Resting Up, or Just Right

by a campbell

Lionel Luther/Victoria Hardwick NC-17

Thanks to fajrdrako for the beta.

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Victoria looked out over the late Friday-evening glow of Metropolis lights with a wrinkle of her small, straight nose. Drizzly late winter night, but soon, spring would arrive, and then summer. She imagined it sweeping over the prairie in waves of heat, blowing her long, chestnut curls behind and around her, warming her through and through. She’d be long gone by then, with any luck.

Pluck and a generally adventurous spirit aside, she was shaken by the recent vicious attack. It would be quite a while before she could take more than a sponge bath to freshen up, and even stepping into the elegant bathroom of the Luthor penthouse, all golden fixtures and burnished marble, made her tremble. Still, it was good to get away from that backwater place, Smallville (“small” in many, many ways, she thought. Small minds, small incomes, small ambitions), for a few days. Though she’d relished turning the tables on Lex Luthor behind his back and enjoying the good sex with him nearly as much on her time “off” , it was more than obvious, even before her near-drowning, that the bulk of her old acquaintance’s attention was being monopolized by that young sprout from the organic pigsty on the outskirts of town. Victoria was unused to being unable to command the full attention of any male who happened to be, oh, within 10 leagues or so, regardless of who else might be in radius, and, while her emotional involvement was nowhere near the extent that this lack in Lex could actually hurt her, still, it stung just a bit. Let the spoiled young spark sleep alone for a few nights: it would be ages before he could get the Kent boy into his bed, if he did at all. Meanwhile, she could enjoy civilization once again, and in style.

She turned one way, then the other, before the full-length mirror in the room she’d chosen for her own. Smoothing lingering palms over her breasts, down her sides and over her satin-clad hips, savoring the touch of her own hands, fingers nearly as much as if they were someone else’s. You are lovely, my girl, she told herself, admiring her reflection. More beautiful than any other woman, certainly than any here in this godforsaken country. Better body, more luxurious hair… bland, boarding-school food might possibly be good for one, after all.

She’d go out shopping tomorrow at the best stores and have all the bills sent to Lex. And in a few weeks when her task was done and Daddy had rewarded her with the promotion she so richly deserved, she could get out of this state, this country, and back to Edward and her real life.

Tomorrow. For now, nothing much to do but go to bed. Alone, or rather, just her and Xanax. What a bore. But, she was supposed to be resting, so she might as well go to it. After all, she’d picked the best, biggest bed in the penthouse for herself.

**

She awoke with a start. Shards of sleet were beating against the windows, and someone was in the room with her. Not standing, but sitting in a chair, and at the foot of the bed. With a yelp of alarm, Victoria bolted into a sitting position and gazed into the shadows, eyes straining to focus.

A ghost? She’d seen them now and then in English manors and castles. No, this was a real person. A man.

“Miss Hardwick. How nice to see you here. And in my bed.” The crisp voice belonged to Lionel Luthor; she recognized it in an instant, and with a gasp. Lex’s father. Good God.

His bed. “What are you doing here?” she demanded, scrabbling to grab the satin blanket and cover herself. She shrank back as tight as she could against the headboard of the bed.

He rose slowly from the chair and stepped to the side of the bed as she pulled back yet further on the mattress. She could discern Lionel’s slow smile as her eyes began to focus. “I live here,” he replied, sitting down on the bed beside her. “That is, when I’m in Metropolis. I conduct much of my business from here, where I have a eagle’s eye view of the entire city. Powerful business. Somehow, tonight, though, I feel oddly like Papa Bear. Was this bed ‘just right’, Miss Hardwick? Is that why you chose it?” He leaned over, reaching out to touch a strand of her hair. “Hardly golden locks, but beautiful, nonetheless.”

She snorted with disdain and pulled away from his hand. What an idiot Lex’s father was. And, how dare he.

“This isn’t a fairy tale.” She employed the iciest, huffiest tone she could manage “I was nearly killed at that fine small-town mansion of yours. Lex suggested I come here for a few days to rest up.”

