Strawberry Swirls and Summer Kisses
Pairing:Jackie Taylor x Fem!Reader
Wc:3,800
Rating:Explicit (18+ only)
Warnings:Smut, explicit sexual content, public/ risky teasing, fingering (under table/clothed), oral sex (f receiving), scissoring, praise kink, light possessiveness, established secret relationship, ice cream/food play elements, consensual and enthusiastic, no use of y/n (reader referred to as "you"), soft aftercare.
Summary:Jackie insists on an "innocent" ice cream date after practice to celebrate the team's win-but the way she looks at you over melting scoops says the only thing she's hungry for is you. What starts sweet quickly turns sticky and desperate in the back of her car.
The sun was still brutal even at 7 p.m., the kind of late-summer heat that made everything feel slow and syrupy. Practice had run long—Coach pushing extra drills after the close win against Ridgewood—and by the time you peeled off your shin guards, your skin was sticky with sweat and grass stains.
Jackie caught you in the locker room hallway, still in her practice jersey, blonde ponytail messy, cheeks flushed from exertion.
“Hey,” she said, voice low so the others wouldn’t hear. Her eyes flicked down your body—lingering on the way your tank clung to your chest—before meeting your gaze again. “You free? Like… right now?”
You raised an eyebrow. “Thought you had family dinner or something.”
“Canceled. Mom’s at some charity thing.” She stepped closer, close enough that you could smell her coconut sunscreen mixed with sweat. “Come get ice cream with me. My treat. We deserve it.”
It wasn’t really a question.
Twenty minutes later you were in the passenger seat of her Jeep, windows down, radio playing some soft indie song neither of you knew the words to. Jackie’s hand rested high on your thigh the whole drive—casual, but her thumb kept tracing slow circles over the bare skin just under the hem of your shorts.
She pulled into the lot of the little retro parlor on Maple Street—the one with the neon sign that buzzed “Scoops & Smiles” and outdoor picnic tables under string lights. It was crowded with families and other teens, but Jackie didn’t seem to care. She parked in the far corner anyway, shaded by a big oak.
“Strawberry cheesecake swirl for me,” she declared as you walked up to the window. “Double scoop. In a cup—no cone, I’m messy enough already.”
You ordered the same, adding extra whipped cream because why not. When the cups came, Jackie paid with a crumpled twenty and flashed the teenage boy behind the counter a smile that made him blush.
Back at the table, she sat across from you, legs brushing yours under the wood. The first spoonful she took was obscene—slow drag of the spoon across her tongue, eyes locked on yours the whole time.
“Good?” you asked, voice a little tighter than you meant.
“Perfect,” she murmured. She scooped another bite, then held the spoon out toward you. “Try.”
You leaned forward. Instead of letting you take it yourself, she fed it to you—careful, intimate. The cold cream hit your tongue, sweet and tangy, and Jackie’s gaze darkened watching your lips close around the spoon.
She licked her own lips after. “You’ve got a little…” Her thumb brushed the corner of your mouth, wiping away imaginary whipped cream, then slipped into her own mouth to suck it clean.
Heat pooled low in your belly.
You retaliated by taking a slow, deliberate lick of your own spoon, letting your tongue swirl around it while holding eye contact. Jackie’s breath hitched audibly.
“Stop that,” she whispered, but her foot slid up your calf under the table.
“Make me.”
She didn’t. Instead, she leaned forward, elbows on the table, chin in her hand like she was just listening to you talk about practice. But under the table her bare foot nudged higher—between your knees, then gently pressing against your inner thigh.
You shifted, thighs parting just enough.
Her toes curled against the seam of your shorts.
You nearly dropped your spoon.
“Jackie—”
“Shh,” she said sweetly. “Just eating ice cream.”
But her foot kept moving—slow, insistent pressure rubbing right over your clit through the thin fabric. You bit your lip hard to keep quiet. The table hid everything below the waist, but anyone walking by could see your flushed face, the way your chest rose faster.
She scooped more ice cream, casual as anything, while her toes pressed harder circles.
“You’re so wet already,” she whispered, leaning in like she was sharing a secret. “I can feel it through your shorts.”
Your hips twitched involuntarily. “We’re in public.”
“Exactly.” Her smile was wicked. “Makes it hotter.”
She pulled her foot back suddenly, leaving you throbbing and empty. Before you could whine, she stood up, grabbing both cups.
“Come on. Car. Now.”
You followed on shaky legs.
She didn’t bother with the front seats. Instead she climbed straight into the back, tugging you after her. The Jeep’s windows were tinted dark enough that no one would see details from outside—especially parked in the shadows like this.
As soon as the door clicked shut, Jackie was on you.
She pushed you back against the seat, straddling your lap, mouths crashing together. She tasted like strawberry and whipped cream and desperation. Her tongue swept in, hungry, claiming.
