Despite what everyone at Moordale thought of her, Maeve hasn't had a lot of sex. It's really only been Jackson, because he had been smart enough, at least for a time, to keep his mouth shut about everything they did. Smart enough not to make her seem like more of a slut than the school had already decided she was. Until, of course, he'd gone and fallen for her, but Maeve's not thinking about that now.

She's thinking about how, comparatively, Steve knows what he's doing in ways Jackson hadn't. He'd claimed to have been with loads of girls, but the more time she spends with Steve, the more Maeve thinks that might be a bunch of bullshit. That or none of the girls had realized he wasn't exactly that special either.

Steve is paying attention to her. She keeps her knees pressed to his sides, one leg around him, and she can tell he's watching her, waiting for the right angle and when he finds it, she lets him know. With a groan, she presses into the messy kiss and slides one hand between their bodies, finding her clit with her fingers.

"Fuck," she exhales into his mouth. "Like that. Jesus fuck, Steve."