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“But have you ever been there… for her?” Yoongi asks again.
Jin looks around at his surroundings. The time of day changes. The bar changes. The table changes. The seats change. The drinks change, like now, always at the behest of some disembodied hand that randomly pops into view from time to time. But Jin is always surrounded by the same six drunk faces. And it’s rare for him to be so confused in present company.
The slower cadence with which Yoongi repeats the line doesn't help to elucidate things, nor does Yoongi's insistent look, nor his raised eyebrows, nor his pushed out lips, still forming the “R” at the end of “her”.
“What are you talking about?” Jin scoffs, furrowing his brow and leaning back in his seat. “I just told you an entire epic. I was Homer. You were my… my…” He grimaces and shakes his head around. “Whatever those campfire dudes were called. Anyway, I just told you an Iliad-length tale of how many times I made her come, with excruciating detail of how I made her come, how every fold of skin on my dick all the way up to every fold of skin in the prints of my fingers—” Jin never misses an opportunity for great hand comedy, so he dazzles his fingers here, before curling them into fists to pound them on the table for effect as he adds, “made her scream, and you have the nerve to ask me if I’ve—” Air quotes should drive the point home. “Been there for her?”
“The fact that you’re leading your response with romanticizing your dudes and glorifying your dick doesn’t bode well, for you, and for her,” Namjoon admits, exchanging knowing glances with a smirking, drinking Yoongi.
Jimin and Taehyung seem to be in on whatever secret this is. The only ones who aren’t are Jungkook, who is staring at Jin’s chest, and Hobi, who passed out about half an hour ago. Jin will have to remember that for later, though it doesn’t exactly encourage him to know that the only friend that he has left is only his friend because he couldn’t hold his liquor.
“You made her come,” Namjoon goes on. “Great.”
“Not just great,” Jin grumbles, “fantastic!”
“Fantastic,” Namjoon continues, though, from the way it sounds, Namjoon couldn’t have been listening closely to the details. “What our esteemed colleague is trying to express is that there are many different ways a girl can come.”
“You think I don't know that?” Jin can't help but snarl when he asks it. The alcohol is getting to him, but it doesn't take much to let the ever-simmering rage bubble over. “Again, I just—”
“You just schooled us in how to dick someone down,” Jimin tries, leaning forward in his seat. He clasps his hands together and tilts his head. He even grins in that winning, boyish, flirtatious way that he always uses when he's trying to get something out of someone. Even his hair is part of the plan, those bangs just effortlessly swooshing by his eyeline. If Jimin thinks this makes him seem more like friend than foe, he is sorely mistaken. “But have you explored other parts of the body? Specifically, parts of her body?”
Jin doesn’t just know every part of your body. He beholds it in other dimensions, like a synesthete. In colors, specifically. Your collarbones are white, when his teeth sink in. Your hips are blue, when his hands take them. Your cheeks are red, when his lips land on them. And your ass turns from red back to gold, when it gasps for breath from its relentless, punishing meetings with his palm.
Instead of listing all the shades he sees in the mosaic swirling around him and starting to take the place of these six idiots’ dumb grins, Jin shrugs and says, “Duh!”
“Well, do you find yourself exploring them in exactly the same way?” Jimin asks, punctuating his question with another perfect bang-swoop.
Jin shakes the hair out of his eyes, rough and angry. “What’s it to you??"
Jimin raises his hands and presses his back against that of his seat.
Taehyung moves forward to take his place.
“No offense, hyung, but as epic as your sex is, well… frankly… we’ve heard it all before,” he replies. “Every bite around the mole on her back. Every shift of your hips as you rail her from behind. And then, eventually, every time you gather the sweaty strands of her hair in your fist before she—”
“Screams your fucking name,” the rest of the group joins in, startling Hobi awake.
Jin looks at Hobi, who smacks his lips.
“Must’ve dozed off,” Hobi mumbles, smacking his lips. “Were you just talking about the ponytail part?” He grins sleepily. “That’s always my favorite part. Was it epic?”
Jin has never frowned so hard in his life, the muscles in his chin quivering under the weight of all his anger, and his gang's laughter, and Jimin’s bang-swooshes swooshing, and Hobi's annoyingly innocent eyes fluttering with grave concern.
“Don’t be mad, hyung!” Namjoon says gently. “We just want, y’know, we want you to—”
“Have better stories,” Jimin can’t help but tease.