“Ah,” Lionel’s eyes narrowed, and he nodded. “Considerate young man, my son. But where is he? I would think he’d be here at your side after your ordeal, shielding you from any danger, any unexpected visitors. ” His grin was clearly visible now through the dim light that filtered in from outside. He looked around the room. “Well?’

“Pressing business in that backwater place, I expect.” She tossed her chestnut locks back over her shoulder. As her eyes adjusted further to the faint light, she could make out the gleam in his.

“Ah,” he repeated on a slow, long breath. “Pressing business.”

A defensive nod.

“Pressing young Mr. Kent into his finest mattress, no doubt.”

Victoria couldn’t suppress a startled gasp. So he knew, too.

“Highly unlikely,” she snapped, deliberately darkening her gaze.

“Miss Hardwick.” Lionel spoke as if to a naughty child as he pulled the chain on the bedside lamp. Golden light flooded the room, and Victoria squinted as he leaned closer. “You’d be surprised.” Lionel shook his head. “Tsk, tsk,” he enunciated the words. “When will you learn to stop poking around in affairs that don’t concern you?”

Victoria shook her head, too, and shrugged off his comment. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You came for my company. You won’t get it. My business, that is. But you do have my full attention, now.” Another pointed, sweeping glance up and down her body, before their eyes locked for a long moment.

“No, thank you,” Victoria flounced, warm blood creeping up her necks to her cheeks.

Lionel made a scoffing sound at her dismissive comment, despite the warmth in his gaze.

“Always looking for love, aren’t you, my dear?”

“Hmph. I certainly know better than to look for love from the Luthors. I’m here for amusement, nothing else.”

“Well, then,” he said slowly, voice soft and suggestive. “Let’s see what we can do.”

He reached out to touch, to cup her cheek within the palm of his hand. Victoria froze.

She hadn’t missed the way he looked at her while taking his son to task the other day, heard the sex jokes they’d traded between them. Most other women would have been offended, but, enabled by her own family business and background, she’d just let it roll off, let the two of them comport themselves like the control-mad, game-playing idiots they were. She hadn’t missed the way Lionel’s serious gaze had scanned her up and down, even then, as he spoke around her to Lex, lingered on her lips, her breasts, her bum, as she’d sauntered by. She’d sensed him watching her as she waltzed out of the room so he and Lex could have some time alone, unaware she’d be listening at the door. And, the way he was gazing at her now was even more palpable. She shifted on the mattress, feeling suddenly warm.

“You, here. Sir Harry’s cherished, valuable daughter. Vulnerable, and alone. In my power. What would he say?”

“I’m sure you can imagine.”

“If I cared to,” was Lionel’s reply. “What a foolish girl you are. You’ll get nothing from Lex; he’s far too smart to fall for your devious ways. Your stay here was wasted, Miss Hardwick. Unless we make it count tonight.”

“How dare you suggest such a thing?

“No need to be coy, Miss Hardwick. I know you’ve been sleeping with my son, off and on, since you were both adolescents, and that you’ll fuck anyone with money or a title, and thoroughly enjoy doing it. So you shouldn’t take much persuading this evening. I may even…” and here Lionel leaned closer, so close she could feel the warmth of his breath.

“Send you home with a bonus of sorts.”

Not bloodly likely, she thought. But the damned chauvinist didn’t have to know she was on the Pill, if that was indeed what he meant. “It’s always business with you, isn’t it?”

“Usually. But that’s neither here nor there, at the moment. I want to see you.” It was more than a statement. It was a command. Lionel raised an elegant hand and motioned from her elbow down the length of her body. “Take it off. The gown. Or I’ll do it for you.” He fingered the strap of her nightgown and leaned in with lips open to press a kiss on the bare skin where her neck joined her shoulder. She stiffened. He blew a soft breath on the moist spot left behind when he drew back, and an alarmed yet delicious shiver coursed through her body. She shifted, noting the wetness gathering, seeping out between her thighs.

“Get out,” she spat in a low hiss.

Lionel sighed and shook his head, thinning his lips. “Miss Hardwick. I beg to remind you that this house belongs to me?”

