coffin kisses » jason dilaurentis

sixteen: the sociAl evil

She thought about climbing out the window, telling him better luck next time, that it may have happened at a party once but they were sober, and she wasn't in the mood to hang out with boys in cramped places. Then he pulled her into a wet kiss, mumbling something about passing the time, and she thought about how intoxicating he was all on his own.

When he focused his mouth at the spot under her ear, Jo stumbled against the running dryer and worried for a half-second that someone might hear them. She tried to be aware of her surroundings but everything was shutting down, melting under his touch. It was even harder to fight back a breathy moan when the hands that were gripping her thighs slowly made their way north.

His fingers looped around the band of her underwear and slid them down her legs before helping her step out of them. Jason spun her around, pressing her against the dryer.

She reached a hand behind her to feel him and the way he yearned for her touch as desperately as she did his. Jason buried his face into the back of her neck in a sloppy attempt to occupy his lips with something other than the groans that were threatening to surface after he'd eased her hand beneath his pants.

It wouldn't take much more of him rolling his hips into her grip for things to come to a head. Jason worked her skirt above her hips and his pants beneath his before aligning himself with her.

His hand was back around her mouth, another gripping the dryer, as he ground his hips into hers. She clutched his hand with hers, leaving a crescent mark from every nail she dug into his skin. The moment was unmatched, between the unnerving feeling of everything they'd worked so hard to keep hidden being discovered and the way his every move felt so frustratingly limited in their sound-sensitive little room.

She wanted to pull his hair and throw her head back, cry out his name. She wanted to hear his voice telling her how good she was for him, how good she felt around him.

He was becoming careless—moving closer and closer to the edge without her—with each thrust. Jason kicked over the nearest laundry basket and lifted her leg on top of it, spreading her legs to feel the turbulent vibrations of the dryer against her core. Jo wrapped an arm around his neck to bring him closer in an attempt to feel him even more.

The sensation was almost too much as she was on the verge of tears when she climaxed. Everything came in rocky waves, making her feel a little less steady as they each crashed. Her knees buckled when he followed after, brushing the sweaty locks of hair from her neck so he could kiss there.

He stumbled back from her, adjusting himself lazily and admiring the number he'd done on her.

As she watched him redress, the alarms went off in her mind warped and in slow motion. "Jason, you didn't wear a..."

"No, we don't just keep them stashed around the house."

He reached for one of the cleaned handtowels that were stacked neatly on the washer and ran it under the old sink by the door. Jason wrung it out before handing it to Jo to clean herself up.

"You didn't pull out." She whispered, horrified once she understood why this time felt messier. "Oh, my God."

She stopped breathing then. It was one thing to play dangerously at the line of being caught, to toy with the idea just to get an addicting burst of adrenaline. But it was different to cross that line with something so easily detrimental—something that could've been just as effortlessly avoided.

"Josie, don't freak out," Jason whispered in her ear, wrapping an arm around her shoulders and pulling her in. "Go wait in my bedroom. You can take a shower or something. Get cleaned up."