his time making coffee.

After five minutes of staring up at the garden wallpaper on the ceiling, you heard his foot steps return back to the living room.

You decided that Clark Kent was in fact not a social person and holding a conversation would deem a challenge. But you were stubborn. You came here for a reason and his lack of small talk would not dissuade your mission. In fact, it gave you the opportunity to study his character.

He sipped his cup and cleaned up some more scratches on your face. Very carefully he began peeling band aids apart and applying them to your face. You smiled at some still in the first aid kit. They were children’s bandaids, yellow and printed with ducklings, cute and probably many years old. You couldn’t imagine a sixteen year old girl being caught dead wearing duckling bandaids.

You had hoped to compare him to Lara and perhaps even her mother to see why and what behaviour the girl held. When he leant over you, you studied his expression, hoping to find some clue as to his thoughts. But his face was unreadable; you couldn’t discern a single emotion within his eyes. Without even the slightest word, he pinched your embroidered collar to get your attention.

You licked your lips, unaware of how your tongue movement had captured his attention. You wanted to say something, but were at a loss for words. His physical proximity had utterly paralysed your thought processes. You felt completely overwhelmed by the sensation of his presence and the sight of his face. You were struggling to find a thought or a word that could accurately describe how much he stirred your senses.

He’s so big...God...help me.

You should have maintained your composure and remembered why you had come here, instead of acting like a foolish girl because an attractive man was standing too close to you. You were frustrated with yourself for allowing yourself to be so swept away by his good looks, rough appearance, and masculine presence. You tried to remind yourself that his physicality wasn’t the point of your presence here but it failed to have any impact. Your body simply reacted with desire and longing to the nearness of his person.

You cleared your throat for the thousandth time to ask, “Ah… I have come to speak with Lara Kent, if I may?” as if you hadn’t just crashed your car and almost killed one of his cattle.

You cast your eyes over to the man in front of you. His face seemed expressionless as he stared back at you, but there was something in his eyes – a hint of suspicion, scepticism. You couldn’t help but wonder what he was thinking.

“Lara ain’t here. She’s doin’ her chores out in the paddocks. Probably got her walkman on a higher volume, she didn’t hear your car destroying some of the crop or else she’d have been here by your side like you were some helpless duckling.”

A tiny smile came onto his face at those last few words before it melt back into his set frown.

“I see....sorry about the...corn,” You hummed sheepishly, “And...when might she return inside?”

He sighed, scratching lightly at the corner of his brow, he glanced over across the room at a grandfather clock beside the fireplace, “She should be back any time now....”

You looked at him disbelievingly, your eyes locked on his. You couldn’t shake the feeling there was something more to this man than just being a farmer. “Are you Lara’s father?” you finally asked.

“Yes,” he replied in a clipped yet measured tone.

“And where is her mother?”

There was no denying he was a man of few words, and yet somehow, he managed to convey much more than what was spoken.

His eyes shifted to the fireplace. You followed his gaze. There was a beautiful enclosed vase on the mantle...wait, no-

“Dead.”

-an urn.

Something about that flat, solitary word jolted you, a mix of surprise and discomfort. Yet alongside the shock, there was also a faint sense of relief. Slowly you sat up and with a quick glance away, you stared out the window just beside the sofa. You focused your eyes on the dead and disfigured front garden, dotted with weeds and looking more like a barren wasteland than a place of joy and life.

Clark began packing up the first aid kit. He left to put it away.

Further out you could see your car, the front bumper crushed and totally ruined. Shit. You’d be doing a lot more walking and catching the bus.

When he returned, in his hand was a cup of water and a small bucket.

“It’s salt water, to clean your mouth of the blood.”

You gratefully accepted the water, swishing the foul liquid in your mouth. You spit into the bucket. There was still a stillness in the air that felt like a heavy weight, weighing on you as you breathed in the cool air. You faced him again, hands in your lap now, touching your feet to his floor.

You dared to ask, “And how did you feel about Lara quitting school?”

He shrugged in a nonchalant manner, “It was her choice.”

He was turning to go back to the kitchen.

