Don't Wanna Be Your Girl || Jensoo

Chapter 2

They drive over to Jisoo's place in her old Ford Mustang. ("Lisa's helping me restore it. She's just as handy with a wrench as she is with a dildo.")

It's mostly silent except for the radio turned down low and tuned into an alternative rock station.

A current of nervous tension runs between them and it's making Jennie antsy. She surreptitiously wipes her clammy palms against the thighs of her jeans and glances at Jisoo out the corner of her eye. The brunette has both hands on the steering wheel, one at the ten o'clock position, the other at six where her thumb picks at the black leather wheel cover, now and then moving to the stick shift to change gears.

Jennie doesn't know why but watching Jisoo drive a muscle car is really turning her on.

Soon enough they arrive at Jisoo's apartment. It's in a four storey walk-up in a gentrified neighbourhood not far from the university campus, across the street from a hole-in-the-wall pizzeria and a laundromat. There's a certain kind of offbeat charm to the hallway interior, with its worn wooden bannisters and drab olive paint.

"So this is home," Jisoo says once they reach the top floor and she lets Jennie in.

The apartment is small but airy and open plan—bijou, a realtor might say—all white walls and stripped back floorboards. There's an easel set up in front of the large bay window and several half-finished canvases leaning against one wall. They look to be landscapes, mostly, and a few highly stylised portraits.

"Are these yours?" Jennie asks, indicating towards one of the paintings. The woman in the painting resembles Joy but it's difficult to tell without closer inspection.

"Yep. I'm in art school." Jisoo saunters over to the coffee table and drops her keys into a bowl. "Porn pays for my tuition."

It shouldn't make Jennie feel marginally better about all this but it does. She knows next to nothing about art but she offers, "You're really talented."

"Thanks," Jisoo drawls, walking back across the room until she's standing in front of Jennie, "But I didn't invite you here to show you my etchings."

Without another word, she grabs a fistful of Jennie's henley and yanks her forward. Their mouths collide in a mash of lips and teeth. The second Jisoo's tongue slides alongside her own it's like Jennie comes alive. She backs Jisoo up against the nearest wall, bolstered by the surprised huff the other woman lets out. There are hands in Jennie's hair, pulling out her ponytail and slipping through the loosened waves, fingers trailing over her neck, making the lower half of her body liquid with that simple touch. Jennie kisses Jisoo until every last smear of lipstick is gone, until her lips are plump and wet.

"Undress me," Jisoo whispers against Jennie's mouth.

Jennie just nods because she doesn't trust her voice not to crack. Her hands seek out the hem of Jisoo's dress, tugging it up, up until its bunched around her hips. She skims over the curve of Jisoo's hips, dips under the low rise waistband of her thong. She feels the little breath that Jisoo sucks in in anticipation when Jennie hooks her fingers around lacy cotton and pulls. They separate for Jisoo to step out of her underwear, for Jennie to help her out of her dress.

Seeing her bare makes Jennie's hands shake, creates a twisting knot of arousal in the pit of her stomach. For four days she's tried to avoid looking at Jisoo's body as much as possible because she didn't want to be an objectifying creep—you failed miserably, she tells herself. Now Jennie's struggling to take it all in, paralyzed by indecision over what she wants to touch and taste first.

It's Jisoo who steps up and closes the gap between them again, pulling Jennie into a kiss that she meets with equal heat. It's all tongue and saliva and it's possibly, definitely the filthiest kiss Jennie's ever been a part of. Irene (and there's enough time and distance and magnanimity between them now that Jennie only ever thinks of her fondly) never attacked her mouth like an animal.