He laughed, soft, and opened the car door properly this time. “Come on, princess. I bet you already want to check my place."
The drive was a blur of streetlights and stolen glances. Dwayne’s hand rested on the gearshift, inches from Jamie’s bare knee. Every shift of the clutch brushed his knuckles against her skin—accidental, maybe, but the contact zapped straight to her core. She kept her thighs pressed tight, staring out the window, replaying the kiss on loop. Soft. Firm. Chocolate. Her lips still tingled.
"Oh, we're almost there," Dwayne said, his voice a low rumble as he downshifted, the car slowing in front of a modest two-story house on a quiet suburban street. The porch light was on, casting a warm glow over a basketball hoop mounted above the garage. No parents' cars in the driveway—Jamie clocked that detail with a mix of relief and panic. Alone. With Dwayne. After that kiss.
He killed the engine and turned to her, that easy grin back in place. "My folks are out of town for the weekend—some conference in the city. Figured we could hang here instead of me dropping you straight home. Watch a movie, raid the fridge. No pressure." His eyes searched hers, sincere but hopeful. "Unless you want me to take you back to Becky's?"
Jamie's mind raced. Say yes to going home. End this now. You're James, damn it—not some swooning teen on a date. But her body betrayed her again, that treacherous warmth spreading as she remembered the kiss, the way his hands felt on her hips. And curiosity—stupid, medallion-fueled curiosity—nipped at her heels. One movie. Keep it PG. Get intel on the school, the team... anything to survive the week. Plus, Becky and Trish were probably plotting more "girl lessons" at home. Here, at least, it was neutral territory.
"N-no, movie sounds good," she stammered, tugging his jacket tighter around her shoulders like armor. "As long as it's not some horror flick. I scare easy." Liar. You used to love slasher marathons.
Dwayne chuckled, hopping out and circling to open her door. "Deal. I've got The Princess Bride—classic, funny, zero jump scares." He offered his hand, and Jamie took it, her tiny fingers swallowed in his palm. The heels made the step down from the car a wobble; he steadied her with a casual arm around her waist. Too casual. Too good at this.
Inside, the house was guy-central: sneakers piled by the door, a faint scent of pizza and laundry detergent, posters of track stars and a massive flat-screen in the living room. Dwayne flicked on lamps, dimming them to cozy levels, and gestured to the couch—a big, plush sectional that looked perfect for... cuddling. Nope. Not thinking it.
"Make yourself comfy. I'll grab snacks." He vanished into the kitchen, leaving Jamie to perch on the edge of a cushion, kicking off the heels with a sigh of relief. Her feet throbbed, but the carpet felt heavenly. She shrugged off his jacket, folding it neatly—why am I being polite?—and smoothed her dress, hyper-aware of how it rode up her thighs when she sat.
Dwayne returned with a bowl of popcorn, sodas, and a blanket. "Figured you'd be cold." He draped the blanket over her lap, his fingers lingering a second too long on her knee. The movie started—Inigo Montoya's sword fight already making her smile despite herself—and he settled beside her, not too close at first. But as Westley declared "As you wish," Dwayne's arm stretched along the back of the couch, behind her shoulders.
Jamie tensed, popcorn halfway to her mouth. This is fine. Platonic. But her body leaned in anyway, drawn like a magnet. Halfway through, his fingers started tracing lazy circles on her upper arm—light, innocent. Tingles shot straight to her core. She shifted, thighs pressing together, and accidentally brushed his leg with hers.
"You okay?" he murmured, pausing the movie. His face was close—too close—those dark eyes locking on hers.
"Yeah, just... new to all this," she whispered, meaning the girl thing, the date, the everything. But it came out flirty, breathy.
Dwayne's gaze dropped to her lips. "Me too, kinda. You're different, Jamie. Not like the other girls on the squad." He leaned in, slow again, giving her an out.
Pull away. Think of Lisa. But Lisa felt like a distant memory now, overshadowed by the heat building in the room. Jamie's eyes fluttered shut as their lips met—deeper this time, no audience. His hand cupped her cheek, thumb stroking her jaw, while the other slid to her waist, pulling her closer. She melted, a soft moan escaping as his tongue teased hers. Oh god, this feels... right? Wrong? Amazing.
The kiss broke, both breathing hard. Dwayne rested his forehead against hers. "Wow. Again."
Jamie nodded dazedly, and they dove back in. Hands started wandering—his up her back, hers clutching his shirt, feeling the hard planes of muscle beneath. When his palm grazed the side of her breast, she gasped, arching into it without thinking. What am I doing? But the protest was weak, drowned out by fireworks exploding behind her eyes.
Jamie’s tiny hands fisted tighter in Dwayne’s shirt, the cotton bunching under her manicured fingers as his thumb traced the swell of her breast through the thin red fabric.
"M-ph! Dwayne!" Jamie gasped, the sound coming out more like a squeak than the protest she intended. Her body arched instinctively into his touch, those traitorous C-cups pressing against his palm as if they had a mind of their own. What the hell am I doing? The thought screamed in her head, but it felt muffled, distant—like it belonged to someone else. James. The old James. The one who crushed on Lisa, who’d never even considered letting a guy cop a feel. But here she was, melting like ice cream on a summer sidewalk.
