***
“This might ruin everything! We might not be able to be friends after this in the conceivable history of forever. There’s still time,” Isis says as we get out of her car and she locks it. I double around and reach for her hand. She squeezes it, blushing brightly. “We can just be friends, still. Or enemies. We can go back to the way things were.”
My chest swells, and before I can stop myself I tangle my fingers in her hair and pull her towards me, kissing her hard. Her shock melts to eagerness, breath sweet and shallow and distinctly her against my mouth, and I pull back.
“I want you, Isis. Not as a friend. Not as an enemy. But as the most beautiful girl I’ve ever known.”
There’s a pause, a suspended thread twisting in the wind. And then she smiles.
She half-pulls half-drags me, the both of us laughing when I nearly run into a glass door of her dorm. She fiddles with her keys and the door swings open, her roommate, she says, is sleeping over at someone else’s dorm. The thought of having her all to myself, in a closed room with a soft bed, sends ripples of hot anticipation down my spine. She kisses me again, kicking off her shoes as I kick off mine, pulling me towards the messy, paisley-spread bed. She is inexperienced as ever but her fire and boldness burns brighter, scorching every thought from my brain. Her fingers run over my chest, and I shrug off my jacket to give her better access, to feel her more keenly. I bite at her lip and she bites back, a spark of almost-pain nudging me that much closer to the sweet edge. Her hands are insistent, roaming over my shoulders, my back, sliding lower to my navel -
“Isis –” I grab her hands and look her in the eyes. “Listen to me; I can’t…I can’t give you all of what I want. I’m just starting to rebuild myself. So. This is your last chance. You should find someone who isn’t so broken.”
She frowns, and leans into my chest, murmuring.
“That sounds so boring.”
“I’m serious, Isis, you deserve better –”
“And so am I!” She looks up, eyes flaring and bottom lip set stubbornly. “I don’t care about what you can or can’t give me. I just want you. Even if you’re broken. Nobody else. Just Jack.”
The sudden surge of excitement to my heart at her words is nigh-painful. I crumble like a dry sandcastle against her wave, edging her down onto the bed with hasty force. I freeze and sit up, afraid she’ll be angry, or frightened and shaking, but she laughs and holds her arms out instead.
“C’mon, butthead.”
Her hair’s splayed out against the pillows and her blouse is hiked up, showing a bare wisp of her creamy hipbone. With soft slowness, I lean down and kiss her exposed hip, nudging the blouse higher with my nose and kissing upwards. She giggles, but they quickly turn to pleased mewls as I reach the edge of her bra. I pull up and look her in the eyes, tugging at it.
“This comes off.”
She quirks a brow and sits up, grabbing the hem of my shirt. “So does this. Only fair.”
I pull it off in one swift movement, and watch her eyes light up as she takes me in. She rests her lips against my skin, kissing each contour and indent of muscle, and when she reaches the lowest part of me I can’t suppress my audible breath-hitch, or the subtle spasm in my jeans.
“Isis –”
She buries her nose in my skin and sniffs. “It smells good. You smell good, like honey.”
I growl and push her gently back on the pillows. “And you,” I inhale her wrist, her hair, between her breasts, which earns me a squeal and a bop on the head. “You smell like summer and cinnamon. I could eat you. I will eat you,” I add. Isis flushes.
“I-If I had known you were into cannibalism, I would n-not have agreed to this in the first place.”
“Too late,” I smirk, licking her neck. “You’re mine now. Bon appetite.”
Isis gives a little sigh, tensing her shoulder when she gets too ticklish. We laugh, and I pull her blouse off, slowly, tentatively. She can’t look at me, eyes darting this way and that to avoid my gaze as I take her in.
“May I?” I ask. She nods, lip set stubbornly again. I run my fingers over her stomach, milk-smooth and soft, with paler lines running vertical around her belly button.
“They’re gross,” She determines. “Stretch marks. Sorry.”
