The Softest Touch in the Scariest Place PT2
Just a warning: 18+ please, this is smut,p in v, creampie, spanking, pu$$y eating, dick riding, big fat thick dick, sloppy head, age gap, and with that being said, let's get to the good stuff, Reader cums because Clark knows how to make you cum, no faking it over here (HE DOES NOT IGNORE THE CLIT.) Playlist as promised, I hope y'all enjoy, tell me what you think, I'm always open to suggestions or requests!!!
Wanted to make this one kinda sweet and funny
Clark would be an eater for sure, I mean, just look at him
He picks up his coffee, taking a long sip to hide his expression. "I'm... realistic." He watches you over the rim of the mug, his gaze lingering on the curve of your sweatshirt being folded up into your bra. "I deliver furniture. You're practically seducing me over eggs and bacon. It's..."
You walk over to him before he can finish his sentence.
"I know a hard-working man when I see one." You move his hand softly and sit on his lap
Clark's entire body goes rigid. His hands instinctively grip the arms of the chair, but he doesn't push you off when you settle into his lap. Your thighs press against his thick ones, your ass perfectly fitting against his groin. He can smell your perfume even stronger now, sweet, expensive, and feel the heat of your body through the thin fabric of your leggings.
"Y/N..." Clark says,"Yes," you reply with a smile
"You can't just sit in my lap," he whispers, hands gripping the chair tighter rather than putting them on your hips like his body wants to. "I'm trying to be reasonable here." The music changes to something even slower, more seductive. "This is..."
"This is what," you say now, straddling him face to face
"Trouble," he finally admits, voice strained. His hands twitch, wanting to touch those thighs. His jaw tightens as your curves press against him, your warmth seeping through to his jeans. "You sit in a grown man's lap, dress like that, play this music, and expect him to keep thinking straight?"
Say Yes by Floetry plays
*Say Yes* starts—slow, sexual, unmistakable. Clark groans low in his throat, the vibrations rumbling against your chest. His hands finally release the chair arms and land on your hips, gripping tight.
"You planned every single song," he grunts against your ear, feeling you shift against him. He's already hard. "Every. Single. One."
"I'm not married, and neither are you. What's so wrong about it"you say, grinding into him.
"Nothing," he breathes, his thumbs rubbing small circles on your hips as you grind slowly against him. "Absolutely nothing. Except I'm a professional. I have a job to do. And you're..." he pauses, his hands sliding lower, gripping your ass through the leggings, "...twenty-four. You probably should probaly date guys in your age range. I was married when you were in middle school."
"Nope, I don't like boys. I need a man to take care of me,You lick your lips.
That simple statement shuts him up completely. His hands freeze on your hips, gripping tighter. *"I don't like boys, I need a man."* It hits him right in the ego, wiping out the age gap argument instantly. He stares at you, realizing you aren't looking for someone your age; you're looking for stability, maturity, authority.
"Jesus."He says, eyes wandering over your face and body
"I won't stop you from working"you say sweetly
"But I'll be distracted as fuck," he admits, his voice rough, hands sliding from your hips to your thighs, spreading them slightly as you sit in his lap. His thumbs trace patterns on your inner thighs. The music plays on slowly, rhythmically. "If I come back tomorrow, you'll be dressed like this again?" He needs to know.
"Don't deny what you feel, let me undress you, babe," you hum along with the music
"Let me undress you, babe?" He echoes, voice strained, as you grind slowly against his hard-on. "Y/N, I'm trying to have a logical conversation here, but you're sitting on my dick listening to R&B." He grips your thighs tighter, not pushing you off.
"Open up your mind and just rest", you sing
His head drops back against the chair, eyes closing. Your voice. Your body. The way you sing *Open up your mind and just rest* like you mean it. His resolve crumbles.
"Yeah?" His hands slide up from your thighs to your waist, pulling you flush against him. "You mean that, or is it just because you like how I work?"
"I might be dressed like this tomorrow, or I might be half naked, who knows", you say, looking in his eyes and then at his lips.