Dwayne pulled back just enough to search her face, his dark eyes hazy with want but still sharp enough to catch the flicker of panic in hers. “Hey… too fast?” His voice was rough, but he eased his hand away, settling it on her waist instead—safe territory. Mostly. “We can slow down. Or stop. Whatever you want, princess.”
The nickname hit her again, warm and teasing, and Jamie felt that fluttery heat pool lower, making her squirm under the blanket. Princess. God, why did that make her thighs clench? She swallowed hard. "Dwayne, continue. Please," she quietly whispered with a breathy little whimper that didn’t sound like James at all.
Her own voice—high, needy, girly—sent a jolt straight through her. No, stop, this isn’t me. But the words were already out, hanging in the dim lamplight like glitter.
Dwayne’s eyes darkened, a slow grin curling his lips. “Yeah?” He brushed a thumb over her lower lip, still swollen from their earlier kisses. “Tell me what you want, Jamie.”
I want to go home. I want my body back. I want Lisa.
But what came out was, “Touch me again.”
He didn’t need more invitation. His hand slid back up, cupping her breast fully now, the heat of his palm searing through the dress. Jamie’s head fell back against the couch with a soft thud, a moan slipping free before she could bite it down. The push-up bra did its evil work; every squeeze sent sparks skittering across her skin, nipples tightening to aching points. She felt herself getting wet—an alien, slippery warmth that made her thighs press together in panic and delight.
Dwayne shifted, angling over her, one knee nudging between hers. The blanket slipped to the floor. His mouth found her neck, teeth grazing the sensitive spot just below her ear. Jamie’s hands flew to his shoulders—to push him away, right?—but her fingers curled into muscle instead, pulling him closer. The scrape of his stubble, the weight of him, the smell of him—clean sweat and cologne and boy—it was overwhelming. Her hips rolled up without permission, seeking friction against his thigh.
“God, you’re gorgeous,” he murmured against her collarbone, fingers slipping under the hem of her dress. The fabric bunched higher, cool air kissing the tops of her thighs. His hand stopped just short of her panties—g-string, Becky, you monster—thumb tracing the lace edge. “Tell me if you want me to stop.”
Stop. Say stop.
But Jamie’s legs parted instead, a tiny, shameless movement. “Don’t,” she breathed. “Don’t stop.”
Dwayne groaned, low and rough, and kissed her again—harder this time, tongue stroking hers in a rhythm that made her toes curl. His fingers finally slipped beneath the lace, brushing slick heat. Jamie jolted like she’d been shocked, a high-pitched cry muffled against his mouth. Oh my god, that’s me. That’s my— The thought fragmented as he circled her clit with maddening precision, slow, then faster, learning her like a new language.
She was climbing, fast and terrifying, every nerve lit up. Her hips bucked into his hand, chasing the pressure. “Dwayne—please—” The plea cracked on a sob. She didn’t even know what she was begging for. Release? Mercy? More?
He gave it. One finger slid inside her—tight, hot, impossible—and Jamie shattered. The orgasm hit like a tidal wave, rolling through her in pulsing waves. She clung to him, face buried in his neck, muffling scream after scream into his skin. Her whole body shook, thighs trembling around his hand, until she went limp, panting, dazed.
Dwayne eased his fingers away, pressing soft kisses to her temple, her cheek, the corner of her mouth. “You okay, princess?”
Jamie couldn’t speak. Could barely think. Her body felt like warm honey, boneless and glowing. I just came. As a girl. With a guy’s fingers inside me. The realization should’ve horrified her. Instead, a lazy, sated smile tugged at her lips. "Kiss me!" she suddenly asked.
Dwayne didn’t hesitate. His mouth crashed back onto hers, hungry but gentle, tasting the salt of her tears—wait, was she crying? Jamie wasn’t sure. Everything felt soft and sharp at once, like the world had tilted and she was sliding down a slope she hadn’t meant to climb. His tongue swept against hers, slow now, savoring, and she kissed back with a desperation that scared her. This isn’t me. This can’t be me. But her body disagreed, arching into him, legs still trembling from the aftershocks.
When they finally broke apart, Dwayne’s forehead rested against hers, both of them breathing hard. “Oh god, Jamie,” he whispered, voice ragged. “You’re gonna kill me.”
Helping Jamie to pull off her clothes, damp with sweat and clinging to her flushed skin, Dwayne’s hands were gentle but insistent. The red dress peeled away like a second skin, leaving Jamie in just the push-up bra and that ridiculous g-string. Cool air kissed her overheated body, raising goosebumps along her arms and thighs. She shivered—not from cold, but from the raw exposure of it all. This is happening. This is really happening.
Dwayne’s eyes raked over her, dark and reverent. “God, you’re perfect,” he murmured, voice thick. His fingers traced the lace edge of her bra, then slipped behind to unclasp it with a practiced flick. The bra fell away, and Jamie’s breasts—her breasts—spilled free, heavy and sensitive. Her nipples, still hard from earlier, tightened further under his gaze. She crossed her arms instinctively, a flush crawling up her neck.