“Have better sex,” Yoongi corrects.
Yoongi’s eyes lock with Jin’s, and instantly, Jin feels it. Yoongi’s sage insistence. The accompanying look is eerie. Disarming in the most thoughtful of ways. Saying that if Jin could set his almighty sword down for just a moment, he might actually learn something.
“Well… like… what… what kind of… like…”
This is embarrassing. How do you learn something when you don’t even have the words to form the question?
“Hyunghyunghyunghyunghyunghyunghyung!” Jungkook pants.
The group hushes as they all turn to their youngest, eyes wide and filled with promise.
“Fingers!” Jungkook pipes up.
Jin sighs. “Huh?”
Jungkook bounces in his seat, but he can’t muster much more than that either. How do you try to explain something when the person you’re talking to is usually the one explaining things? Plus, Jin has that super scary look on his face, and Jungkook would just rather not.
“You talked about every fold in your fingertips,” Yoongi picks up. “You ever use those fingertips all over her body?”
“Sure,” Jin says, but it comes out uneasily. Only faint brushstrokes of color appear in his mind, rather than the Rothko-sized swaths that usually consume his brain at the thought of you.
“Everywhere?” Yoongi asks.
“Sure?” Jin answers.
The six others aren’t sure where to look. Jin's voice usually commands direction, rather than fading into the background noise of other groups at other tables with other drinks.
“It’s a new relationship,” Jimin thankfully reminds everyone. He meets Jin’s eyes and smiles, like the true friend that he is. “Maybe once you talk it out, you’ll find out more of what she likes, and you’ll be able to…”
Jin doesn't need much of a prompt to echo, “Be there… for her.”
**
Jin’s calm, happy smile is something you’re quickly realizing is a must-have to truly start your weekend. The way his lips shrink into a bit of a pout. The way his eyes curve up and curl in, letting his long, sweet lashes fan out. The way his broad shoulders relax, offloading whatever worries that might have piled up over the week to make space for your gentle arms.
So this frazzled, squinched-up, teeth-gnashing tangle of trepidation is not something you would ever expect.
Soft, comforting tones would be best. Go easy.
“Hi,” you breathe, eager, but quiet. Smile just as big, but eyebrows ever-so-slightly raised.
You reach out and smooth your fingertips over his soft, purple hoodie. You run them up from his stomach, up his body, resting just below his neck in the stitching of the yellow letters that, funnily enough, spell your name.
“You OK?” you ask.
His left hand grips yours and presses it into his chest, your palm curving around his pec. His eyes are focused on you, but he seems lost in thought. He softens, but he still chews his lip.
“It’s just brunch, sweetie,” you say with a gentle smile, as he crouches down into you to steal more of your embrace. Your bodies slowly sway side to side, wobbling you back and forth over the threshold, feet dancing from the front porch to your entryway and back again in lopsided time. “It’s just my friends.”
Friends.
What kinds of conversations do you have with your friends?
Do they think he uses his fingers enough?
Jin anxiously tightens his hold on you, resting his head on your shoulder. “You look pretty,” he whispers into your neck.
Your soft laugh gets choked off when he tightens his grip on your body.
“Jin,” you chuckle, wriggling a little to make more room. “Jin, I can’t…”
When he pulls away slightly, giving you the spaces that you seem to want, he whines a little. His eyes don’t glimmer with their usual cheery sparkle. They seem… You’re not sure how they seem, actually. You’re still learning each others’ patterns. Each others’ expressions. Frustrated doesn’t quite describe it.
Wounded.
That’s closer.
You might not fully know each others’ expressions yet, but you don’t need to know exactly what’s running through Jin’s mind to feel his heart twinge in your chest.
Your hand leaves the curve of his pec and finds the bend of his jaw. “We don’t have to go,” you offer, angling his face toward you, trying to get his eyes to refocus. “We can just stay here and—”
You’ll learn that a sense of duty always helps Jin plant his feet on solid ground again, like he does now, stamping the heels of his sneakers firmly back on the porch.
“No, no, I’m sorry.” The words come in swift whispers, hurrying to outrun the outside eyes and eavesdropping ears of momentary embarrassment. “I wanna meet your friends. I wanna—”
His eyes don’t quite sparkle, but the little crinkles in the corners are a good sign.
