Despite her rush to get to her bedroom, Willow takes her time once she's there. She slowly toes off her shoes, leisurely discards her purse onto her desk. She can see his shadow outside her window, and she's making him sweat.

They both know they don't have to do this anymore. Sneaking around had become a thing of the past long ago, back when they were still operating under the disguise of pretend . But there's still a certain thrill from it all, even if they both know there's no real risk in getting caught. The teenager inside of Willow jumps with joy at the prospect of a boy sneaking in through her window - she can't help it.

" Red ," she can hear his muffled voice complain when she stands and leans against her desk for a few extra seconds. She fights her smile, " C'mon , I'm freezing out here!"

She knows he's exaggerating, but it still encourages her to tease him further. She chooses to reapply her red lipstick rather than give in to his demands right away.

"Hm, what's that sound?" she loudly calls out, turning to finally face the window, taking a few steps towards it. She can see Eddie's silhouette behind her curtains and the glass, impatiently crossing his arms, "Couldn't possibly be my gentleman boyfriend. No, never."

She continues her loud rambles as she continues to take several steps closer to the window until she pauses right in front of the window. She knows he can see her shadow.

"Fuck being a gentleman," he gruffly replies after staying silent for a moment, "I'm done being a gentleman. Let me in."

She finally pulls back the curtains to see him standing there, eyes wide and chest heaving. Her smirk is impossible to hide as he raises his fist and impatiently taps against the glass for emphasis.

The charade continues as she fiddles with the lock, painstakingly slow as she unlocks the window and pushes it up, "Oh, c'mon, Munson. I know you don't break that easily-"

She's cut off by Eddie's eager mouth. He's leaning in through her window, not even waiting to be in her room before he's kissing her. This kiss isn't as sweet as the goodnight kiss he'd asked of her - he'd meant it when he said he was done being a gentleman.

She pulls back, gasping for breath as his hands still cling to the sleeves of her sweater, "Get inside."

Her hands curl into firsts on his nice shirt, tugging him through her window although she knows her strength does nothing to speed up the process. He's less graceful than normal, stumbling as he tries to kiss her once more the moment he has one foot in through the window. It has her giggling against his lips, leaning forward and accidentally smashing their noses together as his hands grip her shoulders for balance.

"You have been," he mutters against her mouth as he finally has both feet planted on her carpet, pausing the kiss to get more words out, "an absolute menace," she interrupts him by stealing another kiss before he finally gets out his final words, " all night."

"Have I?" she teases, daring to bite his bottom lip after the words fall from her lips. He groans into her mouth, his hands begin to trail over her body. He's grasping anywhere he can find - her hips, her thighs, her back, her waist. If it's within reach, he grabs it by the fist full.

He pulls back, and she catches the way his pupils have dilated until they've swallowed his entire iris, "You have. I just wanted to be a gentleman, and you spent the entire night teasing me."

For emphasis, his hands grab at her hips particularly harshly, pulling her forward until she's flush against him.

She wonders what she looks like in his eyes, and if he finds her as enticing in this state as she's finding him. He's a sight to behold, his ponytail nearly completely slipped out by her unconscious tugging on his hair and lips already swollen, especially the bottom one she had bit harsher than expected.

She knows who freshly applied lipstick is everywhere on her face, because it's everywhere on his face. She can feel the frizz of her hair.

It's as if he's reading her mind, "You're so fucking beautiful, Willow."

A hand lifts from her left hip, coming up to cradle her jaw. She presses into the touch, placing a chaste kiss on the center of his palm.

"You're pretty handsome, too. I don't think I told you that tonight," she mumbles against his palm still, "You're handsome. So, so, so handsome."

Even in the heat of it all, she catches the blush creeping up his neck at her words. It eggs her on.

"Shut up," he grumbles, leaning down to kiss her again, but she leans back and presses a hand flat against his chest.

"Nope. Let me just look at you, pretty boy," her nickname turns his cheeks a blossoming red. She's reveling in it - in the effect she manages to have on him, just as fierce as the one he has on her.