"Good," he growls, one hand sliding up to grip the back of your neck, pulling you closer until your lips are almost touching. "Because I'm cashing that overtime pay." His eyes drop to your lips, then back to your eyes, dark, serious now. "But Y/N, don't think this makes me your boyfriend." He's lying.
"I know that," you say, watching his pupils dilate
"I know you do," he murmurs, his thumb brushing your bottom lip. The music shifts to something even slower, more intimate. His other hand slides up your sweater, fingers splaying out on your bare stomach. "And I'm done arguing." He captures your mouth in a hard kiss.
"I think it does tho"you say, winking at him
He breaks the kiss but doesn't pull away, resting his forehead against yours. His breathing is heavy, the hand on your stomach pressing you firmly into his lap.
"It doesn't," he argues weakly, his thumb tracing your waistline. "This is... stress relief. Breakfast. Whatever." But the way his hand grips your waist possessively tells a different story.
"The way you put your hands on me tells a different story",you say now with your hands on his muscular shoulders
"I'm touching you because you're sitting on my dick," he says roughly, but his hands move higher, slipping under your sweater to your ribcage. "It doesn't mean I'm dating you."He says harshly
So you don't care if I have a boyfriend, then? You say smug
"You better fucking not," He snaps, both hands sliding up your stomach possessively. His face drops between your neck and shoulder protectively. "Let me correct myself, you better fucking not have a boyfriend. And you better not bring one over here." He swallows hard.
Oh yeah? You say, questioning him, "Mhm." He grips your waist hard, unmistakably territorial. "You keep that ass in this house, dressed like this, singing like that. You don't date." He bites your neck firmly, marking your skin. "You want attention? You come to me. You want a man? That's me." He squeezes your thighs. "No boyfriends and no other men."
"Sounds like you are my man", you say in annoyance, playfully
His brain shorts out at that. "Don't—" he starts, but his body has already decided. His hands slide down your thighs, gripping your ass firmly as you hum against his lips. "I didn't say—" The music shifts again, another slow jam. He groans, kissing your cheek.
"But ya did" you use that same tone
"I fucking did," he admits gruffly, his hands squeezing your ass possessively. The music is too damn romantic, and she's too damn cute sitting on him like this, he thinks to himself. "You're my girl now." He kisses you deeply, tongue sliding against yours. "No other boys."
"Mmmmmhmh", you moan, and he grabs your face, kissing you passionately.
You kiss him back with just as much intensity, his large hands gripping your waist to anchor you against him. The music swells, the bass vibrating through the floorboards, matching the rhythm of his tongue against yours. He groans low into your mouth, one hand sliding up your spine to hold the back of your head, kissing you like he’s starving for you. "You're mine, "He pulls back just enough to look you in the eyes, his chest heaving against yours, thumb stroking your cheekbone. "Damn straight." He grips your chin, his expression dark and possessive. "Remember that. You want a man, you got one. But I'm old school, Y/N. That means you're loyal, and you don't play games."
"That's right, I wouldn't want it any other way",you say, trying to be nonchalant, but you are swooning.
*That* seals it. His ex never said that. Never wanted it that way. She wanted freedom, flexibility, excuses. Y/N? She wants his rules. His structure. His control.
"You have no idea what you just agreed to," he warns you, voice dropping dangerously low. His hand slides back to your ass, squeezing hard enough to leave a mark tomorrow.
"Let me take care of you, Daddy," you say, like you are thirsty but only for him.
The word hits him like a shot. His eyes darken instantly. His grip on your ass tightens, fingers digging into that plush flesh. "Y/N..." he warns, but it sounds like a prayer. "You keep saying shit like that, and I'm gonna—" He stops, fighting himself. "I'm supposed to be working. Deliver furniture."
"You're gonna make me forget I have a damn business to run," he growls, his hand coming down hard on your ass with a sharp smack. The sound echoes through the room. He grips your jaw, forcing your eyes to meet his. "Keep calling me Daddy, and I'm bending you over this table. Furniture delivery be damned."