“I wanna be there for you.”
You smile and run your hand back down from his jaw, down his chest, and down to his hip, giving him a squeeze back, tight, like he had just squeezed you, before you run your hand up your long, white-sleeved arm, landing on your shoulder to readjust your purse strap.
“I’m excited for you to meet them,” you say, shrugging that shoulder as you pull the leather band closer to your neck. “And they’re excited to meet you.”
Their grinning faces are certainly a promising sign. And their genuine laughs, full and warm and echoing, are starting to clinch the win. You’d know. You’re able to elicit the same ones. And you take it as a particular point of pride that Jin’s puns and turns-of-phrase have brought them out before the first round of drinks.
Soon enough, Jin’s body stops twitching and starts settling into yours. Just as you calmed his chest, and softened his bite, you ease his back with slow, soft circles. On your next pass, you gently press your short, manicured nails into his skin. He takes a deep, refreshed breath at your touch. Looks at you with a caring gaze. Places his hand on your thigh. Squeezes.
Jin looks around at the six faces surrounding you. They’re admittedly pleasant company. All of you are so beautiful, and kind, and sweet. Most importantly, though, you’re endlessly interesting.
Topics range from the petty to the philosophical. The girl with the shawl shares witty quips that would float beautifully in the warm sunlight of Namjoon’s library. The girl with the long earrings talks entertainingly with her hands, slender hands that Jimin would enjoy watching as they loop and bob, or maybe even swoosh caringly through Jimin’s bangs. The girl with the big, opal ring follows every word, a conversational chameleon game enough to follow Taehyung’s random, winding roads.
The girl with the freckle on her nose detonates sentences like fireworks and wiggles like the shimmer in her bright pink eyeshadow, something Hobi’s keen eye would never tire of. The giggly girl would easily vibe with Jungkook, her strategic mind on display with her Valorant phone case, and the way she strategically positions empty plates on the table in such a way that the waiter is never troubled too much with service.
And the pleasant girl with the wavy hair even frown-laughs like Yoongi, who would count her charming, amused murmurs like medals.
Still, it’s best not to get too comfortable. The last six-ring circus that Jin was in tore him apart.
“You know,” the girl with the long earrings replies, as she reaches for her glass, “I was beginning to think our friend here was overdoing it. Putting you on a pedestal.” She exchanges a teasing, knowing glance with you. “But after having met you, I think she might’ve been underselling.”
“A good strategy,” Jin says.
You complete his thought for him by adding, “Undersell and overdeliver.”
Tingles travel up and down his forearms when you wink back at him.
And his ears turn the same shade as his sangria-stained lips, which are pulling into a similarly sweet, if not hesitant, smile.
“Oh, I bet you deliver every time,” the girl with the long earrings jokes, looking around the table.
Even though the girls squeal excitedly, Jin can’t really interpret the coquettish but ultimately silent grin you send to them in response.
You don’t bring it up, but if you did, Jin wouldn’t disagree that he’s pretty weird on the drive home. He stutter-steps the gas a couple times. Keeps changing the music. Settles on a podcast instead to try to keep talking to a minimum.
It’s not that he doesn’t want to talk to you. He’s practically bursting with words once you’re both fully inside your apartment. He’s even jumpy as he trails you to your bedroom.
“I just wasn’t sure how to phrase it,” he finally says, as he stands next to your bed, eyes following you to your clothes rack. “And I didn’t want to have too serious of a conversation in the car. I really wanted to talk it out.” He softens. “Check in with you.”
At this, you pause. You hang your purse on the end of the rack and peer at him through the full-length mirror just beside it. “Check in?” you question. “Like, to see if we’re OK?”
“Yeah.”
Your eyes widen hastily. “Are we not OK?”
The irony of the question. Both of you are so worried about each other’s answers that you’ve missed that you’re completely comfortable with asking the question in the first place.
“We’re more than OK!” Jin exclaims. You smile immediately as his eyebrows shoot up. “Things are fantastic!”
“Good,” you laugh, though you quickly re-furrow your brow and ask, “so, then, why were you so nervous?”
Jin knows he could bail right now. He’d know exactly how to. Save himself the embarrassment. It’s not like what the guys had to say rang true, anyway.
But he’s curious.
Not just about what might happen if he explores more of you.
He’s curious about what makes you tick.
What makes you… explode.
