Chapter Text
Hands. His hands on your waist, the touch surprisingly light.
Voice. His voice in your ear. Asking if he could dance with you, so polite. Saying you’re fantastic. Asking if kissing is okay.
Tongue. Definitely his tongue. He tasted like champagne, even though you knew that couldn’t be at this club. He smelled like the earth. Rich taste and smell.
You don’t do this. At least, not anymore. You never go to clubs. You never dance with strangers. You sure as hell never make out with them.
Stand on a curb with them.
Hop in a cab with them.
“Where to?” The taxi driver’s raspy voice asks, again. The damp smell of cigarettes and your fumbling breaths fill the back of the cab. You scratch your fingers through your hair nervously. The fog from your gin and tonics ebbs away with each passing minute. Your memory is starting to piece itself together as the adrenaline is overtaken by nerves.
“I’ve never done this before,” you say, more to yourself than anyone in the car. You rub at the small space between your knee-high boots and the edge of your skirt. The backs of your thighs stick to the worn leather of the lumpy seat.
“Neither have I, actually,” the man next to you in the back of the cab says. You feel his gaze shift to you. When you turn to look, he snaps back ahead, cheeks hollowed out in feigned nonchalance. His features look much softer from the side. A button nose, bleach blond hair over a round face. But those lips, they still look just as plump. You want to lean over at bite them.
“Well, I have,” the taxi driver heaves with a burst of smoke. “So where are we going?”
Jimin had asked you-- no, told you-- that you were going clubbing tonight. It had been too long since you’d both gone out and thrown money at a bar and danced around a club. You would have declined, as always, but you needed it this week. Both of your part-time jobs were so bad you couldn’t figure out which to quit first. Your coworker had even commented on how “uptight” you seemed, a very inappropriate jab at your non-existent sex life.
So when someone finally approached you, you’d spun in his arms to find defined chest shifting under a loose, simple shirt, strong collarbones and plush, parted lips at eye level. The alcohol kept your spirits light, not focusing on how long it’d been since someone touched you, how it had been even longer since you weren’t the one instigating it. Laughing and dancing on the floor, you’d said fuck it.
Or more like, fuck him.
But now, thighs not even touching, both staring straight ahead, it’s as though your flustered half-hour of sucking face and grinding hadn’t even happened.
“Shouldn’t we go to your house?” the man asks, breaking your concentration. You jump a bit, and he takes it as an offense. With a nervous, dimpled smile, he holds his hands up in defense. You curse yourself for being so fidgety. This isn’t like you. You’re usually staring down your partner, sizing them up, debating how far you could push them. But something in that kind smile, made your heart stutter, your words catch in your throat.
“I mean, wouldn’t you feel safer there?” He follows up when you don’t respond. God, you want to dig your thumbs into those dimples.
“If you’re a murderer, you could murder her anywhere,” the taxi driver butts in. “Some like their house, some like the thrill of someone else’s home. Last night, I saw this special on 48-hour mysteries that-“
Before this driver started speaking a prophecy for your night to come, you grip the headrest and lean forward to say, “Plaza Hills on fourth!”
You turn to the man again, smiling sheepishly. He smiles back just as shy, dimples even deeper, awkwardly staring at the door handle he’s picking at. Something flips in your stomach.
It’s cute. In the club, his eyes looked so fierce, hooded and lazy. Now, they disappeared into crescents from the rise of his cheeks. Handsome and cute. That’s what you crave. A man too nervous to look you in the eyes, but too beautiful for you to look away.
Your heart flutters again at your own assessment. Oh god. You sit back, clear your throat, and fold your hands in your lap like an idiot. You both trade glances, giggling a bit. But the giggles subside the closer you get to your door. You know what you should be doing right now. Leaning into his space, teasing touches, maybe some light or frustratingly deep kissing. But you can’t will your hands from where they are tucked in your lap.
Stumbling out of the taxi cab, you wish you’d had a few more shots before leaving. At your apartment, he waits patiently as you open the door. His fingers linger on your waist, tracing lightly over the high hem of your skirt. God, he knows what he’s doing. But you, after months (not to ever admit to yourself possibly years), you can barely fathom what to say at this moment, much less what to do with your own hands.
Oh, open the door. Duh.