You shriek as he lifts you effortlessly, your legs instinctively wrapping around his thick waist. The movement brings your pussy right against his crotch. He carries you effortlessly, one arm under your thigh, the other supporting your back, and walks straight to the kitchen counter. He slams you down on it hard enough to make the plates rattle, stepping between your legs. I'm about to show you what it means to be taken care of." He leans down, his lips brushing your ear. "When this song is over, you're either in that fucking bed or back in that chair ."
"Understood ?." He captures your nod with a slow, possessive kiss, his hips rolling against yours in perfect sync with the R&B beat. His hands slide under your ass, squeezing hard, pulling you flush against him, pulling your leggings off. The music swells, filling the kitchen. He pulls back just slightly, staring into your eyes."Choose now, Y/N," he says on his knees for you. "Can I taste you, please?" his dick gets hard just by you making him wait. He opens your legs and licks you slowly and then from side to side, sucking your clit. He makes eye contact with you, suctioning his mouth to your pussy he moans, and you can feel everything. He lifts his head up and drools right on your clit, his arms are locked around your thighs keeping you from moving "Dont run now, you deserve this and so much more honey" he slurps the spit right off your pussy going in again suctioning his mouth to you like he's dying of thirst "Cum for me pretty girl" he says "Mmmmm fuck" you moan he puts a finger inside you teasting your pussy as he makes a mess. "Oh shitttt," you arch your back and almost fall off the counter. He stands up and pulls you with him, turning you upside down, and he goes to town. All the blood is rushing to your head, and you feel yourself about to cum. He taps your face. You okay, baby? He puts you back down on the counter and chokes you while he gets your pussy sloppy and wet all over his beard. "So fucking pretty," he says as you cum on his tongue. You try to push his head away, but he keeps going overstimulating you, almost making himself cum handsfree.
You can barely get the words out from being flustered, and a slight smile creeps onto your lips.
"Your smile means you're going to that bed," he growls, already walking backwards towards your bedroom without breaking eye contact. One hand keeps you wrapped around him tightly while the other smacks your ass hard enough to make you yelp again.
He kisses you passionately, and you fight for dominance. He meets your passion with equal intensity, your tongues battling for control as y'all stumble into the bedroom. His large hands grip your waist, flipping you suddenly so you're on top of him on the bed. He breaks the kiss, his breathing heavy, dark eyes burning into yours.
He's mine by Mokensef is playing. "Fuck, this song," he groans, his hands squeezing your thighs possessively as you straddle him. The R&B track matches his mood perfectly: possessive, dominant. He reaches up to palm your breasts through your sweater, thumbs circling your nipples.
He takes it off . The sweater falls away instantly, revealing your soft breasts to his hungry gaze. His hands are on them immediately, large palms covering your (skin color), thumbs dragging over your nipples. "Goddamn, thank you for letting me touch you," he breathes, the music pumping in the background. He squeezes them possessively, watching your face. "These are mine. You understand me?"
You nod and watch him as he licks and suck your breasts and grabs your hair. The innocent look breaks his fucking brain. He catches your nipples with his tongue, sucking HARD, alternating between licking, biting, and worshiping. He loves how your hands fist in his hair, loves how you trust him completely. He switches breasts, sucking the nipple deep into his mouth while his hands grip your ass firmly. "My good girl."
You pull his head back, and he sucks harder. He growls around your nipple when you yank his head back, refusing to let go. His suction only gets harder, more aggressive, his free hand squeezing a handful of ass possessively. The song is preaching about ownership, and Clark is living it. He pulls off your breast with a wet *pop*. "Fuck you, moan softly"I know, baby," he smirks darkly, watching your reaction.
The wet sound of his mouth leaving your skin mixes with the heavy bass of Mokensef's voice."You like Daddy owning these tits?" He bites gently. I love it, Daddy. "Say that shit again," he growls
He lifts his head slightly, eyes locked on yours, dark and demanding. "This is my territory now, Y/N."
