How To Be A Hoe

24 | Didn't Know

"Lesson number four." Jimin's voice was breathy and heavy as he leaned closer, the outline of his collarbone highlighted by the thin shadow it cast over his chest.

As if by instinct, your eyes closed, face tilting upwards to meet his lips as they slanted over yours. The contact sent a ripple of pleasant shock through you, making you arch up against him, the corded muscle in his arms tightening around you as he pulled you closer.

The day had been stressful, and somewhere at the back of your mind, you were still aware of the six thousand word essay you had to turn in within two days. Just a few minutes ago, your eyelids had been drooping with exhaustion as you pored over the still-incomplete assignment.

The night had been fresh and inviting, the humidity of the city turning into a pleasant chill by the time the stars came out. But you had been unable to enjoy the weather, and instead of leaning out the window to taste the night air, you had found yourself slumping in a chair, a looming headache threatening to knock you out despite the three cups of coffee you had inhaled in the matter of a few hours.

It was then that Jimin had shown up, like a phantom leaning against the door, his silvery hair gleaming ad ghostly like light radiating through layers and layers of water. You hadn't even seen him at first, since the rest of his body had been cloaked by the darkness your room had been plunged in.

"Study time?" He had questioned, and something uninvited had fluttered in your chest. It was weird that you had known what he was talking about even if he had phrased it so cryptically.

At his innocently-phrased question, you had felt good, then felt bad for feeling good. Despite that, one thing left to another—you shook the invading thoughts out of your mind as your roommate's hands lifted the hem of your thin t-shirt, slipping under the cloth, the touch sending millions of sparks through your skin.

Initially, you had refrained from making any snarky comments that would ruin the sensual moment, but now you were unable to speak. The sound of your heavy breathing mixing with his and the occasional rustle of clothes were the only things that irregularly broke the silence.

His open mouth slid down your jawbone, travelling down your neck to your collar as you pressed closer and closer into him. Your hair stuck to your temples with sweat, the rythm of his chest matching yours as it rose fast and then slow, the late hours of the night and the need to be quiet making the moment even more personal.

Your lips brushed faintly against the crest of his cheekbone just as his hands slid under the top of your shirt. At that, you bit down hard on your lower lip to keep from groaning, hearing his low moans deepen as you kissed him.

So far, you had succeeded in not letting a single sound escaping your mouth.

"Little science tidbit," he said through heavy breaths, pausing frequently, "women are significantly harder to satisfy—sexually—than men, at least during heterosexual mating." The sudden arrival of scientific terms almost tugged the corners of your lips into a smile. "Women sometimes fake orgasms just to please their partner."

His head tilted to the side as you tugged at his silver hair. You kissed him, successfully shutting him up. He moaned into the kiss, and you leaned into him, rising a little from your straddling position as his hands gripped your hips.

Finally, you moaned, failing to suppress the pleased satisfaction that rose in your chest like a high tide. Suddenly, he stopped, letting go of your hips and separating the two of you.

You stared at him in confusion, brow furrowed. A part of yourself protested at the separation, but you pulled yourself back from pulling him close again.