Moonlight Kisses

don't make a sound (one-shot)

jordyn.

"We have to go," I giggle into his mouth, grabbing his hair, his moan vibrating into our kiss.

His hands encourage the circulation of my hips, despite knowing we have approximately four minutes left to be in our first period. "Nooo," he whines with a note of desperation. My needy boy.

"We're...gonna...be...late." Open-mouthed kisses break up every word I utter. I try stopping, but fuck his tongue is like addicting.

"So?" he scoffs, squeezing my bare ass in his hands. How he convinced me to wear a skirt again is a total blur. Yesterday, I was going on about something along the lines of 'never wearing a skirt again because he gets too many ideas', and while I was firm on it then he must have bribed me good this morning because here I am. Making out with him in the backseat of his car and praising myself for wearing this skirt because now I can really feel him.

Gyrating our hips into each other, he pushes his tongue into my mouth again and kisses me deep. Making certain it would last when we parted ways here. The only way to convince him to let me out of his clutches is if I pull out of this kiss, so much to my dismay, I do just that. Pry my lips apart from his with a small smack and ensure he can't pull me back for more by burying my face in the crook of his neck.

God, his scent. I wonder if I can get it bottled up and sprayed into everything that I own?

No, creepy thought. I'd rather have him anyway.

"I have some rational expressions to look forward to," I hum with faux-excitement. I feel Beau tilt his head back as he lets out an exaggerated groan.

His hands haven't moved from my ass and they don't seem to intend on doing so. He utters another complaint when I guide his hands up to my waist. In turn, the hemline of my skirt falls down and pools against this lap. I'm still fairly exposed to his enthusiastic viewing, but he'd rather touch and see. Nothing can satisfy this horny fucker. "We can do math here," he smiles cheekily, "Here's your problem: If I fuck you for an hour now and three later, how many hours will we have spent fucking in the last 24 hours?"

I roll my eyes, naturally shaking my head upon hearing his stupid joke. "I don't think I've ever heard you say 'fuck' so many times," I chuckle, "And that's a weak ass problem. The answer'd be 4."

Loudly, he imitates a god-awful buzzer noise as if we were in a game show. "Wrong!" he yells out unnecessarily. "I said the last 24, so that means you'd have to count yesterday too."

Right. Our quickie in his car during lunch...another longer hook up at my house after he intended to drop me off. I say intended because he was supposed to leave after that, but when we came across my empty house, plans sort of changed. Calculating that, I nod in thought, "Alright, we're looking at a solid 7 hours." I can't believe he's got me answering a math problem revolving around our sex life.

Our sex life that only began three days ago. The fact that that's all the time it took for me to go from a virgin to a full blown nympho is a problem that remains unanswered to me. The sex is good, great actually, but I didn't expect to be craving it. Every second of every day. I swear i've thought about sex more in the last three days than in the last three years. Even that's saying something.

Dear god, I'm becoming a pubescent boy.

"Scratch what I said," Beau laughs, leaning over me to grab my backpack from the passenger seat, "I think you may need all the math classes you can get." That retort earns him a light smack to his chest. Not my fault he's a fucking genuis when it comes to math.

It helps a lot to have a boyfriend who's good at the things you're not. Math, soccer, getting shit off of high shelves. It's like having two sets of hands, if you're not able to do something you can simply turn to the other person, give them a look and you get the problem off your hands. Or at least that's how it is with us. "Shut up," I groan, reluctantly moving off of his lap. A sharp pang stabs through the apex of my thighs.