A palpable and intense feeling of indignation and exasperation mingled together, acting as a powerful driving force, you got to your feet and started to follow him, “But she’s only sixteen! She’s just a young girl—”

You managed to follow him into his kitchen, old vinyl flooring and wooden benches with a deep copper sink. He slammed the bucket and cup into the sink and spun on his heel.

“She’s my daughter,” Clark interrupted, holding his finger up, “and she can read, write, practices arithmetic better than anyone I know in this hick-town. My Lara also knows everythin’ there is to know about livestock and runnin’ a dairy farm.”

The man’s voice held a hint of pride, though even that couldn’t mask the hint of resentment that still showed through. “This is my land, my dairy farm, my house,” he continued. “One day it will all belong to her. She decided what to do with her life, and she decided to harvest and produce milk to the entire county.”

Clark was blushing, hints of his frustration were spitting out. He wasn’t fond of sharing his or his child’s life story, considering all the prejudice they faced all these years. Except, there was something about you, this huffy, and prissy little teacher that made him answer.

You seemed oblivious to the rumours about his past; or else why would you be mouthing off so brazenly without bringing it up... you evidently knew nothing about what made him who he truly was, about the impact of his name on the town of Smallville. You didn’t know how often it was people turned away and ignored him just to avoid associating with him...you didn’t know how much it affected Lara too.

He swallowed loudly, “Now, all that bein’ said, she chose to leave that sorry excuse of a school,” he tongued his inner cheek, trying his best not to curse. He groaned, his knuckles turned white as he gripped his own flannel. It was like white smoke was pouring from his ears and shooting out his nose as he forced himself to take deep breaths.

“And, who the fu-...who are you or I to tell her what she can or can not do?” He licked his teeth, “I’d love to see your smart ass out in the dairy shed and see how much you mess it up, I’ll wager it’s like your driving.”

You bravely jerked your chin up with your hands coming to sit on your hips.

Oh Fuck, he wanted to kiss you

And unbeknownst to him, you would’ve let him. Something about how much he was pissing you off and getting heated made you excited, scared...aroused. Facing the beast in the car was not as scary as facing this beast on your feet.

“I’d like to talk to her anyway,” You said stubbornly.

His brows connected, he licked the bottom of his lip, glancing down at yours, “That’s up to Lara. She might not want to talk to you. Especially if you’re here to ask her to return to that school.”

He leant away from you briefly to turn the coffee pot on to boil.

The hands on your hips cross over your chest, You scoffed, “Right, then you won’t even try to encourage her to graduate from the highschool then?”

That was it. He paused. He smirked, he chuckled mockingly and shook his head at you, “Nope.”

“Why not?” Your foot almost stamped, “She’s a bright girl, she should at least have the option of going to college!”

Clark stepped closer, towering over you, his nose nearly touching yours as you glared up at those dark blue eyes, “You listen here,” the air from his nose was hot against your face, “She’s sixteen, don’t you understand what that means ‘round these parts?” He snorted rolling his eyes, “Hell, how can you? You’re just some uppity, conceited, self-centered upstart.” He then scoffed. “She’s not welcome in that school. That was made very clear. When she wasn’t being neglected she was being bullied. Why the fuck would she want to go back?”

You felt a chill run down your spine as he edged closer, his words sharp and venomous. You bared your teeth in a grimace, frightened by his aggressive manner. You weren’t used to men invading your personal space, shouting curses in your face. As a young girl, boys had turned a blind eye to the shy, bookish girl. Now, as a grown woman, men still showed scarce interest in you.

You were utterly unwavering in your beliefs about education and refused to let him frighten you into submission. Bigger people often used their size to intimidate smaller ones, oftentimes not even realizing the effects of their actions. However, you weren’t going to bow down simply because he was more robust than you. Your beliefs were far too important to sacrifice for someone as boorish as him.

“She was at the top of her class given her KAP results, top in the five percent in Kansas for girls in her age group.” you said briskly. “If Lara could beat that top, think of what she could accomplish with help! She could get a scholarship, become something greater than a dairy farmer, or is having a doctor for a daughter beneath a redneck like you?”

