The Sophomore (College Years 2)

Without hesitation, I sling my arms around his neck. Bury my fingers into the silky soft hair at his nape. Return his kiss with all the enthusiasm I’ve kept pent-up inside of me. He won’t let up, and I’m not even sure how we’re breathing, but I don’t want this moment to end.

I’m consuming him as he’s consuming me.

He wraps his other arm around me as well, and somehow, he lifts me, my legs automatically going around his waist. He pins me to the door, pressing his denim covered erection right against the spot where I ache for him the most and oh my God, when he does that, I see stars.

We let our mouths and hands do all the talking. Words ruin everything, especially between us. He finally breaks the kiss, only to run his hot mouth down my neck. Licking. Nibbling. His hands are sprawled across my butt, pulling me into him as he rubs against me. I grind against him right back, letting my body take over and do its thing. An incessant throbbing starts between my legs, making me feel greedy. I want more.

More, more, more.

“Let’s go inside,” he whispers against my lips, just before he resumes kissing me. This goes on for minutes. Hours. I don’t know. I’ve lost all track of time thanks to Jackson. “Show me your bed.”

It’s the way he says show me your bed that brings me back to reality. I press a hand to his chest, pushing a little. He breaks the kiss, lifting his head so our gazes meet, our heavy breaths mingling.

“I don’t know,” I tell him.

He frowns, lowering his brows. “What do you mean, you don’t know?”

“What’s going to happen if I ‘show you my bed’?”

“I’m going to make you feel good,” he says, his voice full of promise as he leans in to kiss me again, but I keep my arm extended so he can’t.

I know he can deliver on that promise. I’m just not sure if I’m ready to go there yet. I talked a good game just now, but I know myself. I feel too much.

For him.

“And after that?” I’m shaking. I don’t know why. Nerves maybe? I’m definitely not cold. I feel like I’m burning up.

“I don’t know. Does there have to be an after that? Can’t we just let it play out?” he asks, sounding pained.

“With me and you? Yes, there has to be an after that. Letting it play out might end up a total disaster.” I nod, proud of myself that I said it.

He needs to know he can’t just fuck me and forget me. Not that I think he would, but knowing Jackson, if we did actually have sex? Afterward, he’d avoid me.

For months, even years, if things got awkward.

Knowing us, they’d get mega awkward.

He leans his forehead against mine, closing his eyes. “You think too much.”

“It’s my best and worst trait.” I touch his face. His achingly beautiful face. I run my fingers along his jaw, committing to memory the agony in his gaze as I touch him.

He’s affected by me. He can say and do whatever he wants, but he cares.

He just doesn’t know what to do with those feelings yet.

And that’s the only reason I’m letting things go this far between us in the first place. Deep down, I know Jackson has feelings for me. He’s just afraid. Of me. Of us.

Of everything.

“Are you going to let me come inside?” he asks.

“I shouldn’t,” I tell him truthfully.

“Come on, El. Let me.” He grips my hips again, his touch and tone persuasive. “I’ll stop if you want me to.”

See how he knows we’re going to do something that I might want to stop? Besides, it’s Jackson.

I won’t want him to stop. I didn’t want him to stop just now. I had to get my feelings out first. But did he actually hear me? I don’t know.