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It’s not cheating if you don’t kiss.
And they haven’t, even if Eddie’s mouth is pressed on the base of her neck, breathing hard against her skin.
It’s not cheating if you are fully dressed.
And they are, even if her panties are so wet it feels like the thin fabric doesn’t exist anymore.
It’s not cheating because nothing, nothing, is happening.
They’re in his trailer. He’s sitting on the floor, his back against the couch. And she’s sitting on his lap, and swear to God, she doesn’t even remember exactly how they ended up like this. She remembers wanting it though.
But it’s not cheating, it can’t be cheating, because they’re not even lying on the bed.
Chrissy feels like she’s sitting on a rock, the roughness of his denim-covered crotch pressing against her, and she really can’t help but move her hips just a little bit, just enough to get that friction she desperately needs.
He lets out a muffled sound against her neck, and it travels down her spine, and makes her shiver, makes her want for more, much more, and she moves her hips again once, twice, finding a rhythm that feels so good.
It’s not cheating if it feels good.
Eddie moans, louder this time, his hands traveling under her cheerleader skirt and grabbing her ass, and Chrissy gasps but keeps moving and now he’s matching her, pressing his hips upwards.
“You’re so hard,” she says, and oh my god it should have stayed in her mind, she wasn’t supposed to say it out loud, in her breathy, needy voice.
Eddie raises his head from her neck and presses their foreheads together and she closes her eyes.
It’s not cheating if she’s not losing herself in his eyes.
“Chrissy” he whispers, and it’s the way he’s saying it, so desperate, or the friction between them, or his cold rings pressed on her skin, or maybe all these things together that are building something very sinful on the top of her stomach.
It’s not cheating if she doesn’t reach it.
She should stop now, she knows there’s no coming back if she keeps going, but she can’t. So she sinks her hands in his curls and she grinds against him again and again, and now their noses are touching too, but not their lips, not their lips.
And then she comes undone, soaking her panties and his jeans, her whole body shaking, her core pulsing, her walls clutching against nothing, and she bites her lower lip so hard she can taste her own blood.
It’s not cheating if she doesn't scream his name.
“Chrissy… fuck, ” he groans and buries his face on her neck again and he licks her soft skin ( it’s not a kiss, it’s not a kiss ) and his hips jerk against her, and he says “fuck” again, quieter this time, and then he holds still.
Oh, that was definitely cheating.
They both don’t move for what could be hours, but probably it is just a couple of minutes. Then he leaves her neck again, and Chrissy dares to open her eyes.
Eddie’s looking at her, staring at her, his eyes wide and darker than she remembered. She could drown in them, she thinks.
“I want you so bad,” he says, his voice strained, and she can feel her cheeks burning, and this is wrong, this is wicked, so she presses two fingers against his plump lips before he can state something even more dangerous.
“Don’t say that” she begs.
He keeps staring at her and slowly he raises his ringed hand and wraps it around her small wrist. And then he opens his mouth and swallows her fingers and sucks them and oh my god, oh my god.
A wave of arousal travels down her body, it makes her ache for more, and she doesn’t withdraw and keeps looking at her fingers inside his mouth, feeling his tongue around them, wondering how it would feel somewhere else.
And then he takes pity on her and releases her fingers with an obscene popping noise.
“I’m sorry,” Eddie says and he sounds like he means it.
It’s like a spell that has been broken, and Chrissy finds somehow the strength to leave his lap and stand on her feet.
“I should go,” she says. She’s shaking a bit, her head’s spinning fast.
It wasn’t cheating.
They haven’t kissed. They still have their clothes on. They haven’t done anything. She could get married to Jason tomorrow and he’d still find her a virgin. Whiter than snow, as her mother loves to say.
“I can drive you home” Eddie offers, stretching his limbs.
He’s so much taller than her now that they’re both standing. But that’s not what makes him scary. Nor it is the way he dresses or his strange hobbies. Actually, he is not scary at all.
But the way he makes her feel, that is scary. The way he makes her want for more. Terrifying.
So she shakes her head and tries her best to sound normal. “Thanks, but I really like to walk.”
She grabs her pink backpack and reaches out to the trailer’s door.
“See you at school, then,” he says, “or after school…” he adds. He sounds a little bit broken, a little bit hopeful.
For a moment, she wonders what would happen if he just said: “stay”. If he grabbed her and turned her around and kissed her, pressed her down on the couch and touched her and tossed her underwear away, and fucked her hard, made her come, and then kissed her again, and told her she’s so good.
She’d let him. She’d let him do everything.
Well, that’d be cheating.
“Mmh…’ key” she mutters, her heart beating so fast it might just explode. Later she’ll tell herself there won’t be other after-school meetings. No way.
She leaves and doesn’t close the door after her so that his eyes can still follow her, if he wants.
But she doesn’t look back, so she’ll never know.