Chapter 5: and if I'm sewn into submission, I can still come home to this
The next few days passed in a blur. Betty spent all of Monday and then Tuesday morning supervising the workers who came to vacate the furniture from Polly's apartment. By Tuesday afternoon, everything was gone. She felt both a sense of release and emptiness at finishing. She sat in the bare apartment for nearly a half hour hoping for a trace of her sister, some sign of her presence, but there was nothing, only the late April breeze flying in soundlessly through the window. Reluctantly, she rose and headed home to the Cooper house. Back to her routine with the twins and her parents. But she was restless. With the apartment finished, her days began to feel unstructured and purposeless. The house, too, was suffocating. She couldn't get a moment of rest without her parents demanding help with one task or another or asking her to do something for the twins. Eight years of independence washed away in an instant. Maybe it was time to look for a job, even a part-time one, at least to feel she was doing something with her life, trying in some way to find a way forward after losing Polly. She had decent savings, mostly a result of barely having a reason to spend her money on anything but utilities and groceries over the years, thanks to Adam's chauvinistic insistence on covering the rent. But some sort of steady income now would put her on the path to finding a place of her own. An endeavor that was becoming more and more necessary the longer she felt herself draining away at her parents' house.
Jughead was the single bright spot in her week. They'd been texting back and forth since hanging out on Sunday. Conversing on all sorts of topics, sharing poems or articles that made them think of the other. She was a little anxious he hadn't yet asked to meet up again, but she understood weekdays were harder. He had mentioned how busy he was with the end of the year coming up and students demanding help with essay prompts and what material would be on the final. Not to mention his own writing she assumed he was working on. The truth was, on some level, she also appreciated the wait to see each other again. It gave her room to breathe, to ease up the expectations of defining the dance they were doing. Anything to cool down the simmering heat at how fast she'd fallen for him.
They'd texted for about an hour Wednesday evening, but so far she hadn't heard from him on Thursday. Then, in the late afternoon, as she waited on the couch for her parents to return home with the kids after a long day of doing virtually nothing, a new message from him came in. She smiled as the notification sounded.
Jughead: Hey Betts. I thought of you when I read this.
She opened the link he's pasted to a recently translated poem by the Portuguese poet António Osório in The New Yorker.
A Meaning
Because there is a meaning
in the lily, let there be worship;
and in the poplar, let there be height;
and in the arborescent heather,
let there be growth;
and in the copper, first treatment
I give to the vine, let there be harvest.
And another meaning, I predict,
there is in memory,
so let there be outburst.
And another, immeasurable,
in love, so let there be surrender.
And another, definitive,
in death, let there be release.
She read it slowly—relishing both in the soothing repetitiveness of the lines and the fact that verse so lovely had put her on his mind—before responding.
Betty: It's beautiful. I love it. Thank you for sharing.
Not wanting the conversation to end there, she added the immediate next thought that came into her head, not caring how corny it may have sounded.
Betty: You're going to inspire me to start writing poems again if this keeps up.
Jughead: Then the phenomenon would be mutual. You've been my muse all week ?ᅡᅠ
Her body tingled as she read his message. She couldn't before have ever claimed to be an inspiration to someone, much less a muse. The fact their meeting had galvanized him in his work on his second novel filled her with a warm wave of feeling. And not an insubstantial amount of pining to be in his presence. Afraid of what she would say if she were to succumb to the want starting to sizzle in her stomach, she decided to instead tease him with a Shakespeare quote.
Betty: O for a Muse of fire? ?
Jughead: Haha, you have no idea.
He sent her a picture of his desk. The typewriter was in the center of the frame, a not insignificant stack of typed pages beside it. What looked like a newly lit vanilla-scented candle sat just to the right of the pile, the flame refracting off the window. She wondered briefly if the choice of vanilla was because of the body wash he'd smelled on her on Sunday and she crossed her legs tightly to will her thoughts from straying too imaginative or erotic.
Betty: It looks to me like you're being very productive.
