It Doesn't Have To Be Just Once

Something melted inside Lois, as John Henry Irons hung his head between his and made his confession. Gently, hesitatingly, she touched his shoulder. Hard muscle beneath the dark chocolate skin, warm and dry, and he didn't flinch at her touch, not at all.

"It doesn't have to be...just once, does it?" Lois' stomach turned over itself.

There was fear there—not of physical peril, but of the heart. He had spoken of "making love," but was it just sex? Had he simply taken advantage of a unique opportunity, with her legs spread and cunt exposed, to fuck her hard and nut in her? Was that all she was to him?

His dark brown hand closed on her own, on his shoulder. He turned around, still holding her hand, his erection—yes he had an erection now, pointing awkwardly straight at Lois. With their height difference, it was aimed almost straight at her belly button. The reporter could have laughed, but she looked into those dark brown eyes, soulful and...hopeful?

"You...maybe want to try it again sometime? Just the two of us?" An edge of desperation in his voice.

"Three," she whispered, moving forward until the tip of his dick pushed into her soft belly button, feeling the wet smear of pre-cum there. "There's going to be three of us. And yes, I was hoping for..." she took a deep breath as his eyes widened in the dark. "...maybe something a little more permanent."

He engulfed her then, those big strong arms wrapped around her slim body, the heat of his erection pressed between their bodies—and Lois Lane hugged him back, her thin arms wrapped around his broad back, feeling him bury his head in her hair...and then she felt him stiffen.

"We need to move," he said. "It isn't safe. If we keep going, I have a hideout..."

"Does it have a bed?" Lois' voice was pitched low and husky, and the boldness of it surprised her...but the little leap that John Henry Iron's cock made, nestled against her, made her heart thrill.