JACKSON

"So what are you gonna do with this major of yours?"

April is at her desk, hunched over her laptop, humming. I've just woken up from a long nap, and the first thing I heard was her voice, which led me to think about her major - vocal music. She spends so much time at the piano, but I barely ever hear her talk about singing. Which seems weird.

"Oh," she says. "You're up."

I glance at the clock and see that it's almost 8pm. I slept for way longer than I intended, but I think I needed it. I feel really well-rested and clear-headed.

"Yep, I've risen from the dead," I say. "When did you get back?"

"Couple hours ago," she says, turning back to her work. "Just been doing homework, and waiting for you."

"Probably got pretty lonely without me," I say slyly.

"The silence was actually nice," she quips.

"Uh-huh," I say. "Sure. Anyway, you didn't answer me. What are you gonna do after our four years in this joint hell?"

She scoffs. "It's not hell," she says. "But I want to be a professional voice teacher."

"A teacher," I say, nodding. "I can definitely see that."

"I'm gonna go to grad school after this," she says, turning halfway around in her chair to rest her arm along the back of it. "Juilliard or maybe the Cincinnati Conservatory of Music. That one's closer to my hometown, I might like it."

"Not very close to me," I say.

She rolls her eyes lightly. "Why, Mr. Pre-med? Where are you gonna go after we're done here?"

"I'll go to med school somewhere," I say, rolling onto my back to look at the ceiling. "I don't know where yet. Northwestern? Or maybe somewhere up east, like Harvard or something."

"Harvard," she says. "Wow."

"What," I say. "You don't think I can get in?"

"No, no!" she says. "I didn't said that. Just like, the concept of Harvard is so… whoa, to me."

"It's close to Juilliard," I say, darting my eyes over to her.

"Yeah," she says, looking down at her hand. "I don't even know if I'll go there. I probably wouldn't even be able to get in."

"Whatever," I say. "Your rendition of 'Baby I'm Yours' was turnt the other day. You could use that as your audition piece."

She starts laughing - that laugh I love, with her head thrown back and mouth wide open. I feel something warm and crazy in my chest watching her. "Turnt?" she says, shaking her head. "You're too much."

"No, for real though!" I say. "Don't get down on yourself. You're really good."

She shrugs. "I don't know. It's four years from now, anyway. Who even knows what my life will look like by then?"

There's a quiet moment where her eyes trail down her own arms and mine wander her placid face. I pull my lips into my mouth and run my tongue over them; I don't feel like any words are adequate for what's going on inside my head. I'm feeling a lot of things, but I don't understand a single emotion.

I love watching her, no matter what she's doing. And right now, even as she's deep in thought, her eyes on her own freckles, I think she's a work of art.

I wasn't supposed to catch feelings for her. I was the one who made up that stupid rule, and I'd even been joking at the time. But whatever's happening inside my head and heart right now is definitely not a joke. And I'm no match for it.

"What'd you practice today?" I ask.

She lifts her head up, torn from her thoughts. "Oh, I started with Jeaux d'eaux," she says. "Kinda wished you were there."

"Really?" I ask, and she nods. I like sitting next to her while she plays piano and watching her expressions change with her level of concentration. It's like watching a novel get written right in front of me.

"Yeah," she says. "I kept thinking of your dumb little dance moves."

I laugh to myself. I know she likes them, but she pretends not to. That's something she always does - puts up a front like she's annoyed when she's actually entertained. I can always see right through her, though.

"How's your head?" she asks.

I touch my forehead, where the swollen spot is. "A little better," I say.

"I don't think you should go to class tomorrow, though," she says. "At least one more full day of rest. Then we'll see how you feel."

"Are you gonna stay home with me?" I ask.

"No," she says, narrowing her eyes. "I have to go. I can't miss."

"But what if I fall?" I ask. "I could hurt myself even worse, then you'd feel terrible. You'd come home and find me in a heap on the floor, clicking my Life Alert button over and over again."

"Jackson."

"I've fallen and I can't get up!" I say, mimicking an old person's voice.

"Jackson."

"I've fallen!" I say again. "And I can't get up! And this would've never happened had April stayed home with my poor, concussed self!"

"You really are the most dramatic person to ever exist," she says.

"Does that mean you'll stay?" I ask.

She sighs, resting her chin in her palm. "Presentations are coming up soon in music theory," she says.