Jughead: When I'm not distracted by thoughts of a certain muse…
Oh God, Betty thought to herself. He was far too tempting, even from afar with just words. She wanted to flirt back with him, subtly coax him into asking her to meet again, but she could hear her father's car pulling into the garage and Juniper and Dagwood's chatter and she knew she was two minutes away from being distracted with playing with them and helping get dinner on the table. She sighed, unhappily, resigned to trying to resume their conversation later.
Betty: Unfortunately, the muse's family just walked in. ? Talk later?
Jughead: Sure, hon.
She smiled to herself at the term of endearment. He had been slipping it intermittently into their text conversations the last few days and she liked it. Before she could dwell too heavily on what bearing it might have in terms of their fledgling relationship, however, her parents walked in through the door with the twins in tow. Her father immediately retreated to the basement and Betty was left to watch them until dinner. She crouched on the floor, putting together a puzzle of Noah's ark with Juniper and Dagwood, until it was time to eat. Dinner passed quickly, her parents discussing the latest local political scandal and the twins asking for seconds of meatloaf while ignoring the cooked peas on their plate. She tried her best to cajole them into eating their vegetables, but it was basically useless, especially with her parents too absorbed in their conversation to take much notice.
After dinner, Alice put on an old Disney movie, while Betty cleared the table and did the dishes. Before long it was bedtime. She led the twins upstairs to their room, once upon a time Polly's. She read them a Berenstein Bears' book and kissed them both on the forehead good night. After switching off the light, bathing the familiar room in darkness, she went back downstairs to the living room. Her father had come up from the study unusually early for him and was sitting on the couch next to her mother, who was rummaging through her sewing kit, a baseball game on in the background. She sat down in the armchair beside them, watching silently for a few minutes, before spontaneously deciding to try to talk to them.
"I was thinking of trying to get a job," she said casually, as if the idea had just come to her and it wasn't something she'd been seriously deliberating over for days on end.
Alice frowned. "Are we not taking care of everything financially, Betty?" she asked in a way that sounded concerned for her daughter but also came across as self-pitying.
Betty held back a sigh, but before she could answer, her father chimed in.
"It would be good for her to be independent," Hal said distractedly, as if she weren't right there in the room with them and hadn't been living on her own and financially self-sufficient for the previous four years. His eyes were glued to the biography on Stalin in his hands that he was underlining with a red pen. Betty figured it was either related to his World War II course, or some bizarre way to give added context to his Register op-eds on the Russia-Ukraine war. Either way, she would not be getting his undivided attention tonight.
"But we still need so much help with the twins," Alice complained. "I don't think it's a good time right now."
"It was just an idea," Betty said, trying to keep her voice light despite internally screaming, and just like that the subject was dropped. Her dad resumed his reading (if he'd ever stopped) and her mother went back to fixing a button on one of Hal's shirts.
Of course, they weren't supportive. They didn't know how to be. She felt a rush of disdain for their selfishness and heedlessness, as well as toward herself for expecting any differently. All she wanted to do was shake them and yell at them that she was helping. She was doing more than enough, more than she was really obligated to. Yes, she'd agreed to aid her parents in taking care of Polly's children, but that didn't mean she was supposed to give up her entire life—all her ambitions and aspirations—to start raising them now. Not when Alice and Hal were still relatively healthy and capable and had decided themselves to apply for custody. Maybe that made her selfish as well. Maybe she wasn't being sensitive enough to the gravity of their loss. Maybe she was just as screwed up and self-interested as them. Nasty, self-loathing thoughts ran through her head and all she wanted was to escape them. She sat up straighter and decided she needed air.
"I'm going for a walk," she said, standing up quickly and turning away before either of her parents could protest. She grabbed her jacket, thankful she'd left money and her house keys inside its pockets, and headed outside. Despite intending to wander aimlessly, she found herself walking in the direction of Pop's out of habit. Whenever she'd been upset as a teen, she'd always gone there for a vanilla milkshake. It seemed as good a plan as any now. She walked quickly, trying to force out the frustration she felt.
