i love to chase every feeling

It's the hottest thing in the world.

It's the most beautiful thing in the world.

Eyes shutting, body tensing, every muscle flex, and then—

Phoebe blinks hard, sucking in a breath when she feels Jack spill over and finish on her hand.

'Ooohhh, fuck,'

Another first for Phoebe— watching guy come. Seeing come on her hand. Her cheeks are blazing, entire body hot when she watches Jack thrust into her hand for the remainder of his orgasm.

Hmm.

That's hot. That's really fucking hot, actually, Phoebe feels almost shy for how hot she finds the whole thing, how enraptured she is with the process of it all.

'Fuck, Phoebe, I thought —'

Oh, God. Did Jack know how hot he looks right now? Breath ragged, hair wild, chest heaving? Phoebe is entranced, obsessed, she can't stop staring and smiling all dazed and dopey like an idiot.

She just hopes she did good. She just hopes that Jack feels good now, feels perfect, she hopes Jack can tell just how badly she wants to make him happy.

'That was so good,'

Happiness— pure and instant, flooding every inch of her with a pleased sort of bliss.

'You did so good, baby.'

She did good! She did good! Smiling, fucking beaming, Phoebe releases his cock, pulls both hands away— only to place her right hand below his navel, briefly, fingertips rubbing against the wiry hair with gentle affection as he props himself up on an elbow.

And then he kisses her. A quick little peck. Phoebe's entire body is buzzing, tingling, alight with satisfaction and happiness and some other emotion Phoebe cannot quite label, cannot stick a pin into and identify.

But it feels good.

It feels really good, and it only feels that way when she's next to Jack.

'Let me, um. Get you something. To clean up.'

Phoebe slowly pulls her hand away, places it delicately on her lap— she doesn't want to get in the way of that! Clean-up! But in truth, Phoebe is feeling very affectionate. Very giggly, very happy, very connected to Jack in a way that she can't control. She wants to cuddle him, wants to stare at him all night like a fucking idiot.

"Thank you," she giggles preemptively, suddenly feeling very shy. She did need to clean up— she was probably a mess, between her legs, her forehead shone with sweat and her hand still glistened with. Well. Jack.

She looks at him. Bites her bottom lip hard.

"So— that was good, right? I made you feel good?"

Phoebe isn't sure what comes over her now, but something does— curiosity, a desire to be closer to Jack, something— but whatever it is, it has Phoebe raising her right hand, delicately licking a bead of come from her palm with a curious lap.

Hmm. She likes it, she decides—Jack tastes good. And then she blushes, furiously, red and bashful, wondering if she'd just weirded Jack out, or perhaps embarrassed herself in some way. Did you do that? Was that normal of her to do? Phoebe isn't sure, only knows that she had wanted to do it very badly, wants to taste all of him. She wants all of Jack, frankly.

She smiles. Tries to rush past her embarrassment. Her body is still tingling from the aftershocks of her orgasm, still half-floating, everything all syrupy and slow.

Post nut clarity was real. Hah.

"So— that was good, right? I made you feel good?"

Phoebe, though, was looking shy, smiley, asking Jack what he thought, and Jack returned her smile. What really threw him off, though, was when she licked some of the come off of her hand. His mouth flew open, and it stayed that way for a few seconds.

"That's so fucking hot," he finally said, feeling a faint ache at his cock. God, not again. Too soon, too soon. He was so sensitive still. "And yes, Phoebe. That was fucking incredible. I came so hard. As you can see."

He smiled a little wickedly.

"That was really good. And what you just did was really hot. Maybe we can work on that next. Using our mouths?" He suggested, very casually, before he stood from the bed.

"I'm gonna get you something else to wear."

Jack kissed her forehead before he stood. He told himself he'd only done that to keep up appearances. Because he wanted to fuck her, at the end of the day, and the only way to do that was by earning even more of her trust.

But, fuck, what did he do? What was that? All of the tender moments between the two came rushing into view, and it made Jack want to lock himself in the fucking bathroom.

Her clothes were still soaking in the bathroom. He used the other empty sink to dampen a cloth. He wiped the come away from his stomach, staring at himself in the mirror. His hair was crazy. There was sweat all over him— gliding down his neck, his chest, his forehead. His face was red. He was still breathing pretty heavily. He used a clean towel to wipe at his forehead, neck, chest.

Fuck, fuck, fuck, what was he going to do?

He brought out some towels for Phoebe— one of them dampened, and Jack didn't know why, but he helped her clean up. He swiped at her pretty little hands, small in comparison to his, very tenderly. He placed the other towel on the bed for her use, and tossed the dirty clothes and towels into the laundry basket. (Overflowing, of course. Jack fucking hated laundry.)

Finally, Jack walked back to his closet. He slipped into a fresh pair of briefs. He wanted to shower, honestly, but he felt like it was a dickish move— leaving Phoebe on his bed, or kicking her out... but that had never stopped him before.

Fuck. What did he do, what did he do, what did he do?

Alright, game plan. Offer Phoebe some fresh clothes, sit with her for 5-10 minutes, then Uber her home? Walk her home? Or watch a movie until they fell asleep? Or did he let her stay? Fuck.

"I can wash all of your clothes," Jack offered. An excuse to see her again. "And for now, you can wear these," he said, walking over a fresh pair of sweats, a fresh T-shirt, and even some of his boxer briefs, considering her underwear were damp and on the floor.

Had he done too much? Created too much space between them? Jesus Christ, Jack was a fucking amateur at things like this. He sat on the edge of the bed.

And— well. Phoebe knew that somehow already. They'd as good as said it tonight, Phoebe could just fucking sense the truth of it in her gut. But Jack saying it aloud? Blurting it, acknowledging it, making it feel even more real between? Making it tremble in the air with words?

It makes something else burn below Phoebe's navel.

Anticipation.

"Yeah," is all she can pant at first.

And then she swallows, nodding eagerly at him, wide-eyed and flushing as her hand goes up and down along his length, palm fisted tight.

"It has to be you. You're gonna be the first guy to have me, Jack."

Who the hell else would it be? Phoebe finds it revolting, at this point, the idea of any guy other than Jack putting himself inside her— it just had to be him! Her mind knows it. Her body knows it.

Her heart knows it most of all.

Phoebe watches his face with an enraptured sort of awe as he gets closer to the edge— mouth suddenly widening in surprise when Jack's hand closes around her fist, holding her in place as he bucks upwards.

Fuck. Okay.

That was hot. It was really hot, actually, Jack holding her hand still so he could essentially fuck her palm. Heat rises to her cheeks— pools again in her belly.

He rasps her name. That too is really fucking hot, so many hot things happening right now Phoebe can barely fucking stand it.

'I'm — you're doing so fucking good, baby, bunny. I'm. I'm not going to... I can't last very long right now, I —'

Pride rises inside Phoebe like a balloon. Ohhhh... Jack was close. Jack was feeling good, good enough to orgasm soon, and it was because of the way she was making him feel. Her! Phoebe, and her hand, and the tits he was squeezing, the way she's squeezing his cock and ducking down to kiss him softly.

Phoebe could stare at him like this forever— all worked up. Close to the edge, needing this from her, of all people, inexperienced Phoebe. His gaze burned, his breath deepened, his muscles flexed. It was all so beautiful of him, so captivating, and Phoebe knows she's probably staring wide-eyed like a weirdo.

But there's more important things now, because Jack fucking needs her. Phoebe has to be good. Phoebe has to be here for him. He needs her other hand— which Phoebe gives, readily, watching curiously when Jack brings down over his navel and cock and— oh. There. Phoebe and certainly never touched a guy there.

'I'm close. Keep going,'

It felt different than his cock— less firm, maybe requiring a gentler touch? Phoebe doesn't know, but Jack needs her, and she's close, so she needs to fucking do this right. She wants to be so, so, good for him.

"Jack," she entreats gently, following instinct, pressing her forehead down against him.

"Jack," she repeats sweetly. "I wanna be there for you when you finish. I want you to feel so good."

So she strokes him, harder. She strokes him, faster. She lets her finger glide over the tip of his cock, rubbing at it a little with her thumb, that sensitive spot, she uses her other hand to tentatively touch his balls— rolling them a little, soft and very careful.

"I'm here for you. I'm here only for you, just you."

She ducks down to kiss him, lips pressing against his in a lingering touch before she eases up. How did you get a guy to come? How did you ease him into pleasure? Phoebe's never done this before, but she's trying hard, desperate to please, desperate to watch Jack's face melt into bliss. Her brows knit together earnestly.

"What do you need from me? You can have it. You can have every part of me, Jack, it's all yours anyway, you can have whatever you want from me, baby."

Jack's insides were on fire.

His heart was a roaring, blazing fire, the kind that burned for thousands of years.

She was stroking him so fucking good, harder, faster, using her brushing over the head of his cock, all while she rolled her palm against his balls.

Oh, fuck, fuck, fuck. She was so perfect. And she looked so pretty like this, ducking down to kiss him. She let Jack know that he could have anything he needed— offering every part of her, it was all his anyway, apparently, and he'd never heard that before, never felt it so soon, never felt it during — 

Jack's vision went black for half a second as he forced his eyes shut, squeezing hard, and he could hear himself — something between a moan, a groan, as he emptied himself. His body tightened, abs rigid as he felt the best fucking orgasm he'd ever had in his life roll through him. It was nearly violent in the best possible way. He gripped at the mattress, feeling the fitted sheet snap off the end of the bed. He didn't care.

"Ooohhh, fuck," was all that Jack could say, sweating, panting, thrusting into her palm, come spilling onto the bed, his stomach, her hand. Jack was red faced, flushed, a little ashamed that he hadn't even been able to respond to her.

His ears were buzzing. He felt so hot all over, so sensitive and yet, he was still thrusting into her fist, riding out the last few waves of pleasure. When he finally stopped, his cock twitched one last time.