"So we'll just work on it here," I say. "What's the difference of working on it in class or here?"

She gives me a look. "You know we won't work on it."

"Right, I'll do all the work as usual and you'll sit back and pick your nose-"

"Shush!" she says, getting up from her chair to come push on my side. She wants to be annoyed, but she's smiling instead. She can't fight it.

"Come up here," I say, scooting towards the wall to make room for her.

She doesn't argue. She just lifts one knee up at a time onto her raised bed and scoots in close, though she doesn't need much room. "You made it all hot," she says.

"Is it cold out?" I ask.

"Getting there," she says, then lifts her gaze from my mouth my eyes. "I had to wear a jacket."

"The reddish purple one," I say, lifting a finger to tap the tip of her nose.

She scrunches it up and says, "Yeah." She pulls one hand from under the covers and skims it down my cheek, and I can hear the sound that my stubble makes against her soft skin. "Did you miss me while I was gone?" she asks.

"You mean while I was sleeping?" I say. "Did I miss you while I was sleeping? Because if that's what you're asking, then of course I did."

Her cheeks flush pink; I know that's the answer she wanted.

"I was hoping you'd come back and wake me up with a kiss," I say, testing the waters.

"I tried," she says. "Well, I didn't try to wake you up really. I wanted you to sleep, because it's good for you. But I did kiss you."

"And I didn't wake up?"

"Well, it was just on the forehead," she explains.

"Oh," I say, and swipe a bit of her hair behind her ear. "That's why, then. So chaste."

"I can give you a better one now," she says, eyes darting around self-consciously. "If you want."

"If I want," I say, disbelieving. "Psh. C'mere."

I wrap my arms around her to rest on the small of her back and pull her close, and we both smile as I press my lips to hers.

As the end of the quarter draws closer and closer, the weather continues to get colder. I'm cleared by my doctor that my concussion has healed properly, but I still spend more time in April's room than my own, and Mark never misses a chance to say something about it.

"Leaving me by myself yet again," he says, as I go through my closet looking for my soccer stuff. I have a game tomorrow morning, and I'm sleeping over with April tonight. "It's almost like I don't have a roommate anymore."

I roll my eyes with my back faced to him. "Shut up," I say.

I hear the sound of him sitting down on his bed. "You guys fucked yet?" he asks.

"No," I say. "And none of your fucking business, nosy shit."

"Just making conversation," he says.

We've done other stuff. Some nights, I can tell that she really wants me to touch her, so I do. I can't tell what's going on in that mind of hers, but I make her feel good as often as she wants. I'm not gonna be the pushy asshole that forces her to do what she's not ready for. I want to wait until she brings up the topic of going all the way. God knows I'm ready. I've been ready. But if she's not, then it doesn't really matter.

"Not yet," I say. "We've fooled around though. A lot."

"I bet," Mark says. "I've seen Kepner undress you with her eyes way too many times. What's her body like?"

I shake my head vehemently and bunch my uniform into a ball. It's my last game, and after tomorrow morning I won't be getting this out again until spring. "I'm not talking about her body with you," I say.

"I'm fuckin' joking!" he says, laughing. "Have fun, you animal."

"Yeah, bye," I say, and wave on my way out.

When I get to April's room, she's not there. I knew she wouldn't be. She's been in the School of Music since she got out of class earlier today, practicing. And I just got done with my classes, otherwise I would've been over there with her. I wanted to give her a chance to concentrate, anyway. Her piano recital, that she's been preparing for the entire quarter, is tomorrow.

When she gets back, she seems downtrodden and tired. "Hey," I say, looking up from my phone where I sit on her bed.

"Hey," she says back, slinging her music bag over the back of her desk chair.

"You okay?" I ask.

She kicks off her shoes and joins me on the bed, sitting with her shoulders slumped forward. "I'm bummed," she says.

"Bummed?" I say, trying to look into her eyes. "Why?"

"Because I just found out that I can't come to your game tomorrow," she says. "I got my performance time slot. It's 11am, right in the middle of your game." She huffs. "And it's your last one. I tried to trade, but they wouldn't let me."

"Hey, don't worry about my stupid game," I say. "Now I'm more pissed that I can't come see you play. I'm gonna… you know what, I'm gonna find a way around it."