Upon entering the diner and approaching the counter to order, she noticed a familiar brunette sitting on one of the stools poring over some documents, an almost completely full chocolate milkshake in front of her. Betty decided not to be rude and to say hello, despite not really feeling in the mood to interact with anyone tonight. Still, it was her best friend's soon-to-be wife.
"Veronica," she said, getting the woman's attention. "Hi."
"Oh, Betty, hi," the brunette said, smiling at her. She moved her bag from the stool next to her. "Please, join me."
Betty ordered her own milkshake and went to sit down at the stool Veronica had offered. "What's up?" she asked.
"Archie and Reggie are having some sort of bro night out, so I thought why not treat myself to a chocolate milkshake and get some work done?" Veronica proclaimed with a laugh.
Betty smiled, thinking of her guy friends goofing off somewhere. "Sounds like a good plan."
"And what about you?" the brunette asked. "What brings you to Pop's tonight?"
Betty took a long sip of her vanilla milkshake that had just arrived. "Honestly, my parents were driving me crazy, and I needed to get out of there," she explained. She tried not to be too detailed in her response, but she hated how much she still sounded like a petulant teenager. She was honestly worried she had started regressing since living at home again.
"Ah," Veronica said. She looked over at the blonde, her expression turning softer. "I know we're not super close, B, but I'd like to be. You're really important to Archiekins, which means you're important to me. So if you want to vent, don't hold back on my account."
The hint of a smile on her face, Betty decided maybe it wouldn't be the worst thing to unburden herself a little to another woman offering friendship. "Thanks V. It's just…I've been thinking of looking for a job. Maybe eventually my own place. To actually try to settle down here. But all my parents can think about is themselves and what that means for me being around to raise the twins." She took another sip and sighed. "Polly's death has been awful, on all of us. I know that, but it's so frustrating that's their immediate response. I mean, they're still working. They still see friends sometimes. Why shouldn't I? Why can't I have a life outside of them?" Betty got quiet, shaking her head, and trying not to get too angry or upset that she burst into tears.
Veronica was nodding sympathetically. "I wish I had some valuable advice on selfish, unsupportive parents, but I don't really," she said ruefully, sounding like she spoke from experience. "Except maybe lowering your expectations. Not that it'll take the sting of disappointment away."
Betty chuckled sadly and stirred her drink. "Yeah."
"But maybe I can help on the job front," Veronica continued, her brown eyes brightening as she glanced at Betty hopefully.
The blonde looked back at her in confusion.
"Ronnie's is doing really well locally, but I'm still trying to generate more tourist customers. I thought about bringing someone on to help me part-time with marketing, some other administrative stuff too," Veronica clarified.
"Oh," Betty said. "Wow. I mean, thank you. But don't you want someone with experience?"
"I want someone I can trust," Veronica said definitively. "Plus you're good with words, B. You're smart. You're creative." She stopped and looked up at the blonde, her eyes glimmering. "Please don't make me have to sell you on this."
Betty smiled. "No, it actually sounds perfect."
"Good," Veronica said, leaning back, a Cheshire cat grin appearing on her face. "Now, tell me, does this sudden desire for your own place have anything to do with your not so mystery man?"
Betty immediately flushed. Veronica did not beat around the bush. "Archie told you about that?"
"Mhm," the brunette affirmed. "He was a little worried, but I talked him out of it. You are allowed to have fun, you know?"
"I know," Betty said, her fingers slowly tearing up into strips the wet napkin her milkshake had sat on. "But this feels like more than just fun," she admitted. Even though she and Jughead hadn't labeled anything and had only met five days before, Betty felt protective over whatever was between them. She certainly didn't think of it as just casual, or didn't want it to be.
"Oh, I understand," Veronica reassured her. "I just mean to enjoy it. Not worry right away about where it's going or what it all means."
"V, if we're going to get closer, I think you have to understand how neurotic I am," Betty said, offering a crooked smile. "I can't just not think about those things."
"Okay, okay, B, enlighten me," the brunette said, giggling.