Your shaky fingers tell you this is your chance to take it back. Decline and go back to the safety of your sexless bedroom and watch Netflix.
But you don’t want to. And by the way his fingers catch on the hem of your skirt as they trace a little lower down your thighs, he definitely doesn’t want to stop either.
When you smile over your shoulder as the door opens, his eyes tip up from where they’d been eyeing your waist, a smirk on his face. He has no shame in being caught. You snap your face forward again, cheeks heating.
Stop it, you tell yourself. Your ass is great, there is no reason to be nervous that someone else appreciates it. In fact, you’d had men on their knees begging you to back your ass up. Tied men to the bedpost and had them use their manners before allowing them to touch.
Now, you can’t even remember that girl, the one who dragged men into the house by their collars. As you nervously step over your threshold, the man crowding your back, you pray to god she reappears to give some pointers tonight.
Your living room is quiet, illuminated by patches of street lamps cutting between the blinds. You do a quick check of the place. You hadn’t imagined you’d be bringing someone home, so you couldn’t even remember the state you and your roommate had left it in after running in and out all week. Thank god your parents visited last weekend so it’s somewhat clean.
Oh god, your room. Is your room clean? Are your sheets clean?
During your crisis, the man appraises the same view with much less apprehension. His head bobs side to side as he checks out your space, hands in his pockets like you’d invited him over for a chat and not his dick.
It’s been so long, you have no idea how you even start this. Goddammit, you’ve lost it. All your mojo. Can he tell? Is that what he’s doing? Waiting for you to make a move? A man bouncing on his heels in your living room usually riles you up more, like he’s trapped in your web, but now, it’s nerve-wracking. A drink would really help. Is he thinking that, too? Is that why he keeps looking toward the kitchen?
Might as well be honest. “I feel… unbelievably sober right now,” you laugh dryly.
The man laughs, a little too loud. He shrugs and takes a seat on your couch. He drums his fingers on the cushion, looking around. When he sees you still standing, he shoots back up, losing balance a bit. “Me, too.”
You try to hold in your exasperated sigh when he’s just as clueless. Weren’t you guys supposed to still be drunk enough to jump each other’s bones? Can’t he just do it for you? Your eyes dart to the kitchen again, wondering how much your roommate would kill you for sneaking into the peach soju.
“Um,” you shrug off your jacket, looking around. He takes off his jacket, too. Oh shit. What do you do? Should you… chat first? Offer a glass of water? Shove your tongue back down his throat? He took his jacket off when you did. If you just throw your shirt off, maybe he’ll do the same. Like Simon Says.
Instead of any of those, you remain in place, both facing each other, two feet apart. Jacketless, at least. He cocks his head at you, a small crinkle between his eyebrows most likely from you staring at him in not-so-concealed panic.
He starts to hold his hand out then glares down at the gesture. He tucks it into his back pocket. You’d snuck your hands into those pockets on the dancefloor. You want to feel more of that ass. “What’s your name?”
You snap back up to his face. Seriously, did you just feel guilty for checking out a guy you brought over to fuck? “I didn’t think I was supposed to tell you that,” you respond, wondering where your one night stand rules were coming from.
“Right… but I already know where you live. That seems a bit worse.” Duh, you scold yourself. Who the fuck is scared of ending up on Dateline but drags a nameless hottie home?
“Oh…” you cringe at your awkward laugh. “Right, well, what’s your name?”
“Joon.”
“Like the month?”
“No, like Namjoon. It’s Korean.”
“Oh, that’s, um, cool.” You smile, rubbing absently at your arm. He smiles back, dazzling teeth even in the dim lighting. In a rush, you don’t just tell him your name, but your full name .
But he laughs. The sound is so sweet, it sends butterflies in your stomach. “That’s cute,” he murmurs, stepping closer. You curse at the blush you feel on your cheeks. No one calls you cute. “I like the sound of it,” he closes his eyes, leaning in. Finally, fucking finally.
But he passes your lips to whisper your name in your ear, fingers ghosting up the sides of your arms in soft strokes. It’s a low husk that tickles your ear, sending a shiver down your spine. You almost keel over, hands reaching for his hips like the last time his mouth was so close.
And just like that, the air shifts. It’s charged with an electricity that triggers something in you. Something familiar, something you’ve craved for months but never bothered to take the steps to get close enough to. Something you desperately wanted, needed, from this man. Namjoon.
