Hey, guys! I almost forgot to update, because I had a lot of work to do today, but I remembereddd. Yaaay. Anyway, thank you very much for reading and reviewing (over 200 reviews!). You're all hella rad. I love you.
Also, thanks to Katwood5 for beta'ing, as always. Special thanks to IWriteNaked for being awesome and to spikeyhairgood for being super supportive and great to talk to and for writing a fic I'm super addicted to (Day Late Friend, which you should all read if you haven't). Anyway, thanks to all of you!
Also, if you haven't, you should totally check out my new one-shot, I Saw New York and it Ruled. Shameless self-promotion is the best.
I hope you like this chapter. :)
Jace leaves my house forty-five minutes after my phone call. By then, we're already done with everything. All I have left to do is my sketch properly on a cleaner piece of paper and, just like that, we're done. Ta-daaaa. But I guess I don't really care much about that.
By the time Jace leaves, and I clean my room, and I take a shower, I'm shaking. I'm nervous. The truth is, Jordan is, like, super nice and adorable and considerate and likable, and those facts alone scare the crap out of me, because what if I make a mistake? What if I get trampled on like I did last fall?
The truth hits me like a ton of bricks, and it happens while I'm in the middle of my hot shower: what happened with Jace will follow me wherever I go. At first, I thought I'd get over it, because he's just a boy and I can get over boys, especially with Isabelle Lightwood as my best friend. I can get over him. I can. And I have. But, I mean, what he did to me, and the way I felt for the longest time, that won't change. That's still there, and it still hurts to think about, even now that I'm over Jace.
And Jordan is more important than Jace—that's why this worries me. Because I never kissed Jace. He never touched my skin, never explored my curves and the way my lips shaped his name. We didn't get to know each other in the way Jordan and I have, and I think that terrifies me, because it means that Jordan can hurt me twice as much as Jace did. He can really make it hurt.
And I, for one, don't wanna get hurt.
I exit my bathroom wearing a dress with floral patterns, my ankle boots, and a denim jacket. I brush my hair; it looks shockingly red against my pale skin, which makes my freckles more noticeable today. I sigh, giving up on my looks altogether, not bothering to wear makeup, and step into my room. Isabelle looks at me, makes a face of approval, and hands me my bag. It has my wallet, which has a condom and money and my license, my iPod, and some gum.
"I need to tell Jon I'm going out."
"I'll tell him you're coming over to mine. You take care of your parents," she tells me, disappearing into the hallway.
I call my mom, and she says it's fine if I go over to Izzy's as long as I'm back by nine thirty, because it's a school night. I agree, but that means I only have two hours with Jordan, assuming I get there by six thirty. It's already six, and there could be traffic. I hurry downstairs and tell Isabelle to hurry up.
We leave the house ten minutes after that. I sit up front with Izzy, who keeps telling me that it's okay if I don't want to have sex, but she put the condom in my wallet because it's better to be safe than sorry. She says that it's okay to tell him what I want and don't want, that it won't offend him. Jordan is nice, she says. I'll pick you up at eight thirty, she reminds me, unless you call me and tell me that something went wrong.
I say goodbye to her at the entrance of Jordan's apartment building. He's ready for me downstairs, wearing a grin as big as the moon, and I give him a sloppy kiss.
"Hi," I say, and I find that I've managed to miss him.
"Hey," he says.
His apartment is actually a lot cleaner than I thought it would be. He has an Xbox and a flat screen TV, and his kitchen is a decent size. There are two bedrooms; one of them is fairly small, while the other one, which I assume is his—duh—is pretty big, about the size of my parents' bedroom. It's a really nice apartment, and he keeps it so.
I drop my bag on the coffee table between the TV and the couch. "Is it okay if I leave this here?"
He nods. "No problem."
I sit down on the couch, waiting for him to join me. He does, and he's smiling as he does. "How was your day?"
"Good. Actually, the end of it was kind of sucky because of this art thing, but it was good anyway. How was yours?"
"Oh, you know, the usual. Horrible job, boring classes." He smiles. "But it just got a lot better."
"I bet," I say, a little breathless, "you use that line on all the girls."
"Not on all of them," Jordan says, but he doesn't have to say it, because it worked on me.
I give him a kiss that starts out soft, innocent, but becomes stronger, carrying an urgency that I forgot I could feel. I find myself on his lap, my legs on either side of his hips, and I press them together—press our bodies together—to create friction. He moans, his grip on the back of my neck tightening. It doesn't hurt, not at all. My hands are on either side of his neck, too. When his hand slips down and touches my butt, I can't help but let out a moan, which only encourages him. His hands travel down my thighs, exploring, and then going back up, traveling up my back. I love the way my skin feels on fire when it touches his. It isn't, I realize, the way Isabelle has described making out with Simon to me, but a) we're different people, so duh, and 2) I don't wanna think about the two of them making out while I make out.