They continued to chitchat, talking a little more about the situation with Jughead and sharing embarrassing stories about Archie. It was nice, Betty had to admit. She hadn't had many girl friends growing up, always worrying about feeling in some unwanted competition with them, but Veronica's confidence and fearlessness complemented her own sensitivity and hesitation. She was glad they'd unintentionally run into each other, pleasantly surprised at how simply talking with the brunette had helped lift her mood. After about two hours, they headed out, Veronica dropping her off and promising to pick her up to talk work details on Monday. Betty entered her parents' darkened house quietly, padding up to her bedroom. She brushed her teeth and undressed quickly, throwing on a tank top and PJ shorts to sleep in. As she climbed into bed, and plugged her phone in to charge, she noticed she'd missed a message from Jughead several hours before.
Jughead: After writing for three straight hours, I think I deserve a muse break :)
She smiled inwardly at the cute message, but felt her nerves churn that she'd basically ignored him all night. He hadn't written anything else and she hoped he hadn't interpreted her lack of response as not being interested, even though logically she knew any sane person would understand there were plenty of reasons for it to take someone a few hours to reply. Everything just felt so gossamer between them, as if at any moment the silk of the careful web they'd woven could break. She didn't want to spoil it. Despite the lateish hour, she decided to write him back something of an explanation.
Betty: Hey Jug, I'm sorry for only answering now. I had kind of an up and down night. Talk in the morning, maybe?
She put her phone down on her night table and shut the lamp beside her. Not one minute later though, her phone was buzzing. It was him. Her heart instinctively started beating faster. It was the first time he'd called her.
"Hey," she heard herself answering.
"Hi you," he said, before pausing momentarily. "I hope it's okay I'm calling. I just wanted to make sure you were okay."
"Yeah," Betty said, letting out a brief sigh, feeling her heart melt a little he'd been worried and cared enough to call. "I was just annoyed with my parents earlier, but I ran into Veronica, Archie's fiancee, and we talked. That helped a little."
"Good," he said softly.
"She actually offered me a part-time job at her boutique," Betty disclosed. "Which I think could be good. Give me something to do."
"That's nice, Betts," he said warmly. She could hear in his voice though that he wanted to say something else, and she bit her tongue waiting. "Do you want to come by the Wyrm tomorrow night? We can toast to your new job."
"Yes, I'd like that," she replied, hoping her response didn't sound too rushed, even though inwardly her stomach was flipping like crazy.
"Great," he said, his relief she'd acquiesced to his invitation obvious. "So I'll see you tomorrow. 9ish?"
"Great," she echoed. She wanted to tell him how worked up she was to see him again, how much she longed to kiss him, maybe even more than that, but she was scared. Scared of the depths of her feelings. Scared she couldn't convey it properly in words. So she settled for a simple, "Goodnight, Jug."
"Goodnight, hon."
Betty stood in the parking lot outside the Whyte Wyrm, smoothing down her outfit in anticipation. It was an unseasonably warm evening and she'd decided to wear a button-down powder blue dress embroidered with dark pink flowers. A light brown belt ran around her waist and pink ballerina flats on her feet. The dress was short, showing off her long, ivory legs, and she hoped it was the right blend of tasteful and sexy for what she hoped was a date. She felt nervous, her throat dry, but a good nervous. She really wanted to see Jughead. She locked the car behind her and started walking toward the bar. She opened the door and peered around, immediately spotting him at the bar, his eyes sweeping the expanse of the space. He was dressed in black jeans, black suspenders, and a jean button down with the sleeves rolled up. She'd never thought suspenders could be sexy, but on him, they looked so good, it was almost sinful. She bit her lip just as he noticed her, making her flush. He smirked at her and started walking toward her. Her heart pounded as he approached. She wanted him to kiss her, but she could also feel other patrons' eyes on them, and thought better of it. Instead, he leaned down and left a light peck on her cheek, before brushing the small of her back and leading her to a small table in the corner.