“Don’t,” Dwayne said softly, catching her wrists and easing them down. “Let me see you.”
Jamie’s breath hitched. James would’ve laughed at this—some guy telling him to show off his rack. But Jamie didn’t laugh. She let her arms drop, heart pounding so hard she was sure he could see it. Dwayne’s hands cupped her gently, thumbs brushing over her nipples, and she whimpered—actually whimpered—arching into the touch. The sensation was electric, a straight line from her chest to that aching heat between her legs.
He leaned in, mouth closing over one nipple, tongue swirling slow and deliberate. Jamie’s head fell back, a broken moan tearing from her throat. Her fingers tangled in his hair, holding him there, urging him on. This is wrong. This is insane. But the thought was drowned out by the wet heat of his mouth, the scrape of teeth, the way her body sang under his attention.
Dwayne pulled back just enough to tug his shirt over his head, revealing the abs she’d been obsessing over all night. Jamie’s hands moved without permission, tracing the hard lines of muscle, the faint trail of hair disappearing into his jeans. He was warm, solid, real. She pressed her palms against his chest, feeling his heartbeat—fast, like hers.
“Jamie,” he said, voice rough with want. “Tell me what you want.”
I want to stop. I want to go back to being James. I want Lisa. But the words wouldn’t come. Instead, her hands slid lower, fumbling with his belt. Dwayne groaned, helping her, and soon his jeans were gone, leaving him in tight black boxers that did nothing to hide how much he wanted her. Jamie’s eyes widened—that’s going inside me?—but the panic was laced with a curiosity she couldn’t deny.
He kissed her again, slow and deep, guiding her back against the couch cushions. The blanket was long gone; the leather was cool against her bare back. Dwayne settled between her thighs, the hard length of him pressing against her through the thin barrier of fabric. Jamie gasped, hips rolling up to meet him, the friction sending sparks through her core.
“Easy,” he murmured, nipping at her earlobe. “We’ve got time.”
But Jamie didn’t want time. She wanted—needed—to know what this body could do, how far it could take her. Her hands tugged at his boxers, and he obliged, kicking them off. The sight of him—hard, thick, ready—made her mouth dry and her pulse race. This is it. No going back.
Dwayne hooked his fingers in her g-string, sliding it down her legs with agonizing slowness. Jamie’s breath came in shallow pants, her thighs trembling as he parted them. He kissed his way up her inner thigh, stubble scraping sensitive skin, until his mouth hovered over her center. “Can I?” he asked, voice husky.
Jamie nodded, barely a movement, and then his tongue was on her—in her—and she cried out, back arching off the couch. The pleasure was overwhelming, a white-hot surge that built faster than she could process. Her hands scrabbled for purchase, one tangling in his hair, the other clutching the cushion. He licked and sucked with devastating precision, fingers joining in, curling inside her until she was sobbing his name.
“Dwayne—oh god—please—”
She came again, harder this time, her whole body seizing as waves of ecstasy crashed over her. Dwayne didn’t stop, drawing it out until she was a trembling, gasping mess. Only then did he pull back, kissing his way up her stomach, her chest, her neck, until he was braced above her, eyes locked on hers.
“Still with me?” he asked, voice strained.
Jamie nodded, dazed and desperate. “Inside me. Now.”
He reached for a condom—thank god one of us is thinking—rolling it on with shaking hands. Then he was nudging against her, slow and careful. Jamie tensed, the stretch unfamiliar and intense, but he kissed her through it, murmuring soft reassurances until she relaxed. Inch by inch, he filled her, and the fullness was overwhelming—pain and pleasure twisted together until she couldn’t tell where one ended and the other began.
“Move,” she whispered, and he did.
The rhythm started slow, tentative, but built fast—hips snapping, breath mingling, the slap of skin on skin filling the room. Jamie’s legs wrapped around his waist, heels digging into his back, urging him deeper. Every thrust hit something inside her that made her see stars, her moans climbing higher, more desperate. Dwayne’s hand slipped between them, thumb circling her clit, and she shattered again, clenching around him with a scream that left her throat raw.
He followed moments later, burying his face in her neck with a guttural groan, his body shuddering above her. They stayed like that, tangled and panting, the room spinning slowly back into focus.
Eventually, Dwayne eased out, disposing of the condom with a kiss to her forehead. He pulled her into his arms, tucking her against his chest, the blanket draped loosely over them. Jamie’s body felt like liquid, every muscle loose and humming. Her mind, though—her mind was a war zone.
I just had sex. With a guy. And I loved it. The thought should’ve horrified her. Instead, it settled warm and heavy in her chest, like a secret she wasn’t ready to unpack. Dwayne’s fingers traced lazy patterns on her back, his breathing evening out. She should say something—anything—but the words wouldn’t come. Instead, she burrowed closer, inhaling the scent of him, letting the exhaustion pull her under.
Tomorrow, she’d face the fallout. Tomorrow, she’d remember Lisa, the medallion, the plan. But tonight, curled against Dwayne’s warmth, Jamie let herself drift—sated, confused, and terrifyingly content.