She shakes her head. "No, don't do that. It doesn't matter. You hear me play all the time, and the team will lose without you."

"Yeah, they really suck," I say, and she giggles. "But still. I wanna see you perform."

"You can see me another time," she says. "It doesn't even matter to me, really."

I sigh. I'm not settled with this, but I'll figure out something on my own. The day after tomorrow is when we leave for Ohio. All of our finals are done, and we just have these two big things left to do, then we're free. It's a great feeling. I've almost survived my first quarter of freshman year.

"Are you nervous?" I ask, later that night as we lie in the dark. We're both on our sides, face to face. She has one leg between both of mine, keeping herself warm as she always does. I have one arm around her back, my hand under her shirt to rest on her skin. "For tomorrow?"

"Not right now," she says. "But when a ton of people are staring at me, watching me, I might be. I don't know, I just don't wanna mess up and look like an idiot."

"You won't mess up," I say. "And if you do, just ad-lib."

"Yeah, ad-lib a professional piece that everyone in the audience probably knows," she says sarcastically, her voice all goofy. "Are you nervous?"

"Nah," I say. "Just a game."

"What are you gonna do without me there cheering for you?" she asks.

"Probably die," I say. "Or get another concussion."

"Hey," she says. "Don't joke about that. I'll be worried."

"I'll be fine," I say. "I'll wear a helmet, if it makes you feel better."

"Well, no, don't do that," she says. "Then you'd just look like a nerd."

"You're right," I say. "Then none of the girls would look at me."

"On second thought, wear the helmet," she says, pulling herself closer to wrap an arm around my waist.

We're quiet for a long time, and I can sense her falling asleep as her breathing changes. "Night, my piano girl," I say, and kiss her softly between the eyebrows.

She mirrors the statement with a soft murmur, then tucks her head into my neck and falls sound asleep.

We're both getting ready at the same time the next morning, and she's standing in front of her closet leafing through her dresses when I get out of the shower. I come to realize that I've never seen her in a dress before, and I'm definitely sticking around to see which one she chooses.

As I pull on my shorts and sit on her bed shirtless, she pounds her fists against the sides of her hips. "None of these are gonna look good," she says.

"What do you mean?" I ask.

She turns to look at me, like she just realized I'm here. "Everyone else has these expensive dresses," she says. "And they all look great in them. I never dress up, and I'm gonna look horrible."

"Okay, no," I say. "You're on crack. You're not gonna look horrible."

Her lower lip trembles. Shit, she's about to cry.

"Hey, hey, hey," I say, walking towards her with my arms outstretched. "Just let me help you. What are your options?"

She shows me, and I take my time looking at each one. "How about this?" I ask, holding up a simple black one with long sleeves and a v-neck. "It was kinda buried in there."

She sniffles. "That doesn't look too much like a funeral dress?"

I shake my head. "Nah, it's great. Try it on."

As she slips into it, I put on my jersey, shin guards and socks, then look up to see that she's studying herself in the mirror. My eyes widen; that dress hugs her body in all the right places and accentuates things that I, of course, know that she has, but I've never seen clothes look this way on a person before. She looks fucking amazing.

"You look great," I say, standing up.

She glances at her reflection nervously. "You sure?" she says. "I'm gonna be in front of so many people."

"I'm definitely sure," I say. "Hey, is that nerd O'Malley gonna be there?"

George O'Malley is this guy in the School of Music with April, and he's absolutely obsessed with her. From the very first story she told me about him, I knew he had the hots for her.

"Yeah," she says, pushing on my chest. "But leave him alone. He's harmless."

I grumble under my breath. "Yeah, yeah, that's what he wants you to think," I say.

"Hush up, you jealous boy," she says, then slips her feet into black, short heels. Her hair and makeup are already done, and she looks beyond fantastic.

"You look… stunning," I say, wrapping my arms around her waist after she grabs her purse and coat. "I just want to…"

She gives me a cute, warning look. "I don't want to be late," she says. "Good luck with your game, I'll be thinking about you."

My heart needs to stop flipping inside my chest right now.

"Of course, I'm gonna be thinking about you, too," I say. "Go do your thing, piano girl."

She gives me a smile, then disappears out the door. I leave shortly after, walking glumly to the field, where I really don't want to be. I can't stop myself from looking at the bleachers during the first half, even though I know April won't be there. I remember her nervousness from this morning and feel like I'm completely in the wrong place. So during halftime, I tell my coach that I'm sick and going to throw up, and that I have to leave.