"Fuck, Phoebe, I thought —"

Jack swallowed, unable to think or speak or even breathe. He stayed silent for a few moments, a little stunned at his own release. Did he apologize? Promise her that he'd last much longer when he was actually inside of her? His breathing was short, ragged, rough. Even seconds later, it felt like he was still coming. Jesus fucking Christ.

"That was so good," he said, deciding to leave it there, not wanting to embarrass himself further. "You did so good, baby."

Jack sat up slightly, propping himself up on an elbow.

"God, Phoebe," he said, leaning forward. He kissed her again. A quick peck, suddenly more aware of what had just happened between them. It was... intense and hot and ... very intimate. And Jack felt like running away from it.

She keeps working at him, keeps her hand moving up his length when his eyes finally opened again, throat bobbing in a swallow.

God. Fuck. She wanted to look into them forever. She wanted to draw more noises out of him, keep his breath hitching in pleasure every fucking night, if it were possible, keep him happy every fucking day, if it were possible. Who wanted to go to class when she could watch his body react this way?

Jack assures her that she was making him feel good— even offers her a compliment when his gaze drops down to where she's stroking him.

'Oh, fuck, your hands are so pretty.'

That was nice. She'd done her nails special for this week— keeping them well-manicured and moisturized especially for the party. And it had paid off!

A giggle escapes, though the sound is fleeting before her attention turns else where— Jack needs something else.

'Kiss me,'

The demand melts her. Phoebe rushes down as Jack surges upwards, mouths meeting eagerly, tongues brushing as they drink each other in, the low noise from Jack's throat down her body to her still-sensitive clit.

It's crazy, how hot watching him get off was.

It's crazy how hot feeling his hand guide her was too. He squeezes it harder, moves her hand up, and down, even teaches her how to rotate her wrist into a twist as her hand crests over the tip.

That he really seems to like, and Phoebe carves that bit of information right into the wall of her skull. He'd made her feel so fucking good– of course Phoebe was going to memorize everything that made Jack feel good in turn.

Something inside her does another unsteady somersault when Jack suddenly directs a wicked grin at her.

Woah! Hot, hot, hot!

'Phoebe. You're so fucking good at this already. You don't even need me.'

His hand disappears from hers— now relocating to her breasts, closing around her tits and squeeze. Was she really doing that good already? That she didn't need his hand to guide her? Phoebe's cheeks burn with pleasure. Oh, fuck. Fuck.

Phoebe kisses him, of course, simply because it's needed.

He instructs her to go faster. Indulges in another squeeze, staring up at Phoebe.

'Fuck, even your tits feel good.'

Well— his hands on her tits feel really good too. Phoebe grins, dazed, pleased, obeying Jack eagerly and increasing the pace. Up. Down. Twisting her wrist, trying to rotate like he had shown her.

"Jack," she giggles, ducking down so that her lips brush his, something shy to her eyes and smile.

"You should squeeze them as much as you want. As hard as you want. Do you wanna know that you're the first guy to touch my tits too?"

She bites at her lip, hard, tightening her grip on his cock when her hand lowers to his base, still smiling shyly, something earnest in her eyes— desperate to be good for him.

"You are. So you should touch me and squeeze me however you want."

"I'm gonna be the first one to fuck you, too," Jack blurted out, face hot, chest heaving. They'd established that earlier, hadn't they? When Jack told her that he needed to get her ready for his cock. But he was saying it out loud now, directly to her. He was going to fuck her.

He squeezed her breasts again, a little harder this time, but found it hard to pay attention to anything other than Phoebe's perfect fucking hand on his cock. Twisting and pumping him, better than he'd ever had before. He thought back to all the shitty handjobs he'd ever gotten. They were nothing, nothing, compared to this.

Jack held her wrist in place for a second, thrusting his hips up and off the bed, fucking her hand just because it felt good — because his body was restless, and he was vibrating with all of this energy. So much desire, all for Phoebe. It'd never been like this before— would never be this way with anyone else.

Everything he felt, all of the energy, had nowhere to go but her fist.

Jack felt the sweat accumulating at his forehead. He was close, so close, he didn't want to finish. Not yet. Please, not yet. Think of something else, Jack, anything! He began thinking of his hatred for Harvard, shitty fucking school, his subpar performance at last week's baseball practice, the time someone dented the driver's side door to his brand new truck.

But he also wanted to come — so fucking bad.

Nothing was working.

"Phoebe," he said, swallowing. "I'm — you're doing so fucking good, baby, bunny. I'm. I'm not going to... I can't last very long right now, I —"

Jack was trying to find the explanation, to offer the reassurance that whenever he fucked her, he'd last as long as he needed to.

...But would he, realistically? Would he last more than five seconds when he fucked her if he was already struggling with just her hand?

He was practically writhing around on the sheets, unable to stop the few thrusts he pumped into her hand. He couldn't finish his thoughts, couldn't even gather them. What was he thinking about?

Phoebe. Phoebe's hands on his cock. Phoebe crying because he made her come so good. Phoebe's tits. Phoebe's moans. Phoebe.

"Your other hand," Jack said, grasping for it. He searched for Phoebe's eyes, lowering her hand down across his abdomen, past his cock, down to his balls. He pressed her hand there— a delicate, soft spot that Jack didn't normally let any girls near. But he liked it. Liked it even more because it was Phoebe.

His eyes rolled shut again. Fuck.

Phoebe, propped upon an elbow, stares down. Drinking it in. The gleam of excitement in his eyes.

'Oh, baby,'

Another thrill shoots down her spine. Everything about her body felt so easy to excite now— over-sensitive from her orgasm, nerves exposed and laid bare after such an intimate encounter. She's flushed. Eager. Buzzing.

'Yeah, be a good girl, take care of my cock. I'm so fucking hard, Phoebe. I need you to help me come.'

Need. Jack Kennedy needs her, and how can Phoebe not fucking help him? How can she not take care of his cock?

It's unthinkable after how well, how thoroughly he had just transformed her with pleasure. Jack drips more lube, and Phoebe's hand curls up over his length, spreading it, feeling the coolness against her flushed palm.

And then—

'Spit on your hand, too. Please.'

Oh! Phoebe had just been gasping his name— pleading like a whore, tightening around her fingers, but the request still makes her cheeks heat like a solar flare.

Was that hot to Jack? Her spit on her palm, on his cock, warm and slick? Maybe it was.

And Phoebe was a good girl, after all. And. In truth? Kinda made her abdomen tighten in excitement.

Slowly, she releases him and then, shyly, with as must gusto as she can manage, spits right onto her palm.

A... generous amount.

No. She certainly hadn't half-assed that in the slightest. Palm now significantly warmer, she wraps herself back around his cock, leaning down so that their faces can almost brush. Her stare is eager— fixed on Jack with a burning intensity, eyes big and pleading.

Let me be good, her eyes say.

Luckily for Phoebe, Jack is eager to each.

'Hold my dick a little tighter. Start slow.'

Okay, yeah— clear instruction. Phoebe grips him at the base, firmer, feels her heart stutter as his next words almost render her almost speechless.

'Go on. Thank me for making you come.'

But not quite.

Not quite speechless.

Because Phoebe is good— she's so happy, and she's glowing, and she's going to thank Jack. She's going to thank Jack for being so good to her.

But God, if Jack's command doesn't make every cell in her body perk up in excitement.

"Jack," she whines.

Her hand tightens around him— strokes up, and down, slow as he had instructed. Up, down. Slow and steady, her spit easing the motion.

"Thank you,"

She ducks down— lets her lips brush along his own, brows pinched in earnestness.

"Thank you so much for making me come. You're the first guy to ever make me come. I'm so happy it was you. I can't imagine it not being you."

Which— was true. Phoebe had only known Jack a week, but she knew it to be true. There was an impression in her heart now, Jack-shaped, and Phoebe was neither oblivious nor dumb enough to pretend that doing this with Jack hadn't made a very significant impact on her. Or, for that matter, her feelings towards him. He was a first— a big one— and she'd already had feelings for him in the first place!

This had simply turned up the dial to the max.

"I wanna make you feel so good. I've never touched a guy's— cock, Jack. I've never made a guy come. I wanna do it right for you. I wanna thank you the right way. Teach me. Please teach me. I wanna learn how to do it only for you."

And when she began to stroke him, Jack made a noise. He relaxed against the mattress, forcing his eyes shut for a few indulgent seconds. Yeah. It felt that fucking good. And when she thanked him, reminded him that he was the only guy to make her come, the only guy whose cock she'd ever touched, Jack's breath fucking hitched.

That had never happened, either. His lungs felt smaller, somehow, as he worked himself up to a slight pant.

God, he was fucking pathetic. He needed to focus. He didn't want to fall apart so soon, but Phoebe. God, Phoebe was fucking unpredictable and perfect in the best possible way.

"I wanna make you feel so good."

"You are," he said, swallowing, staring down at her hand — perfect, manicured in their school colors, was that a Y for Yale? He wanted to ask her to put a J next time. Would she do that for him? Why did he want her to? "Oh, fuck, your hands are so pretty."

"Kiss me," Jack demanded, leaning up in search of her mouth. And whenever he found it, he made another noise against her lips, low and hungry. He reached down, wrapped his hand around her fist like earlier before. He squeezed her hand which in turn squeezed his cock. It felt nice. So fucking nice.

He moved her wrist a little, twisting it, gently sliding her fist over the tip of his cock. He made another noise. His brows furrowed together, his eyes rolled back slightly.

And then he smiled a little wickedly, finding Phoebe's eyes again.

"Phoebe. You're so fucking good at this already. You don't even need me."

He removed his hand — she didn't really need it. And instead, he reached over, grasping for her breasts over his Yale t-shirt. He squeezed.

"Go a little faster. Not too much."