He fluttered his eyes shut. There it was. That disdain he was used to. Little did you know...he was fighting his arousal his erection and the urge to put you on your hands and knees on that kitchen floor. If you wanted to call him a redneck, he’d fuck you like one...dirty and unprotected.

The silence was beyond pregnant until his throat bobbed, “Like I said, it’s up to Lara.”

The scent of freshly-brewed coffee filled the kitchen, but neither of you spoke as the minutes ticked by and the silence stretched on. He backed away and poured two cups of coffee. He poured fresh milk into the cups, real cow cream. He leaned against the cupboards and watched you sip from your porcelain mug, taking in the delicate sight. You felt your cheeks burn with embarrassment, thinking back on what you’d just called him after he saved you from your car.

Redneck...

How could he be so kind in the face of your rudeness?

“Sorry...I didn’t means to call you a redneck...”

He smiled, this time it was filled with cheek, “Oh, yes you did...but I ain’t no soft Lily. Trust me, I’ve been called worse. You think I can’t handle when some hoity toity teacher goes an calls me a redneck?”

You returned the smile shyly. Looking down at your chest, you pinched the fabric. The front was blazing bright red.

He stepped closer and carefully reached out, pinching your shirt, he said with a calm and steady tone, “Yea that’ll probably stain without a good soak.”

You pinched your nose, “It was my aunt’s, I think it’s vintage.”

Clark set his cup aside and jerked his head to the side.

“I reckon I got something for you to wear. You can keep it and soak the dress in the laundry. Lara can talk to you about this mess and I’ll scrub the blood out.”

For a man so stubbornly spoken, he had been remarkably hospitable to you.

As you glanced up at him, the intensity of his dark blue eyes caught your attention. Something about his gaze made you feel unsure of yourself, your heart racing and a slight feeling of unease growing within you. It was as if he were peering directly at your breasts with a hungry look in his eyes. The thought made you feel warm with embarrassment and your breath caught slightly in your throat.

“I think some of my wife’s old clothes will fit you,” he said letting go of your shirt.

His dead wife? Oh god...

“Oh, I don’t need any clothes. I mean, what I have on is perfectly—”

“Stained,” he interrupted. “You really want to be going back to town looking like that? People might think I’ve gone and bashed you....”

You looked down.

“or raped you.”

Your eyes snapped back up. You didn’t know why he jumped to such a salaciously coarse word.

He murmured, “Come with me, then.”

You followed him down through the hallway of his farm house.

“Where are we going?” you asked.

“To the bedroom.”

You stopped, blinking at him, he turned to face you with a bitter smile twisted his mouth.

“Don’t worry,” he said crudely. “It’s Saturday. I only rape on Mondays and Wednesdays.”

Your eyes blinked again.

“What’s wrong with Saturdays?” those words slid past your lips without any warning, leaving you dumbstruck when you realized what you’d done. You clapped your hands over your face, mortified that you’d accidentally insinuated the possibility of him committing such a heinous act and not just that but almost questioned his intentions towards you in that department. Heat surged into your cheeks as a flood of embarrassment washed over you. Your brain must have short-circuited; there was no other explanation for the idiocy.

Clark was taken aback by your words, the stunned expression on your face making it clear that you had no intention to say them. It had been ages since he’d seen anyone look so horrified, and it took him a moment to realize that you were acutely embarrassed. You were certainly something of a prude, he concluded, with your dowdy appearance and old-maidish manner. So much so that your slip of the tongue was probably the biggest entertainment he’d had in a while. He couldn’t help but grin as his irritation softened again. Yes, this was definitely a highlight for him.

“Not a damn thing Miss Y/L/N,” he chuckled.

You drew yourself up to your full height, your lips firmly pressed together in a rigid expression. “Please do not make fun of me, Mr Kent,” you stated clearly, though it took a great deal of effort to keep your tone even. His sarcastic comment only served to salt the wound you already knew existed. You knew you fell short in the seductive department, but you didn’t need sarcastic reminders to confirm it.