Not bailing feels antithetical. It’s the strangest thing, being in a relationship where things are so good between you that he wants to know how to make you feel even better.
“I, uh, worry that I’ve been maybe… kinda… one-note?” he asks. “Y’know. In the…”
He looks over at your bed. And then back at you. He gives you another look that you know you’re going to treasure. Eyes open, lips in pout. A puppy with his tail between his legs.
“No,” you say reassuringly, voice low, almost at a purr. You walk over to him and wrap him up in a hug, kissing his neck, just under his jaw. “That’s been good.” You sigh. “Really good.”
“I wanna do more,” he mumbles, running his hands over your ass.
He grabs both of your ass cheeks. Kneading them.
Needing you.
He pulls you into him. The pieces of you that are touching him — your breasts, your hips, your sex — illuminate fiercely. You sigh, placing your right temple just under his left collarbone, watching his Adam’s apple rise and fall as his hand traces down your fly.
“Good,” he purrs, “but I wanna do more of what you like.”
You can’t help but smile.
“I like you.”
Jin chuckles before groaning, “Mmm, I like you, too,” as he undoes your zipper. You sigh as he wraps you up in his left arm, right hand busy with your button. Your pants sit a little lower on your waist, and you feel him start to slide his fingers into your cotton panties, stroking the front of your flesh gently with the side of his index finger’s knuckle. Gently.
Questioningly.
Your teeth sink into your lower lip as your neck cranes left, pulling your body in front of his and giving your hands more room to roam his body.
But Jin steers you back into his chest. He doesn’t have to pull hard. The way his hand is circling your flesh, then sliding down, fingers parting to surround your entrance before sliding back up again, has made you delectably malleable.
“Seriously,” he whispers, continuing to massage you slowly. “Tell me more.”
The room is starting to fade. And the faint, slightly electronic buzzing that usually accompanies total silence is getting softer.
“Doesn’t seem like you need me to tell you anything,” you answer honestly, swaying a little.
Colors swirl magnificently around you. Even with your eyes shut, he wonders if you can see them, too.
His chest rises to cradle your cheek. The breath makes his voice fuller. Resonant, and rich. “Tell me,” he says, as velvet and slick in tone as your velvet is slick to touch. “Tell me what no one else knows.”
“You want me to—”
A gasp catches in your chest as Jin’s finger slides through your folds, and back again. Coaxing you. Rewarding you. Perhaps dangling a bit of another reward just out of your grasp.
Your eyes flutter open, and you’re met with Jin’s lidded but determined gaze. He keeps his finger’s rhythm steady as he pulls you into a kiss, but when your hands trace his sides down to his hips, he pulls his hand from you altogether.
A new whine seeps out of you. It’s not like the clear ring of his name from your parted lips. It’s a dulcet hum wrinkled slightly by the scrunching of your chin and muffled by the puffing of your cheeks. Flushed pink haloes you. He wonders if you’ll keep tiptoeing to the edge with him. He’ll feed the embers as long as you’ll allow. He wants nothing more than to see that adorable, wanting face again, and again, and again.
“I’m serious,” Jin says, a bit of concern creeping back into his voice. “Tell me what I’m missing. Tell me what I don’t see.”
Jin’s knuckles are no stranger to your flesh. But you’ve admittedly wondered what it might feel like to have him play with you a little more. What it might feel for him to twirl you. Dip you. Caress you.
Unleash you.
You tilt your head and examine him, head to toe. Few others have actually asked. And fewer still have delivered.
“What if I show you?” you ask.
Jin nods eagerly, pupils darkening as your excited glow lets more color into the room.
You slowly unbutton your white top, smiling when Jin’s mouth hangs open as you reveal the full brightness of the fuschia push-up bra you have on underneath. You wiggle out of your pants and underwear, kicking them over to the side. Your ankle knocks the angle of your mirror down a bit, and you turn back to inspect it. Which gives you an idea.
“Lie back on the bed,” you tell him.
Jin jumps onto your mattress, leaning back against the headboard, limbs sprawled out and ready to engulf you.
You bring the mirror closer before you crawl into his lap, and then you turn to lie back against his solid chest.
“You look while you touch yourself?” Jin breathes, watching as you bring his right hand up to your mouth.
You graze your jaw with the backs of his knuckles. “This is more for our little show-and-tell,” you say, tossing in a grin before adding, “though I have in the past.”