Yeah. He didn't want to come yet. Soon, but not yet.

'Yeah, there you go, that's it. That's my good girl,'

The physical bliss— it turned Phoebe inside out. It flexed her muscles, stole all the air inside her lungs. White hot pleasure, radiating from her clit, from deep inside herself where Jack's fingers worked. But the emotional aspect of it? It tears Phoebe apart, into tiny sparkling atoms, puts her back together in a way she doesn't know how to describe?

How can she even talk about what she feels when Jack licks the tears from her cheek? What confusing emotion is she even experiencing? All Phoebe knows is that she needs Jack— needs more of him, chest tightening with the rest of her, something inside her heart orienting itself in Jack's direction. He was just so—. So. Good to her. Good with her. He was taking care of her so well, showing her things she had never understood until now, and now all Phoebe wants to be is his good girl.

When Jack looks at her, she wants the sight of her to make him happy. She wants her noises of pleasure to please him. Can she be good enough to do that? What can Phoebe do to make Jack as happy as she is now? How can she keep them together like this always? She can't even think about the fact she only met Jack a week ago— all she knows is her urges and needs. All she knows is the squeezing in her chest.

'I know. I know,'

Phoebe pants, stares up at him with pleasure dazed eyes, fixated on his assurances, thighs squeezing around him again as she slowly sinks down into the mattress. Slower thrusts from his fingers— deeper, but not as rapid, a few last pumps as she settles down. God. God. She definitely can't talk. Really can't think beyond Jack. Her body is flushed, damp from sweat, and God knew how fucking wet she was from between her legs.

She's wrecked, blissed-out, and all she can do is float in the afterglow and absorb every kindness Jack gave her.

'Oh, fuck, bunny. You look ...'

Phoebe's lip trembles.

'You're such a good girl. You did so good.'

Thank God. Thank God she did so well. It's exactly what Phoebe needs to hear— needs to absorb. For a long moment, Phoebe lies back, pulse thudding, body tingling, staring up at Jack with a very open adoration. She can't even really think beyond how happy she is.

Though. Once she's back in her body, once her panting isn't quite so severe, Phoebe is able to extract one singular thought from her brain.

A want, really.

A need.

"Jack," she pants, twisting to support herself onto her elbow.

"Jack."

And then she's reaching for him.

"I'm so happy," she whines, words tumbling together as she presses her mouth against his. Desperate to make him feel this way too. Desperate to give him any sort of bliss, even though she's inexperienced, even though she's panting and flushed and probably a fucking mess. Jack was so hot, when he kissed her, soothed her, encouraged her, licked the tears from her cheek and guided her through her orgasm, and now all she can think about his cock and making sure he knew how badly she wanted to do this for him. So fucking badly. She wants to watch his beautiful face change because of her. "Jack, I feel so good, I feel so good. 'Need to take care of you. Jack, please, please , pleaseeeee let me be a good girl for you, please."

Most of the girls he fucked weren't like this.

In fact, none of them were. None of them were Phoebe, none of them would ever be, which would likely be a problem further down the line, but Jack's dick was so hard that he didn't really care to think about that too much.

She was saying his name, panting, propping herself onto her elbow as she turned to face him, wasting no time. She reached for his cock, and Jack collapsed backward, lying flat on his back. He stared up at the ceiling for half a second, before rolling his head over to one side, staring at her.

Fuck. She was happy. Jack had made her so happy, he'd made her cry, and not in a bad way. All she wanted was to be a good girl and take care of him.

He was going to let her.

Jack curled the pillow beneath him, propping his head up so he wouldn't miss a single fucking second of this.

"Oh, baby," he whispered, his entire body tight and buzzing, desperate for relief. He didn't think he would last very long. He'd been struggling with that since she touched his dick for the first time, but now? Now, Jack was more than turned on. Whatever level was above horny, Jack felt that, times infinity.

"Yeah, be a good girl, take care of my cock. I'm so fucking hard, Phoebe. I need you to help me come."

Jack reached for the lube again, squirting a few drops onto the head of his cock. He twitched. And, just because he was sick, he had a few more requests.

"Spit on your hand, too. Please."

He would have asked her to spit directly on his cock, but he figured she wasn't ready for that yet. Maybe next time.

And he still needed to show her, right?

"Hold my dick a little tighter. Start slow."

Jack paused. He had one last bit of instruction to give.

'You have me, baby. I'm right here. I'm right here. I want you to come,'

Thank God. Thank God Jack was there, that she had him. Phoebe couldn't even find herself on a map, but she had Jack, she can feel his fingers inside her, can feel his thumb working against her clit, can feel her body squeezing around him as pleasure builds. Gentle pleasure, lapping against her like a wave. Wild pleasure, reverberating through every cell in her body, the hard strum of an instrument, her body twitching in response.

"Please," she manages again.

But only just. Manages. Talking at all seems like a miracle. Jack kisses her, and she whines, Jack's tongue swipes again hers haphazard and hot and she arches up into the kiss and his fingers. He had her. He had her so well. Jack was the most beautiful and talented fucking guy in the world and he was taking care of her so well and he had her.

'I want you to come all over my fingers like a good girl. I know you can. You're right there, aren't you? Yeah, I can tell, I can feel it.'

She was, in fact, right there. Sheets bunched up beneath her, helplessly twisted, body twisted too, hips bucking, thighs jerking upwards, squeezing around his hand.

She can just hear the bed squeaking beneath her tossing. She can can just feel the first tear of pleasure slip down her cheek, blinking hard, staring up at Jack so she can memorize his face while he guides her.

'So wet. God, you're making a mess for me, and I fucking love it. My good girl. The best girl, taking my fingers so good.'

Several breathy grasps, Jack's words spoken right up against her mouth, lips tingling— Phoebe's voice is ragged.

"Jack."

"Jack, please."

Now she's bucking her hips up to meet the movement of his fingers— hard, faster, curling, thumb still working circles on her clit that make her thighs jerk.

"I need you, I'm your good girl, I'm your best girl, please, please, yes, Jack, Jack—"

Fuck. Okay, she can hear it— wet, slick sounds, beneath her panting, she's so fucking wet? Jack is making her that way. She wonders if it's all over his hands, and his sheets, and it's hot, it's so hot to think that, it's so hot that Jack fucking knows how wet she is for him. How much she needs him!

Phoebe doesn't think anyone has needed Jack the way she does right now. She thinks about Jack still being hard, and the hunger in her abdomen triples. She pants. She whines. She bucks up into his hand, chasing the pleasure, desperate, babbling, unraveling. He's so good. He's so perfect to her, can't it always be like this, can't she always have Jack?

"—Please, please, I'll do anything, you're only guy in the world, Jack, you're the only guy who can have me, you're the only thing I need, I need you, I need you, I—"

The thread in her belly snaps; there's the free-fall over the edge, the wave crashing, collapsing in on itself, Phoebe's muscles bunching, a ragged, ragged whine, her eyes fluttering and rolling her and her tightening around Jack's hands as the orgasm rocks through her like a seismic wave and turns her fucking inside out.

Phoebe is unraveled and changed, there is only one thing she can say.

Jack was watching her closely, and the sight of her eyes watering awoke something in him that he didn't even know was there. It made him so hot all over, made his stomach tighten, almost made him come again.

Phoebe was going to ruin his life.

Or maybe he would ruin hers.

She was so sweet, so good, so perfect, and Jack wanted her more than he'd ever wanted another human. Was that normal? One week of knowing her, less than one hour of fooling around, and he was already this fucking down bad.

Jack didn't slow his movements. When she begged, when she said his name, again and again, declared that he was the only guy in the world, Jack cursed.

"Oh, fuck," he mumbled, kissing her again, hard and deep. He felt her walls tightening around his fingers, and instead of slowing down, Jack sped up — went further, somehow, harder, ensured that his thumb grazed her clit each time he moved. He pulled away from her mouth to clench his jaw.

And then he felt it — her unraveling in his bed, right beneath him. It was the sexiest thing Jack had ever witnessed in his whole fucking life. She said his name again, and it was the best sound he'd ever heard in his life.

"Yeah, there you go, that's it. That's my good girl," Jack whispered. His fingers worked her through her orgasm, kissing the side of her flushed face, licking at the tears on her cheek because it felt like the right thing to do, he didn't know, but he did it. He littered her face with kisses until he found her mouth.

"I know. I know," he said, fingers slowing, relieving some of the pressure on her clit, knowing it'd be sensitive. He gave her a few more thrusts, deep but slower this time, before he pulled his fingers out. He kept them there, in between her legs, the palm of his hand resting against her. She was warm and slick, and he didn't want to pull away yet.

Jack's heart was fucking racing.

He was in his own sort of agony, but the thing is — Jack didn't care. He didn't care because he'd just made Phoebe come so fucking hard, and she'd never forget it.

With his other hand, Jack brushed her curls back, out of her face.

"Oh, fuck, bunny. You look ..."

Jack couldn't even finish his sentence. He could only stare, dip in to kiss her again.

Sudden inhales— embarrassingly sharp and deep. Long whines, broken and pitching as Jack's thumb continues to work at her clit. Her body twitches beneath him, shining with sweat, panties long-since fallen to the floor, curls tangled around her head in a tumbled mess. Her mascara was probably smudged, right? Phoebe had taken so much time getting ready for the party, and a few of Jack's fingers had made her a twitching, begging, flushed mess.

He plucks her apart and puts her back together so easily.

She thinks she really likes it.

She definitely does.

It was ... fucking hot, to know that Jack can unspool her like thread into a wild bliss. She reacted to him, his hands and words and touches. Jack alone has made her abdomen feel molten— her whole body!

Phoebe lets out a whining pant when Jack presses her mouth against her throat.

'My fingers, yeah. Your pussy,'

Jesus.

'You're so wet, bunny. I can hear you, I can hear all of you.'