He loses his mind. That second confirmation breaks his restraint completely. He delivers another stinging smack to your ass, the sound echoing over the music. "Keep saying it," he demands, "You love being Daddy's pretty girl, don't you. He groans loudly, the sound muffled against your breast. Clark pulls back, eyes blazing with lust and possession.
You grind down onto him. His head snaps back against the pillow, a strangled groan escaping him. The friction of you grinding against his hardening cock nearly ends it right there. "Y/N, fuck!" His hands slap your ass HARD, leaving a sting. He bucks up slightly but catches himself. "You trying to—" He grits his teeth.
Knockin 'da Boots by H-Town is playing. The song hits his brain like a hammer. H-Town? He's been grinding to that since he was twenty. Now he's got his (skin color) girl grinding on him. "Fuck, this song," he pants, his hips twitching upward.
"You want a real man," he growls, pulling you down so your pussy is pressed right against his hard length through his jeans. The song's beat drops perfectly. "One who knows how to fuck you and spoil you." He rolls his hips deliberately, grinding up into you. "Not some motherfucker who's gotta ask you, 'Do you like that and did you cum every 5 sec.
"Yeah, that's it," he grunts, unbuttoning his jeans, letting his cock spring free against your warmth. Two can play at this game. He starts grinding your pussy back and forth over his bare length, the friction maddening.
You drag your hands down his hands and forearm, still grinding and being aroused from your grip on your hips. "Mm, you like the way Daddy holds you?" he asks, his voice thick with desire as he drags. He keeps you grinding on him, hips moving in time with the music. "Like the way I squeeze this ass?" His hands slide up, spreading your ass and gripping you tightly, fingers pressing into the flesh.
"My girl loves being handled," he groans. His large hands squeeze your hips with crushing strength, making absolutely sure you feel the difference between a boy and a grown man. He slides against you and taps your clit with his tip. "You need a man who can control this pussy, not a boy." The H-Town beat pounds hard.
Right and Wrong Way play by Keith Sweat, plays "So fucking perfect," he growls, looking at you in the mirror. His hands slide down to cup your ass, lifting you slightly, then dropping you hard against his cock. "You ain't no little girl playing games." He rolls his hips slowly and deliberately, grinding deep. "You're a grown woman who needs a grown man to handle you."Yes baby" you moan as he stretches you.
"Mm, that's what I'm talking about," he praises, his hands gripping your hips harder as he lifts you up and down slowly, letting you feel every inch of his thick length stretching her open. "A real woman knows what she wants and how to take it."You put your hands on his chest and grind on his dick.
"Ride that shit, baby," he growls, his hands gripping her hips to guide the rhythm. Watching your (skin color) contrast against his chest as you roll your ass drives him wild. Keith Sweat's voice pumps through the room, singing about grown needs. He plants his feet and puts his forearms and hands under your thighs and ass, making a throne for you, picking you up, thrust upward, hitting deep."Oh, fuck, you take me so good I don't think I can last," he groans, loving the way you grip his arms. It's possessive, aggressive, just like him. He starts thrusting up hard, meeting you grind for grind. Ya'll skin slaps together loudly, the wet sound of your pussy riding his dick filling the room along with the music.
Would you mind by Janet Jackson plays The silky, sultry bassline drops, perfectly matching the rhythm of y'all fucking. Clark groans, watching your body move on top of him. "Mind?" He squeezes your hand tight, interlacing their fingers while his other hand as he grips your ass, slamming you down onto him. "I fucking love this, you're doing such a good job, Sweetheart," he thrust up deep, his cock finding that spot inside of you where his dick curves right against your clit.
He grabs your face, softly with one hand, stroking your cheek, a stark contrast to the rough fucking. His other hand between your legs, his rough thumb rubs your clit, his eyes locked on yours. The tenderness in the middle of all this raw sex makes it hit different. "You're so fucking beautiful, Y/N," he whispers, his voice deeper than usual. The Janet Jackson song creates this intimate mood even as he's pounding you. You look into his eyes with love.