She's surprised when he listens. He leans back enough for her to continue to take in his features, his chest heaving as his mouth falls agape. Just as her eyes trace his face, he returns the favor. His brown eyes flicker from her hazel ones, to the tip of her rosey nose, to her lips, surely a bleeding scarlet.

"We should close the window," he whispers, a smile tugging on the corners of his mouth.

She doesn't respond. He's rendered her speechless, so all she can do is nod.

She misses his touch the moment it leaves her, watching him shut and lock her window once more before drawing the curtains.

She knows what she wants out of the night. She should be nervous, she should be dizzy from the thought of it all, but all she feels is safe . Whatever is to come, she knows she's safe with him. It's hard to imagine that the rest of the town is so unfamiliar with this feeling; everyone else turns heel and runs from him, taking one look at him and screaming danger. But she knows better. He's the farthest from dangerous anyone could be, all softness and painful caring that endears her to no end.

"So, now you've got your boyfriend in your room," he starts when he's facing her once more, "What are you going to do with him?"

He's giving her the reins, indirectly. She knows that he'll only give her what she asks of him, pushing her for no more than what she can take.

Her brain nearly short-circuits before she gathers her bearings, "On the bed, please."

He raises his eyebrows, but doesn't protest as he walks to her made bed. She's suddenly grateful that she hadn't made too much of a mess when getting ready for their date, her room just barely breaching the barrier of being embarrassingly messy.

"Would you like me to undress?" She can hear his teasing smile even as he's not looking at her, taking slow and sure steps before he reaches the edge of the bed.

"Just your shoes," she squeaks. She's desperately clinging to her confidence.

"Whatever you say, sweetheart," he agrees as he sits down, leaning down and doing as she's instructed him.

She really didn't think that she'd get this far. It's exhilarating.

"Now what?"

"Lay down," she says as if it's obvious. She hasn't moved from her spot by the window, watching him with wide eyes.

She hopes to God her mother's shift runs late.

"What about my jacket?" he questions, rustling the leather for emphasis.

Oh, yeah. Right.

"Uh, t-take it off," she curses herself inwardly, because her confidence is beginning to drain. She expects him to make a smart remark, but he only takes off the jacket, gently dropping it to the floor beside her bed before he moves up to sit against her headboard. He slowly drops down, dragging along until his head makes contact with her pillows and the escaped curls are fanning out around him.

When she sees him like this, she's reminded of how badly she wants this. There's a throb between her legs, an ache in her core, and her self-doubt begins to lose in her internal battle.

He's there for her taking. Patiently waiting for her next move.

A deep breath, and her eyes flutter shut.

You want this. He's safe. It's okay.

She has to repeat the words to herself as a mantra as she finally moves, getting onto the bed on her knees and making her way up to him. This is the easy part - she's seated herself onto his lap several times before. It's a similar position to the one they were in when she put eyeliner on him for the Halloween party. It's familiar and not as daunting.

She leans down over him and her hair is curtained around them, allowing for privacy as she begins to kiss him. It's less rushed, less panicked, but just as eager. She takes her time, moving her lips from his to his check, trailing down to his jawline and following it up to his ear. Her lips are barely brushing the shell of his ear when she sees a shiver run over him.

"Is this okay?" she lowly whispers directly into his ear. It has his hands shooting up to grip her hips, not as roughly as when he first entered the bedroom, but grounding nevertheless.

"More than okay," he chokes out, his thumb rubbing soothingly at her skin beneath her skirt as it bunches up around her thighs. She seats herself fully on him, feeling him through his jeans and her tights.

He's already hard, and she's hardly done anything.

"Tell me if you need me to stop," she echoes words reminiscent of what he once told her as she had laid out on his couch, him looking up at her prettily from between her thighs. The mental image is enough to almost make her give over control and beg him to make her feel like that again, to offer him a taste of her before she took this any further.