You take a deep breath and peer up at him. His dark eyes are hooded and wondering. You’d only seen a glimpse of them at your door. You need to say something, anything, to keep this going.
“Okay, yeah,” you breathe out. Smooth . Okay, maybe you weren’t completely back in working condition.
“Yeah?” he says quietly, mouth twitching into a small smile. At least he seems to be on the same train of thought.
You nod. He nods back.
You wait to see who will move first.
He drags you in, one hand on your ass while the other is firm on your back. With his hands back on you, your body acts on cue, remembering the motions. You sigh into his mouth, relieved that you remember how to do this part. This part’s easy.
No words. Just want.
You snake your arms around his neck, standing on your tiptoes as you open your mouth to him. His tongue feels soft on your bottom lip, and you welcome him in, tasting that sweetness again as you curl your fingers in his blonde hair. He grunts into your mouth when you scratch, the hand on your ass tightening. The trace of his firm hands over the curves of the body warms you and you pull him closer, confidence overtaking your hesitation.
Latched together, you start pushing towards your room. Your legs slot in between his for balance, and you can feel his cock, already hard in his pants. Even against your thigh, you can tell how thick it is, growing firmer with each shuffle of your legs.
The thought of it has you teasing his tongue into your mouth to suck on it, eager to suck elsewhere. Namjoon stumbles a bit. He growls into your mouth when you start to smile, and it goes straight to your core.
“To the-” you gasp out in between kisses.
He nips at your lip and your mind blanks for a second. You grab at his shoulders, reluctantly breaking from his kiss to see over his shoulder.
“To the right,” you mouth against his neck, hands clawing under his shirt. Namjoon glances over his shoulder as you nibble at his collar bone then guides you into the bedroom with a strong grip on your ass.
The dragging irks you. To be manhandled is not something you are used to. Once in the room, you shove off of him. He quirks a brow before you run your hands up his chest.
Placing your palms flat over his strong chest, you shove. He falls back onto your bed. Surprised eyes stare up with mild irritation at your retaliation.
You take a step back, slowing down a bit. You stare down at the man before you, long legs spread in front of him, cock pulling at the zipper of his jeans. You take a deep breath. You know this part. Teasing, tempting. It’s where you excel. He may be different than your usual fucks, but something about it challenges you. The nerves from before are gone, replaced by a competitive streak to get this man to submit to you.
You gently run your hands up the sides of your body, smirking as his eyes follow. Why not tease him and build up your own self-confidence at the same time, admiring yourself before him? He obediently stays on the bed.
You let your hands run across your neck, pulling on the straps of your top before kneading at your breasts. You whine, a little embarrassed to be so bold, but don’t stop as you run your fingers under the line of your top. He goes to stand, but you wag a finger.
But before you can pull your shirt off, he’s yanking you in between his legs. He takes a fistful of your hair as he stands. You suck in sharply at the sting.
He says nothing, just tilts your face side to side. Your breath catches at the smile creeping on his face at the shock you must have on yours. It’s deadly. The grip in your hair, the dark, hooded eyes peering down at you with that smirk make your knees weak. Without even speaking a word, he’s making you slip back into submission.
You’re bewildered, eyes searching his expression. This behavior isn’t what you expected from that shy smile in the cab. From the man who asked to touch you, to kiss you. Those hands that he’d stuffed in his pockets now laid claim to your body.
But you should have known from that smirk at your door, those eyes which didn’t waver when he was caught. The twist makes your thoughts jumbled, swallowing as he tilts you back by the grip in your hair, appraising you.
“Um, sorry,” you whisper. Did you just apologize in your own apartment? What are you even apologizing for?
“Everybody makes mistakes,” he chuckles quietly.
You give a dry laugh, a bit confused. Mistakes? You don’t make mistakes. You take control.
Or at least you usually do. Guiding you by the grip of your hair, Joon spins you around, and you find yourself on the bed while he stands above. And something about it doesn’t irk you anymore. Your whole body is warm. And when you roll over to see how he stands above you, completely flipping the scene, it goes straight to your core. It had been ages since you fucked someone. But how long had it been since you found someone worth fucking?