I don't waste any time. It's 10:55, and the School of Music isn't exactly close. So once I'm out of my coach's line of vision, I book it as fast as I can so I can get there in time. I pass the Student Center, McCabe dorm hall, and Cortelyou Commons, before I finally get to the front door - sweaty and out of breath. I walk through the glass revolving doors and the inside of the building is calm and quiet, and the sound that my cleats are making against the tile floor sticks out against the silence.

"Excuse me," I say, still breathless, to the nearest official-looking person. "Where's the piano recital thing happening at?"

She points me in the right direction, and I power-walk until I get to the double doors. I can hear music coming from inside, followed by applause, so I go in while the audience is clapping and duck down to find a seat. I need a place where she can see me, so I do the best I can. There aren't many people here, so it's not that hard, and I find a seat about three rows back from the big grand piano on the little raised stage.

After the clapping dies down, the sound of microphone feedback buzzes through the hall. "Our next performer is April Kepner," the woman says. "She's a freshman this year, majoring in vocal music. She's been playing the piano since she was five years old, and her favorite composers are Mozart and Chopin. So please, welcome to the stage Miss April Kepner."

Everyone participates in quiet, contained applause, but once I see her, I can't help myself. As she walks out, dress fluttering and cheeks blushed pink, I let out a 'whoo!' that draws her attention right to me. She pauses for a moment, eyes wide and lips parted, and all I do is nod and smile.

"Go get 'em," I mouth, and she sits down on the bench with a closed-mouth smile on her face. She smooths down her dress, pulls out her sheet music, and lets out a long breath as she positions her hands on the keyboard. I know her routine all too well - she has to be completely comfortable before she can start.

When she does, her beautiful music that I know so well fills the room and I sit back and enjoy it. I know her pieces and their order - Meine Freuden, Nocturne, Arabesque, Metamorphosis, and Jeax d'eaux. I've heard them so many times, that I might be able to play them myself if I tried. Okay, probably not.

I don't take my eyes off of her for one second while she plays. What began as nervousness turns into comfort, which turns into serenity as she disappears from this world into one all her own. I love watching her do that. She's doing exactly what she loves and what she's good at. I feel an overwhelming sense of pride as she moves from one song to the next. Proud that I know her. Proud that she's kind of mine.

When she's done, I give her a standing ovation that makes her turn red. My clap stands out as the loudest and goes on longer than everyone else's, but I don't care that people are looking. When I sit back down, the older man next to me gives me a look, and I point towards the stage.

"That's my best friend," I say. "Isn't she amazing?"

When the whole recital is done, I hurry out into the lobby and find her through the small crowd of people. She's by herself, just walking out from backstage, so I storm her and lift her into my arms to spin her around. She starts laughing right away, all high-pitched and giddy, and wraps her arms tight around my neck.

"You came!" she squeals. Once I put her down, she looks at me all breathless with her palms flat on my chest. "How… how are you here? How did you…? Did your game end early?"

"I left," I say, shrugging.

"You left?!" she exclaims. "What? How?"

"Walked off the field," I say. "I had something better to do."

"Jackson," she says, holding onto my wrist. "You didn't have to do that."

"I know," I say. "But I wanted to. And I like seeing you this happy."

"Well, I am happy," she says, bouncing up and down where she stands. "Very, very happy. I really can't believe you came."

"You sounded great," I say. "Better than ever. And you didn't even mix up those notes in Nocturne."

"I know!" she says, eyebrows shooting up. "I know!"

"Probably because I'm the best piano teacher around," I say, closing my eyes with a pompous expression. All she does is laugh. "No, legit. I'm really proud of you, piano girl."

She beams. She literally fucking beams. "You're proud of me?" she asks.

"Of course I am," I say, and give her a quick kiss. "You're a piano prodigy. Everyone knows that now, not just me."

We go back to my room after we eat lunch, and she sits on my bed while I pack things that I'll need for our trip to Ohio. Of course, she's already all packed, and I waited until the last minute.

Mark walks in as I've barely started, and April waves happily at him. She's in a great mood after this morning, and it's contagious.

"Hey there, couple of the year," Mark says, throwing his coat onto the floor. "Packin' up for a romantic getaway to the Buckeye state?"

