Chapter 8: The Second Attempt
The fairy lights strung above Riley’s bed had seen better days. Some bulbs were dark, others pulsed a faint, warm yellow. They illuminated the childhood room with a conspiratorial glow, making the soccer trophies on the shelf and the faded poster of a boy band look like artifacts from another life. Jordan lay beside her, propped on one elbow, tracing the pattern of her threadbare duvet cover with a single finger.
“Your room still smells like… I don’t know. Glue sticks and sleepovers,” he said, his voice low.
“It smells like dust,” Riley corrected, but she smiled.
She was achingly aware of her own body—the brush of her cotton tee against her nipples, the weight of his leg resting over hers. They’d been kissing for what felt like hours, a slow, deep exploration that had melted the last of the formal awkwardness. His mouth was on her neck now, his breath hot against her skin.
Headquarters was operating at a humming, high-stakes capacity.
Joy had dimmed the main lights, letting the fairy lights provide the ambiance. She was conducting, her movements precise. “Okay. The setting is secure. Parental units are at a movie. We have a four-hour window. Sensory input is positive. Proceed with Phase Two: Tactile Reassurance.”
“Window!” Fear squeaked, pulling up a complex schematic of the house’s plumbing. “What if the pipes burst? What if they come home early? What if his jeans button scratches her and she gets a weird infection? Has he washed his hands? Has he?”
“Shut up,” Anger rumbled, though it was without real heat. He was monitoring Jordan’s hands like a hawk. They were currently carding through Riley’s hair, which was acceptable. “Just keep them above the waist until she signals.”
Sadness watched from her quiet corner, feeling the profound sweetness of the moment, how it was layered over the ghost of the failed attempt on this same bed. “This is the vulnerability,” she murmured. “This is the brave part.”
Jordan’s hand slid from her hair, down her side, coming to rest on the curve of her hip. His touch was a question.
Riley answered by shifting closer, arching into him. The kiss deepened, turning hungry. Her hands found the hem of his shirt, her fingers slipping underneath to feel the warm, firm plane of his stomach. He sucked in a breath.
“Is this okay?” he mumbled against her lips.
“Yes,” she said, and it was a gasp.
Joy gave the order. “Apparel removal. Initiate.”
They broke apart just long enough to wrestle with clothing. Her t-shirt went over her head. His followed. The air in the room was cool, raising goosebumps on their skin. He looked at her, really looked, his eyes dark in the low light. He didn’t say she was beautiful. He just stared, and the raw appreciation in his face was better than any line.
He lowered his head and took one nipple into his mouth, his tongue circling the tight peak. A jolt of pure, electric pleasure shot straight down her spine to her cunt. She gasped, her fingers tangling in his hair.
“More,” she heard herself whisper.
His hand cupped her other breast, thumb rubbing in time with his mouth. The sensations were so sharp, so focused, they blurred everything else. The worry, the planning, the watching emotions—it all faded into a buzzing background hum. There was only heat, and wetness, and his skin against hers.
His kisses trailed down her stomach. His fingers hooked into the waistband of her leggings and her underwear, pulling them down in one slow motion. The cool air hit her exposed skin, followed immediately by the scalding heat of his gaze.
He settled between her legs. For a moment, he just looked. Riley fought the urge to close her thighs, to hide. Joy projected a beam of fierce, golden pride. “He’s seeing you. Let him see.”
Then he leaned in and pressed a soft, closed-mouth kiss to the inside of her thigh. Then another, higher up. His stubble scratched deliciously. Her hips lifted off the bed of their own accord.
“Jordan,” she breathed, a warning and a plea.
His tongue found her then, a slow, flat stroke from her opening all the way up to her clit.
“Fuck,” she hissed, the word torn from her.
He groaned in response, the vibration making her jerk. He did it again, slower, learning her. He circled her entrance, dipping inside briefly, making her whimper, before moving higher. He found her clit again and sucked it gently into his mouth.
“Right there,” she panted. “Oh, god, right there.”
He settled into a rhythm, his tongue flicking and circling, one hand splayed on her belly to hold her down, the other sliding under her to grip her ass. The room filled with the wet, filthy sounds of his mouth on her. Riley’s world narrowed to that single, aching point of contact. Pleasure coiled tight in her gut, a spring winding and winding.
Fear was having a muted crisis. “Technique is adequate. But stamina? What if he stops before she comes? What if she’s too loud? The neighbors—”
“Will you for once just shut the fuck up?” Anger snapped, but he was leaning forward, watching. A grudging respect was on his face. “Kid’s… not fucking it up.”
Joy was in a state of ecstatic overload. Sensation data was flooding her consoles, all of it green, all of it brilliant. She was amplifying every pulse, every tremble, weaving them into a tapestry of pure, golden feeling.