When Joon leans forward on both hands, crawling up in between your legs, you curse as your legs spread wider for him, your body betraying you as you feel the wetness between your thighs shift. He pauses to take the bottom of your shirt in his hands. He gazes up at you.
Checking in.
He was checking if you were okay with this. He’d checked in the living room. In the cab. In the club. For someone terrified of giving up control, he reassured you even as he towered over you.
Goddamn. If you weren’t sure before, you’re fucking soaked now.
Leaning in to give your bottom lip a nip, Joon pulls your top up and over your head. With his shirt rising up a bit, you see toned muscles and strong shoulders that match the arms you’ve already run your fingers over in the club. It’s then that you notice.
Your hands are shaking. Your heart is racing. And you realize you aren’t nervous about the fuck. You’re nervous that this man has you on your back. And you like it.
His chest rises and falls as he looks you over, and your so thankful you put on a real bra today. Even without the chaos of the club, the poor lighting, his smile beams. The dimples return and so does that boyish gaze. You take your chance to finally dig your fingers into those soft cheeks.
But he turns, biting your finger. Denying you access. And you whine.
You gasp at your own actions. Hold up. No one night stand is going to turn you into a sub. You’re just baffled by his perfectly aligned teeth and incredible arms just because it’s been a while. It’s only ever a good fuck if you make it so. You can’t trust that to a one night stand.
You wrap your arms around those shoulders, using them as leverage to throw yourself over him. Now that he’s back on his back, where you want him, your hands brace around the nape of his neck, bringing your mouths together again. You straddle his legs, pushing your hips down hard. He returned the motion, tugging your lower back to roll in time with his own hips.
He tries to push up but you press harder, biting at his lip. The aftertaste of something fruity twists with your own forgotten drinks but you could careless as your teeth clink and tongues twist. When he tries again, you giggle, digging your fingers into his biceps. He moans into your mouth and you drink it up.
The heels of your boots dig into your ass, but you don’t care. Not when his arms tug free and knead into your hips, digging under your skirt to roll your ass down harder. You try to still your hips, but he keeps a strong grip. You whimper as the rough material of his jeans rubs against your lace panties.
You realize what’s happening, that he’s quickly taking back control. Snapping the clasp of your bra, you toss it to the side. And you get the desired effect. His mouth hangs open, soaking in the new view of you sat on top of him. The roll of your hips has stopped. You smirk. This is how you like your men. Dazed and confused, under you.
“You want to fuck me?” you purr, hands running down his chest.
You reach for his own shirt and his stomach twitches. It takes a second for him to take his eyes off your body to realize what’s happening.
“I want you on your back...” Namjoon’s voice comes out gruff. He trails off in thought as he sits up to remove the shirt himself. It’s so swift, you start to tip backward off the bed.
But he catches you, kissing you over the edge of the bed. Your legs lock behind him to keep from falling over the edge of the bed. God, are his lips nice. They’re so firm and unrelenting. You kiss back, eyes closing just before he pulls away.
“Calling my name,” Namjoon finishes.
You shudder. He’s figured out the game you’re playing. And he’s made his decree. And damn you for almost nodding, part of your mind begging for him to put you in your place.
That place which you thought was on top. But as the pads of his fingers run down your stomach and his thumb catches under the line of your panties, you think maybe you’re wrong.
Maybe you really, desperately need this man to fuck you into the mattress right now. However he wants. Because you are starting to think whatever he wants is exactly what you need.
Your fingers skate across his torso, everything you expected them to be through his shirt. Smooth skin that you still pictured as golden in the dim lighting of your room. He grabs your hands in his, pulling you into another kiss. You mold into one another, skin on skin. It feels natural, too natural for something you haven’t done in a long time, way too natural for a stranger. And everything feels… slow. The rush of the moment is gone while a gentle intimacy takes over both your actions. As your ankles lock behind him and his arms move to hold you closer, you sink into it. Your tongues languidly roll and your fingers scratch through his undercut.
As though sensing the same intimacy, Joon’s hands slide to your ass, under your thighs, and he hoists you in the air. You cling close with a shocked squeal as he plops you onto the pillows.
He settles between your legs again. “You looked fucking amazing in these boots,” he says, his voice is rough now, worn from kissing. He takes your ankle in his hand, holding your leg up high as he reaches for the zipper of your boot. He slowly unzips it, staring at your body the whole time. “Bet you’ll look amazing while I fuck you, too.”
