He snorted, shifted. His hips flexed, his ass tightening to push him upward.
I realized why.
The bulge was enlarging. Significantly.
I bit my lip, gnawing on it. Ohhh god, that was…gargantuan. As it hardened, it lengthened and thickened inside the gray fabric, straining against it, so clearly outlined it may as well have been uncovered.
And then, oooh wow, okay, wow. WOW.
It poked up out of the top of his underwear.
Pink tip, plump and round, with a tiny slit, peeking almost cutely, shyly, out of the elastic waistband.
I wanted to touch it.
He was asleep, though.
I shouldn’t.
Really, really I shouldn’t.
I should go back to sleep and forget I saw anything.
Yeah, right. Like that was going to happen.
Like I could ever, ever forget this. The monstrous size of the thing, so big it would fill my fist and then some, thick and so long, fat and hard.
Soft, I bet.
Yet rigid. Steel sheathed in silk.
I want his steel sheathed in my silk.
I snorted out loud—I’d heard that in Lexie’s voice.
But shit, it was true.
I wanted so badly to touch it. Run my finger over the pink tip. Pull the underwear down and bare the whole thing.
God, no. No. That was crazy.
I didn’t know him. Last night had been a lapse in judgment due to my extreme impairment. Sure, when it had happened I’d been more sober than drunk, more exhausted than woozy.
I’d known what I was doing, what I was letting him do. I’d wanted it, and I’d just…gone with it.
That was then, though, and this was now. And I wasn’t touching him. Not now, not like this. But holy crap, it was a hell of an effort.
“It won’t bite,” a deep, sleepy voice said, inches from my ear.
“No, but I might,” I heard my own voice say; I surprised both of us with that comment.
“Well hell, woman.” A wry, surprised smirk.
I blushed crimson. “Not awake all the way. I, uh—” I could not physically blush any harder. “I…I don’t know what I was thinking.”
His smirk turned wicked. “Hey, you wouldn’t hear me complain, babe. Just maybe, you know, don’t bite too hard.”
I wanted to hide, but there was nowhere to hide, so I squirmed. Wriggled. That was a truth I didn’t want to tell him. But the way I was not meeting his eyes, the way I was unable to speak, just stammering…
“That sounds, I mean—you’re—I…”
His eyes narrowed. “You are not a virgin. No fuckin’ way.”
“No!” I protested. “I’m not, not at all. I was engaged, actually. With the same guy for five years.”
“Then what’s up?”
I shrugged. “What do you mean?”
He smiled, laughing. “Playing coy, huh?”
It was weird how not weird it felt to be in bed with him. It felt utterly natural. Strangely comfortable.
“I’m not playing coy,” I lied.
He snorted. “Then you’re full of shit, one way or another.” He arched an eyebrow. “I was joking, and I don’t think you were.”
“Joking?”
“The biting thing.” He indicated his still-hard member, the tip still peeking up over the top of his jeans. “How this thing don’t bite, but you do.”
“Oh, that. Ha, yeah. Just…just joking.”
He sighed. “You wanna play dumbshit, fine by me, babe. Just know I see through it.”
I sighed. “You want the truth?”
He nodded. “Always, babe. Hard, painful, or strange, the truth is always better, in my opinion.”
“I’m not a virgin. I met my ex-fiancé in my freshman year of college. I was a virgin. I dated him all through college, moved to Boston with him after college and we lived together. He proposed a year and a half ago, and I found out a few months later that he was cheating on me with my boss. I dumped him, quit my job, moved out of the condo we shared—paying him for the rest of the years’ worth of my half of the rent. I’ve lived off my savings since.”
He quirked an eyebrow. “Okay. That dude was a dumbfuck piece of shit, number one. Number two, what’s your point?”
“The point is, I’m not a virgin.” I sighed. I tugged the blankets up to my neck, suddenly hyperaware that I was buck naked underneath. “But…while I’ve had a lot of sex, there are some things I haven’t done.”
He nodded slowly. “Like a blowjob.”
My cheeks flamed, my chest burned, and I couldn’t breathe. My eyes went to his shaft, the pink tip drawing my gaze. “Right. Among other things.”
“Like?”
“Why do you want to know? So you can make fun of me?”
He frowned, puzzled. “Have I made fun of you for anything so far?”
I sighed. “No, you haven’t. I apologize. I get defensive, sometimes.”
“You know, Charlie, there’s a thing you’re allowed to do. It’s called telling me to mind own goddamn business. They just invented it yesterday, I heard, but I can teach you, if you want.”
I laughed. “I feel like I owe you the truth, at the very least.”
His fingers pinched my chin, gentle but firm. Eyes on mine, fierce, unrelenting. “You don’t owe jack shit, princess.”
“But, I…last night. You…”
“Had the unbelievable privilege of putting my hands and mouth on the most beautiful fuckin’ woman I’ve ever seen. I got to watch you come underneath me, watch those big beautiful tits move around…fuck. What I did last night was selfish of me, Charlie. Make no fuckin’ mistake about me—I’m a selfish, horny bastard, and I did what I did because I had no chance of keeping my hands off you. I feel a little shitty about it, truth be told, because I still ain’t sure you were sober enough to know what you were letting me do.”
