No Strings

Part 4

"Jimin –?"

Jimin steps past you, shrugging off his jacket to drape this over the counter. Unsure what to do, you shut the door slowly and watch him walk towards your fridge. "That's a great one," Jimin says, pointing at the photograph on the end.

Still uncertain what he is doing here, you walk over and take a look at the photograph in question. "It's alright," you say.

"Alright?" Jimin turns to face you, incredulous. "I piggybacked you all the way from Library to South Quad. What kind of inhuman strength is that?"

Grinning, you fold both arms over your chest. "Well, maybe if someone hadn't convinced me to do double shots on floors seven and eleven of the library..."

Jimin laughs. "Oh, yeah," he chuckles. "What was the logic behind that?"

"You promised you'd buy me a taquito at 7/11," you accuse, wagging a finger. "Which you never did."

"Because you puked in front of my dorm," Jimin groans in remembrance. "I had to sneak you in with my jacket over your head, calling you Carl. How could I forget?"

You glance back at the photo, staring at the image of you giggly and half-nestled into Jimin's neck while he pulls a face at the camera. You remember his hands being strong, barely having to hold yourself up on his back. You remember thinking his body felt so warm against yours, that his lips looked so smooth and you remember gigglingly telling him it was too bad he missed his chance, since it would have been such fun to kiss him.

The look in Jimin's eyes tells you that he also remembers. His lips curl into a smile. "So, is it?" he asks, dangerously low. "You wondered then. Is kissing me fun?"

His eyes glint and when he steps forward, it is a fight to remain still. Everything in you feels feverish, each nerve is on edge and Jimin bends until his lips are mere inches away.

"Jimin," you exhale, nearly putting a hand up to stop him.

"What?" he asks, breath soft against your lips.

When you look upwards though, you find Jimin looking back. His eyes are dark, heavy with desire and you find you cannot think about anything but kissing him right now. "Nothing."

You arch upwards, winding your hands into his hair as your bodies crash together. Jimin groans into your mouth, pushing you back until your ass hits the fridge. He moves fast, hands wandering your camisole, skimming your abdomen while his mouth opens, tongue sweeping in to claim yours. His hips hold you in place while he slides both hands up your arms, yanking them overhead head to pin you in place.

He holds you there, lips trailing the slope of your neck.

"Jimin," you moan, arching your back.

"Mm?" he asks, teeth grazing your earlobe.

You shudder, wishing you could touch him but Jimin's hands are like steel vices around your wrists. "Let me touch you," you beg.

Jimin smiles against your neck. "Not yet."

He flips you around, pressing your front to the cold surface of the refrigerator. His tongue flicks your neck, sliding to that one spot where your throat meets your collarbone. "Remove this," Jimin says, easing the fabric of your camisole upwards.

Once it is gone, Jimin's hands start to explore. He slides to your front and gently trails over your breasts; one hand moving down to find the top of your shorts. You groan when he cups you, pushing back against his hand to force his thumb to graze that sensitive spot.

"Is this what you wanted?" Jimin murmurs, lips tracing your shoulder. A moan escapes when he presses into you from behind, his hard length obvious through the material of your shorts. "Fucked from behind, against the wall."