I lean in and kiss them, each one, kiss up to her wrist burn scars, kiss every scar I can see, and she gives a soft cry, arms suddenly darting out to pull me up and kiss me fiercely, needy and hot and more eager than ever before, and then she’s on top of me, kissing my collarbone and my neck, my arms, my chest, and down to my navel again in a whirlwind of soft lips and warm breath.
“Isis, you –”
“Shhhush up,” she says quickly, unbuttoning my jeans with alarming skill and yanking them down to my ankles. She smirks at my black boxers and the obvious tent in them, then looks up at me.
“That is entirely your doing,” I offer. She just hums happily and rubs her hand against it in response. And I dissolve. I’ve imagined this, over and over, but nothing can compare to the real thing, to the real Isis, smirking and flushed and half-naked, playing with me through my boxers. It’s all my dirty fantasies come to life, all the aching need for her touch culminating in one moment.
But no. This is not how our first time should go. I flip us over, and she squeals, a pout on her lips. I kiss it away between murmurs.
“There will be…plenty of time…for you to tease me,” I say, one long kiss for each pause. “But tonight…this is about you…and what I can do for you.”
“You can lay down and let me figure out what this dick fuss is all about,” She huffs.
“Like I said, there’ll be time for that. But right now I want to make you comfortable. And then make you cum. In that order.”
She squeaks and hides her face behind her hands. “Don’t say stupid shit like that, idiot.”
I smirk and unclasp her bra, inching it aside.
“H-Hey!” She protests, crossing her arms over her chest. “Don’t look!”
“You got to see mine,” I lament.
“That’s because yours are small and pathetic.”
“It’s true,” I glance my lips across the thin skin above her chest, tracing her veins. “Compared to what you’re hiding under your arms, mine are very underwhelming.”
“And floppy,” she adds, more out of spite than anything. I’m very toned.
“And floppy,” I agree. She relaxes slowly, so slowly, and finally her hard edge evaporates, a blush replacing it as she hastily puts her forearms over her eyes.
“Fine. Look.”
The ordinary person would overlook her considerable assets, because that’s exactly what she wanted them to do. Her clothes were always a little loose, one size too big on purpose. But I’d caught enough glimpses to guess at the truth, and now I confirm it. Soft-looking, round, and perfectly teardrop-shaped, with the right breast barely noticeably larger than the left. They quiver, and it’s then I realize she’s shaking.
“Hey,” I say. “Isis, what’s wrong?”
She shakes her head. “They’re weird.”
“Look at me, Isis.”
She peeks over her arms.
“Can we agree that I’ve seen many breasts in my life?” I ask. She frowns and sighs.
“I know, I get it. They’re really weird compared to the hundreds of other perfect ones you’ve seen –”
“They are beautiful.”
“You’re just saying that.”
“No, I’m not.” I lean down and kiss the swell of one. “They are the most adorable breasts I’ve ever seen. And they’re turning me on something fierce. Your whole body has me on point. But I’m sure you can see that.”
I smirk, and she squirms pointedly, her fingers scrabbling for her jean shorts. I undo the top button for her, and then she stops me.
“Um. Wrap your willy. Um. Before you get silly.”
I chuckle before turning and rummaging through my discarded jacket. I pull a condom from my pocket.
/>
“I always carry one with me,” I say. “Habit.”
She frowns, no doubt displeased at the thought of the others who helped formed that habit. I lean in and kiss her neck, moving to her ear and murmuring.
“Oh, lovely. Don’t give me that face. For months now you’re the only one I’ve thought about using it on.”
She blushes and squirms, a good sign, and I lick the shell of her ear.
“You’re the only one. God Isis, you’re the only one I’ve wanted for so long –”
She cuts me off and kisses me, her tongue darting out and mine eager to meet it. I pull back, fingers dancing down her tensing and untensing stomach. She helps me pull off her shorts, and when she throws them they land on her computer and we both laugh. I pause at the hem of her underwear – white with a green ribbon - and look up. She isn’t shaking, which is positive. She isn’t rigid or tense.
