Author's Notes:
Shit juuuust begins to get kinky this chapter. I'm already going to hell, so at this point it's go big or go home.
When he awoke, he almost wondered if he had dreamed the whole episode. It seemed dreamlike. But the feeling of her hand wrapped around him was definitely a memory, a frantic and consuming memory that he couldn't stop replaying.
And she'd said she wanted to keep going. Like that was an offer he could turn down.
If it were up to him, they'd 'keep going' right now.
In the kitchen, he found her making eggs, neat and trim in her uniform. Fuck but he had a thing for those knee socks.
He wandered up behind her and put his chin on her shoulder. "Morning."
"Morning," she replied calmly.
"Where's Father?"
"Already gone."
Jacob made a pleased humming noise and lifted his fingers to loosen the knot of her tie. Pressing a kiss to the side of her neck, he began to work on the buttons of her blouse, fumbling a bit with the fiddly things.
Her breath hitched. "I'm a little busy, here."
"Don't mind me," he murmured.
The bra was white today, he saw, with a bit of lace trim. It was nice, but he was more interested in what was underneath it, the swell of skin an enticing promise. He skimmed his fingers along the edges while he tried a little bite to her neck, and the resulting shiver seemed like a good sign.
In a quick movement, he yanked the cups down, exposing perky tits to the cold air of the kitchen. Her shiver turned to a shudder as he flicked his finger along a nipple, admiring how taut it was already.
"Eyes forward," he mumbled, stepping away without warning. "You'll burn your eggs."
He was putting bread in the toaster when he saw her hands move up to rearrange her clothes.
"Don't," he said with a grin, "I like it that way."
Most of him expected to have something thrown at him for that remark. The rest of him expected that she would just ignore him. After all, this was the same girl who once disabled his radio because his music was 'too loud and interfering with her study'. Who snitched on him for opening their Christmas presents early and trying to rewrap them. Who, even now, had a habit of kicking him painfully in the shins when they fought for the last bit of milk in the house.
What he didn't expect was to hear a shaky sigh and for her arms to return to her sides.
Well. That changed things a little. Who knew?
When she carried her plate to the table, he detected a slight tremor in her hands; as they sat across from each other, her eyes kept flickering to his, confirming that he was still watching her. Which he was, of course. Like he could focus on anything else with a pair of naked breasts across from him, he was only human. The more he stared, the more she squirmed. Fantastic.
He shifted his legs, trying to get comfortable with a raging hard-on. "Why haven't you done up your shirt?"
Fork halfway to her mouth, she paused, looking embarrassed and confused. "But- you said-"
Giving up on the toast, he stood and walked to her side of the table. "I did, but you don't make a habit of listening to me."
Her face was turning pink. "Well- I mean, I-"
He leaned over and twisted her chair out so she was facing him; she practically dropped her fork and clamped her hands to the arm rests. God, those tits were gorgeous. "Do you like being on display?"
Eyes wide, she opened her mouth, but no sound came out.
He dropped to his knees and pushed her legs apart. "Because if so, I want to see more of you." Gripping her hips, he yanked her forward until she was perched on the edge of the chair, precariously balanced with her legs stretched out. Covering her hands with his own, he moved them to her skirt, motioning for her to hold it up.
The knickers were white too, plain and cotton. So sensible. So Evie.
He was feathering kisses up her thigh when she spoke with a shaky voice. "I give an inch and you take a mile, huh?"
Rocking back on his heels, he looked up at her, flush and red, blush extending past her neck and all the way down to the tops of her breasts. He gave one a pinch and her toes curled beside him as she scrunched her face up. "I can stop?"
When she didn't say anything, he started to get up.
"No," she breathed immediately, sounding a little panicked. "Don't."
Slowly, slowly, he settled back down. The tile of the kitchen floor was starting to dig into his knees a bit, but he was unbelievably beyond caring. "Don't what?"
"Don't stop."
God, yes. Leaning forward again, he skimmed kisses up her thighs- fuck, they were solid, that would be all the dancing- until he met the hem of her knickers. He could see a little damp spot of moisture, could practically smell her arousal. Fucking fuck. So it turned out that angry and confident in life didn't translate to in bed.