Clark’s straight black brows drew together over his strong nose, “Make fun of you? What? How?”

You sulked sourly, “I am fully aware of how I look. I know I am not the most stunning woman. But surely...” you paused, your eyes shut, “Am I that ugly to look at?”

The choking noise was loud. He was rather gobsmacked. Did you really just say that to him?

His heart was still pounding from when she had whimpered, a lingering throbbing in his loins reminded him that his reaction hadn’t completely subsided. He chuckled bitterly, the sound devoid of humour, his mind playing over again and again what had happened between them. Why not spice up your life a little more?

“Now, don’t play this game with me Missy,” he said

But the way you avoided his eyes.

“Shit. You’re serious? Come on now girl, you gotta know. You damn well know you’re a wet dream...you’re a real head turner. Make men like me all hot and bothered.”

“Hot and bothered, by what?” she asked blankly. It was impossible. She had never made a man… aroused a man in her life.

Heat had been simmering just beneath the surface for too long, and the irritation he felt in the presence of this prim woman was like a spark to a fuse. His iron control had kept him in check when dealing with the townspeople, but something about her, this prim woman, got under his skin. Frustration filled him to the point that he thought he might explode, the tension and desire rising to a pitch that was almost unbearable.

His intentions had originally been to stay far away from you, but now he found himself pulled close by a force he could not resist. Hands gripping your waist, he pulled you closer until you were pressed against him. His mouth came down on yours, covering it in a hard kiss. “Maybe you need a to be shown,” he murmured, his words coming out in deep and breathless. It made the moment even more intense, his desire for you growing with each passing second. He couldn’t keep himself from kissing you again, his lips exploring yours in a passionate, urgent way that left you feeling completely powerless.

You froze as he gently and passionately moved his lips over yours. You couldn’t take your eyes off his long, thick eyelashes, how they brushed your skin. His hands wrapped around your waist and pulled you firmly against his muscled body, causing you to let out a deep gasp.

As soon as your lips opened, he took the opportunity to probe inside with his tongue as if he couldn’t get enough. You trembled, feeling a strange heat deep inside, growing more and more intense. The pleasure became so strong and powerful that it frightened you, not knowing where this might lead. If only you’d known to buy some lingerie this morning before you left to the Kent property....

There was something powerful about the way his lips felt, their firmness bringing you to a state of ecstasy. You could taste his heady flavor, and his tongue was caressing yours with an intensity that invited you to play. But beyond this physical sensation, there was a warm and musky scent drifting from his body. Your breasts pressed up against the taut muscles of his torso, causing the tips of your nipples to tingle in an exciting yet embarrassing manner.

You opened your eyes in sharp disappointment when he pulled away from you. But his intense black gaze was unwavering, like he wasn’t finished with you yet. “Come on girl, kiss me back yes?” he breathlessly pleaded, his tone suggesting he was far from satisfied.

“I don’t know how,” You confessed, still bewildered to what he had just done to you...and you enjoying it.

His eyes fluttered, “Here, I’ll teach you,” his nose nuzzled yours.

He pressed his lips against yours again, and this time you parted your mouth to accept his education. He explored your mouth and demonstrated a pressured patterned that you began mimicking and returning to him. His kisses this became further demanding, filled with panting.

You suddenly felt a frightening excitement explode through your body, growing beyond simple pleasure and transforming into a ravenous hunger. The sensations coursing through you were no longer merely pleasant but overpowering, your heart racing wildly as it hammered against your ribs. The heat within you was unbearable, an intense blaze spreading through you, leaving you panting and aching for more.

Looking into his eyes, you realized that he had felt the same burning desire that was overtaking you now. You were stunned by the revelation, and it made you feel even hotter. You uttered a soft, unconscious sound as you moved closer to his body, unable to control the sensations he had unleashed inside of you. The yearning was unbearable, and you wanted more of him, his experienced touches making the sensations overwhelming and irresistible.

You had never believed it could be like this, such an intense and overwhelming desire. You had been told that some men could be crude and cruel, but those warnings had never prepared you for the intense sensation of burning desire. You had always made the sensible choice to avoid flirting or attempting to attract a boyfriend, yet, here you were, wanting a man to do those very things to you.