She could hardly argue with that. And not only did he not withdraw, he moved closer.
Crossing her arms tight in front of her, she settled into a sulk with a toss of her head. He reached out again and she drew back with a hiss of exasperation and petulance.

“Now, Miss Hardwick. I’d have thought a young woman with your…adventurous spirit…would not prevaricate, equivocate this way.”

Most Americans must need a dictionary in order to converse with Lionel Luthor, she thought uneasily, noting with unwilling admiration his precise pronunciation of the aureate verbs.

“Two weeks with Lex,” Lionel reflected, as though he were talking to himself. “How memorable were they? Did he entertain you properly? Make you go weak with satisfaction, at least once per evening?”

Victoria shook her head. Far be it from her to tip her hand that way, even if, once or twice on this recent visit…

“Ruin you for anyone else? Ah, well.” Lionel smoothed the coverlet with elegant fingers, slowly, deliberately. “He may be my son, but I don’t doubt he still has some time to practice before he approaches his father’s level of expertise. Who knows, Miss Hardwick? I may satisfy you better than he ever could. Better than your young English friend. Better than Lex. Better than anyone.”

So he knew about Edward, too. How in the world did he find these things out? Victoria made a conscious effort to focus her thoughts. “Quite full of yourself, aren’t you? Now, why would you think you’d be able to do that?

“Years of practice,” said Lionel. “Small beer versus fine wine.”

“I did wonder where he learned it,” Victoria stalled, stretched a little, and smiled like a kitten.

She knew her beauty, and relished seeing its effect on the men with whom she came in contact. Every boy wanted her, every grown man, except for the rare odd anomaly like Clark Kent. Including Lionel, who kept a cool, calm poker face, but couldn’t conceal his hard swallow, or the gleam of appreciation in his eyes.

It was a challenge she couldn’t resist.

“Well, then, prove it.”

“I will,” he said.

She felt naked already.

**

Lionel had unusual notions of foreplay.

He’d slipped off suspenders and trousers, unbuttoning his white dress shirt but leaving it on. Now, he was bending over her, so near the heat of his body warmed her, and fingering the ribbon that fastened the top of her gown. Still determined to get it off, she thought. He seemed to be making his breaths deliberately audible as he slowly inhaled, exhaled, near her ear. He pressed closer, bending her backward, and she tensed for just a moment, because this was Lionel Luthor, Daddy’s long-time enemy, and she should really be extra careful. But then she relaxed. Because, truly, she feared nothing, and always enjoyed an adventure, besides.

His voice went low and soft, “Tell me about Lex,” and the way he said his name made her think of sex every which way, feel vibrations coursing through her senses like an electric current. “When my son beds you, does he begin this way?” His hands, elegant but strong, glided smoothly from her calves past her knees and up the inside of her thighs. “Hmm?”

Victoria’s throat was dry; she opened her mouth to speak, but had to clear it, first. “Sometimes,” she stammered, cursing herself for her body’s immediate response. And for her longing to feel the tickle of wiry chestnut chest hair against her skin.

“I thought so.” Lionel was settling in between her legs, nudging them further apart with one elbow and a hand. “I have no doubt he’s very good at this.” He dipped his head and in a moment she felt his tongue, tip circling the sensitive nub of flesh, then heat as his mouth enveloped her, making her squeak. She flung her head back on the soft pillow and squeezed her eyes shut. His tongue was inside her, fucking her with a smooth, firm gliding motion, expertly and with single-minded focus and determination. That, combined with the tickle of his moustasche and beard, well…there were no words.

Lionel spent a few timeless minutes just licking, sucking and tasting, very leisurely, as though he had all the time in the world. He braced her thighs with his hands to hold her relatively still, winding her up to a fever pitch while she mewled and thrashed. She couldn’t help it. She’d given up trying to convince herself not to respond at least a few minutes earlier. Nor could she wait much longer to have him inside her.

He seemed to realize this. With a wicked grin, he slid up and braced himself with a hand on each side of her body. She lay panting, eyes glazed, as he swiped at whiskers dark with moisture with the side of his palm.