Once they'd sat down, she could feel his eyes on her, studying every detail—the bare legs, the small hairs rising on her arms, the exposed skin below her neck. The air between them felt suspended, weighted with a mix of deep attraction and apprehension, and Betty thought her breath might have stopped until he finally broke the silence. "You look really pretty," he told her.
She immediately flushed, the way he was looking at her with such desire even more arousing than any complimentary words he could say about her appearance. "You look good, too," she told him, crossing her legs, already feeling the results of the amorous pheromones he was sending out in her center.
He smiled at her and licked his bottom lip, and she could feel a fire starting to brew in her lower stomach. "Thanks," he said. "So what should we drink to celebrate your job?"
"You decide," she said, smiling back, feeling far too overcome to make any sort of decision, even about an alcoholic beverage.
"Hey Fangs," he called to the bartender, who Betty recognized as the man Kevin had been embracing last week. "Two G&Ts, please." He looked back at Betty. "Is that okay?" She nodded and he smiled at her again. "How are you?" he asked.
"I'm alright," she told him.
"Yeah?" he asked, his eyes on her warm and curious. "Feeling better after yesterday?"
She appreciated him asking, but she didn't want to talk about her parents or that drama, not right now when she was feeling so loose and desirable in his presence. "I feel better being here with you," she told him, truthfully, not caring how coquettish it also sounded.
His face broke into a deep, sexy smile. "Hold that thought, please," he said with a chuckle, standing up to bring their drinks from the bar. Betty watched him as he went, his nonchalant stroll sending a shiver through her. He returned with a twinkle in his eye, drinks in hand, and sat back down across from her. "To you," he said, holding out his glass to her, and Betty clinked hers with his, her eyes never leaving his gaze, even as she took a sip. She hummed appreciatively and he grinned. "Good?"
"Yeah, it's nice," she said, taking another sip, enjoying the zestiness and bittersweet taste on her tongue, and wondering what it would be like to taste it on him. God, she was gone for him. She couldn't ever remember feeling this feral and sexual before, even in the two instances they'd spent time together before, and it was throwing her off balance.
It seemed he had the same thought, though, because he was watching her carefully, his eyes trained on her pink lips as she swallowed. He gulped down a sip of his own. "How was the rest of your week?" he asked, the crack in his voice letting her know he was struggling to stay on neutral, non-flirtatious topics with her as well.
"Honestly, not too exciting. After finishing the apartment, I haven't had much to do." She took another drink, not wanting to dwell on the feelings thinking about her sister would arise in her if she let herself go there. "What about you, Jug?"
"Busy with teaching and writing in the evening and well, you know the rest…" he said, shooting her a lazy grin.
"No, what?" she asked coyly.
"Trying to think of smart and funny things to text you," he told her. His voice was confident, joking, but she could hear the underlying bashfulness in his hushed tone.
"I hope you didn't have to think too hard," she teased.
"Well, you seemed receptive," he teased back.
She took a long flirty sip and looked back up at him. "I was," she told him and she could swear she saw his Adam's apple quivering slightly at her words. Her drink was almost half gone by now and she could feel the alcohol pervading her bloodstream, making her bolder but also more reflective.
"Please tell me that's not just the gin talking," he joked.
Just like that, her usual self-consciousness came streaming back, even though she knew he was teasing. Unable to stop herself, she found herself asking, "Do you think it's wrong in a way for us to be drinking? To be enjoying drinking?"
"Because of my dad, and your sister?" he asked, accurately guessing her line of thinking.
Betty nodded.
His fingers tightened slightly around his glass as he appraised her. "I think you have to separate the substance from the addiction," he told her. "So no, I don't think it's bad for us to celebrate with a drink once in a while, or even to crave alcohol's effects if we had a bad day. It's natural."
"It just scares me that I could ever get to a place like she did," Betty muttered, her eyes lowering at the vulnerable admission.
"I understand," he said, offering her a sad smile. He released the glass from his grasp and slowly edged his hand over the table, finding the undersides of her fingers and caressing them softly. "I'm sorry for the poor joke. I understand your worry, but I don't think you're in that place." His voice turned lighter, teasing, "I think we can both safely enjoy the rest of our drinks."