Was she? Loud? Phoebe certainly knows she's wet— she can feel herself on her thighs, dripping down, and it makes her belly burn hotter to think that Jack can fucking hear the fruits of his labor between her panting breaths.

Phoebe is about to say something— babble about how wet she is for him— when there's a sudden change, a noticeable uptick in the tempo of Jack's fingers.

It makes Phoebe crazy.

'You're such a good girl, taking my fingers. I know you're going to take my cock like a fucking angel.'

Angel, baby, bunny. Phoebe could replace the oxygen in her lungs with those words and be perfectly fine for the rest of her fucking life.

"—Ah," more desperate whines, at the image of Phoebe taking his cock, him pressing in while she twitches and pleads and pants around him. "I will. I'll take it so good."

'I'm gonna be the first guy to make you come, bunny, I have to be.'

Tightness, stretch, her body giving beneath him, suddenly Jack's knuckles to the hilt— Phoebe makes some strangled noise and arches her spine, hard, something reverberating in her body at the deepness of the penetration. New. So, so, new, so untouched until Jack had pushed into her there.

This was fucking insane.

Phoebe feels possessed— unable to inhale steadily as a completely new kind of pleasure vibrates throughout her flesh, a muscle-nerve-skin kind of pleasure.

'Look at me. Don't stop looking at me. I don't want to miss anything. And let me hear you, bunny. Say my name, say anything. Make those noises you were making.'

Her body continues to flex and twitch around him as she pants.

"Jack," she begs.

It takes every ounce of effort in the world to keep her eyes open, but Phoebe obeys Jack— she stares at him like he's the only man in the world. Which he fucking is. He's the only guy to ever exist, and obviously he's going to be the first guy to make her come. That belongs to him alone. It's all his.

"Jack,"

That was probably the only word in the world, anyway. His name. But she had better invent some new ones while she's twitching around him, because Phoebe needs to tell him— needs to ask and let him know what he's doing to her.

"I need you."

And then Phoebe feels it— embarrassingly enough, moisture has pooled in her eyes now, drawn out of her from pleasure she has never experienced before, foreign sensations, vision blurring, a depth of fucking bliss that felt fucking blinding, cellular deep, somehow in her chest too?. God. Why did she feel this so keenly? Was that embarrassing? Was she embarrassing herself now?

But Phoebe can't help it. She just feels so good, pleasure piling up and cresting soon, Jack is so good, all she can think about is him, his fingers inside her where they belong, they fucking belong there, always, forever.

She looks up at him, pleading, out of breath, hand gripping his wrist with wild desperation.

Jack felt this unbelievable ache at his dick, something he'd never felt before, not even on his horniest days! (And he'd had some pretty fucking horny ones).

But now, with Phoebe, it was so different. There was an overwhelming desire to be inside of her, and Jack knew that it wouldn't ever go away until he fucking did it. Which is why he had to. He needed to earn it.

I need you, she pleaded, and Jack could feel her around his fingers, growing tighter somehow, wetter, dripping down onto his sheets, which he found unbelievably hot. He wished he were down there right now, lapping it up with his tongue, tasting every bit of her.

"I really need you, Jack."

And the words that came next might've damned him permanently.

"You have me, baby. I'm right here. I'm right here. I want you to come," he told her, his own voice growing ragged, his cock twitching and leaking precum again. She was really making him fucking crazy. He leaned in to kiss her, deeply, messily, with his tongue crashing against hers. He made a noise in his throat, and he didn't fucking care how it sounded.

Jack's wrist snapped faster this time, fingers going deep, disappearing inside of her. He went hard and fast, not daring to slow down, not daring to break his rhythm. He wanted her to come.

"I want you to come all over my fingers like a good girl. I know you can. You're right there, aren't you? Yeah, I can tell, I can feel it."

All these words, dirty and lewd, said right against her lips.

"So wet. God, you're making a mess for me, and I fucking love it. My good girl. The best girl, taking my fingers so good."

It was another one of the dozens little things that plucked the stitches from Phoebe's side, made her unravel so totally and so completely.

The cheek kisses. Baby. Bunny.

'I wish you had. Could you imagine that? Me finger-fucking you like this in the bathroom? Making you come all over my hand?'

Phoebe nods, helplessly trapped in bliss as Jack's thumb now begins to soothe at her clit. Or tease it? His touches felt like they calmed her hunger and also stoked it into something almost unbearable. A delicious sensation, one that has her chest heaving and muscles flexing in an entirely new form of pleasure.

But. God. That wishful fantasy— the idea of Phoebe begging Jack, a fucking stranger, to take care of her now in the mixer. Her whining around his fingers, bathroom locked, Jack's hand gleaming from her wetness as he works her good. It's enough to draw another pathetic whine from Phoebe, another pathetic nod. If only! It makes her all hot, to think of Jack wanting her so badly on the first day.

"—I would've been loud,"

Her voice is a whine. Something almost guilty in the admittance, like she was half-apologizing for the noises she would have made in the bathroom, whines that might have alerted to everyone else what was going on behind the door. Would he have minded? God! What was going on with her! Before Yale— before Jack, actually— Phoebe was never so bold. But now this bashful sort of hunger has seized her completely, and it feels fucking good.

Phoebe's legs jolt from imagining it. But there's something else pressing at her brain, demanding attention— another finger, Jack's ring, now pushing gently at her entrance.

The inhale that follows is deep.

'It's gonna feel like a lot, but my cock is bigger, and I need you to get used to it.'

She moans then, involuntary, and the noise is loud, and whiny, and she isn't even sure what is making her moan louder— the addition of Jack's finger, the foreign sensation of having to stretch to accommodate him, Jesus, or the idea of his cock being bigger. Jack's cock. One day it was going to be Jack's cock inside her, and she probably wouldn't even be able to accurately describe the sensation with words.

Abdomen tight, eyes glassy, Phoebe curls around Jack's hand. God. What would that even feel like? She really hopes it happens— really hopes that Jack is the first one inside her, the first guy to take her virginity. She couldn't imagine anyone else! There couldn't be anyone else! It had to be Jack, she needs to fucking feel him, Jack was the only guy in the world she could give this to and trust.

Phoebe nods again, obedient and desperate.

"Yeah," she manages, wondering if Jack can make out the desperation in her eyes, the eagerness to be able to take his cock one day. "Yes. Jack. Pleaseeeeee. Please make me ready for you, just you, just you and your cock."

Another phantom ache in her belly— heat expanding imagining his cock inside. So big, he'd fill her up so much, every bit of her would probably be able to feel him, right? From her head to her toes? It's a dizzying thought. Enough to make her delirious with desire and need.

Jack soothes her as he pushes inside, and Phoebe hangs on to each word as the two fingers stretch her, take care of her with a special attentiveness.

'Breathe. And take it, baby. I know you can.'

Take it. Take it, take it, take it. Phoebe does. She listens, obeys, nods, eyes wide, mouth lax, hips jerking and thighs jerking as her body learns to accommodate a second finger, the stretch, the dull burn, and then the pleasure that bursts through after.

"—Ah!"

God, that was really new. Pleasure not just from her clit, but reverberating deep from within her, radiating from the tight heat of her walls. Her hips buck, her eyes are trained desperately on him.

He wanted that now. Even over the loud music, the yelling and laughing downstairs, he somehow wanted everyone to know that he was up here making Phoebe come.

When Jack finally pushed the second finger inside of her, she moaned loudly, and it felt like he was going to come again. Fuck. He wanted to spend the rest of the night coaxing those noises out of Phoebe.

She was begging. Please, please, please. She wanted to be ready for his cock.

His movements were still slow, cautious as she stretched out around his fingers. His thumb worked heavy circles into her clit, and Jack leaned in to kiss her neck. He sucked and bit at the flesh on her neck, all while his fingers slowly pumped in and out of her, leaving another mark. He wanted to cover her in him.

She was his, no one else's. He was going to be the one to take her virginity, to be the first man who ever made her come.

"My fingers, yeah. Your pussy," he countered, smirking against her neck, followed by a low laugh. "You're so wet, bunny. I can hear you, I can hear all of you."

Her wetness, her moans, her breathing. And if Jack really focused, if he really listened, perhaps he could have heard the beating of her heart.

It turned him on so fucking much.

Finally, Jack changed the pace. He felt like she could take it now. His wrist snapped at a faster rate this time, fingers curling inside of her, pads of his digits pressing into her. With each movement, in and out, his thumb was stuff, brushing against her clit with each movement.

"You're such a good girl, taking my fingers. I know you're going to take my cock like a fucking angel."

Was he doing too much? All of the pet names, the kissing? Yeah, but Jack was genuinely too horny to care about the consequences to his words, to his feelings. He captured the corner of her mouth into a kiss.

"I'm gonna be the first guy to make you come, bunny, I have to be."

Jack, motivated by his own words, pushed his fingers in deeper, beyond the second knuckle, until his fingers were fully slotted inside of her.

Which was perilous, because the answer was yes. Yes, Phoebe had tried to sneak glances when his shirt rode high. Yes, Phoebe had walked with him to class and wanted to grab his bicep and press herself against him on the way to Chemistry!

She was guilty of it all, and now, in Jack's lap, her ears burn at the possibility of being found out. But he seems to love her secret.

'That's so hot, baby,'

Phoebe giggles in relief, even giggles into his mouth when he moves in for another kiss.

But his next words make all the sounds in her throat go silent.

'Here. Don't worry about my cock for a second. I just want to focus on you,'

Huh? Not worry about his—? There's no pause at all when Phoebe finds herself gently falling atop the bed, Jack arranging her, draping her over the blankets with care— positioning her just right. So sweet with her, as always. So thoughtful.

It had felt nice to stroke his cock, so fucking hot, but it appears Jack has other plans for now.

He was being very selfless.