"Shut up, dude," I say, and April giggles.

"He waited 'til the last minute, of course," she says, and pushes on me with her socked foot. I grab it and tickle the bottom, which makes her squirm away from me with a loud shriek.

"Keep it in your pants while you're in here, at least," Mark says.

"Don't get too jealous, Mark," April says, teasing him. "It isn't becoming."

"Don't mock me, Kep," Mark says, squinting at her. She laughs.

I spend a long time packing, figuring out what clothes I'll need to wear for what kinds of occasions. "Jackson," April says. "I live on a farm. A farm. We're not gonna be going to any fancy parties or restaurants or anything like that."

She apparently saw the black dress pants that I haphazardly folded and put in.

"I know," I say. "But I don't wanna look like shit for Thanksgiving dinner."

"Still," she says. "You won't need to be dressed to the nines."

I ignore her and keep the pants. I want to make a good impression on her family, even if what we're doing isn't exactly real. It still feels pretty real, at least to me. It honestly feels like I'm going to meet my girlfriend's family for the first time, and that's a big deal.

April hides her nervousness well until we're back in her room, getting ready for bed. She insisted that it only made sense for me to sleep there tonight, since we'll be leaving together early tomorrow morning. I, of course, didn't put up much of a fight.

I come back in from brushing my teeth to find her rifling through her suitcase at top speed. "Whoa, flying projectile," I say, dodging a shirt that soars through the air towards my head. "What are you doing?"

She stops digging and looks over her shoulder. "Making sure I had my lotion in there," she says.

I sit down on the bed and eye her, knowing that there's more to the story. "You kinda freaking out about tomorrow?" I ask. Her parents are coming to pick us up in the morning, around 9. We're going to be in a car with them for about four hours, which will be a lot to handle.

"No," she says, too quickly, then gives in. "Yeah."

"Me, too," I say.

She takes a few steps closer to me, her socks making no noise on the carpet. She's already in her pajamas - tonight, white fuzzy pants with a pink short-sleeved top. No bra.

"I just want them to like you," she says. "And believe us."

She walks even closer, standing between my parted knees. She sets her hands on my shoulders and runs her fingers down my biceps as her eyes follow, which makes my stomach twist.

"They will," I say. "Believe us, at least. I don't know about liking me. I hope, though."

"You're easy to like," she says.

"Tell that to yourself a few months ago," I say. "You hated my ass."

She rolls her eyes and smirks. "Okay, yeah," she says. "But not now."

"No…" I say, and she climbs onto my lap so her face is level with mine. "Not now."

She wraps her arms around my neck and pushes her torso against me as her hips undulate on top of my own. I skim my hands down her back to grab low on her ass, taking two handfuls of it and squeezing as hard as I can, until she whimpers into my mouth. She loves being grabbed; I've only just recently found that out. She never told me - I don't think she even knew herself - but through trial and error I've found out certain things that really turn her on.

Neck kissing. Neck kissing and biting is a big one, so I always go there first. It absolutely melts her. When I open my mouth against her raging pulse, her muscles relax and she rests her weight down on my thighs, which causes my hands to get trapped under her. But I'm not complaining.

I run my tongue down the column of her neck to concentrate between her collarbones, where I suck the skin between my teeth and bite gently down on it. I move my hands up from her ass to push the material of her shirt up so my hands can anchor on her ribcage, holding her firmly in place as I move my lips to the V in her shirt.

She raises her arms over her head without saying anything. She doesn't need to, I know what that means. I pull the soft shirt off over her head and she shakes her hair out of the way, back behind her shoulders, then bends to kiss the top of my shoulder.

I love the way her lips feel on me. I drag my fingernails down her spine as she kisses my bare skin - I never wear a shirt to bed - and I dig them into the small of her back when she sinks her teeth into the slope between my neck and shoulder.

"Mm," I moan, yanking her hips closer to me. I can feel myself almost completely hard in my pants; it doesn't take much when she gets in a mood like this. She does crazy things to me.

"Jackson," she breathes, my fingers just inside the waistband of her pajama pants. "I wanna go all the way."

Her words knock me back. I open my eyes and look into hers, which are hooded with desire. She's taken a tiny portion of her lower lip between her teeth, and is gently chewing on it as we search each other's faces. "You do?" I ask.