Your fingers dig into the sheets as you try not to rub your legs together. “Oh, wow,” is all you can manage. The insecurity takes you off guard, and you duck your head.
Joon takes off your boots, kissing your shins and massaging the skin as he goes. Each press of his lips draws him closer to your core. Your breath hitches as he starts to spread your legs. You squirm with anticipation as he mouths and sucks at the meat of your thighs. But his pace is slow and practiced. It has you biting your lip to keep yourself from begging as he continues to mouth just above your panty line.
Finally, he runs his hands up to the tops of your thighs, the pads of his fingers firm as they roll over the muscles. He grips the bottom of your skirt, now bunched at your hips. “Up,” is all he says with a wink. You nod, raising your hips so he can pull it down.
“Good girl.”
Your heart jumps into your throat. No one, no one has ever called you that in bed. Because you are not a good girl. Half of you squeals while the other half flares in rage at such a pet name. But as he goes to bring your knee over his shoulder the good girl inside of you wins, giggling a bit with glee.
You try to regain some composure when you realize you are naked and he’s still in his pants. You nod towards the impressive weight in his pants.
“Don’t forget yourself,” your voice comes out so much weaker than you expected. He gives a low chuckle, then undoes the button with both hands, pulling the zipper down and rising to pull the pants over his hips.
He plays rougher this time. He takes the back of your knee and hikes it on his shoulder, then crawls back to you. The stretch makes you feel exposed, his rough denim pants sliding against your thighs. But his cock, trapped in his briefs, presses against your core, and you can’t help but whimper when he nibbles just under your ear. His tongue licks across your neck, his hands dig into your flesh. You’re completely caged to the bed, consumed by him, and you want more.
He squeezes your ass again as he leaves sloppy kisses down your jaw, your neck, and over one of your nipples. He scissors the other between two fingers. You moan, unable to contain yourself as your back arches off the bed. He moans back as you run your nails down his back.
You search for anything to grab onto. He gives a firm suck, and your fingers lurch to his hair. He groans, fighting back again by twisting your other nipple. You continue to writhe beneath him, his hips rolling into you and you tugging at his hair, raking nails over his shoulder.
He moves down, kissing under your breasts, down your stomach. Each kiss is slow, appreciative again. The change in pace takes you by surprise as thumbs roll gently over your nipples.
You look down to find him staring up, watching your movements, attentive to each sound you make. You’re entranced at the way his plush lips worship the skin he touches, hand kneading your ass while the other helps him lower down your body, chin tucking into your panties as he kisses at your hip bones. He’s heading farther down, kissing at the crevice between your thigh and core.
“Wait,” you breathe tap his shoulder with your free foot. Damn, you sound too fucked out already. He glances up, his breath ghosting across your exposed core, and it’s tough to keep going. “You don’t have to do that.”
“What?” he asks, eyes genuinely surprised. His thumbs still on your nipples, but the stimulation still makes it unbearably hard to continue.
You swallow, the good girl in your screaming to shut the fuck up. “Like, isn’t a one night stand supposed to be just one and done?” More of these rules you are starting to realize you learned from romcoms.
Joon blinks a few times. “But I want to,” he finally says.
Your head falls back with a groan. “Fuck yes then,” the last sound ends in a gasp, Joon’s nose rubbing against your wet underwear, teasing himself for what’s to come. You bend up your other leg when he starts to roll the lace down your thighs. You take a deep breath in, closing your eyes. This is the farthest you’ve gone in a long time, and your face is burning at the intimacy. His breath over your folds sends a shiver up your spine, and you resist the urge to close your legs. You tell yourself you deserve this, that you need this.
“Ever since you wrapped your arms around me in that club, I’ve wanted to have you under me,” Joon sighs, lowering himself back down. “Kiss you everywhere,” he murmurs against your stomach. “Here,” Joon kisses your hip bone. “Here,” your inner thigh. “and here,” he kisses your mound.
You bite your lip, trying to control the ridiculous smile on your face. He licks his own, before dropping his tongue down into your folds, licking a thick stripe up and down, around your sensitive pearl, just letting his tongue barely dip inside you before repeating the strokes again. You give up on clamping your teeth down, hips immediately bucking into his mouth, your body craving everything your mind is trying to reason with. His ministrations follow your gasps and cries while your hips follow the dip of his tongue and you cry out each time he flicks across your clit.