Betty's fingers closed slightly over his in gratitude, squeezing them, before freeing his hand. She felt more relaxed but still embarrassed that she'd once again drawn their conversation back to her dark and grief-tinged thoughts. She laughed bitterly to herself and Jughead looked at her quizzically.
"It seems no matter how much I want to keep things light and fun with you even for a little, I always end up ruining the conversation with something heavy," she explained. "You must find it exasperating."
"On the contrary," he told her. "It's one of the reasons I'm so drawn to you." He looked at her more intently, his midnight blue eyes boring deep into the emerald green of her irises, his hand now brushing against her bare knee under the table. "You're expressive. You say what you feel, what you think. You don't hold back, even if it's difficult or not very pretty. It's captivating to me. Don't think otherwise."
She nibbled her lips and trembled under his intense gaze. The fire in her stomach was now a full blown blaze and she didn't care to try to control it. Jughead's alluring presence coupled with her talk yesterday with Veronica just made her want to throw caution to the wind. They'd been talking all week. They'd kissed. They were clearly interested in each other. What exactly was she waiting for?
As if he could sense the change in her demeanor, he leaned in over the table and murmured, "Do you want to come upstairs?"
They both knew what he was really asking, and Betty felt herself nodding. She rose from the table after him trance-like, following him to the back of the bar and up the set of stairs that led to his apartment. He unlocked the door and pushed it open, walking in first. Betty followed, shutting the door softly behind her and leaning against it as he turned back to her. He came closer, stopping when his body was almost touching hers. His fingers softly began to trail down her arm. She could feel the goosebumps rising.
"I've been thinking about you all week," he said, his eyes once again piercing deeply into hers and she shuddered.
"Kiss me," she whispered, unable or unwilling to wait another second.
He smiled, cupping her face in his hands before pressing his lips to hers. He tasted exactly as she'd hoped, sour and sweet, and she felt a moan gurgle in her throat. She wanted more, so she pulled her hands up to clutch his biceps and angle him in even closer, if that were possible. The kiss had started off gentle, slow, but soon enough, their desperation took over, built up over days of unacted upon desire, and she could feel him start to practically devour her mouth. His insistent lips pried hers open and his tongue tangled with hers, savoring her taste. She sank deeper into the kiss as his hands began to roam her body, stroking the outline of her waist down to the curve of her hip.
Her legs felt shaky, and she grasped his chest to steady herself, as they continued to kiss ravenously. The exploration and wonderment of their first kisses days earlier now replaced by a frantic and burning need. Her back arched into his chest and she could feel him hardening against her center, her own arousal swirling and throbbing between her legs. He groaned into her mouth as she instinctively rubbed herself against him, and he pulled her into his arms, moving her off the door. Breaking their kiss, he began walking them toward his bed, his mouth simultaneously leaving a slow trail of wet kisses down her neck. Betty moaned, her head falling back as his kisses reached her collarbone and he sucked in a sweet spot.
Arriving at the base of his bed, he gently laid her down, and she leaned back against his pillows. He began to clip off the suspenders. She watched, panting, her hands clumsily undoing the belt around her waist. Once she'd pulled it off, he pushed it aside and crept over her, his eager mouth once again claiming hers. His hands traveled up her thighs as he nibbled open her lips and swept his tongue inside her mouth. On impulse, she spread her legs around him, the skirt of her dress riding up. The scent of her silky heat filled the air and she whimpered as he began to kiss down her body, his fingers fiddling for a moment with the top button of her dress, before finally undoing it. Jughead continued his torturously slow descent, opening each button and pressing a kiss to the skin he'd exposed, until he reached the bottom of her stomach. He looked up at her with a crooked smile, leaving a soft kiss on her navel. He removed the fabric from her arms, and then dragged what remained buttoned of the dress down her legs. He shifted to his side as he moved back up her body. He kissed her hungrily, his fingers tracing the top of her lacy white bra, her chest heaving as he grazed the soft, sensitive skin of her full upper breasts.