She nods, reaching between our bodies to graze her hand over my now fully-hard dick. Fuck. Goddamn it. "I want it to be real," she says. My mind is swimming. What does she mean? "After you sleep with someone," she continues, and my eyes dart down to her very bare breasts. I want them in my mouth so bad, but I need to concentrate on the words she's saying. They're making it nearly impossible, though. "I've heard you have this… bond, I don't know. Like a link. And I want it, with you. I want that link. My parents are gonna believe that we're really together, and… I want you to be my first anyway, Jackson." She rests her forehead against mine, and I slip my hands into the back of her pajama pants to rest over her ass. "I really trust you. And… I want you to be that for me. And I wanna be… something for you."

"You're something for me already," I say, squeezing her.

She moans softly, her hips twitching forward. "I-I am?" she asks.

I nod. Her plump, swollen lips are too much for me to handle right now, just staring at them as they're parted and wet with saliva. She doesn't even know how fucking perfect she is. "Yeah," I say.

It hits me. I have feelings for her. I have feelings for her, and a fuck ton of them at that. Sleeping with her is only going to make this confusion more difficult to see through, but I can't pass it up. I won't. We've grown since the after-sex crying, and now we both want this. I'm not about to ruin it with questions. We can talk about feelings later. But right now, we need to fuck.

"You have condoms, right?" she asks.

I do. But of course, they're in my room. I'm gonna have to do the boner walk of shame, which is going to get me endless shit from Mark. But, looking at April in this heavy state of arousal - her hair mussed, her pupils dilated and her skin flushed - I know whatever he says to me will be worth it.

"Be right back," I say, and hurry down the hallway awkwardly, trying to hide my boner but at the same time, not kill it. I know it won't be hard to get back once I touch her again, but still. I don't like to put one to waste. I push open the door to our room and dig around under my bed without even acknowledging Mark, hoping that his headphones-in state will keep him from bothering me. But of course, I was way too hopeful in thinking that.

"Hey, Boner town," he says. "Gonna go get your dick wet?"

"You're so disgusting," I say, finally coming across the box I was looking for.

"That's good! Practicing safe sex!" he calls, and I flip him off as I hurry back out of the door.

"Got 'em," I say, closing April's door behind me. When I look up, I see that she's lying on the bed with her knees bent, pants now off. And god, she looks amazing. Earlier as she was changing into pajamas, I saw that she had pink and flowery underwear on. But now, she's wearing a black pair with lace fringe around the waist and leg openings. "I love those," I say. "They're sexy."

She smiles softly, running her fingers over the lace along her hips.

I set a handful of condoms on the nightstand, having not brought the whole box like last time. I shuck off my pants and am left in only my boxers as I climb back up on the bed, and she props herself up on her elbows. "Where were we?" she says, eyes lighting up.

"I think I remember," I say, and curl my back forward as I straddle her hips so I can take one of her breasts in my mouth. As I pull the skin around her nipple between my teeth, I palm the other one roughly and cover it with my whole hand, and she arches her back to get closer to me.

I smile against the swell of her breast and move to lick a path down to her bellybutton, then to the waistband of her panties. I pluck at the fabric with my teeth and feel her hand cover the back of my head, pushing me down subtly as I go. I've eaten her out a few times now since the first time. She knows how good I am at it, and she loves what I can do to her. She's not self-conscious about it anymore, and I love that. I love hearing what she wants and how I make her feel.

She lifts her ass up so I can take her underwear off, then shimmies her hips to get out of them. I run my nails from the tops of her thighs all the way up to her ribcage, and can see the goosebumps that follow. She's completely naked now, and I take notice of the secret freckles that only I've ever seen. The ones that make a perfect three-dotted line under her bellybutton, the one the inside of her thigh, right at the divot of her pelvic bone, the four of them sporadically placed under her right breast. I love each and every one of them, and she knows it.

When I connect my mouth with her core, her back jolts up from the bed. I hear her take a big breath in and when I look up, I see that she's holding one of her breasts in her hand, squeezing it just as tightly as I was. Just seeing that makes me get even harder, if possible. I keep going at her, switching up my movements between quick and slow, using teeth and not, and pushing my tongue inside of her. I go for a long time, as long as she can take, before she's whimpering and moaning and practically begging for release. So, finally, I give it to her. I kiss her stomach as she comes, keening and writhing underneath me with her eyelashes fluttering like mad, then push myself up to kiss her on the mouth.