Selfless, in the way he gently spreads Phoebe open. Selfless in the way he angles himself atop her, not crushing, but skin hot against hers, pulses thrumming against each other as he begins to press his middle finger inside.

"—Jack," Phoebe says, an abortive swear following.

"Jack," she says again, this time through clenched teeth.

Fuck. The heat, the pressure— the sensation of finally being filled. Bliss. A bliss that both tamed her hunger and made her ache for even more.

'Breathe and relax and be so good for me. You're already so good for me, you know that, baby?'

Sweet words, praise, baby.

A finger inside her. A kiss pressed to the side of her cheek.

That alone is almost enough to unravel Phoebe, something pricking behind her eyes, flashes of heat spreading throughout her body. That felt— funny. Funny good. Funny in a way that makes her chest flip. It's like she can still feel the touch of his kiss tingling across her cheek, cellular deep, and Phoebe has a feeling she is going to feel it tomorrow as well. God.

Only one finger and the taut pleasure between her legs is so strong. She looks up at Jack— probably pathetically— as if he is the only thing in the world. Which he is. The party, the thrumming music, the frat boys, the sorority girls, the front porch and the littered red cups and the streetlights and the dining call and the Monday classes and the stars and the moon don't even exist at all.

It's just her and Jack and this bed.

And the involuntary recoil her body experiences when he curls his finger.

'You wanna be my good girl? You want me to teach you? Tell me.'

Phoebe whines, louder than she intended, hand shooting out to grip his wrist. The sheets bunch up beneath her as she stares up at him.

"—Ah,"

"Please,"

She blinks, some useless attempt to compose herself, then abandons the idea that she's going to be in control of herself at all. Better give into the begging now.

"Please teach me. Please. Please let me be good for you."

The muscles in her thighs tighten, muscles in her abdomen flexing too as she babbles.

"That feels so good. When you curl your finger—" A pant. "You feel so good. You're so good. I should have begged for this the first day I met you. I need this. I need this, please."

Phoebe was whining and pleading, squirming around beneath him, telling him it felt good whenever he curled his finger. She should have begged for this the first day that she met him, and Jack couldn't get over how fucking hot that idea was.

"Oh, bunny," he managed to say, somehow out of breath despite the fact that he wasn't really exerting himself at all. Jack was in great shape. Better than great. And this fucking eighteen year old freshman was making him lose it.

Jack continued with the same movements, again and again, slow and gentle but with enough pressure for her to really feel it.

How would she do with a second finger? Was it too soon? Jack kept his rhythm for now, gliding his finger in and out, curling it upward, pressing and rubbing against her inside with each movement.

His thumb extended out, pressing against her clit in a back and forth motion. Slow, heavy circles. The perks of having big hands.

He could really take care of Phoebe this way.

"I wish you had. Could you imagine that? Me finger-fucking you like this in the bathroom? Making you come all over my hand?"

Jack's stomach tightened at the idea. Two strangers, known each other for only a pair of hours, getting each other off in the bathroom of that fucking mixer.

His ring finger pressed against her entrance, pushing gently.

"It's gonna feel like a lot, but my cock is bigger, and I need you to get used to it."

Very presumptuous of Jack to assume that Phoebe would let him take her virginity. It didn't really matter anyway (it did), because this could all be chalked up to some insane dirty talk in the heat of the moment. He didn't give a shit. He was going to try to fuck Phoebe. Not that night, but he was going to make it his number one priority.

Jack began to push his ring finger inside of Phoebe very slowly.

What the fuck.

Why did it sound so good? The fucking ... lack of restraint, in his voice? Phoebe feels Jack's cock twitch in her hand, and that too makes her body heat up, the white-hot nerves in her body flare up all sensitive.

"I'm gonna be the first one?'

Phoebe nods, wide-eyed, mouth brushing against his own. Thank God, honestly. Thank God she had never allowed some stupid boyfriend, some douchebag, some opportunist, inexperienced freshman to get inside her.

This is for Jack.

This belongs to Jack.

He's the first one— the only one.

And he's already doing it so well, yanking Phoebe's panties down, no preamble or hesitation, the damp fabric brushing the interior of Phoebe's thigh as it's discarded. Jesus. So wet for him, but no surprise there, huh? She's been all but desperate to grind on his thigh to relieve the pressure. To give her clit the tiniest bit of help.

Which he does— Jack more than helps. He finds her clit, slides his finger around in soothing little circles, increase of pressure, slick heat helping his fingers to slide.

"Ah—" she pants again, fingers squeezing into his neck.

This was perfect. This was bliss. The hunger inside her is so great, red-hot and needy and whining that Phoebe doesn't even have time to feel bashful about being bare in front of him. He could see her now. Could see the dampness glistening between her thighs.

Maybe he'd see that and help her.

'Tell me how much you want it, bunny. Ask me really nice. Really, really sweet, okay? Look at me when you ask me.'

Or maybe he'd make her ask first.

Something shivers inside Phoebe— something rears it's head in acknowledgement of the task given to her. She could do that! Jack could ask her something, give her a challenge, a command, and Phoebe would obey. Fucking of course she would! Not only would Phoebe obey, but she'd do it better than anyone else in the fucking world.

But God. It's kind of hard— Jack's finger is circling at her entrance, this untouched part of her, teasing, just pressing against her so she could feel him, so she could feel him intent, but never quite delivering the relief.

Phoebe had to be good and earn that.

She detaches her head from the comforting nook of his shoulder, still stroking him, mouth still lax.

"Please, Jack," she pants. "Please give me your fingers. I want it so bad. I want you to be the first guy in me, so, so, so bad."

Is there a word more desperate than begging? Maybe they should invent it for Phoebe's sake. Maybe they'd make a new word just for how pathetic and needy she's acting, how carefully she's hanging onto everything Jack tells her— nodding hard before he's even finished his sentence.

'Tell me again that I'm the only one. Tell me something else, too, whatever you want. Tell me a secret. Right now.'

Fuck. Phoebe's hips buck a little— involuntary and needy, seeking sensations she's yet to even experience before.

"You're the only one. Of course you are. And—"

A beat. Phoebe falls silent. Swallows, hard, eyes flickering down on instinct before immediately snapping back up. He'd wanted Phoebe to look at her. He'd wanted that eye contact, and hadn't Phoebe said she would be good?

Jack Kennedy wanted a secret, and there was something supremely flattering in the request.

Right now, he'd said.

It erupts out of her.

"I was checking you out in the kitchen," she half-wails, brows knitting together bashfully. "I kept— wondering about you. Like your chest, and your ass, and your abs, and stuff, and I wanted to look, and then I felt like I was being kind of— I don't know. I was wondering if that was okay of me. I just kept thinking about you and my face felt all hot."

He kept his fingers between her legs, applying a gentle pressure, occasionally, swiping his fingers up to rub her clit.

When Phoebe told him her secret, Jack's cock twitched again. He was so fucking horny. Out of his mind. And he couldn't wait any longer, and he wasn't going to make her wait any longer, either. Not when she'd done exactly what he'd asked, obeyed and asked so sweetly.

"That's so hot, baby," was all that Jack managed. He leaned in, kissed her on the mouth. He'd always wanted to take someone's virginity, and that obviously wasn't going to happen that night, but the idea was driving him fucking crazy. The idea that Phoebe was so untouched, pure, just for him?

The things that Jack was thinking about were so fucking horrible and sinful.

"Here. Don't worry about my cock for a second. I just want to focus on you," he told her, in what might have been Jack's greatest act of selflessness. It surprised even him.

He wrapped an arm around her, repositioned her so that she was flat on the bed. He climbed on top of her. It'd be easy to finger her this way, he thought. And she could relax, into the bed, and tell Jack all about how he was the first guy to have ever been inside of her.

He was off to the side of her body slightly, half on top of her, half on the mattress, his own cock throbbing. He didn't care for now. He placed a hand in between her legs yet again, carefully spreading her open, before he pushed his middle finger inside of Phoebe. He watched her closely. She was warm, soft, and he kept his finger there, giving her time to adjust.

"Just breathe," he told her, voice low. "Breathe and relax and be so good for me. You're already so good for me, you know that, baby?"

Jack kissed the side of her face. Another very generous and intimate gesture. What the fuck was he doing? It felt nice, though.

"You wanna be my good girl? You want me to teach you? Tell me."

Fucking good!

Phoebe doesn't want anything between them.

Phoebe wants all of Jack, and she wants him to have all of her. Skin to skin, molecules vibrating against each other, heat and slick and sweat and just the two of them.

'God, yeah, baby. I'll touch you. I'll touch you wherever you want to be touched.'

Baby, again. Phoebe whimpers, again, thighs squeezing together involuntarily as she stares into Jack's eyes with another pathetic look.

'I'll touch you, baby, I will. Come here.'

Did he know what that did to her? Did he know that she already wants to be his baby? Thankfully, Jack is perfect, and so Jack is already hauling her in, but Phoebe does her best to assist him anyway, hand still on his cock, still stroking, attempting to scoot herself closer on the bed to offer access to him.

"Please," she whimpers. "Please."

And then there it is. Bliss, relief, a hunger that is momentarily sated and then comes roaring back ten times hungrier— Jack presses his knuckles against her clit, and Phoebe's legs buckle in bliss. White-hot. White hot screaming pleasure.

"Ah—" she pants, helpless, her free hand coming to grasp Jack's shoulder in order to keep herself upright.

'How's that, baby? Tell me what you want. Show me, too. I need to know how you like it. Be good and tell me, please, bunny. Baby.'

How was that?

How was that?

Phoebe can't even speak, for a moment— she's burying her face into the warm expanse of Jack's neck, panting, eyes squeezing shut as she feels the pleasure tighten in her core.

But she needed to be good! She needs to answer Jack, show him, tell him, so he knows how she likes it.