Her semi-exposed body and his soft, sure hands had submerged Betty in a puddle of yearning, but also frightened her. She was kissing him back urgently, her body clearly aching for more of him, but she felt nervous and dizzy, unsure if she was ready to take this all the way. Amidst the haze of arousal and skittishness in her mind, she had started to undo the buttons on his shirt, successfully opening the top few. But now her fingers kept slipping, numbingly clicking as she tried to pull the buttons through their holes. After a few attempts, she felt his hand come up to cover hers and still her fumbling motions.
"Hey," he said, breaking the kiss to look at her and trail his finger down her cheek soothingly. Her eyes momentarily fluttered shut in response. "We don't have to take this further tonight," he said, with a small smile, as she opened them. "We're both a little drunk. There's no rush."
"Thanks…I, I just felt a little overwhelmed all of a sudden," she whispered in agreement, relieved but also pleased by how well his body could already read hers.
"It's okay," he reassured her.
"I don't think I'm ready to stop kissing you though," she confessed, her hands finding the lean stomach exposed by his half-open shirt, and Jughead smirked, pinning his hand to the soft skin of her back and bringing his lips in toward hers. They shared another delicious kiss, slow and tender this time, and Betty felt her body relax against him. One hand now guiding the back of her head against his lips, the other finished unbuttoning his shirt. She twisted onto her back, as he shrugged it off, his body following to hover over her, the bare skin of his chest brushing against her bra-clad form. His mouth sauntered down her neck to her chest, leaving a series of kisses along the swell of her breasts. Her heels dug into his mattress at his actions.
"Let me make you feel good?" he asked, somewhat hesitantly, obviously not wanting to push her limits. But his low voice and eyes dark with want were too overpowering to refuse. Betty sucked in a breath and nodded her ascent. He drew her down to the side of his bed, coming to kneel on the floor between her legs. He moved his hands to the waistband of her white cotton panties, his fingers tracing down the smooth skin of her legs as he removed them. Her previous nervousness mostly abandoned, she arched her back, shyly unclasping her bra and letting it fall beside her. She wanted him to see her, totally.
"You're stunning," he told her, his thumb caressing her pelvic bone as he looked up at her, his dark blue eyes admiringly drinking in her nakedness. He settled between her legs, spreading them apart slightly. "Tell me what you like," he murmured, his mouth opening wider and his warm tongue coming to lick languidly up her slit.
"Oh, God, Jug," Betty moaned, her body already squirming at the first brush of contact, and she could feel Jughead chuckling softly against her, his hot breath blowing against her clitoris turning her on even more.
He continued licking long, leisurely strokes up her slit, holding her in place as she began to writhe in tune to the excruciatingly slow pleasure he was supplying her. He moved up his mouth to suck on her clit, and Betty felt her hips instinctively bucking against his face. He tightened his grip on her hip bone, suckling softly instead to ease her into the sensation. His mouth was incredible, intuiting her needs and satisfying each of them. Her body was so close already. Sensing her approaching orgasm, he moved to tease her and prolong the gratification. He stilled the suction against her clit, using the tip of his tongue to curl soft circles around her outer folds and then inching closer until they were over the sensitive nub. Her hands twisted into the sheets in desperation. The pleasure was simultaneously too much and not enough.
"Please," she begged, not sure what she was asking for, but knowing only he could provide it.
He moved a fingertip to her clit, touching it just barely. "Tell me what you need, Betts," he murmured, before resuming lapping up her slit, his tongue now slithering into her soaking wet folds and swirling inside her.
"You, Jug," she moaned. At her answer, his fingers began to move more assuredly against her clit, speeding up his motions to take her over the edge. She thrashed beneath him, letting his mouth and fingers worship her until she was boneless and delirious. She felt her body tense, her stomach muscles contracting, and she let out one breathless moan after another as waves of immeasurable pleasure surged through her body. She locked her eyes shut and collapsed against the bed as the sensation started to subside and he tenderly licked her down from the high.