"Touche, baby," he huffs out. His muscles are tightened as if he's holding back on her, his thumb still gentle and soothing against her.

It's enough encouragement for her to continue her kisses. She sucks and nips along the way down his neck, pausing at the junction of his throat and his shoulder, right above his collarbone, to suck a dark bruise into his skin. He's groaning and whimpering from below her, gasping out when she grazes the mark with her teeth.

" Fuck , you got good at that," he moans, shifting beneath her, hips nearly bucking up into her.

She smiles, pressing a soothing kiss to it before pulling away and looking him in his eyes, "I had a good teacher."

"I'll have to send him a thank you note," he sighs out, eyes even further blown out as he gazes up at her.

The next step is the daunting one. She knows it, he knows it. She's sure her childhood teddy bear buried deep somewhere in her closet even knows it.

So she does what she already knows. She makes out with him, and he parts his lip so that she can slip her tongue into his mouth. She glides it experimentally, pressing against his own between the puffs of air that escape him. His grip on her hips tightened, his thumb no longer moving.

She almost doesn't notice when she shifts against him, pressing down harder and giving an experimental rock of her hips, until he properly gasps into her mouth.

"Shit, I won't last if you keep doing that," he warns her. His eyes are tightly screwed shut, and she decides that this is how she likes him best.

Whiney, desperate, losing control.

She decides she wants to see how far she can push him before he breaks and truly loses control.

With another rock of her hips, she has him groaning out once more, louder this time. Music to her ears. She continues on with the action as she attaches their lips once more, capturing each sound and swallowing down as his grip turns bruising.

It feels good . Each passing of his rough denim over her tights sends shocks up her spine, and she can feel the damp spot growing on her panties. The heat radiates down her thighs, and she's sure he can feel the effect he's having on her.

" Please ," he whines out pathetically. It's clear he isn't sure what exactly he's begging for, if he's pleading for her to continue or to do something different, but he's calling out the word like a prayer.

"Please what ?" What's left of her confidence has her still teasing him, still poking and prodding to see how far she can push him.

"More," he gasps out as she presses down rougher than before, her own whines passing her lips, "I need more ."

She's not as cocky as him. She knows if the roles were reversed, he'd make her beg more. He'd make her tell him exactly what the more she needed was, pushing her until she was on the verge of tears. Until she was a babbling mess. But she's not him; she's more merciful, less sure of herself. So when he says it, she complies easily.

She slides herself down so she's seated on his thighs instead, leaning back and looking at him as he stares up at her. He's a mess of red lipstick and spit, crazed as he continues to stare.

"Take off your shirt," she instructs quietly, keeping her voice steady despite her racing heart.

He's quick to unbutton the shirt. Each button that opens reveals more of his bare chest to her, and she has to fight the urge to reach out and trace her fingertips over it. Insane . He's driving her absolutely insane.

He has to lean up to properly shrug the shirt off his shoulders, and he presses a quick kiss to her lips with a smile before he lets himself fall back again. The shirt is discarded to the ground, the beginning of a pile of clothing with his jacket. When he's fully exposed, she stops fighting the urge. She reaches out her palms and presses them flat against his warm skin, letting her hands wander and trace over his shoulders and tattoos. He lets her without a single protest, reveling in the flames she leaves behind in her tender touches.

"I bet that old lady would kill to be in my position about now," she jokes to break some of the tension as her hands trail lower, brushing over his spasming abdomen.

"Please don't talk about old ladies right now," he groans, head tilted back as he enjoys her touch, "It's a real boner killer."

She gets daring, not overthinking it as she brings a hand down over his crotch, cupping him as she questions, "Is it? Doesn't feel like it."

His eyes shoot open, his hips bucking up into her touch unintentionally. It's the exact reaction she was hoping for, the perfect stroke to her ego to encourage her to keep going. The noise that leaves his mouth is sinful when she takes it a step further, wrapping her hand around what she believes is his shaft through the denim.