He moans as you open your mouth and wrap your tongue around his fingers, pulling them inside to soak them. The trail of your spit breaks when his fingers near your chin on their way down to your dewy, warmed flesh, guided by your soft, expert hand.
He nuzzles into and kisses your neck, tongue gliding up and down, lips coming together to suck and pinch, drawing giggles out of you as you place his wet fingers between your folds and against your clit.
Your gentle, appreciative grunt tells Jin that things are already getting better. And he stays warm, open, and obedient as you swirl his fingers around. He keeps going exactly as you’ve shown him, even after you let go of his hand to better revel in the lusciously creeping heat spreading up your body. You guide it through your toes and calves, into your thighs, throughout your torso, higher still to your chest and arms. Heat gets trapped where Jin is sucking on your neck. You need both of your hands to shake your fingers through your hair in order to help some of that heat dissipate.
“Mmm, a little more pressure,” you whisper, as you twist your hips. “Play with me. Part my lips a little. Nice, wide circles to start.”
Jin’s hand feels heavier, and hotter. And he works at the speed you showed him, neither dragging out of nervousness, nor rushing out of excitement, not even at the captivating sight of you blossoming for him.
“Feels good?” he mumbles, into your shoulder.
“Yeah,” you sigh, eyes rolling back, and head soon following. You shiver and start to move your hips in tandem to Jin’s sublime, sinful rhythm.
Jin looks at your bodies in the mirror, his still clothed, and yours so beautifully naked, your soft, natural skin contrasting his commercial purples and blues. He loves watching your clit dance, and the bold outlines of his shape keep him focused. You’re starting to come undone, and he wants nothing more than to hold you. Support you. Give you what you need.
“What else?” he whispers eagerly.
You moan as your feet start to slide against your sheets. “Play with my tits?” you say, voice slightly weaker than before.
He knows your nipples are sensitive, but he doesn’t know how much more sensitive they are like this. He learns quickly, when his forearm has only barely brushed against your bra, and your hips buck up in response. The lesson is cemented when you inhale sharply as Jin dips his left hand into your right cup.
“Hurts?” he checks.
“No,” you murmur in bliss. “Keep going.”
He massages your breast with his fingertips, grazing, then pinching your nipple as your body rolls in waves. One really good pinch has your jaw hanging open, aimed toward his, and he steals a kiss, his tongue soothing you there while his fingers flatten to soothe you at your chest.
You break your kiss with a squeal.
“F-faster?” you ask, hips moving more exaggeratedly. “Tighter circles now, and—”
Your forehead nearly bashes into Jin’s jaw, which clenches as he rubs your clit with more focused ferocity.
“Fuck, that feels amazing,” you whine, nodding and shutting your eyes, bringing the back of your head to his shoulder again. You can feel his hoodie getting damp, and you’re about to apologize for sweating all over him, but his hand moves to your left breast, his pawing and clawing rendering you speechless.
All you can do is reach back for him, hand running through the hair at his left temple, and grabbing in sheer excitement.
You turn your hips to the right a little, and Jin’s wrist presses into the space between your bone and your flesh. That slight bit of pressure, plus the bind of your bra misaligned and flicking against your sensitive nipples, has you faltering.
You look in the mirror and lock eyes with him. You’re so glad to see that familiar sparkle.
Jin may seem more like his old self with you, but what brings a smile to his face is experiencing a new side of you. Hearing new moans. Watching your body, as well as your reflection, moving in new ways.
And he’s a quick learner.
He doesn’t need to be told, for instance, that he should take your swollen clit between his fingers and roll it. When he does, your eyes shut again, and your head loops and swirls the way his skin does in his fingerprints.
Touch is not the only sense bringing new information. He’s even starting to see new colors, no longer primary in nature, but more evolved. Mahogany to maroon to mauve, the color of your flesh when heat and pressure move through it. Bursts of glitter where the tips of his fingers alternate between the room’s heating air and your heated sea, the inside of the knuckle of his thumb working with the inside of the top knuckle of his forefinger.
When he glances at the two of you in the mirror, your body writhing in ecstasy, and his eyes shining with lewd delight, he thinks that it looks like he’s sending you little finger hearts.
“Wanna know more,” he murmurs.