He rose up slowly and she scooted backward, inviting him back onto her. He leaned down to kiss her, and she kissed him back starved, the taste of herself on his lips as sweet as nectar. As her hands roamed his back, she felt a sudden urge to taste him too, to make him climax as he had her. She'd never particularly enjoyed giving blowjobs before, but the way Jughead had so eagerly pleasured her made her feel powerful, desired. She felt compelled to return the feeling. Her hands moved to the button of his jeans, undoing it, before moving to the zipper below. He slowly pulled back from the kiss, an unspoken question in his expression as he searched her face.
"I want to make you feel good, too, Juggie," she explained, in a whisper, a pink flush spreading over her skin, and he smiled, standing back up to pull down his jeans.
She sat upright, moving gingerly to touch him over his plaid boxers. She could feel his semi-erect cock harden in an instant at her ministrations. Betty curled her fingers into a fist, pumping him over the fabric, until she could feel his cock twitching. She unfurled her hand and slowly pulled down the boxers, freeing him. She looked up to catch a glimpse of his beautifully rapt face, her eyelashes fluttering as she delicately opened her mouth to suck on his tip. Jughead's eyes widened in surprise, but he groaned in appreciation, her tongue beginning to trail kitten licks over him.
His eyes closed tightly and his fingers weaved through her hair, as he stepped closer between her legs. She opened her mouth wider, slowly running the underside of her lips up his cock. She took him deep into her warm, inviting mouth, before descending, dragging her tongue down along his shaft. He moaned, his fingers clutching harder into her scalp, and she repeated the motion, several times, nearly moaning herself at the taste of pre-cum that spilled onto her lips. She moved a hand up to roll his balls in her fingers, and she felt him harden further in her mouth.
"Fuck, Betts," he gasped. Spurred by his arousal and pressing need for release, she grabbed onto his back to take in as much of his cock as she could. He thrust into her mouth, and she sucked him harder, until she could feel his whole body shaking against her. Guttural groans echoed from his throat as his orgasm overcame him, and he exploded in her mouth. She held the milky white liquid in her throat as he shot out his last spurts, before releasing him and swallowing.
She looked up at him with a smile as he came down from the high, his blue eyes dark as saucers and his chest shuddering. Still, he managed to pull her up and hold her against him, kissing her ragged, until both of them were breathless.
Wordlessly, they fell back on the bed, and she found herself resting her head on his chest. One of his hands wrapped around her, running circles over her stomach, while the other got lost in her long blonde hair. He didn't say anything, just kept holding her like that, tenderly, securely, showing her the depths of his feelings and care and desire for her, without having to state it outright. She knew it wasn't worth it to compare, and she certainly didn't want to be thinking of her ex after the amazing tryst she and Jughead had just shared, but her body had never before been treated with such gentleness and reverence. Adam had been ardent, but also pushy for sex in the beginning, even when she was an inexperienced virgin. She'd given in after several weeks of dating, despite not feeling completely comfortable, and part of her still regretted it. But Jughead had never pressured her. Even tonight, he'd stopped when he could sense her nerves. He was good for her, she realized, really good for her. He made her feel safe and beautiful and important. She didn't know if it was love yet, but it was close, and it scared her. As much as she yearned for the good things she knew the future could bring for them, that fear was still there.
The circles he'd been drawing came to a stop, and she felt his hand reaching for hers, interlacing their fingers. "Can you stay?" he asked, before leaning down to kiss her forehead softly.
"I should probably go home," she said apologetically. She didn't really want to leave his grasp, but she knew returning home tomorrow morning was too much of a hassle to explain to her parents, especially with their expectations for ready, on-demand child care. "The twins wake up early and Saturdays are hard, all day without kindergarten. Plus my parents…"
"Of course," he reassured her, squeezing her hand to let her know he understood. "But stay a few more minutes?"
"A few more minutes," she echoed, agreeing to remain in their shielded little cocoon for just a bit longer.