" Red ," he pleads once more, flailing his hands before settling on gripping the comforter beneath him.

She lets go of him, biting her lip as she begins to attempt to unbuckle his belt. Another garment that clearly isn't his, missing his usual handcuff buckle. (Not that she'd ever stared long enough at his belt to notice the buckle. No, never, couldn't be her).

Her hands begin to tremble as she finally begins to unbutton the pants, unzipping them slowly. Eddie lifts his hips enough that she can tug the pants down, coming face to face with his boxers. Reality quickly sinks in as it's only the thin fabric between her and his most intimate parts.

"Everything okay?" he asks her, noticing her hesitation. He leans up onto his elbows, glancing down at her.

She swallows hard, "Y-Yeah, fine."

Her confidence is gone. Her anxiety rears its ugly head as her inexperience becomes obvious; she doesn't know what she's doing. No amount of romance novels or movies could prepare her. She was in over her head.

Her hands are slack on his thighs when he brings one up to cup over hers, "We don't have to do this. Say the word, and we'll stop. It's okay."

"I don't want to stop," she urgently explains, looking up at him hopelessly, "I just... I... I've never..." all her words die in her throat, unsure of how to say what she needs to without making an absolute fool of herself.

She doesn't have to finish the sentence, though, as it hits him clear as day, "Shit, Red. No, I- Fuck, I forgot. It's fine. Let's stop-"

"No!" she argues, a bit too roughly. "No, I- I don't want to stop, I just don't know what to do. I'm... I have no idea what to do. It's not- It won't- How is that going to be fun for you?" her tone is exasperated, quickly becoming frustrated as she looks down at Eddie's chest and refuses to meet his eyes.

She's done it. She's killed the moment. She's a moron.

"Hey," he scoots up, moving her on his lap, "Hey, look at me."

His voice is nothing but kind and patient, a hand coming to tilt her chin so she has no choice but to look at him. She expects a look of disdain, or possibly disappointment, but all she finds in his soft brown eyes is understanding.

"We don't have to do this, but if you want to, I promise I'll enjoy it. I care more that you enjoy it. You understand that, don't you?" she doesn't answer him, and curses when she can feel tears burning in her eyes, "I could care less if you just flopped it around like a goddamn joystick, I'd probably still end up coming, if I'm honest with you. Just by the way you were looking at me. You don't- You don't need to be some crazy sex goddess. I just want you . Inexperienced and awkward and all. You're in control here. You've got me, Red, I swear."

She wishes he'd let go of her chin, let her look away in shame, but his grip only tightens. She has no idea what to say to that.

"You want this?" he asks her once more, and he loosens his grip enough for her to nod, "I'll guide you. I'll show you. It'll be fine. Stop worrying, I promise."

"That's embarrassing," she scoffs, voice tight from the unshed tears.

" Embarrassing ? I just told you that you could flop my dick around like a joystick, and you're embarrassed?" He tries to lighten the mood, add levity to the situation, but she's still not laughing with him, "Babe, you... it's not embarrassing. Kind of sweet. Pretty sure guys have wet dreams about opportunities like this."

"Have you ?" she means for a teasing tone, but she comes out sounding insecure still. The question is too genuine to be a joke.

"Have I what? Had wet dreams about teaching you to suck my dick?" his crude words make her breath out a silent laugh through her nose, "Fuck yeah. Absolutely. You drive me crazy."

His lightness in it all has her anxiety steadily creeping down. Her breathing evens out, panic settling out of the way, as she finally nods, "Okay. Okay, yeah. Show me how."

At her consent, he gently grips her and moves her off his lap, taking his pants off the rest of the way.

"What are you doing?" she asks, furrowing her brows.

"You can't blow me through my boxers," he laughs gently, looking up at her, "Unless... uh, unless you want to take them off?"

"Please," is all she has to say for him to remove his hands from the waistband, holding his hands up as he settles against her pillows, propped up against the headboard.

"Be my guest," he encourages her.