"More," she whines. "Right there. That's— you're so good, Jack. You're so good. Please, more of you."

And Phoebe can't help it, ducking down to kiss him, drinking him in, savoring him, wondering how the fuck she got so lucky to meet Jack her first semester, to meet Jack at all. It was fucking kismet, wasn't it? There was no explanation how everything with him was so fucking good. The walk to class, his grin, eyes, his hands, his fingers pressing against the little bundle of nerves she'd only just now let herself explore.

Red-faced, bashful, unable to stop herself, Phoebe bucks her hips into Jack's hand, continues stroking him, squeezing her hand around his cock with a cautious increase in pressure.

"I've never had anyone inside me," she whines. "Please— I'll do anything you want. Please touch me more, I'll do anything, I'll be so good, I'll be your bunny, I'll be your baby, I'll do anything."

A ragged exhale against his mouth. She runs her finger along his tip, delicate, just a little bit before continuing to stroke him, eyes trained on his expression, trying to see what he needed, what he liked. He felt so good in her hand.

She tightened her hand around his cock before Jack could even ask her to. Fuck, she was perfect, she knew exactly what he wanted. Jack made another noise, low and deep, and whenever Phoebe said she'd never had anyone inside of her — Jack made a noise that was louder, unrestrained, desperate.

His cock twitched, his abdomen tightened, and he wished desperately that he was inside of her.

"I'm gonna be the first one?" Jack wondered, but he already knew the answer. He just wanted to hear it. His knuckle applied more pressure at her clit before he removed her underwear without asking. He hoped she didn't mind, but if he was going to put his fingers inside of her — he wanted no restraints. He left the wet fabric somewhere below her knees, not caring any further because there were bigger things to worry about.

"Open your legs," he demanded, voice low. Jack's fingers found her entrance in record time, feeling the wetness there, spreading it over her clit. He applied pressure there, rubbing in small circles, before his fingers slid further down.

"So wet," he observed, said in a way that didn't make it seem like he was fighting everything within himself not to fucking come.

One of his fingers applied the smallest amount of pressure at her entrance, and it really wasn't the time to fuck around, but Jack couldn't help himself.

"Tell me how much you want it, bunny. Ask me really nice. Really, really sweet, okay? Look at me when you ask me."

He kept his fingers in place, circling around her entrance, applying the smallest amount of pressure, but never pushing inside. Not yet. Because he was a fucking dick.

But when Jack says her name, Phoebe feels like she's levitating several inches off the bed. When he kisses her gently, again, it's the softest, warmest, nicest wave in the world that laps and pools around her abdomen.

Then a muted thud— Jack's head slamming against the headboard. Jesus. Was that her too? Because of her hand? Phoebe makes a pleased noise when Jack deepens the kiss, hand working up and down his length carefully as she feels her tongue brush along his.

She's just ... so fucking warm. Practically scorching.

And then the praise.

'You're doing so good, baby,'

And then the baby.

Something resets inside her brain.

Phoebe can't help it, really— she whimpers. She whines. It's the neediest, most pitiful she's ever heard escape her, but what else is she supposed to do when Jack calls her baby? Tells her that she's doing this well?

All Phoebe knows, heat tight in her abdomen, that she wants more of that. All of Phoebe's brain cells zero in on a sole mission of receiving more praise from him.

'And the tip — ah.'

Oh right— that!

'If you keep doing that, I'm gonna come,'

Oh! Oh! Well— Phoebe had been devoting all of her attention to that. Hah. Phoebe blushes, a little bashful, watches as Jack retrieves something from his side drawer. Huh? What was he—

Oh. Lube? Phoebe watches carefully, nodding along as Jack explains.

'When I touch myself, this is what I use. It feels better when it's wet,'

Okay. Lube made it better and wetter— that was good to know. Phoebe nods, watches with an almost pathetic sort of hunger as Jack drops a few drops upon his cock. Fuck. She almost wants to lick it off from him.

But she can't reflect on that for long. Jack is chasing her mouth for a kiss, which Phoebe gives eagerly, gently, pulling apart a few breathless centimeters as she listens to his request.

'Come sit by me,'

'So I can ... touch you, and so you don't have to stop touching me.'

Jesus. Jesus. Phoebe immediately embarrasses herself again— makes another needy little noise. He wants to touch her. He wants Phoebe close.

He wants to know if he can take Phoebe's sweats off.

'You don't have to. And you don't have to take anything else off, I just. I wanna touch you. It'll be easier, I think, but it's okay. God. It doesn't mater at all. I just want you.'

He's so sweet to her. So good. I just want you. Just want you. Her. Phoebe. That enough makes her body shiver, the taut heat in her abdomen tightening— he just wants her. She wants to do good. She wants to do good.

"Jack," she says pathetically.

"Please take them off. Please. Will you take them off?"

And just like that, Phoebe is scooting closer— hauling herself up upon him. Practically angling her hips towards, as if begging through body language alone. She keeps stroking, feeling the lube spread, the silky wetness, the way her hand glides over his cock, the heat and the firmness and the tentative rhythm she's building. Not too much attention on the tip, not enough to push him over the edge, just a little tiny bit.

She stares at him— mouth lax.

"Will you touch me?"

God. She's fucking begging him already, and it hasn't even been a minute. There's a tight ache in her belly, an emptiness that she had never even experienced until now. She's never felt Jack's fingers, but now she's so certain she needs them.

She just— needs him. Then she crushes herself against him— offering up another kiss, mouth brushing against him as she begs again.

She wanted her sweats off.

Jack was nodding, sitting up so that he could yank them off of her hips. It wasn't a difficult task. They were large on her body, easy for them to slide right off.

"Will you touch me?"

Jack was nodding.

"God, yeah, baby. I'll touch you. I'll touch you wherever you want to be touched."

And he wanted to do more than touch her. He wanted to taste her, to bury his face in between her legs and make her come until the sun came up— but they were taking it slow. So fucking slow, and that was okay, Jack had never been more okay with it than he was in that very moment.

"I'll touch you, baby, I will. Come here."

Jack pulled her toward him, placing her beside him, trying to find the best position, but there was none. His legs were tangled against hers, somehow, his torso twisted, and it didn't even matter. He wasted no time, sliding his hand up her thighs, squeezing, pressing his fingers into her flesh until he reached the fabric of her underwear. She was warm, wet, slightly soaked through, and it made Jack's cock twitch.

Oh.

What he wouldn't give to be buried inside of her — feeling her tighten around his cock. Or feeling her wetness drip down onto his tongue.

He'd lick her clean.

He used his middle and ring finger to brush over the fabric of her underwear, gentle and slow, his cock throbbing. He applied pressure at her clit with one of his knuckles, eyes locked on her.

It didn't seem possible that someone like Phoebe could illicit such a response from him.

But she had, apparently. And it made her clit pulse, made her want to grind down on Jack's leg as she watches the flex of his bicep, the expression in his eyes. The temperature in the room right now seems searing.

Jack, apparently, didn't mind helping Phoebe— guiding her along as she learns. Another involuntary squeeze of Phoebe's thighs.

'Yeah, I can show you,'

She swallows roughly.

"Thank you." Thud, thud, thud, goes her heart. A beat, where Phoebe inhales, and it feels like she's sucking in fire. "You're the only guy I want,"

"I wanna learn from you, Jack. Just you."

And then, perhaps, the hottest thing Phoebe can ever imagine happens— Jack's hand, hot and large and dwarfing her own, comes to rest atop her knuckles. Jesus. Phoebe nearly fucking drools upon herself.

'How I do it, whenever I do it.'

Fuck. Phoebe thinks she can come at just the idea of that— learning how Jack makes himself feel good. Him showing her. Her learning under his hand. Literally. Learning his preferences. She nods vigorously, eagerly, attentively.

And then he's squeezing his fingers over hers, flexing, and Phoebe can really feel the shape of him. The size. The firmness. Fucking rock hard. And then their hands are moving— Jack repositions their hands at the front of his cock

'It's, uh, really sensitive there, at the tip,'

He kisses her— gently. Really fucking gently. For a long moment, Phoebe is in pieces, mouth open, heart thrashing like a sparrow. Oh. God. It was the kind of kiss she was going to remember for the rest of her life.

Phoebe, ever the attentive student, nods quickly. Sensitive. Okay. She could pay special attention to that spot then, make Jack feel extra good? Swallowing, Phoebe runs her finger delicately along the tip, feeling the soft rasp of fabric, the heat and the firmness of him.

Did that feel good?

Was that enough?

Phoebe swallows— stares at Jack with a scorching face.

“Jack,” she manages. “I— wanna feel all of you.” She smiles, a little shyer at what comes next. “I really want you to feel me.”

A beat.

She leans in to kiss him now— gentle.

Jack's head tilted back against the headboard, and he sighed. Why did he already feel so close to orgasm?

"Jack. I— wanna feel all of you. I really want you to feel me."

And she was smiling when she said it. Fuck.

"Phoebe," was all that he managed to say before her mouth was pressed against his in the world's gentlest kiss in the world. That made him want to come, too. Everything about this was driving him crazy. The extra care she was giving the head of his cock, the friction from the fabric, her big eyes, her mouth.

He watched a little helplessly as Phoebe licked the palm of her hand and finally slipped her hand beneath his boxers.

His head slammed against the headboard a little harder this time, exhaling, trying to maintain even breathing — this had never happened to him before. She wanted Jack to touch her, too. And he wanted to, and he was going to, but his brain wasn't really fucking working. He felt the first drops of precum slide down the side of his shaft.

Fucking focus, pussy.

Jack deepened the kiss, tongue and mouth and teeth crashing against hers. It was a sloppy kiss, hungry and desperate, but Jack couldn't help himself.

The boxers felt restricting. And she hadn't seen a cock before, and Jack wanted his to be the first, so he pushed his briefs down until they were wrapped around his ankles. He kicked them off.

