Crazy For Your Love (Jensoo)

19| "...Not When I Have A Fantasy Right At My Fingertips."

|Jennie|

We don't talk to anyone as we exit the taxi, and Nayeon gives me a knowing smile as we head straight to the stairs. To our room.

When I shut the door behind us and hear the snick that lets me know we're finally alone, I jump on her, my hands in Jisoo's hair as I nudge her towards the wall. I yank her shirt from her pants and unbutton it with shaking fingers. My thighs clench at the memory of the sounds she made earlier—the thrust of her hips as she pressed deeper into my mouth and the feel of her hands in my hair as she came.

She lowers her mouth to mine, and I open for her, tasting her, needing her. She groans into me, and her hands drop to my waist—gripping as if she's afraid I'm going to disappear. And God, it's good. Her kiss, her heat, the way she pulls me closer and closer even as she unzips my dress, as if she can't decide between getting me naked and keeping me as near to her as possible.

"I need to tell you something," she says breathlessly.

"What?"

"I never liked your rules."

I smile against her mouth. "But sometimes rules are fun." I step back, letting my unzipped dress fall off my shoulders and into a puddle on the floor. Her shirt's unbuttoned, revealing her cleavage beneath it. I can almost make out the ridges of her abdominal muscles through the thin cotton.

Her eyes are all over me, taking in every inch of my skin and black lace underwear. I put them on thinking of her. Thinking of this room we share and hoping she'd catch a glimpse. Maybe I knew we'd end up here tonight. Maybe I hoped.

"I've loved the way you look at me since the day we met." I draw in a ragged breath. "I've wanted you since then, too . . ."

She groans, and then we're on each other again. I'm peeling her clothes off. Her hands are on my hips, my stomach, my back, cupping my breasts. Everywhere all at once. Greedy and demanding in a way that makes my blood blaze. And my hands are on her, unbuttoning her pants and pushing her clothes to the floor.

She turns our bodies until I'm against the wall, and she pins my arms above my head as she lowers her mouth to mine. She positions a knee between my thighs and grips both of my wrists in one big hand.

"Not fair," I say. "I can't touch you."

"You had your turn." She drags a hand down my side and back up, her knuckles rubbing over the lace covering my breast, and I rock into her thigh, desperate for more of her touch. More of him. I love her holding me like this, even as I ache to fuck again with my tongue. "You're so fucking beautiful," she says into my ear. "Do you have any idea how hard it was to make myself sleep on that couch last night when I wanted to hold you in my arms?"

"You could have," I say. "I told you there was enough room for us both to sleep there."

"I wasn't interested in sleeping. I wanted to feel you against me. Naked in my arms. I wanted to hear the sounds you'd make as I slid my finger inside you." She nips at my neck, then soothes away the sting with her open mouth. I want to tell her that I want her too, that my rules were a pathetic attempt to protect myself—an attempt to protect a heart I know would be so easy to put in her hands. But her mouth on my neck, her teeth scraping across my collarbone, and her hand between our bodies . . . I can't think through the pleasure, and lose all capability of speech.

Her mouth dips to my breast, and she sucks my nipple through the lace.

I cry out. "Please."

"Please what?" She asks. "Tell me what you want."

"I want you," I murmur.

She pulls my earlobe between her teeth and slips a hand into my panties. I whimper at the feel of her cupping me and the gentle pressure of her fingers poised between my thighs.