Hands everywhere—hers under your tank, palming your breasts, thumbs flicking nipples until they ached. Yours gripping her hips, grinding her down against you.
She broke the kiss to yank your tank up and bra down, exposing you. Cool air hit your skin, then her hot mouth. She sucked one nipple hard, teeth grazing, while her hand slid down the front of your shorts.
No preamble—she pushed your underwear aside and plunged two fingers inside you.
You gasped, head thunking back against the window.
“So fucking wet,” she groaned against your chest. “All from a little teasing?”
“Been wet since the locker room,” you admitted, voice wrecked.
Jackie moaned at that, pumping her fingers faster, curling them against that spot that made your toes curl. Her thumb found your clit—rubbing tight, fast circles.
“Look at me,” she ordered.
You did. Her eyes were dark, pupils blown, lips swollen and shiny.
“You’re mine tonight,” she said, voice low. “Say it.”
“I’m yours.”
“Good girl.”
She kissed you again, swallowing your moans as she worked you harder. You were close—embarrassingly fast—but she knew your body too well. Right when you started to tighten, she pulled her fingers out.
You whined into her mouth.
“Not yet,” she said, smirking. “I want to taste you first.”
She slid down, shoving your shorts and underwear off in one impatient tug. Then she spread your thighs wide, hooking one over the seatback, the other over her shoulder.
The first swipe of her tongue made you jolt.
She licked slow at first—long, flat strokes from entrance to clit—savoring. Then she focused on your clit, flicking quick and light, then sucking hard.
You threaded fingers through her hair, tugging. “Jackie—fuck—”
She hummed, the vibration ripping a moan from you. Two fingers slid back inside, thrusting in time with her tongue. She curled them again, relentless.
You were loud—couldn’t help it. The car rocked slightly with your hips bucking into her face.
She pulled back just long enough to whisper, “Come on my tongue. I want it all over my face.”
That did it.
You shattered—back arching, thighs clamping around her head, crying her name as waves crashed through you. Jackie kept licking, soft and slow, drawing it out until you were trembling and oversensitive.
When she finally crawled back up, her chin glistened, lips puffy. She kissed you deep, letting you taste yourself—sweet and tangy mixed with strawberry.
“Your turn,” you panted, already reaching for her waistband.
She helped you strip her—shorts and panties gone in seconds. She was soaked, folds shiny, clit swollen.
You pushed her back against the opposite door, spreading her legs. But instead of diving in, you reached for the forgotten ice cream cups still melting on the floor mat.
Jackie’s eyes widened. “What are you—”
You scooped a small dollop of the pink swirl onto your fingers, then smeared it across her inner thigh, up to her center.
She gasped. “Cold—”
“Gonna warm it up.”
You leaned down and licked it off her thigh first—slow, teasing—then moved to her folds. The mix of cold cream and her heat was filthy and perfect. You lapped at her clit, sucking the last traces of ice cream away, then plunged your tongue inside her.
Jackie moaned loud, hand fisting your hair. “Oh god—yes—eat me—”
You did. Tongue fucking her deep, then circling her clit, sucking hard. Two fingers joined, pumping fast. She was dripping down your chin, thighs shaking.
“Close—fuck—I’m—”
You pulled back just as she started to clench.
She whimpered. “No—no don’t stop—”
“Want you to come with me,” you said, voice rough.
You maneuvered her so you were scissored—legs tangled, cores pressed tight. The first grind of wet heat on wet heat made you both groan.
Jackie rolled her hips first—slow, experimental—then faster. Slick sounds filled the car, obscene and loud. You matched her rhythm, clit rubbing clit, pressure building sharp and fast.
“Touch me,” she begged.
Your hand slid between you, thumb finding her clit, rubbing frantic circles while you ground down.
Jackie’s nails dug into your shoulders. “Yes—right there—don’t stop—”
You kissed her messy—teeth clacking, tongues sliding. She tasted like you, like ice cream, like summer.
“Come with me,” you gasped against her lips. “Jackie—please—”
She shattered first—back arching, cry muffled against your neck, hips stuttering as she pulsed against you. The feeling of her coming undone tipped you over—orgasm ripping through you hard, thighs shaking, grinding down one last time as you rode it out together.
You collapsed in a sweaty, sticky heap—legs still tangled, chests heaving.
Jackie laughed breathlessly, pressing soft kisses to your jaw. “We’re a mess.”
“Worth it.”
She reached for the leftover napkins from the ice cream, wiping you both gently—your thighs, her chin, between her legs. Then she pulled you into her lap, arms wrapping around you tight.
“Best date ever,” she murmured into your hair.
You smiled, nuzzling her neck. “We’re doing this again.”
“Next time,” she said, voice sleepy and content, “we bring more whipped cream.”
The string lights outside glowed through the tinted windows as you held each other, hearts slowing, the taste of strawberries still lingering on your tongues.