"You're doing so good, baby," he whispered, breathless, desperate to fuck her — but honestly, this might have been better. He reached for her hand, placed it back on his cock, helping her stroke, slow and gentle because it's all that he could fucking take.

"And the tip — ah."

Jack cleared his throat, trailing off, jaw clenched.

"If you keep doing that, I'm gonna come," he warned, feeling a little fucking pathetic about it. What the fuck ever.

He reached over to his nightstand, and he hoped Phoebe didn't see the ridiculous assortment of condoms. (He even had latex free, for the ladies that were allergic.)

He pulled out a small bottle lube.

"When I touch myself, this is what I use. It feels better when it's wet," he explained. He was sort of lying about using it. Yeah, Jack did use it for jerking off sometimes, but this specific bottle was purchased when Molly (sophomore) promised him anal. He spent forty five minutes trying to stick his dick in Molly's ass, but she kept complaining about the size of him, so they never got around to it. Regular sex it was. Bottle of lube wasted.

But he was really fucking glad he had it now.

"Come sit by me," he requested. "So I can ... touch you, and so you don't have to stop touching me."

Jack poured a few drops of lube on his cock. It was cold, but he was too horny to give a shit. He didn't even properly allow Phoebe a chance to scoot over before he was leaning in again, desperate for her mouth. Some of the lube dripped off, onto the mattress, but he didn't give a shit.

He looked, sounded, felt, so fucking good. It was kind of a marvel. It made Phoebe stare all the harder, drinking him in, curious, exploratory, eager, but for all the pink in her cheeks, the blush of shyness overtaking her, Jack is nothing but reassuring.

'You can stare,'

He didn't mind her gawking at his cock, apparently. Which— good! Because Phoebe isn't even certain she can tear her eyes away, even if she's bashful at her own boldness. Jack talks to her in reassuring tones, one large, warm hand reaching out to cup her cheek in a way that makes Phoebe's heart flip. It was... very tender. The kiss was tender too. So was the way he reiterated everything was fine; it was all Phoebe's choice, only what she wants.

Well. Phoebe is staring at what she wants. She's fucking entranced.

Which maybe Jack can sense, because he even adjusts himself for her— repositioning himself against the headboard, setting aside the vape and gently taking Phoebe's hand before shedding his jeans.

Jesus. It's just his boxer briefs, the outline of his cock, so much starker now that another layer was removed. Phoebe bites down on her lip hard. Presses her thighs together just to feel her clit pulse, a new heartbeat she wants to feel more of. It had never really felt like this before until now, and of course it was Jack who had brought it out in her!

Another kiss.

'Here,'

And then hands, tugging her.

'You can sit there, on my knees, and just ... stare, if you want to. Or you can ...'

Suddenly she's seated atop his muscular thighs— ears hot, overly-self aware, Phoebe wonder if Jack can feel the dampness accumulating in her panties. Oh, God. Can he? Right on his thighs? Would Jack mind if it accidentally seeped onto him? Or would he think it was hot?

She squirms a little, embarrassingly squirms even more when she watches Jack tousle his own hair.

'Have you ever ... touched a guy's dick before?'

Her eyes are still fixed on the bulge above his thighs, but somehow, with some great effort, Phoebe is able to shake her head in response.

She shifts a little on her perch— presses her palm against the wiry hair above the band of his boxer briefs. Yeah. While she's learning about herself, Phoebe discovers she very much likes his happy trail. She likes his abdomen. Likes the lines of his muscles, the little indicators that lead down to his cock. She lets her palm rest there before her eyes flicker up to Jack— cheeks blazing hot. More. Phoebe knows she wants more. Her hand shifts a little. Another inch down. Another. A little noise escapes her when finally, finally, she softly curls her hand around the outline of his cock— ears stovetop hot, shy at her own boldness.

"I haven't, uh—"

It feels— so big. Hot and hard. Her hand can't really cover it, can't wrap around it fully. There she is, touching Jack's fucking cock! Fingers manicured as well, a dainty eggshell blue punctuated by a navy 'Y'. School spirit! The heat in her belly blazes even hotter.

It was just that — Phoebe was different. She was special. There was something about her that Jack found so fucking attractive. So sexy. Innocent and naive and eager to please and maybe if Jack had the emotional maturity, he might have tried to lock it down. It was a shame.

Wait— why the fuck was he thinking about this? Focus.

Phoebe finally placed her hand over the fabric of his briefs, fingers curling around him. Jack made a noise. Totally involuntary. Totally fucking pathetic. He normally had better self control.

Jack's heart was racing, and he found it difficult to sit still. Instead, he raised a hand behind his head, bicep flexing as he kept his hand there, absently playing with the hair at the back of his head. All he could do was watch and pray that Phoebe never took her hands off his cock.

"I haven't even... seen a guy's dick, really."

His stomach tensed again. He felt his cock twitch beneath his briefs. Fuck! She was so hot. Hearing that was so hot. Phoebe, sitting there in his lap, in his sweatpants and Yale t-shirt, had never touched a cock before. Never even seen one.

She didn't know what guys liked, so Jack might have to show her. There was no problem there.

"Yeah, I can show you," Jack whispered, voice low and hungry. With his free hand, he reached down, dragging his fingers over his abdomen, slow and agonizing, until they were on top of hers. He squeezed her fingers around his cock, dragging their hands until they were at the tip of his cock.

He stifled another noise, face red, swallowing.

"It's, uh, really sensitive there, at the tip," he said, feeling like he was the one about to lose his virginity. Jesus Christ.

"I can show you," he repeated. "How I do it, whenever I do it."

The idea made Jack's fucking entire body feel like it was on fire.

"Or you can try. I'm ... okay with anything. Really."

He smiled— leaning forward again, giving Phoebe a gentle kiss on the lips while she made up her mind.

And immediately Phoebe is shaking her head— of course not! Jack isn't a douchebag, isn't a jerk, isn't some slimeball.

"Jack, never," she insists, eyes wide in emphasis.

He was the first person to be kind to her at Yale. The first person to notice Phoebe, take time out of his packed schedule to truly talk to her, walk her down long lanes of trees and stone pathways and shortcuts to deliver her to her classes in one piece, better educated about campus and grinning ear-to ear.

The Jack Effect.

Phoebe could also call her burning her cheeks, taut belly, racing heart part of the Jack Effect— when he flops down onto the bed, bare abdomen displayed plainly, Phoebe finds that she can barely fucking swallow, even as he so chivalrously explains to her that it's all okay. His .... excitement, would resolve on it's own.

'So, like, whatever you want, bunny. If you want to, um, try stuff, we can. But we don't have to do anything you don't want to.'

Sweet, of course, and kind, typical of the Jack she had come to know this week. Except— now Phoebe's fidgeting. She's reclining on the bed, squirming, mouth slack, unable to ignore the heat between her legs, the tautness in her belly that demands her attention.

Horny. She's really fucking horny! Phoebe finds she didn't have true understanding of the word until she had felt Jack on top of her, felt his hardness, felt his fingers deliver delicious friction with their squeezing and the rasp of fabric against her nipples.

Now she's all worked up. Her imagination gallops away from her when Jack offers to return the favor in kind, smiling at Phoebe from where he was stretched across the bed.

'With my hands, or my mouth, or whatever you like. We could just kiss, too. Or watch a movie. Like, I totally respect you, and I want you to know that.'

Oh, Christ. Phoebe is shocked, almost scandalized to feel that her clit has a fucking heartbeat now. That was new.

She manages a rough swallow.

"Hah. Yeah. You do have nice hands..."

Very smooth, Phoebe. So smooth! And suddenly she is scooting across the bed, inching to where Jack is lying, staring down at him with wide, curious eyes. His abdomen was very toned. So was his chest.

But Phoebe is most interested in something else.

Slowly, shyly, her arm extends almost on its own accord— hand coming to rest below his navel, on the thicket of wiry hair above his pants, something seen but never before felt. It feels— good against her hand. Hot. Her eyes flicker to Jack. Seeing what he thinks of that, her hand in close proximity to his hardness.

"You have nice everything," she manages. "I— I like everything of yours. I wann—" Big swallow, blood rushing, the squeezing of her thighs, desire pulsing up in her like a wave. God. This was bolder than Phoebe had ever been! Her hand scoots down a few inches, pinky finger now skimming the band of his pants, inching closer to his hard on. It's ... fucking big. Really fucking big, and Phoebe's eyes keep staring. "—feel everything, of yours."

Her thumb opposite her pinky is still buried in his happy trail— finger rubbing against him, thighs squeezing together as she feels the wiry hair. That felt good. God. She probably looks really shameless right now, right? What does Jack think of her?

And then Phoebe caught him by surprise. She reached forward, resting her hand near the lower part of his abdomen. Jack's stomach flexed noticeably, instinctively. It felt nice. His room was cold, and her hand was warm. He wanted more of that.

He exhaled to show Phoebe that he liked that very much.

He kept his eyes on her, but Phoebe was staring at something else. It made Jack smirk in a lustful, prideful sort of way. He was fucking sick.

"—I can't stop staring."

Jack felt his cock twitch inside of his jeans. He never wanted her to look away.

"You can stare," Jack said, voice gentle and reassuring.

Jack quickly repositioned. He sat up slightly, his spine resting against the headboard behind him. He reached for Phoebe's hand, squeezing it gently, pulling her toward him, before he placed it on his abdomen yet again.

He placed his vape on the nightstand. He didn't need that right now. With one hand, Jack unbuttoned his jeans. With the other, he reached forward to caress the side of Phoebe's face, leaning forward so he could press his mouth against hers.

"We don't have to do anything you don't want to do," Jack reiterated— and did his best not to kiss her in a way that seemed confusing. But he was fucking hard. And he wanted her so badly.