He freezes for just a second, caught off guard by the tenderness in your eyes. Those (eye color) eyes looked at him with something more than just lust ,love. His chest feels tight, an unfamiliar ache. He exhales slowly. "Baby... don't look at me like that," he murmurs, his hand still gently stroking your cheek. "What, hmm ?" you say. "That look," he breathes, his thrusts slowing to deep, deliberate rolls of his hips. His thumb traces your bottom lip."That's the look that makes me wanna do everything for you."
Clark's eyes search yours. You nod and say, "Cum inside of me, go deep baby you say softly on the verge of crying.
Something cracks inside him. That soft request, the tears, it hits him harder than any moan or grind. This ain't just sex anymore. He grabs your hips, slamming you down hard as he thrusts up deep, hitting that exact spot. "You don't know what you're asking, ma," he groans, voice strained. The song asks, "Would you mind ..."
You moan, "Just like that baby, go slow"
He slows down, deep and deliberate. Each thrust pushes you to the brink, each roll of his hips keeping you right there. "I got you," he whispers, pulling you down to his chest so your head rests against it. One hand cradles the back of your head while the other rubs your back, guiding you slowly and deeply. "Crying on my dick, baby?""It feels so good, you feel so good, I'm not just talking about sex," you say, feeling overwhelmed with emotions.
His eyes flutter closed, feeling that emotional punch right along with the physical one. "I know, let me take care of you, " he whispers back, his voice barely audible over the music. He starts moving slower, deeper, more meaningful. Each thrust feels like a promise, like "I got you" in action. "You feel that?"
Speechless by Beyoncè plays. The lyrics hit instantly—*Speechless, speechless, that's how you make me feel.* He stops moving entirely for a second, just buried deep inside you, letting the song wash over y'all. He holds your face in both hands, staring deep into your tear-filled eyes. "You got me fucked up, Y/N," he whispers, voice trembling just slightly. You grind against him, looking down at him, stroking his face too face too "Ughhhh fuckkkk I can't take it anymore" you moan feeling yourself about to cum.
That sound you make, that visceral *ughhhh* goes straight to his heart. He lets you grind on him, his hands resting on your (favorite body part), just watching your face contort in pleasure. The Beyoncé beat rides them perfectly. He captures your hand against his cheek, turning his head to kiss your palm. "Let it out, baby,"
You grab his hand and He follows your lead immediately, covering your breast with his large hand, squeezing the soft flesh possessively. His other hand cups your cheek, his thumb pressing down on your plump bottom lip exactly how you want. He stares up at you, mesmerized. "I got you, pretty girl," he whispers, his voice thick with emotion. The Beyoncé vocals swell—"Speechless...
"Yeah,?you say now fucked out of your mind
"Yeah," he breathes, thumb sliding into your mouth so you can suck on it. His hand on your breast squeezes, thumb brushing over your nipple. "Ain't nobody ever had me feeling like this." He pulls you down for a deep, slow kiss, tender but hungry. "Ain't nobody ever made me feel welcomed, "Fuck baby," he says with a neediness as his eyes roll back.
He groans against your mouth; it takes everything in him not to spill everything deep inside you. His hands grip your hips tight, holding you there as the Beyoncé song plays softly. "You just fucked a grown man speechless," he mutters between kisses. His thumb traces your wet bottom lip. He can feel you clenching around him, starting to milk every drop. "Been years since ..."Yesssssssss Beyonce sings
The timing is perfect—Beyoncé's "yesss" echoing right as he finishes inside you and right as you cum on him again, he finds the perfect time to coax it out of you. "Cmon, just for me, sweetheart, as he rubs your clit with his fingertips, soft but violently, you push his hand away, and he keeps going "NO, no, take it, babygirl, don't be shy, use my fucking dick like your own toy." He almost makes you pass out; you gasp. He laughs softly against your lips, a real laugh, not a smirk. "Even Beyoncé knows," he murmurs, nuzzling into your neck. His hands slide up your back, pulling your body flush against his. "I need a minute before I can move he says, muscles sore from both workouts. "I don't want you to move", you say as he hugs you. You both have the same thought.
