Don't Wanna Be Your Girl || Jensoo

Chapter 4

As soon as the bedroom door is closed Jisoo has Jennie shoved up against it. She isn't gentle as she seeks out Jennie's mouth and puts her hands on her body. It has Jennie wondering if Jisoo's been thinking about this as much as she has. Jennie's hardly thought of anything else. It's been one continuous loop of images of Jisoo flashing across her mind; the toe-curling intensity of her stare as she looked up at Jennie from between her legs; the perfect bow of Jisoo's back as she shook through orgasm; the lazy, sated smile on her face that made Jennie's ribs feel tight; the unexpectedly slow, soft hunger of their morning-after kiss.

Jisoo's lips latch onto her throat, drawing Jennie out of her haze. She pushes the blazer from Jennie's shoulders, busies herself with untucking Jennie's button-down to get her hands on the skin underneath. Warm fingers press over the indentations of Jennie's ribs, skirt along the underwire of her bra, as Jisoo plants quick, open-mouthed kisses down the side of her neck.

"You smell amazing," Jisoo mumbles against her skin. "What is that? Perfume?"

"Shower gel. Chamomile and jojoba oil." Jennie tilts her head to allow easier access, loosening a small moan when Jisoo starts sucking at the tender spot beneath her ear. "It's organic."

"Mm. I like it."

The button-down and Jisoo's singlet are next to go, quickly followed by their bras. Jisoo doesn't hesitate to press forward, to mould her body to Jennie's. The graze of pebbled nipples, the pliant warmth of Jisoo's stomach and breasts against her own draws another, shakier moan from Jennie. Their mouths clash again in a heated kiss, a wet slide of tongues. They grope blindly for one another's belts, fumbling with buckles and the buttons on jeans, impatient in their rush to push tight denim down hips and thighs. They part long enough for Jennie to remove her shoes and socks, for them both to peel their jeans off the rest of the way.

They kiss, deep and hot and dirty, until Jennie's jaw aches and her lungs burn, until her lips are tingling. When Jisoo pulls away there's a pretty dusting of pink high on her cheeks and her pupils are blown wide. Her gaze drifts down over Jennie's torso and her hands follow soon after, roaming over the curves of Jennie's breasts, rolling against the hardened tips of her nipples.

"God, Jennie," Jisoo mutters, half under her breath. "Why are you so fucking hot? Like, I can't deal."

Jennie doesn't quite know how to respond to that; not that she's capable of saying much of anything when Jisoo's mouth closes around one stiff peak, while fingers pinch and pluck at the other. For a while, Jennie loses herself in the sensation of Jisoo's tongue and lips against her skin, the soft licks and bites scattered across her chest, her clavicles, the undersides of her breasts. Every inch of her is inflamed by Jisoo's touch, nerve endings flaring with each tug on her nipples.

She's so into it that she can't quiet the whine of disappointment when Jisoo takes her mouth away. But any protest dies on her lips the moment Jisoo sinks to her knees, brown eyes locked on wide brown the whole time.

"You know the first thing I noticed about you? Your legs." Jisoo's mouth ticks up at the corner, as if she's reliving the memory. "I saw you on set, this gorgeous, pissed-off-looking girl, with fucking legs for days, and I just wanted them wide open for me."

Jennie has to put a hand on the doorknob to brace herself because Jesus, the things Jisoo says.

Jisoo's palms follow the slim contours of Jennie's calves, rounding her kneecaps, splaying over the expanse of her thighs, and Jennie's so glad she opted for the glittery moisturiser after shaving this morning because her legs do look kind of fantastic.

A soft, wanting noise alerts her to the fact that Jisoo's eyes are now fastened on the damp crotch of her boy shorts.

"I—," Jennie begins but she doesn't get to finish that sentence before there's heat, the sudden, startling heat of Jisoo's mouth on her. They both groan. Jennie's head tips back as Jisoo's tongue drags over soaked cotton. She grips the doorknob harder, her other hand sinking into brown hair.