Jack pushed his jeans down with both hands, kicking them off until they were a wrinkled pile on the foot of the bed. It left him only in his navy boxer briefs. They were tight on Jack — from his toned thighs, his muscles, and his cock straining against the fabric. He left the briefs on.

"You can stare as much as you want to," he encouraged, leaning forward to kiss her.

"Here," Jack began, tugging her onto his legs. "You can sit there, on my knees, and just ... stare, if you want to. Or you can ..."

Jack smiled, face hot, pushing a hand through his messy hair.

And then it must sink in.

Phoebe's confession— her red-eared, red-cheeked confession.

'Oh, wow,'

Which— fair. A fair reaction, to a confession like that when he's atop her and rock hard. Phoebe swallows, attempts to catch her breath as Jack stares, eventually shifts his way off her.

'Yeah, I'm so sorry. I don't normally do this sort of thing. I'm so embarrassed, Phoebe, God.'

Phoebe is already shaking her head. Of course Jack shouldn't be embarrassed. He didn't do this a lot, and Phoebe hadn't really done this at all— but they had chemistry. A spark. She was in his t-shirt, and Jack didn't plan this, it had just happened, the heat and the spark and the kismet of them all had swept them away.

"Don't be sorry," she manages breathlessly. "It feels really good. I'm sorry, it's just I've never— you know. Um. Slept with anyone, I didn't do that over the summer, or ever before, and—" Duh, Phoebe! Duh you hadn't done that over the summer, Jack could surmise that! But she's hot all over, and her brain is spinning, and clearly her mind isn't still scrabbling for words. Her body is still— very turned on, very electric and full of that wild current.

As is Jack's. That's obvious once he moves off the bed, rustling through his jeans until he produces a vape. He's hard. Really, really, really hard. Phoebe's cheeks flame the longer she stares.

'I got really ahead of myself. I wasn't trying to ... I mean we can, if you want? But we definitely don't have to? It's just, you know, I'm ...'

He points down to the tenting in his jeans— and Phoebe's cheeks burn fucking vermilion, red as a stove, hot as a fucking firebrand. Yeah. He's all hard now. Probably aching, from the anticipation. From being atop Phoebe, from her kisses, her breasts beneath him, their movements together on the bed.

Did it hurt? Being that hard? He was so— big. It shoots a thrill down Phoebe's spine, this current of curiosity, remembering how he had felt against her.

Phoebe shifts up on her elbows.

"It's okay. You didn't get ahead of yourself, it just happened, it just—" A beat. Phoebe nibbles at her lip. She was still very turned on. She didn't want Jack to suffer, or be miserable or anything. And. Well. Didn't she want more experience? Hadn't she really enjoyed everything so far? The closeness, the kisses, the friction was nice! It felt good, feeling his hands, feeling all of him. And Jack looked so fucking good too, lighting up her body, the heat in her navel.

She looks at Jack shyly.

Phoebe assured him that it was okay, that there was nothing to be sorry for, that she'd been enjoying herself. Every time Phoebe doubled down on the fact that she was a virgin, that she'd never slept with anyone before, that she hadn't done it, Jack's dick twitched inside of his fucking jeans. It was so hot.

And Jack wanted to know more. Like, what had she done? Could they still fool around that night, maybe? Or would it just be the most frustrating fucking make out session of all time? (Not that Jack would really mind that, either).

"Yeah, I just don't want you to think I'm one of those guys out there."

But Phoebe was still down to make him feel good. With her hand, or her mouth, or whatever might feel nice. And she was smiling, batting her lashes at him in slow motion, and Jack had to physically look away from her. He laid on his back, staring up at the ceiling, resting a lazy hand over his bare abdomen.

He wanted her mouth, obviously, but she'd probably never done that either. And her hands probably felt fantastic, too. Would she be a quick learner? Should Jack be faux chivalrous and turn her down all together?

What a dilemma. Jack took another hit of his vape, exhaling toward the ceiling.

"I don't even need anything," he assured Phoebe. Faux chivalry it was. "This will... go away, on its own." Yeah, and it would be fucking torture. "I just want to spend time with you," he assured her, smiling in a way that he hoped was sincere. He turned to look at her again. If she wanted to fool around, then it had to be Phoebe's idea. Or he wanted her to think it was Phoebe's idea.

"So, like, whatever you want, bunny. If you want to, um, try stuff, we can. But we don't have to do anything you don't want to."

Jack paused.

"And, you know, if you do want to try stuff, I can return the favor. Like—"

Jack had to stop himself from saying what he was about to: Girls have told me I'm really good at eating pussy.

Phoebe's eyes are heavy-lidded with pleasure.

'It's so hot,'

Oh.

Hot. Jack thought it was hot, her bra-less in his shirt, tits pressed up against the fabric he'd probably worn dozens of times over his own chest, probably really fucking muscled there, really firm and really sculpted. Yeah— hot was right. Phoebe pants heavier as Jack's hand squeezes, mouth going slack as she feels him readjust himself further, practically draping himself over Phoebe.

Oh, fuck. Oh, fuck. That was him. That was Jack, excited. Her ears are burning when she feels the full shape of him against her, dumbfounded at the fucking size, Jesus, that was all him? That's what a guy felt like?

That's what Jack felt like?

Everything below her navel is searing. She's burning, she's so hot, but there's goosebumps all along her skin, shivers working their way down her body the more Jack kneads at her breasts. Her nipples are pebbled— alert for his touch.

And then every thought empties itself from her mind when Jack suddenly peels away his shirt and tosses it towards the lamp.

Oh. Oh, oh, oh. Phoebe's isn't quite certain that she's not fucking drooling on herself, eyes wide, mouth slack, taking a moment to prop herself up upon an elbow as she takes the of Jack in. The chest, muscled— exactly as she pictured. Shoulders firm and broad. And his abdomen. Oh, his fucking abdomen. Phoebe could compose a love sonnet for that, the lines of his abs, the trail and thatch of dark hair below his navel. Phoebe can't stop staring. Can't stop imagining how the hair might feel against her— was it bristly? Did it give a nice rasp? Phoebe had never considered a man's happy trail until Jack, and now she's staring with mindless, shameless sort of awe.

"Jack, you're beautiful," she blurts.

And Phoebe doesn't even have time to be embarrassed about how the words just spill out of her— because her eyes wander. Because her eyes finally get a good look at the fucking tent in Jack's pants.

Oh. Oh! She had felt him, earlier, but seeing? She was really seeing him now.

'I'm so hard,'

Phoebe can feel Jack's words reverberate down her spine. God— between her legs is just molten heat. Did he know? Did Jack really know he was beautiful? Did Jack know that every squeeze, kiss, nip, every single one of his movements was transforming her into something new? That she liked him so much, spent time in her lectures looking forward to seeing him?

'It's just so... fuck, I don't even know the word, Phoebe,'

'It's kismet.'

Kismet.

Oh, fuck. And that sends something right down her spine to her clit. A shock wave of sorts, pleasure and awe and a wild sort of breathlessness she'd never experienced before.

"Kismet," she repeats, smiling and flushed.

She meant what she said earlier— Jack was beautiful. Special. So fucking enticing.

And very fucking hard.

Phoebe sucks in a breath— blinks.

This felt good. It felt really good, Jack atop her, Jack squeezing at her breasts, all these new sensations, this special kind of closeness. But he was also hard, and he was shirtless now. Jack was probably no stranger to sex, while Phoebe was a virgin. It made her feel hot— the idea of doing stuff with Jack. Even... losing her virginity to him at some point. Soon. But they were in the thick of things, and the heat of things, and Phoebe was inexperienced. Sort of clueless. Jack needs to know she's a virgin— hasn't done this before, wants to experiment and learn with all the things that lead up to this.

"Jack," she murmurs, looking up at him wide-eyed, cheeks blazing. "Um. I need to tell you something. I actually haven't—"

A beat. God. What would he think of that? Her all inexperienced? Phoebe swallows, body still tingling, body still hot.

Jack froze, a little caught off guard by the declaration. He had never been called beautiful before in his life. Maybe once, before, but his memory was fuzzy, and his mother happened so long ago, and he might have been misremembering, but Jack could almost make out the phrase somewhere in his mind, blurry and distant.

He didn't like that.

It made him want to fuck Phoebe extra hard, actually, and roll her over and rip her sweatpants open from behind like he was in some fucking cheap ass porn production.

But Jack attempted to re-center, smiling at Phoebe, blinking, pretending like she hadn't just thrown him a wicked fucking curve ball.

It didn't matter because Jack was about to rail her anyway, and however she'd made him feel would disappear soon and be replaced with all of the wonderful endorphins that came with fucking.

Kismet, she'd repeated, and Jack nodded, beginning to unbutton his pants. And then she said his name, just as Jack was moving against her with a little more intention, enjoying every bit of perfect friction, whenever his ears began to ring.

It was a strange thing, what he thought he'd heard.

But Phoebe was staring up at him, totally sincere, totally naive, and the words registered after about five seconds of silence.

"I'm a virgin."

Of all the freshman that were lining up to fuck him, he'd picked the one who was a fucking virgin!

There were two emotions currently warring inside of Jack. Desperation and frustration and his inability to think rationally because most of the blood had pooled into his fucking cock— and then there was excitement, satisfaction, because this had the potential to be very, very fun.

"Oh, wow," was all that Jack could say, breathless, hoping he hadn't given away too much. He wanted to ask her if she was kidding, or if maybe she could have told him sooner, before his cock was aching, but Jack simply kept his mouth shut for a few more moments.

"Yeah, I'm so sorry. I don't normally do this sort of thing. I'm so embarrassed, Phoebe, God."

Jack shook his head, awkwardly shimmying off of her. He rolled onto his side, facing her, and dug through his jean pockets for his fucking vape. He really wished it was mango flavored. Unsure of what else to do, he hit his vape because it calmed him down.