Y/N loved Min Yoongi from the moment she laid eyes on him. Yoongi is everything a straight-A pre-med student like Y/N shouldn't want-and the only person she's never tried to please. She isn't afraid of his scary tattoos or his wild attitude. Though...
Y/N started pulling on the ties of her silky top and moved past me towards my bedroom. I forgot that she knew where my bedroom was, that she knew her way around my place- she had a damn key. It was on the tip of my tongue to tell her to stop, to tell her I would just put her to bed and she could just sleep whatever this was off, but as I followed behind her the top hit the floor followed by the camisole and then the skirt that did amazing things to her ass. I picked up the discarded clothing and tried to talk myself off the ledge. I couldn't do this, wouldn't do this. It was bad enough I had kissed her like a sex-crazed lunatic. I needed to get control back, like yesterday. This was Y/N, not some bar bimbo. Not someone I could mercilessly kick out in the morning and never speak to again. "Y/N." She turned to look at me over her shoulder and I think I blacked out for a second. I dropped the pile of clothes in my hand on the floor and tried to unstick my tongue from the roof of my mouth. I had seen a lot of girls naked, but none of them were this girl; none of them came anywhere close. Somehow she managed to get out of those tall motorcycle boots without falling on her face and she was staring at me with her big green eyes, clad in nothing more than a few scraps of black lace that were designed for aesthetics rather than function. Every good intention, went out the window. She was all perfect pale skin, tiny little waist and high "touch me, please God, touch me" breasts. She had a body made to make men stupid and I wasn't immune. I took a fumbling step toward her after kicking the door closed behind me. Somewhere my conscience was whispering I should just put her to bed and go find a bottle of Crown to crawl into and a cold shower to get my libido back in check, but none of that was going to happen because she met me halfway and her little hands went right to my belt buckle. "Y/N", I tried again. I put my hands on her shoulders and where I thought I was going to push her away, my body betrayed me, and I ended up pushing the straps of that fancy bra off her shoulders. She pressed close to me, her hands making short work of the belt and the zipper on my pants. Her lips fluttered over the pulse pounding rapidly at my throat. Her hands trailed lightly over my chest and across my abs, which were tense with desire. One of her legs slid between mine and rubbed against the evidence that I wasn't going to stop her regardless of knowing it was the right thing to do. "Stop thinking so hard." Her voice was all husky and cloudy with desire. She was the last person on earth I should be contemplating doing this with, but even as objection broke through my haze of lust I used one hand to unhook her bra and the other to tangle in her hair as I sealed my mouth over hers. Kissing Y/N was a different experience from kissing any other girl.
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For one, she was really good at it. Most girls got lost or a little confused because of the lip ring, but Y/N seemed oblivious to it and kissed me like she had been born to do it. She was also a lot shorter than most of the girls I normally hooked up with so there was an entire learning curve involved and I had to figure out a way to get all the best parts of us lined up. She didn't seem to care at all that I was a little rough, that I was suddenly impatient. I felt like if I gave myself too much time to get my head around what I was doing I would falter and stop. And man, I really, really didn't want to stop, because her hands had found their way into my pants and my dick would kill me if I pulled the plug now. She tugged the denim down over my ass and I pulled her up so that we were pressed together chest to chest. I shrugged the pants the rest of the way off and gave her a little push so that she fell back onto my rumpled bed. It took some maneuvering and a few curse words to get my boots off and when I crawl up onto the bed my brain short-circuited because all she had on were her barely-there lace panties and a dreamy look on her face. A lot of girls had been in this bed; in fact, last weekend had been the first time in a long time I had spent the night alone. Even though I was in a haze of testicle-squeezing desire I knew that, beyond a shadow of a doubt, none of them had ever looked like Y/N looked against the dark sheets and comforter.