He’s working like it’s a skill needing honing, training himself to answer to your body based on your mewls and breathy whines. Your hips roll, following the pattern. Your hands twist in the sheets each time he begins again with the thick of his tongue weaving over your clit momentarily.
You’d never been tortured like this. Never seen a man enjoy pleasuring you more than shoving his own dick in.
“Fuck, please,” you’d never begged. Ever.
But that’s all you want now.
“Joon,” you cry the next time he teases your clit. His tongue stutters over your most sensitive area, and you whine again.
“That was so sexy,” he mouths against you, lips rolling over your swollen clit. You whine, hoping he’ll do it again. And he does. Something coils quickly in your stomach. Almost too quickly. Your hips buck, and he sucks.
“Fuck, Joon, please don’t-” You latch onto his hair and call out his name again and again as your orgasm cuts you off, your hips rolling greedily into his mouth and he takes it all, slurping lewdly like a man starved, grabbing at your ass to hold your face to him until your legs are shaking, hips jolting at the overstimulation.
He reconnects your lips before you’ve even caught your breath. You eagerly kiss back, but your hands shove at the elastic of his briefs. He pushes back onto his knees, head rolling as he readies for a show. He hooks his thumbs in his waistband, dragging them down. You don’t even care how desperate you look as you keep focused on the top of his briefs as they dip lower and lower.
You gulp, then gulp again as your mouth starts to water. It’s not what you were expecting. Sure, you’d felt it but… it’s thick. The shaft pushes against the fabric as it slides closer to the end, but he keeps on pushing down to reveal more and more, a vein peeking up from the underside. Your eyes dart up to his, which already watch you, taking in the way you get hungrier and hungrier.
When his cock finally releases from the confines of his pants, it bobs, the flushed tip leaking already, the slightest curve angling up.
You snap your mouth shut before you drool. How did you land such a first one night stand? You lick the corners of your mouth, wanting to taste the precum smeared against the red tip.
Joon fumbles with getting the rest of his pants down his legs while you kick off the panties hanging around one ankle. When he looks back, you can’t believe how you ended up with this again. His hair a mess from your handiwork, lips flushed from loving on you, body tensed and wanting you .
You, who usually has a man crying to cum at this point. Usually on your knees on top of him, covered in love bites.
But now it’s you holding your arms out, fingers brushing by his hip bones as you beckon him back down on top of you. He hikes up your knees with the crook of his elbow and scoots forward. The stretch in the back of your thigh is only a teaser for what’s to come. Before settling back, he reaches for one of the pillows behind you. He hikes you up off the bed, placing the pillow beneath you.
“A gentleman,” you giggle as he adjusts it and lowers you back down.
“I’ll be anything you want me to be,” he purrs. You shield your face, knowing you must be bright red. God, he’s everything you want right now.
You let him do as he wishes, peeking between fingers. He rips open a condom, spitting the foil out as he rolls it down his length. It fits, wow. It gives you a little confidence for your own future.
Somehow, he manages to manhandle you and make you want it. The way his fingers claw at your skin before he presses kisses to the inside of your knee is a mix of pleasure. He’s too far out of reach to grab at anything. You grip onto the sheets around you, taking a deep breath as he rubs the tip against your folds. Part of you is scared you’ll cum again as soon as he puts it in.
You really are at his mercy in this position, knees hiked over his shoulders, body exposed, back arched on the pillow. And you love it. You close your eyes, focusing on the feeling of the head pushing passed your entrance. You can’t help but inhale deeply as the tip rubs against your walls, the girth stretching you out as he dips farther in. You grind your teeth, fingers twisting in the sheets.
“Relax.” Your eyes snap open. Joon stares down at you, holding his dick in one hand and arm wrapped around one of your calves with the other. “Breathe,” He orders, able to see your chest frozen in place. You took a deep breath and never let it out.
You exhale, then inhale again. The press of his dick becomes a bit easier. He doesn’t abuse his position of control, slowly acclimating you to the thickness between his thighs. He kisses your knee again, hand moving to massage your hip bone. He pushes in, inch by inch. And as he goes, the stretch is torturous in the best way possible. As he fills you up, your orgasm hovers on edge.
