“I’ve never—I didn’t know that was possible,” Claire says, clinging to Jackie’s shoulders. She feels bare as anything with her pants around her ankles and her shirt unbuttoned, while Jackie is still wholly clothed.
“And you liked it?”
“Are you kidding?” Claire says, absolutely giddy with whatever remains of this new feeling. “Can I…I mean, can you show me how to…”
Claire waves inarticulately at Jackie’s lower half. Shewantseven more than before, in a way she doesn’t have words for.
Jackie swallows hard. Her eyes are dark, not their usual warm mahogany but practically black, like deep pools Claire could dip her hand into. Jackie’s lip slides harshly through her teeth. “If you’d like.”
“Oh, I would very much like,” Claire says, with an eagerness she can’t bring herself to be ashamed of.
Jackie’s breath comes out in a rush. She tugs Claire closer by her open shirt, and then they’re kissing again. Jackie tastes like something deep and unfamiliar. Sharp and salty, but undeniably good.
Jackie tastes like Claire.
The thought lights Claire on fire. Silently, she curses every single day she spent not knowing that this was something she could do.
Remembering how good it felt to have Jackie press her into the door, Claire takes initiative. She grabs at Jackie’s hips and spins them both until they’ve switched positions, and Jackie’s reaction is overwhelmingly positive—she groans into Claire’s mouth, low and deep, and digs her blunt nails into the base of Claire’s neck. Claire’s shirt is still hanging open from hershoulders, and she wishes more than anything that Jackie was in a similar state.
“Teach me,” Claire pants, biting down on the soft skin of Jackie’s throat and feeling it vibrate with a moan. “Tell me what to do.”
Jackie moves one of Claire’s hands from its place on her hip down, under her dress, and between her legs. Her underwear is damp and sticky. Hot to the touch. Claire presses down firmly, and Jackie whimpers.
“You’re sure you’re ready?” Jackie says. “You want this?” She looks almost wild, her lips swollen and shiny. She looks desperate, truly desperate, but still her first thought is for Claire.
Claire has never been more ready in her life.
“I want you,” Claire murmurs. That new, fresh part of her thrives on how Jackie reacts to the words with bucking hips and breathy sounds. She presses her fingers down harder on the wet fabric, not knowing if it’s the right thing to do, but she’s gratified by Jackie’s breath hitching. “I want you.”
With that confirmation, Jackie puts a guiding hand over Claire’s again and slips it past her underwear.
Claire is a bit lost, at first. She can feel warm skin under her fingers, and then dry, curly hair, and then a hint of wetness—and then Jackie pushes at her knuckles, and Claire’s world narrows to slick heat and Jackie’s breathless gasp.
This is completely unfamiliar terrain. Claire has never so much as touched herself here, except for washing—whatever magic Jackie did when she was on her knees, Claire was too overwhelmed to pay attention. But Jackie’s hand is still firm on hers, guiding, and Claire does her best to listen.
She wants to make Jackie feel it, too.
Jackie is warm and welcoming, coating Claire’s fingers and opening to her exploration; when Claire’s fingers slip over aswollen spot, a raised bump near the crest of her, Jackie’s hips jolt like she’s been shocked.
It’s so startling that Claire almost pulls her hand away, worried that she’s done something wrong, but Jackie only presses her harder. Two fingers spread over the spot and then come together again.
“That’s—my clit,” Jackie gasps. Claire can feel it shifting under her fingers. “Feels—feelsamazing.”
Clit, Claire thinks distantly.Good spot. Remember that.
Claire slides her fingers across it again, back and forth, and Jackie’s eyes roll back as her head hits the door with the thud.
“Claire,fuck…”
“It’s good?” Claire asks breathlessly.
Jackie’s reply comes before she can even finish the short question. “It’s so fucking good.”
She’s heard Jackie swear casually before, but not this often, and not this vehemently. It makes Claire feel hotter every time another word falls out of Jackie’s mouth—it’s as if she can’t help it, like the movement of Claire’s hand is forcing the vulgarity out.
The power Claire feels at being the source of Jackie’s pleasure is more potent than anything she’s ever experienced. She nips at Jackie’s earlobe, and is rewarded with a breathy sigh; she shifts her fingers, swiping a wide and messy circle, and Jackie’s whole body rocks readily into her as if Claire is the puppeteer pulling her strings.
Back and forth her fingers trace, up and down, trying new pressures and patterns and mapping the results until finally Jackie’s shaking hand guides Claire’s lower.