The men you had encountered during your time at college and in the workplace had appeared to be normal, not lecherous sex fiends. You felt comfortable around men, and even considered a few of them to be good friends. But you did not consider yourself attractive, or at least, not enough to attract the opposite sex’s attention.

Men had never scrambled to get dates with you or even managed to acquire your phone number. As a result, you hadn’t been exposed to the intense sensations of a man’s embrace and touches, nor the throbbing sensation of his manhood pressing against your thighs. You hadn’t realized how much more you needed, the feeling of his hands roaming your body awakening a hungry desire that grew within you with every touch.

You instinctively locked your arms around his neck and moved your body against his, feeling the waves of frustration and desire increasing within you. The desire was a blaze consuming your body, empty and aching, hungry for more. The new sensations were a flood, your mind overwhelmed by the feeling of your nerves being assaulted. You didn’t know how to control it, the tidal wave of sensation growing with each movement made against him.

Clark jerked his head back, his teeth locked as he relentlessly brought himself back under control. Black fire burned in his eyes as he looked down at you. His kisses had made your soft lips swollen. Your eyes were heavy-lidded as you opened them and slowly met his gaze.

The desire was plain on your face, a look that suggested he had done more than kiss you. You already looked dishevelled, as if he had taken you in his arms and claimed you. In his mind, he had. He wondered how pretty you would look with a ball gag between your teeth. Despite your delicate appearance, you had moved against him with a voracious hunger, your body moving and seeking more.

He knew with the state of your mind, he could take you to bed right now. You were desperate for him, hot past the point of reason. And yet...he decided that it would be best if he would wait for you to make the conscious decision to be with him. Your inexperience was clear, and he’d even had to teach you how to kiss. The thought was suddenly cut off when he realized just how inexperienced you were. You were a virgin, and it was not fair for him to take that without your full consent.

The notion left him dumbfounded. It didn’t seem possible that you could be so innocent, yet there you were, gazing up at him with eyes that were both innocent and full of desire. Your body was pressed tightly to his, your arms locked around his neck, and your legs slightly opened to let him nestle against you. You were waiting for the next move, as you did not know what else to do. Before him you had never even been kissed. No man had touched your soft breasts or your tender nipples. No man had ever shared his love with you.

He swallowed the rock in his throat that threatened to choke him, his eyes still locked with yours. “Alrighty now, missy, that almost took a dangerous turn.”

You jerked away a little, your eyes fluttered, “oh, really?...”

Slowly, because he didn’t want to drop you, feeling how much your knees might collapse under you, he let you slide down to find your feet. Your sweetness would be the death of him...figuratively and literally if you tried to accuse him of something wayward. He was a fiend, a criminal, a man charged with possibly one of the worst crimes known to man. And you were the new miss innocent school teacher coming to talk to him about Lara only for it to almost become a shit show of either moans or wailing squeals.

You should never have come her. The people of Smallville had a knack for gossiping. Lord knows you’d find out the truth eventually and then you’d never want to associate with him again...

So he released you, despite the overwhelming desire to drag you onto his bed and educate you to all there was to pleasuring a man and yourself. Still wrapped around him like a human scarf were your soft arms. Your fingers had tangled up into his dark raven mane. You almost appeared unable to let him go, drunk on new founded lust. He reached up to take your hands and move your arms away from his body entirely.

The softest sound of disappointment left your wet lips...was he rejecting you now? Had you done something wrong...

Your eyes looked up at him in a desperate plea to continue...but his eyes were staring away and over your shoulder.

“I guess I’ll come back later then?” Came a new, young and feminine voice interrupting your blood rushing thoughts.

TO BE CONTINUED.....

HELPLINES:

If you are a victim of sexual abuse, assault or domestic violence or know someone who is please reach out to these links that share helpline services, phone numbers or emails. Consent and respect is important in every relationship whether between friends, family or even strangers.

Australian Helpline Services

UK Helpline Services

American Helpline Services

India Helpline Services.

#Spotify

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