Instead of pulling out, he readjusts. He swings his hips lightly, focusing on every expression of your face. When your jaw drops, you see his twitch a little, mesmerized. He takes both your legs over one shoulder, twisting your ankles, holding them together, and starts pumping into you, long and slow.
For everything you can’t see, you can feel. The soft definition of his stomach and the ribs of his chest roll up and off the back of your thighs before pressing in once more. The head of his cock dragging to the edge of your walls before nuzzling back. It’s slow, allowing you to paint the picture of his body working against yours. His jaw juts forward, eyebrows pinched, his grunts deep within his chest as he rocks.
You are whining before you can stop yourself. It’s insane. The angle pushes straight into your gspot without any stimulation to your clit. Each thrust, coming harder and harder, makes you think you’ll fall off the edge but not quite. You can’t figure out how to cope with it. Nothing to reach for, nothing to do to satiate the tip of your orgasm with each long stroke. It’s right on the edge of your orgasm like it’s about wash over you yet keeps stopping at the floodgates over and over again.
“Feels good?” Joon husks. Your head bobs, a long groan falling from your lips, clawing for one of his knees near your side. He rocks harder, pulling out slow and knocking back in, you practically wailing. Joon groans back as he starts to rock faster, his fingers digging into your thighs. The slap of his hips against your thighs echoes in the room. The searing of the stretch is fading, being replaced with a dull ache as your body tries to accommodate just how deep he can reach.
There’s no way for you to grind into him, to stimulate yourself by rubbing your legs together. You actually feel your eyes prick with tears.
“Fuck, fuck,” you cry. You can’t take it. You rip open your legs, Joon immediately letting go when he feels your resistance. You shove him over with your feet against his chest. As he falls back, you clench around nothing, but you flip over fast, crawling on top of him.
“That was insane,” you huff, taking your turn to straddle Joon. He looks up at you, confused, but you feel righted. “Too insane,” you clarify, grabbing his face to pull to yours.
As you wrap your hand around the base of his dick, he sits forward, watching you drop down on him. The stretch is welcomed this time. He grabs your waist to help, but you put your hands on his, guiding them back to your ass.
“Oh god damn,” Joon sighs into your neck. He kneads your ass, pulling your cheeks apart to help you grind easier. Your head falls back as you trade between pumping and grinding on his dick. Wet kisses press down your neck. You reach down to finally satisfy the coil in your stomach, rubbing against your clit as Joon’s dick presses against that perfect spot with each roll of your hips.
You cry out as your orgasm rips through you, mouth stuttering against Joon’s. Everything rushes over you. Joon grabbing the back of your neck, holding your forehead to his. His eyes staring up into yours as your body trembles on top of his. The sensation surges from your core, tingles around the nail marks on your ass, burning in your chest, tantalizing your nipples rubbing against Joon’s chest with each roll.
Even as your orgasm starts to fade, you already want more. You’re desperate to cum on his cock again, finally feeling the release of being filled so deep where fingers can’t reach, the sensation of someone else’s thrusts and attention that’s unpredictable when he’s pounding up into you, arms behind him for greater leverage.
You brace on his shoulders, crying out profanities as overstimulation sends you into an immediate third orgasm. Your fingers scrape over his scalp and tug at his hair, struggling to grip reality as pain and pleasure rip through you. Even without supporting yourself, your legs shake as Joon’s own hips become erratic. He reaches forward again, arms tugged around you, holding you to him as his breath catches in the nape of your neck. A long, guttural sound tears through his throat. You take over again to rock him through his orgasm. Eventually, his fingers start clawing at your back, begging you to stop.
You stall your swaying and press a light kiss to his temple. Falling back onto a pillow, you wince at the raw feeling of his dick pulling out. He rips off the condom and falls back next to you.
“Wow,” he breathes, slinging one arm behind his head.
“Yeah,” you agree. You are pretty sure the ceiling is spinning.
Both of your breathing starts to slow. The room now settles around you. The buzz of the alcohol is gone, suddenly thirsty. The heat from your bodies starts to be replaced by the autumn chill sneaking in through your windows. It reminds you of how naked you are, lying on top of your sheets. Your clothes lay in heaps around the edge of the bed. Your sheets are in total disarray. The musk still sits in the air, filling your nostrils with each deep inhale.
