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“Get on the bed.”
“You’re lucky I’m into bossy women,” Stiles grumbles, but does as he’s told.
Cora pauses, one foot on the edge of the bed, and raises an eyebrow. “You’re lucky I’m even here.”
She’s not lying; it doesn’t take a genius to figure out that the boy is a virgin, and Cora would typically write him off for that alone, but those hands and his fucking mouth - when he wasn’t rambling on, that is - Cora can quietly admit to herself that Stiles is attractive, something the rest of Beacon Hills seems to not have realised, and that the thought of being the first to touch him is strangely appealing.
Stiles flushes, and the heavysweet smell of humiliation makes her nose twitch, but she also sees his cock twitch, smell the pre-come leaking from the tip. God, she’s barely even touched him, and he’s already so hard for her.
“How do you want me?” Stiles asks, sounding breathless. She likes the way he’s looking at her, eyes roaming her body and darting away like he’s not sure if he’s allowed to look, teeth digging into his bottom lip, then running his tongue over it, his hands twisted in the sheets.
“On your back,” Cora orders, crawling up the bed, then manoeuvring herself until she’s straddling Stiles’ face, thighs either side of his head. “Gonna ride your face. If you make me come, I might ride you after.”
“Holy God.”