“If you ever feel uncomfortable, let me know.”
“Okay,” she swallows.
“I mean it. If you don’t want to do this anymore, at any time, tell me. And I’ll stop.”
She nods, and I sigh and lean in, putting my forehead against hers.
“Please, Isis. Promise me. Promise me you’ll communicate with me. I can see the visual clues, but I’m not a psychic.”
“I know,” She sighs. “Sorry. Okay. Okay.” She takes a deep breath, hard determination in her eyes. “I promise. Now shut up and kiss me and take off those dumb batman boxers.”
***
And he does, but he ignores the thing that comes out of it, the pink and insistent and tall thing, preferring to sink his hand beneath my panties instead. It’s awkward, but suddenly he hits that something I always try to hit and I’m making noises I didn’t know I could make.
“O-Oh shit,” I hiss.
“Are you okay?” He looks up, panicked.
“Do that again,” I demand.
And he does, over and over with gradually more friction until my arms are coiled around him and my thighs are practically crushing his hand, and his fingers are different from mine, they’re longer and more slender and can reach all the places I never could, all the places that make me pant and twist and finally, finally, explode soundlessly. I go limp, but he never gives me time to recover, sliding his tongue down my stomach, over my thighs, and dangerously close to –
“H-Hey!” I cover myself. “D-Don’t do that. It’s gross down there.”
He looks up, face hurt. But he quickly masks that over, nodding agreeably.
“Alright.”
“I mean –” I bite my lip. “It’s gross. Right? It’s gotta be.”
“For some people, it is. Not for me personally, no. And you smell very good.”
I scrunch my face up in disbelief. “Are you lying? Because historically, you’re sort of good at that.”
“No,” He kisses my inner thigh. “I’ve given up on lying. It’s too much work. And you deserve better. But let’s focus on other things –”
He moves to come back up, but I push his shoulders down.
“Try again.”
“Isis, if you don’t want to do this –”
“I’ve changed my mind. Try again.”
“You’re awfully demanding, your highness,” He smirks.
“An empress must rule with convicti –”
I never get to finish my sentence in the best way, and it’s then I realize exactly what the Rose Club was paying him for, and a seed of jealousy sprouts at the thought he’s done this for many others. But that’s quickly eclipsed by the big, looming fact he’s doing it to me now, for me, responding to my every twitch and moan with increasing amounts of skill and gentleness, and right before the fireworks I have the sense of mind to stop him, tugging on his hair lightly.
“H-Hey, dumbo.”
He sits up, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand. “What is it?”
“What about you?” I murmur, and reach for his dick. It’s rock-hard and warm beneath my hand, and he hisses.
“That’s a very dangerous game you’re playing.”
“Says the guy with his head between my legs for the last twenty minutes,” I smirk.
“Can you blame me? You’re very enjoyab –” His hiss spikes as I tighten my grip and experimentally clench up and down. The ice of his eyes is all but springwater now, soft and pleasure-hazed as I move my hand faster. He throws his head back, and I kiss his exposed throat, and suddenly I’m down on the pillows again, his hands on my shoulders and his bangs shading his eyes. He licks down my neck, to my breasts, and I arch when I feel his mouth envelop the very tip of one. Faintly, I hear the crinkle of plastic and a sudden pressure, and I should be afraid or hurting more, my brain and my past tell me this should hurt and be terrifying, but I feel safe and everything is so wet he slides in easily, sinking to the hilt with slow, careful movements.
I’m full, and a little uncomfortable, but it’s fading and I don’t want to tell him just yet. Not when his expression is as achingly satisfied as that. It gives me a power-trippy sort of thrill to see how high he is on the feeling. His groan is hoarse as the last bit slots inside, and he dusts my neck in kisses.