Neither of you speaks again for awhile. You’re not sure what to say next.
You’re honestly not sure how long it will take for you to recover from this, mentally and physically.
“So, uh,” Joon begins. You roll your head towards him. He stares at the ceiling. Maybe it’s still spinning for him. “In the movies, they have sex and then it cuts to the morning. But I definitely don’t feel tired after that.”
You prop up on one elbow, grateful for a casual topic. And mildly surprised you aren’t the only one taking cues from Hallmark movies. “Yeah, how are they always falling asleep?”
“What do they do with this awkward time in between?” Joon’s eyebrows are furrowed, his cheeks sucked in from worry. You giggle, maybe still a bit high off your orgasm. These are his immediate thoughts after sex? His concern is kind of cute. He’s a lot cute.
“Not to ruin the mood…” you say, remembering something that you definitely should have asked an hour ago. “Are you clean?”
“So, not to sound anal...” He trails off and your heart jumps at the thought before you realize he means it figuratively . “But I get tested after every new sexual encounter,” Joon shrugs and your shoulders relax with relief. “My roommate is kinda psycho about sex health and education.”
You gasp, eyes darting towards your open door. “Oh my god, I hope my roommate isn’t home.” You flop back down. “He will never let me live this down.”
“He?” Joon’s voice cracks a bit.
“Don’t get weird,” you start. “It’s my brother’s old teammate. He had a space available. We get along well.”
“So you aren’t in love or some shit?”
You shake your head and feel your sweaty hair move across your neck. “No.”
“Good, I thought I walked into a cuckold film or something,” Joon looks legitimately relieved. You watch the tension melt from his face. Then something dawns on you.
“Can I ask why you know that term in the first place?”
Joon wipes a hand down his face, his mouth opening and closing. “Is it weird to say that’s my roommate’s fault, too?” he tries.
“Wow, some roommate,” you snort. You both giggle. The cold still stings your skin, but at least you feel a bit more comfortable now that you’ve made a few jokes. You let your eyes wander over his strong chest, lean figure, and the girth that lies between his thighs.
“So, um, the awkwardness is gone. At least a little,” Joon turns to you. “So, I think maybe I should… go…” he fiddles with the sheets by his ear.
You deliberate. Should he go? Should he stay? Like he said, your romcom rule book skipped this part. One of you is always asleep and the other sneaks out in those films.
If it’s a hookup, he should go. It would only get weirder from here. It’s your first hookup. You can’t fuck it up.
You watch as he puts his clothes on. He’s methodical, taking great care with each article and that his outfit comes back together how he intended. You weren’t paying attention before, but now you can tell he has quite the aesthetic.
“You know, I really lucked out for my first hookup.”
Joon turns, a sly smile back on his face. Something in you instantly feels warm again. He leans over the bed, tilting his head forward to take in your form one last time. “I could say the same.” He glances up with that same fierce, hooded gaze. But as he leans in to place a kiss to your shoulder, his hand slips on a throw pillow, and you both squawk as his face smashes into you.
He cracks under his own cool façade, that shy smile popping out as he falls back and covers his face. You laugh, about to ask for a round two, when he says, “That was bad, sorry.”
You think better of it.
“No, it’s fine, I liked it,” you shrug. You start to shuck the covers over you. Pajamas are too much of a hassle now.
Joon buckles his belt, adjusts his shirt one last time, and stands by the door. He pauses.
“Um, I don’t know if this is part of the hookup rules, but… could I get your number? Or, I don’t know, your twitter or something?” He asks, hands in his pockets.
You chew at your lip, wondering how well he can make out your features from where he stands in the doorway. One night stand is a one night stand. “I don’t have a twitter.”
He rubs the back of his neck. “Yeah, totally, um, so-”
“So, I’ll give you my number,” you say before you can take it back. Why not? You can always just ignore him if you wake up tomorrow and don’t want to deal with it.
He beams, “Cool, cool.”
After you hear the front door close, you curl up tight in the covers, replaying what happened. Your cheeks are red as you recount just how you ended up begging for cock, which is quite possibly in the top 10 cocks of your life. Was this the new you? Or was it just him? You nuzzle deeper into your sheets. For now, at least you’d gotten laid.