He could work with that. Oh yes, he could definitely work with that.
He earned a delicious and shocked gasp when he pressed an open-mouthed kiss to the fabric, forgoing subtlety for an open assault. The heat of her seeped through the thin fabric, the weave scratchy when he tentatively poked out with his tongue. He wasn't exactly sure what he was doing, but it seemed to be working; when he looked back up, she was breathing shallowly, gazing at him with shaky wonder.
After a few more broad licks, he summoned his self-control and he stood.
She looked dismayed. "What?"
"It's time to go to school." He gestured to the clock on the mantelpiece. "Can't make you late."
She looked like she wanted to tell him that he could. "So…" she shifted. "Will you come get me again?"
"If you'd like."
"I'm going to be later today, I have Latin club."
Latin club. Jesus Christ, were they really twins? "Father will be home by then. I guess we'll see what happens."
He lifted her to her feet and carefully rearranged her skirt, working her bra back into place and doing up the buttons of her blouse. Her breathing had almost gone back to normal now, her face composed; suddenly realizing that he hadn't actually given her a kiss this morning, he quickly pulled her in, letting her taste her own musk on his lips.
Finally, he gave her tie a brisk tug to tighten it back into place. He leaned next to her ear. "Don't change the knickers," he breathed, "unless you want to go without for the day."
He heard her quietly whisper, "I might skip Latin club."
She couldn't quite explain what had come over her. It was like she had gone into a fugue state, all of the usual reason and sensibility flown away in the face of his instructions.
Mere words shouldn't have been able to turn her legs to jelly, but they had done so over and over.
That first contact in the kitchen- God, had it really only been two days ago?- had opened the floodgates to feelings that she didn't even know she had. There had been so many nights of working herself into the ground, of doing her exercises until she was exhausted, all so she could not think about her brother, not fantasize about him holding her down with those strong arms, not dream about him whispering filthy things in her ear.
Her mind kept wandering back to his intense gaze, the press of his lips through the fabric, the terrible and wonderful burning in her hips-…
Mr. Green had to ask her about Heathcliff's motivations twice before she looked up and realized that the whole class was staring at her.
Latin club could definitely wait.
She texted him a time and found him waiting after school, leaning next to his bike and twirling his keys in his hand.
When she went to get on, he reached into his backpack and tossed her a helmet.
She frowned down at it. "You got me my own helmet?" Given that the most she ever did was a ten minute slow ride across town on the back, they'd never bothered.
"Have the feeling that we're going to be doing a lot more of this," he said, taking the handles.
The words sent a shot of heat straight to her core.
Once home, she babbled something about needing a shower and practically fled up the stairs. Under the hot water, she let the soapy suds wash over her as she tried to clear her mind, tried to promise herself that she wouldn't turn to putty if he asked. I am not preparing for him, she thought, repeating the phrase like a mantra as she scrubbed everything down carefully and shaved. I am not preparing for him. I am not. I am not.
She pulled a soft cotton t-shirt on once she was dry, skipping the bra, and went with a pair of shorts. She even picked out a pair of pretty-ish knickers with lace. Not preparing for him.
The steady thump of his boxing gloves could be heard as she went down the hall. Peeking into his room, she saw that he'd strung his punching bag up and was pummelling it with force, stripped down to his trousers. She'd been to plenty of his championships, but there was still something more intimate about just watching him alone, admiring the flex of his muscles as he savaged the bag.
She stepped into the room and closed the door. "Showing off?"
He immediately shucked off his gloves, and the look he gave her was almost irritable. "For some reason, I have a lot of pent up energy to work off."
When he reached for her, she moved hesitantly, shuffling towards him until she could press her fingers to that stupid tattoo on his chest. Father had nearly had a conniption when he found out, but Jacob was belligerent, shrugging that he could hardly get rid of it now.
It was hot, but she would die before she admitted it.
His hands played with the hem of her shirt. "So I've been thinking."
"Hm?"
"About this morning."
So had she. "What about it? Other than the fact that we're both going to hell-"
"I've been thinking about how you listened to me."
The carpet was scratchy under her feet and the room was quiet, muffled sounds of street traffic and birds filtering through his window. "Don't read into it too much."