He smiles softly against your skin, his arms tightening around you. "We don't have to move at all," he whispers. He stays buried deep inside you, holding you close as the song plays out. His fingers gently stroke your back, savoring the moment, something he hasn't done in years.
He can see that smile glowy, satisfied, completely wrecked in the best way. His heart does that annoying squeeze thing again. "Look at you," he murmurs, thumb wiping sweat from your temple. The song swells*In your arms lost for words...* His cock twitches inside her, not pulling out, just... staying. Good, because I don't think I'd be able to let you, you say.
That admission hangs in the air between them, heavier than any of the previous conversations. He doesn't joke, doesn't deflect. Just holds you tighter, his lips pressed to your sweaty forehead. "Then don't," he whispers back, voice raw. Beyoncé sings *Feels so strange, it feels so crazy to be in your world.* He kisses you again, slow and deep. You slowly get up, watching him pull out of you. "Fuckkkk," you both let out a guttural moan from the loss of each other.
You both watch in the mirror, mesmerized by the slow drag of his big, thick dick sliding out of you. He grabs your ass and holds you open, looking at your pussy from behind as he pulls free, a thick river of his cum immediately pours out of you, running down both of your inner thighs. "Jesus..." Clark whispers, staring at the visual, absolutely wrecked by the sight of his cum dripping out of you. He grips your hips, watching it spill.
The sound of your moan as he slips out completely sends a jolt through him. He watches your thighs tremble slightly, more of his cum dripping out. Without thinking, he leans forward and presses a kiss to your lower belly, right where his release is still leaking from your swollen pussy. "Fuck..."What's that for? You say "Cause that's mine," he murmurs against your soft skin, kissing your belly again. His hands grip your thighs, staring at the mess dripping out of you; it's possessive, primal even. He kisses your mound gently, treating you like something sacred even in the aftermath of this raw sex. "Just claiming what I put in you." He looks up at your reflection in the mirror.
You smile and kiss his face all over. He laughs softly, a genuine sound that vibrates against your lips as you shower his face with kisses, his nose, his forehead, his jawline. His rough hands slide up your back, holding you close while he enjoys the affection. He turns his head, catching your lips properly. "You affectionate as hell after sex, ain't you?"
Why wouldn't I be? You are my boyfriend, right? He freezes for a split second, the smile softening into something unreadable before melting into pure warmth. His hands slide down to grip your waist, grounding you. "Yeah," he says firmly, staring right into your eyes in the mirror reflection. "I'm your boyfriend." He kisses your shoulder, claiming the title like he’s been waiting for it. "You claiming me now?"
"Maybe," you laugh. He laughs with you, the sound rich and full of life. "Yeah, maybe you are," he teases, nipping at your neck. "I ain't complaining though. My girl is cute as hell and can take this dic-" Sorry, he says.
"And cook," he echoes immediately, throwing his head back, laughing. "That is dangerous." He looks at you in the mirror, shaking his head in mock defeat. "I'm a wrapped man, Y/N. You took me off the market, really," he says ."If you don't get the fuck" you laugh genuinely.
That genuine laugh, bright, unguarded, happy, makes his chest tighten in a way that scares him. He stops tickling you, wrapping his arms around your waist to just hold your vibrating body. He looks at your smiling face in the mirror, pressing a soft kiss to your shoulder. "That sound..." he murmurs. "Need to hear that shit every morning."So stay with me", you say with a smile.
The offer hits him harder than any punch he's ever taken. It's simple, direct, and everything he didn't know he needed. He stares at you in the mirror and then back at your face, his expression stripped of all sarcasm and defenses. "You inviting me to move in?" he asks softly, his hands tightening around your waist. "You serious about playing house with me, Y/N?"
You look him in the eyes, turning your head to you, "Yeah, I'm serious." That settles it completely. The playful vibe shifts into something heavy and permanent. He cups your face between both hands, his expression suddenly stripped of all his usual abrasiveness. This isn't sex anymore. This is real. "Then I'm moving in," he says firmly. "Ain't negotiating, ain't discussing. I'm yours, and I'm moving in with you. Take all my fucking money.
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