“I-I’m sorry. Are you alright? I should’ve asked, I should have warned you – ”
“It’s okay,” I insist. “Really. Didn’t hurt at all.”
He looks doubtful, and I smile and bite his arm near my head playfully.
“I’m telling the truth.”
“Promise?” He asks.
“Promise,” I say with a mouthful of skin. “Just…maybe don’t move all that much. For a while. It’s kind of new territory.”
“Virgin territory is the term I believe you’re looking for.” He smirks. I punch him with my pinky. We stay like that, him breathing and me breathing and me getting used to the feeling of someone else in me. Finally, the pressure lessens. I use the opportunity to do the thing Kayla advised me to. Jack’s reaction is a startled gasp he manages to swallow halfway, and he glares at me.
“That’s…t-that’s hardly fair. Where did you learn that?”
“I have friends,” I say smugly. “Who are girls.”
He laughs and I do it again, and this time he comes up growling, biting my neck lightly.
“Stop. That.”
“Whyyyy?” I singsong.
“Because I’m – I’m –”
I do it a third time, and Jack kisses me, hard, panting as we pull apart.
“I’m on the edge of losing it already, you saucy piece of work. If we want this to last anywhere beyond a few minutes, you’re going to have to stop that.”
I reach up and run my fingers through his hair. “I thought you were, like, the stamina expert. Wasn’t it your job?”
“Was. I’m very out of practice. It doesn’t help I’ve had a thing for you for months, now.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means,” He moves with a series of slow, experimental thrusts. “It means you…”
His words get lost as I feel him, for the first real time, and moan.
“Jack, ah –”
“Say it again.”
“Jack,” I curl around him, my legs moving higher of their own accord, linking around his back.
“Oh hell,” He groans into my shoulder. “I missed you. I missed you, Isis. It feels so fucking good to hear you say my name.”
I say it many, many more times. Loudly and involuntarily.
-12-
0 Years
0 Weeks
1 Day
Jack does not especially appreciate me taking all the blankets in the conceivable universe.
Or staring at him while he sleeps.
I know this because A. I know Jack, and he doesn’t like being ogled unless he’s being paid for it, and B. Every time I pull on the sheets tangled around his legs, he grimaces a little more in his sleep. So I do what any decent human being who respects another person would do, and keep pulling.
Jack groans and shields his eyes, th
e early morning sun painting his tousled hair gold. It slants down his chest, making shadows on his bare belly, his neck, his throat. I want to nuzzle into the hollow of his shoulder and live there forever. It feels so surreal – like any second an annoying teen-movie alarm clock will start chirping in my ears and I’ll rouse awake into the real world, in my real bed, alone and cold and sad and convinced no one will ever love me.
But he kissed me.
He kissed my stretch marks, and my scars.
He treated me like a person to be respected, like a thing to be worshipped and handled gently as precious glass.
He kissed the most frightened part of me, and it isn’t so scared anymore.
He’s here. And I can hardly believe it.
I can hardly believe a boy so handsome, so regal and smart and kind and interesting wanted to – burned to – sleep with me.
No one else is going to want you.
Jack wants me, for who I am.
And it’s even more amazing he stayed after, that he’s still here, that I wasn’t so horrible he didn’t change his mind and leave. He’s not a figment of my imagination. He’s here and he’s real, and he smells the same as his room smells, and I wallow in it, try to drag out every second of the luxurious golden haze that is this warm disheveled bed with this warm disheveled boy in it whom I happen to like an annoyingly huge amount.
Finally, Jack cracks one sleepy blue eye open, sees me staring, and laughs hoarsely.
“Good morning you creepy, beautiful thing.”
“I was plotting,” I say. “How best to murder you in your sleep.”
Jack leans in, planting a soft kiss on my palm. “Make it long, and drawn out. I love suffering.”
“Exactly why I’m making it short and snappy. Neck-snappy, to be precise.”
He pokes at my forearm. “You couldn’t snap my neck if you tried.”