Jordan unzips my dress and tugs down the upper part, revealing a plain black bra I've owned for a week now. I don't have anything sexy or with lace like Iz does, but I figured it doesn't matter. Jordan stops kissing me, and he's looking at me, and he says, "You're beautiful," and I kiss him hard and fast, like the world might fall apart if I don't, like things will stop making sense unless my lips are crushing his and his hands are touching my skin.
He loses his shirt moments after, and he presses a kiss to my neck, then to my lips, and then down to my collarbone. He travels up and down, leaving sloppy kisses everywhere, and I smile. We're still pressed up tightly against each other, only (most of) our upper bodies are touching now. I know what comes next, and, despite the confidence he's brought me, I'm scared.
"We don't have to if you don't want to. I mean," he says, stumbling on his words, "you can stop me whenever, and I'll be fine with it."
I smile as I kiss him and unclasp my bra. I don't let him see me first, just press myself up against him, kissing him. He's breathing hard and fast, and I finally let him see.
He stares at me, says I'm beautiful twice, and gives me a kiss that makes everything fade away. I unbutton his jeans, and he groans against my lips. I roll off his lap for a second; he takes them off so fast it's crazy. I'm back on his lap again, and I take off the rest of my dress, dropping it on the floor. It doesn't make a sound. My heart is beating wildly against my chest. I think I'm not breathing.
Jordan starts kissing me again, his hands roaming my body, and I keep thinking that this is happening. Like, really happening. I'm not wearing a bra, just panties, and he's only in his boxers. My legs are wrapped around his waist, and I'm kissing him with everything I have, and then he says, "Maybe we should take this to my bedroom, where it'll be more comfortable," and I know I somehow agree, because he's gripping me tightly, my boobs bouncing against his chest. I hear him breathe in; even his breathing is shaky.
He lays me down gently on the bed. I smile at him, a quick, reassuring smile, and I feel like it's more for him than it is for me. I know he's not a virgin, and he knows I am, and it's all sort of a mess, and now I'm nervous.
"If you don't want to," he whispers, "we don't have to."
"I want to," I tell him. I do. I don't think I've wanted anything this badly in a long time. There's a voice in the back of my head, one that tells me I don't love Jordan, one that asks me whether or not I should wait for the "right person," for the person I fall in love with.
I shut that voice up while Jordan puts on his condom. I want this. I do. I look at Jordan, at his warm eyes and face, and feel the way he kisses me, and I like the way I'm on fire when he touches me, and I want this more than anything in the world.
I glance at the clock on the nightstand, my eyes groggy. It's eight thirty; Isabelle's supposed to be here in fifteen minutes. I've been asleep for, like, an hour. Jordan is next to me, and he stirs when he feels me move.
After we had sex, he asked me if I was okay, if I was hurting. I said no, but it did hurt a little bit. I feel like it should be different, even though I knew that it wouldn't be the most fucktastic experience in the universe. I'm a virgin, after all, and it's okay if it was uncomfortable. I know it wasn't good for Jordan, at least not as good as it could have been, and that thought leaves me feeling hollow inside.
"You okay?" he asks, his voice as groggy as I feel. "What time is it?"
"I have to leave in fifteen minutes," I tell him, avoiding his other questions.
He opens one eye, then the other. "Okay. Do you want anything to drink? Wanna shower?"
I nod. "Shower."
He goes out to get me a towel, and I slip on his t-shirt and gather my clothes from the living room. Jordan points me in the direction of the bathroom and leaves me to shower. The water's hot, and my skin's sensitive. It wasn't bad, having sex. It wasn't the best, but not bad. I take a deep breath, trying to steady my heart. It's okay, I tell myself, and I finish showering in ten minutes.
I send Isabelle a text, telling her to give me an extra ten minutes. I drink some of the tea Jordan made, and we sit next to each other on the couch.
He starts. "If I hurt you—"
"You didn't," I tell him, smiling. "I'm okay, Jordan, it's just—it's a lot. You know?"
He nods. "As long as you're okay."
My stomach flutters. "I promise."
He gives me a quick kiss and takes my now-empty mug. I text Isabelle, telling her I'll be down now, and she says she's waiting. "I have to go," I remind Jordan.
"I'll walk you down," he says, and I'm too tired to argue. I grab my bag and follow him out.
Isabelle is waiting for me in her car. It's just her, no Simon, which is good, because her eyes widen the moment she sees me. I give Jordan a quick kiss and step into the car, cheeks burning.
"Clarissa Adele Fray," she breathes. "You had sex."
"Yeah," I say. "That happened."
"Tell me everything," she demands.
I do.
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