“Better than my son?” he asked.

“Mmmph…not quite. Lex does it a bit better than that.” It wasn’t really true; Lionel was proving a master of the art while Lex was but a graduate student, but she wasn’t about to feed his ego by letting him know. She’d try the “perfect pancake” routine and make him think Lex surpassed him at everything.

“Really? Then he no doubt does this at the same time.” He moved up, leaned in for a kiss, slow, soft, expert. Her lips opened despite herself at the pressure of his tongue, her body arching up to meet his. She groaned with delight at the firm pressure of his agile form and muscles, her one functioning brain cell chastising her roundly for the so-obvious response.

“And, I imagine Lex grinds his slim, muscular hips like this as you run your hands over his bare scalp and smooth skin.” Lionel’s voice was like musk and honey as he pressed and flexed against her. “I can envision him, too, sprawled across Clark Kent’s fine-toned, muscular frame, fingers buried in those dark, coarse locks, nimble tongue teasing those kissable lips apart…open.”

Victoria pushed a palm against Lionel’s shoulder, trying and failing to force him to move back a bit, hating to admit, even to herself, that the thought of Lex with the Kent boy was titillating in the extreme. “Sick of you to keep talking about him, thinking about him. Not as though he learned his bedroom skills from you. At least,” she murmured with a shiver as he trailed his open mouth up along the inside of her arm, clasping her hand in his, “I hope he didn’t.”

A low, rich laugh was the only response. Lionel’s face buried in her long hair, warm breath and the scratch of his beard on her neck. The muscles of his chest, so toned for a man of his age, roaming hands and fingers that played over her skin with expertise.

“Never mind,” he whispered. “Whatever he does, whatever he may be doing at this very moment with his country boy, you’re here with me, now. Forget him.”

**

Lionel kneaded her breasts gently, touched the tip of his tongue to one pointed nipple, then the other. The thatch of coarse hair surrounding the cock which pressed leaking against her thigh, insistent, demanding. Her thighs fell open almost automatically, as though someone had tripped a switch, and she was already so wet that his cock slid in easily, yet firmly, opening her, filling her.

He gave her a moment to catch her breath, kneading one breast gently with nimble figures. “So, Victoria. Speaking of my son…does he do this?” He bent his head, opened his lips and circled one nipple, elegantly, with his tongue.

Victoria could only moan in response, and shiver when Lionel did the same thing to her other breast and his saliva cooled on her skin when he blew a soft breath on it. “Or this?” He nipped delicately at her neck.

“Mmmph…yes…”

“When he fucks you, does he do it hard….Like this?” A vicious thrust, and she gasped. It hurt, but in rather a good way.

She didn’t answer this time, just moaned, and pulled him closer.

**

Victoria bit her tongue to keep herself from saying, “Daddy,” right before she came, right before Lionel tensed, and collapsed on her chest.

**

Lionel was fastening the button on his trousers. He smoothed a hand through his wiry hair as he straightened his suspenders.

He bent down to whisper, breath moist in her ear. “Naughty girl. Go back to sleep.” And Victoria, even sated as she was, couldn’t subdue the small thrill that coursed through her yet again at the sound of his voice.

“That’s all right, then,” She chuckled and stretched, let a hand trail down his cheek and through the curls of his beard. He kissed her fingers, then stood up.

“Nonetheless, I’m quite fond of sluts. I must go. But do remember to send your father my regards,” He trailed a fingertip across one still-quivering breast. “And when you’re enjoying your breakfast porridge, tomorrow, don’t forget the cream.” He drew the blanket up over her and tucked her up as though she were a child.

“Good night, my dear.” Victoria shook her head with a chuckle, then turned on her side and cuddled into the warm blankets. In a moment, she heard the gentle click as the door closed.

She should feel ashamed and defeated for allowing him to use her that way. But, Christ, it had been good. And, when it came right down to it, she’d used him as well.

Deep down, she’d always longed to fuck Lex’s father, anyway.

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