He licks your cheek, and your body starts to shake. He grunts as he uses his body to cage you in, looping his ankles around yours, and clasping his other arm even tighter around you. Ironic, perhaps, as he had wanted to unleash you. But now, he’s realizing that he wants to unleash something from within.
“More about you.”
His hand grasps your chin, fingers and thumb digging into your cheeks, forcing your gaze to meet his in the mirror. He holds you there for a moment so that you can see what he sees.
“More of you.”
There aren’t just colors now. There’s enticing, immeasurable depth to every part of you now. Your bright, ravenous eyes. Your licentious, loose lips. Your voluptuous body. Your vivid clit, nearly bursting at the way Jin’s fingers are now starting to milk it.
“What turns you on.”
You celebrate the sybaritic, Jin’s alluring voice, and his decadent fingers swirling in your opulent shine. You don’t mean to whine so much, but your whines aren’t the reason Jin’s free hand snakes up between your breasts to clutch your neck, a collar to go with the cage.
“How you turn yourself on.”
You have to agree that you look exquisite like this in the shimmering mix of the glow of the late afternoon sun, the thrill of the familiar, and the augur of something newly, beautifully devastating.
“How I can turn you on.”
His flexible fingers and wriggling wrist don’t seem to tire of winding you up, so you keep spiraling, confused about why the astonishing blitz of a daze hasn’t set on yet. You need to lunge forward. Your veins are screaming. Your pulse is a straight line. Where else is there to go?
“How I can be there for you.”
His arm digs in just below your stomach, and you cry out at the interlocking of the final, missing piece. The added pressure sends you into overdrive. Your heart is working so forcefully that each one of your senses is heightened. As streams of ambrosia spill out of you, you see a melding of forms in the mirror. The smell of hard work deliciously paying off. The savor of Jin’s lips and tongue and sweat and saliva being emblazoned in your taste buds. The feel of more fabric around you dampening. The sound of your juices filling each capillary in your sheets.
When that sound is replaced with a reverent silence, you slowly lean your head back onto Jin’s shoulder.
“H-have you, uh,” you nervously, arduously sigh, “have you ever made a girl… squirt… before?”
Jin just shakes his head. He can’t rip his eyes away from you, taking in every square inch of your body, your juices clinging to the soft hairs on your skin like morning dew on still-sleepy grass. Will you let him drink from the lotus next time? Let him not just eat, but feast?
“It happens sometimes,” you admit. “When I get really, uh, excited.”
Jin rests his cheek against yours.
“Weird?” you ask meekly.
“Gorgeous,” Jin whispers. He nudges your cheek with his and nods toward the mirror. You grin happily at his mischievous face when tells you, “Want it all over my face next time.”
His hand lazily massages your mound, careful not to touch your clit again just yet, in an attempt to help ease you down.
You turn to face him.
“Where did that come from?” you ask, nearly voiceless, but smiling brightly.
Jin shrugs, and you see him go back to whatever anxiety-ridden cave he was in earlier.
Wanting to balance everything out with a little more resolve, you ask, “Seriously, Jin, is everything OK?”
“It’s fine, I just…”
Jin leans forward to kiss you, but you both keep your eyes open. Feeling caught, he pulls away.
You study each other for a brief moment.
You don’t know it, but you’re telling yourselves the same thing.
That this is what it looks like when it means more.
Now isn’t the time for pride. “I just didn’t realize that I knew so little,” Jin says shyly.
“You know more than you might realize,” you counter. “It’s never been that intense.”
Rising a little, Jin asks, “Never?”
You smile and shake your head.
“I mean it, y’know,” Jin squeaks. He scoots his hips down a little, taking you with him, making it easy for you both to lie flat together, with you straddling his still-clothed thigh. “When I said I wanted to know more. Do more. Be there. For you…”
He takes a deep breath, and you run your hand over his chest, playing with your name in yellow stitching again.
“I wanna keep going to brunch,” he says, trying to sound like he’s just decided it, though each sentence he tells you sounds more and more like he decided it long ago.
“Good,” you say, your heart waking. “I want that too.”
Jin hums happily. You follow his eyes as they catch on the ceiling.
“Is there something else?” you ask.
Jin tilts his head. “Well, now, I’m wondering…”
“Wondering what?”
He smiles and wiggles his leg, your clit jolting against his thigh.
“Wondering how dark you can stain my jeans.”