He lifted her hand to his lips, pressing a few delicate kisses to her fingertips. But when he raised his gaze to look at her, his expression was anything but delicate. "On your knees," he said, voice low.
There was that surge of heat again, like someone blowing on hot coals. "W-what?"
"On your knees," he repeated, deadly calm, face inscrutable.
She couldn't account for it, but she almost fell over herself in her rush to comply, thudding to the floor. For a moment, they stared at each other, almost equally shocked.
"Fuck," he breathed.
She tried to pout but he grabbed her chin, hooking a thumb in her mouth and grinning when she obediently curled her tongue along the flat of his finger.
"Bossy, bossy Evie," he murmured, a bit breathless. "Who would've thought."
"Shuddup," she mumbled around his thumb.
"What, you're so in control elsewhere that you want someone else to tell you what to do for a bit? Such a stereotype."
She felt a flash of irritation and went to pull away, but he pressed his thumb in deeper and reached around to wrap a fist in her hair. The tug along her scalp did strange things; her whole body immediately relaxed, mind going pleasantly empty.
"That's what I thought," he agreed, grin now broad across his face.
She moaned and the grin slid off his face, replaced by a feral sort of hunger. They stared at each other until she tried a gentle swirl with her tongue.
It seemed to break his trance. Snatching his hand away, he pulled her up and shoved her over to the bed, where she gracelessly fell onto her back; climbing on top of her, he yanked her shorts to her knees, fingers skimming along the waistband of her knickers.
His eyes widened when he looked down and caught sight of the lace. "These are pretty. For me?"
"Shut up," she mumbled again, covering her face with her hands.
"We need to work on your honesty," he said, sliding inside the lace and giving a gentle press along her clit.
She wriggled against him and moaned again when his fingers slid lower, dipping along her folds.
"Christ," he muttered, "you're sopping."
"This is all your fault," she said in a choked noise, eyes clamped tightly shut.
The first intrusion of his finger was gentle, probing, sending a racing current through her spine. She tensed and he made a shushing sound, pushing up to lean over her. "Relax, shh, relax. Look at me."
He moved his finger gently and she mewled, still hiding her face.
"Look at me," he murmured again. "Evie."
At her name, she unlaced her fingers and peered up at him, lips trembling. It was almost too intense, the way he watched for any reaction, moving his hand steadily. She gulped in more air when he added another finger, the stretch becoming oddly pleasing, the fear subsiding as she started to move, pushing her hips back against his arm to try and get more friction. With his other hand, he tugged up her shirt and pressed a kiss to the tender flesh of her nipples, her body relaxing further as he licked and nipped.
When he curved his fingers without warning and pressed on something she had never felt before, sending a delicious tingling through her body, she shot up from the mattress so quickly that she nearly cracked her head into his. "What- what was that?"
He looked back and forth between her eyes. "Are you serious?"
"I didn't know tha-" she broke off and squeaked when he rocked his fingers again, making it happen once more, another rolling wave making her convulse.
"Good?" He growled.
Wide-eyed, she nodded.
He shoved her back down and began to twist his hand in earnest, growing rougher by the second, until she was writhing and almost sobbing from pleasure; when he pulled her hand to her clit, she complied and began to rub, too far gone to even be embarrassed.
This was too intense, more intense than it ever was when she was alone. All of her nerves felt overexposed, like she was a sparking wire hanging from a socket, too dangerous to be touched. But he was touching her anyway, and oh, it felt good, so good that she wondered how she'd ever stayed away from him for the last year, how she'd ever managed to tell herself that she wasn't falling for him desperately, inappropriately, irrevocably-
Her peak was shattering, her spine arching off the bed as she cried out incoherently, the sensation almost paralyzing in its excessive force. Fireworks weren't an extreme enough comparison; it was more like a bomb, leaving shockwaves in its wake that made her as helpless as the original explosion. Jacob smothered her sounds with a kiss as she rocked, trying to extend the pleasure, to make it last forever. She could almost taste his hunger, a hunger that she now shared, binding them together as tightly as fingers in a clenched fist.
Brain slowly collecting itself, she blinked up at him, simultaneously sated and a bit nervous that he'd seen her so unrestrained.
"That…" His voice cracked a little. "That was so fucking hot."