Suddenly, breathing was difficult and I found it impossible to take my eyes off of him. His words lanced through my core. Dirty, filthy, crude, crass…and beautiful. Intoxicating.
“I knew what I was letting you do, Crow. I was drunk enough that my inhibitions were very, very relaxed, but I was in control of my mind, and able to make informed decisions.”
“Swear that’s the truth, Charlie?” His eyes betrayed worry and guilt that he’d done something untoward.
“Yes, I swear. I…” I was lost, my mouth and mind disconnected, my body feeling strange intense fluttering disorienting new things I couldn’t process or identify, but they were all focused at the nexus of my thighs and low in my belly. “I really, really, really liked what you did.”
“Well, good to know I got it right.”
“Oh, you got it right. I’ve never felt that way before.” I knew my eyes betrayed that secret too.
“Never?”
“Nope. Nothing like it.” Let him guess from that.
“That’s one of the other things you never did with your ass-bag of an ex,” he surmised.
I nodded shallowly. “Yeah,” I whispered.
He let out a slow breath. “So, what else haven’t you done?”
“Anything that’s not…regular sex, I guess.”
“What’s regular, to you?” he asked, not quite smirking.
“Missionary, I think they call it.”
He had his fingertip on my temple, pushing back flyaway hair, then down my throat, over my shoulder. Nudging the blanket down with his finger. Centimeter by centimeter, he bared my skin, and I held my breath and let him.
“That’s it? That’s all you and that dude ever did? Him on top, you on bottom, wham-bam-thank-you-ma’am?”
I swallowed hard. “Yeah, basically. When we first started dating, there was some, like, going around the bases kind of stuff. Heavy petting, touching under clothes. Then sex, and we never really tried anything else.”
“So, you’ve never…” he paused, shifted a little closer—he was on top of the blankets, I realized, and he’d likely done
it to make me more comfortable. “You’ve never gone down on a guy. Never felt him losing his shit, and knowing you have absolute control over him. Last night was the first time a guy has ever taken care of you, too. Showed you what feeling good is supposed to be like. Just made you feel good and left it at that.”
I wanted to breathe, really I did, but I couldn’t. He was taking my breath away. Moving closer, that single fingertip sliding down the outside of my arm. Bring the blankets with it, baring me. The upper swell of my breast was bared, now.
“That would be correct.”
“And you’ve never taken a good hard pounding from behind either.” He smirked. “Never gotten on your hands and knees and felt him just…fuck you, like you’re all there is on the whole planet and if he doesn’t fuck you as hard as he can, he’ll just fuckin’ die.”
I swallowed hard. “N-no.” Jesus. “Definitely not.”
“Damn. Really missing out.”
“This all sounds like things you particularly enjoy.”
He nodded. “Abso-fuckin-lutely, babe.” He kept brushing the blanket down—my areolae were exposed now, and then my nipples, and then all of my breasts, my nipples puckering in the air, under his bold, predatory gaze. “Why, do they not sound fun to you?”
“Fun? Not sure fun is the word I’d use.”
“So, what would you say, then?”
“Intense. Exciting. Daring.”
He laughed. “Daring? Babe, you been in a box your whole adult life. That shit ain’t daring. It’s how it should be.”
“I’m realizing I have been in a box,” I said.
“Someone’s gotta get you out of that box, then.”
The blankets were at my sacrum, then sliding down my hip, to my thighs. He left them there, my sex exposed. His eyes raked over me, devoured my body greedily, blatantly.
“Fuck, Charlie.” He sounded almost pained.
“What?” I whispered.
He shook his head. “Nah, nothin’. Just you. Woman, you’re incredible.”
I shrugged, and the way his eyes followed my breasts told me he appreciated what that movement did for them. “Just me.”
“Well, just you is fuckin’ sexy.” He ran his tongue over his lip, his eyes going from my eyes to my breasts, staying there.
His hand slid across the mattress. His eyes flicked to mine, and I knew he was watching to see what I would do. Cover myself? Stop his hand?
I did nothing.
My nipple was peaked, hard. I remembered his touch from last night and wanted to feel it again.
Crazy, yes. But I was naked in this bed, with this man. I was on a crazy road trip with my crazy sister. For the first time since I was seventeen years old, I was single.
And this man found me attractive.
Made me feel like…
Well…
As he just put it, he made me feel fucking sexy. And god, that was an addictive feeling. I realized I’d never really felt sexy with…my ex. I didn’t want to think his name, not here, not now. I knew he’d wanted to have sex with me, sure. Some affection for me as a person, sure. But…not this all-consuming need which I saw in Crow’s eyes.
Like, if he didn’t get his hands on my skin right now, he was going to explode.