Sadness felt the first tear escape Riley’s eye, tracking down into her hairline. It wasn’t sad. It was an overflow. She collected it gently, a precious blue pearl.
The climax built, a wave gathering itself far out at sea. Riley’s breaths came in short, sharp cries. Her thighs tightened around Jordan’s head. “I’m gonna… I’m gonna come…”
He doubled his efforts, his tongue moving faster, more insistently. He slid two fingers inside her, curling them up.
That was all it took.
The wave broke. Pleasure detonated through her, a white-hot shock that shattered her thoughts into fragments of light and sound. She cried out, a raw, unfiltered sound that seemed to belong to someone else. Her back arched off the bed, her hips grinding against his face as he rode her through it, his motions gentling until she was spent, trembling, collapsing back onto the sweaty sheets.
For a long moment, there was only the sound of their ragged breathing.
Jordan crawled back up her body, kissing her stomach, her breasts, her collarbone, before finally finding her mouth. She could taste herself on his lips, salty and musky. The intimacy of it was staggering.
“You are so fucking hot,” he whispered, his voice ragged. He was hard against her thigh, the denim of his jeans rough.
She reached for his belt buckle, her fingers clumsy. “You. Now.”
They dealt with his jeans and boxers in a frantic tangle of limbs. He fumbled in his discarded wallet, pulled out a condom. The rip of the foil was loud in the quiet room.
Joy took a deep, steadying breath. “Primary event. All systems. Gentle. Slow. Match his rhythm to hers.”
Fear was reciting statistics on condom failure rates, his voice a frantic whisper.
“Just roll it on right, for Christ’s sake,” Anger muttered, his fists clenched.
Jordan sheathed himself, his hands shaking. He knelt between her legs, his cock jutting thick and ruddy in the fairy light glow. He looked at her, his eyes asking one more time.
Riley reached for him, pulling him down. “Come here,” she said.
He guided himself to her entrance, the head nudging against her wet, swollen flesh. He pushed in, just an inch. There was a faint burn, a stretching fullness that was more intense than her fingers had ever been. She gasped.
He stopped. “Okay?”
“Yeah,” she breathed. “More. Just… go slow.”
He sank deeper, a slow, inexorable slide that stole the air from her lungs. He filled her completely, a deep, heavy pressure that was foreign and profoundly right. He was inside her. They were connected.
He began to move. Short, shallow thrusts at first, letting her adjust. Her body relaxed, accepting him, and the friction transformed from sharp to molten. She wrapped her legs around his waist, pulling him closer, deeper.
“Oh, shit, Riley,” he groaned, burying his face in her neck.
His pace increased. The bedsprings gave a soft, rhythmic creak in time with his hips. The sound of their bodies meeting, skin slapping against slick skin, was obscene and beautiful. He fucked her in earnest now, each drive of his hips hitting a spot inside her that made her see sparks.
Joy was orchestrating a symphony. Each thrust sent crescendos of sensation through Riley’s nerves. She wasn’t pushing for another peak; she was immersing Riley in the shocking, raw reality of it. The sweat, the smell of sex, the sheer physical work of it.
Riley met his thrusts, her own hips lifting to take him. A new, feral confidence surged through her. This was hers. She was doing this. She clutched at his back, her nails digging in.
“Harder,” she heard herself growl.
He obeyed, his thrusts becoming more powerful, less controlled. His rhythm faltered. He was close.
She pulled his face to hers, kissing him deeply, swallowing his groans. “Come with me,” she whispered against his lips.
It was all he needed. His body tensed, a low, guttural sound ripping from his throat as he pulsed inside her. The feel of him losing control, of his pleasure spilling into the latex sheath, triggered her own second climax—a smaller, deeper quake that clenched around him, milking him through his own.
They collapsed together, a tangled, sweating heap. The only sounds were their heaving breaths and the distant hum of the house.
Jordan slipped out of her, disposing of the condom before gathering her back into his arms. He kissed her forehead, her damp hair.
In the dark, with his heart hammering against her cheek, Riley felt the words rise, inevitable and true. They weren’t planned. They weren’t orchestrated by Joy. They came from a deeper, quieter place.
“I love you,” she whispered into the skin of his chest.
His arms tightened around her. He didn’t say it back immediately. He just held her, his breath evening out. Finally, he pressed his lips to the top of her head.
“I love you, too,” he said, the words simple and solid, a anchor in the dark.
In headquarters, there was a rare, perfect silence. Joy glowed, a quiet, sustained sun. Fear was asleep at his console, exhausted. Anger gave a single, satisfied nod. Sadness cradled the moment, this beautiful, completed thing, knowing its fragility and its strength in equal measure.
Outside, a car passed on the street, its headlights sweeping across the ceiling and over the two intertwined figures, before leaving them once more in the soft, private dark.