"God, that was…" she pants, chest heaving and shiny with sweat. "Wow… wow."

I kiss her some more, sloppy and lazy, and she does her best to kiss me back in the spent state I've put her in. But after a few minutes, she starts to get her energy back, and intensely grabs the back of my neck to open her mouth against mine.

"I want you," she breathes. I can still feel the heat from her center radiating onto my skin where I rest, and it's driving me wild. "I really want you."

"I want you, too," I say, and she runs her hands down the sides of my face.

She nods firmly, licking her lips as she stares at my mouth. "Come on," she says. "I'm ready."

I lean to the side, grab a condom, and take my boxers off. I can feel her eyes between my legs, and can't help but feel a boosted sense of pride from it. I'm not sure what to say in regards to her staring, so I try and think of something funny. "See something you like?" I say. Goddamnit. Should've kept my mouth shut. That was so stupid.

She meets my eyes, blinking slow and lustful. "Yeah," she says, resting one arm on the pillow above her head.

Jesus Christ. I put the condom on and meet her eyes, and see that she's been watching me. She's already wet from when I ate her out, so I'm hoping that this will be okay. I don't want to see her in pain, and I definitely don't want her to bleed, but I know that girls' first times can be bad. I've never been with a virgin, though.

"I'm gonna…" I begin, then make eye contact. "You ready?"

"Yeah," she says, widening her legs. As I push slowly inside her, it's hard to lift my eyes from the place where we're conjoining, but I make myself do it. Her eyes are concentrated on the ceiling and her mouth is pinched a little bit; it doesn't look like she's enjoying herself all that much.

"You still good?" I ask. I stay still. She feels fucking amazing - all tight and warm. But I don't want to rush her.

"Yeah," she says. "Just… I'm getting used to you."

I smile and tuck my face into her neck so I can kiss her. She wraps her arms around my shoulders, then moves her hands to my ass so she can push me down further.

"Go ahead," she says. "More."

I bury myself all the way inside of her, and I'm overloaded with feeling. Her fingernails are digging into my sides, grappling for something to hold, and her breath is coming in short, erratic bursts.

"It's starting to feel good," she says, lifting and situating her hips as best she can. "You can move now."

So I do. I pull halfway out and thrust slowly back in, watching her breasts bounce as I go. I kiss the flat plain in the middle of them, keeping my lips there as I thrust again. I hear small sounds coming from her, little moans and staccato whimpers, as I keep moving my hips. The sounds are turning pleasurable, which lets me know that I'm doing something right. I'm making her feel good, and I feel amazing.

I dip my head for a kiss, then pull up to look at her. Her lashes are fluttering as her green eyes wander my face, and a small smile appears on her lips. "What," I say, snapping my hips forward.

She drags her fingertip across the apple of my left cheek, over the bridge of my nose, and onto my right cheek. "You have… little freckles," she says. "I never noticed them before."

I chuckle a little bit and kiss her again. There's nothing I can say that will put into words how I'm feeling.

I come first. I can't help it. I feel my muscles tightening in my groin and can't control the erratic movement of my hips as the most powerful orgasm of my life ripples through me, and I plunk my head down on her collarbone. As I'm still coming down, she trails her fingertips gently over the back of my skull and neck, and kisses the side of my head.

I pull out, tie the condom off, and waste no time in eating her out again. When she comes for a second time, she moans my name so loud that I'm relieved her suitemates are already gone for the holiday.

We're both sweaty after it's over, but I don't care. I pull her into my arms and she wraps all of her limbs around me, nuzzling her face against my chest. "Jackson," she murmurs.

"Yeah, babe," I respond, widening my eyes at the term of endearment that just slipped out. She doesn't say anything about it, thought.

"I…" She looks up at my face, and I kiss her forehead. "I'm glad it was you," she says, and I feel her palm flatten over my back. "For my first time. I wouldn't have wanted it to be with anyone else."

I laugh and roll my eyes lightly. "Whatever, I'm not that great," I say.

She smacks my shoulder, lifting that flat hand. "Yeah, uh-huh," she says. "Shut up." I shake my head at her. "You are."

"I am what?" I ask.

She blinks, her eyelashes crazy long and curled naturally. "That great," she says.