Or more accurately, perhaps, he was going to get my body in his hands no matter what, unless I stopped him.
I didn’t stop him.
I watched him, my eyes on his. Slowly, his hand palmed my breasts, and I sucked in a sharp breath, held it. My eyes were wide—his hand was so big, so rough, so gentle. He just held me, for a moment. Then his hand twisted, his scratchy palm scraping my sensitive nipple, and he lifted my breast, held it in his palm, cradling it. Thumb brushing my nipple, making it sing with ecstatic sensation.
I bit my lip. “Crow.”
“Yeah?”
I shrugged, shook my head, laughing softly. “Nothing, I just…” I swallowed. “I like that.”
“Yeah?”
I nodded. I moved over onto my back, offering him both breasts. He levered over me. We both watched his hands as he caressed and cradled and kneaded my breasts, flicking the nipples, making them hard, achy.
The blanket was rucked down at my shins, and I kicked it off, spreading myself bare and open on the bed, and watched as Crow looked at me—his eyes telling a story.
One of awe.
Fierce need.
Appreciation—for me, exactly as I was.
I would do anything to keep being looked at like that—the intense wonder in his gaze. Did that make me desperate? Maybe.
But in that moment I decided I would just go with it.
Maybe I was sex starved. Not for the act of sex, but for the things which, according to Crow, were supposed to go with it. The need, the desperation, the fiery ache.
And Crow made me feel those things.
Right now, I wanted another orgasm. I wanted his face in my thighs, his tongue in my sex. I wanted to come apart, to look down and see his big hard body between my legs, feel his scratchy stubble sandpapering against my inner thighs, his tongue lashing me to screaming climax.
I wanted it. Fuck, I wanted that.
I felt dirty. I felt wanton. I felt…sensual. Sexual. I felt needy.
He’d given me something last night. Unlocked something in me, and now I couldn’t put it back in its cage. It was out, and it demanded that I let it run wild.
His hand left my breast, stole down my sternum, over my belly. Teased my belly button, and then moved down further, hesitating inches above my sex, toying with the line where my pubic hair started, trimmed close but not shaved bare.
I instinctively felt the urge to bat his hand away, the reaction of a lifetime of…prudery. No, that wasn’t right. I wasn’t a prude. I enjoyed sex—that was the problem, really. I had always wanted more out of sex than I ever got, and had never possessed the requisite courage to demand it, ask for it, go get it. I wasn’t a prude, I was…sheltered. Repressed.
Undersexed.
His gaze softened, the sharp edges of sexual fervor gentling. “You’re thinkin’ a lot of deep thoughts over there, Charlie Goode.”
I nodded, but shrugged too. “Yeah, I guess.”
“Want my two cents?”
“Sure.”
“There’s a time for thinkin’, and a time for feeling. Gotta know which is which, and keep the two separate.” He paused. “Feeling, I mean physical feeling. But emotional, too. Thinking ain’t got much to do with either one, in my experience.”
“I’m a classic Type-A, overthinking, overachieving, check everything five times, schedule my whole life a year in advance, manage my days with checklists kind of girl. So to say I get lost in my head would be an understatement.”
“What do you want, right now?”
“What do I want?” I repeated.
“Yeah. What do you want?”
“With you? Or…?”
He just shrugged. “Don’t think about your answer, just blurt out the first thing that comes to mind.”
I laughed. “That’s hard for me.”
“Yeah, I’m realizing that.” He brushed hair away from my forehead, mouth, eyes, brushing it aside; my braid was coming loose, and he stripped the ponytail holder off the end, tossed it into the cubbyhole with his phone, and deftly freed my hair of the braid, spreading out like a cloud of ink on his pillow. “Damned lot of hair, girl.”
“I’ve never cut it, not significantly.”
“Fuckin’ beautiful.” He touched my eyelids ever so gently. “Close your eyes.”
I did so. Felt his breath on my shoulder. “Okay?”
“Don’t think about nothin’, just lay there and be you. Just float in your head.”
I snorted. “That’s like asking water to stop being wet.”
“Try.”
I focused on nothingness. Forced thoughts out of my head. Darkness, and nothing but Crow’s presence, his heat, his breath, his body.
“Now. Gonna ask you again, and this time,
just…run your mouth. Don’t think, don’t filter. Just tell me…Charlie, what do you want?”
I spoke before I had a chance to stop myself. “I want you to go down on me again,” I blurted. “And I want you to be my first blowjob.”
He inhaled sharply through his nose, and my eyes flew open. “I think I can handle that.”
He was already climbing over me. I scrambled further up the bed, to give his big body room. I worked with him, curling my legs toward my belly so he could fit between my thighs, and then let my heels rest on his back. I slid my fingers into his hair—this, I remembered, too. His hair in my hands. Coarse, thick.
He didn’t dive right in like I expected. He took his time. Breathed on me, kissed the tenderest inner part of my thigh, an inch or two away from where my thigh met my hip, then over, just above my slit, to the other thigh. Teasing me. Huffing hot air on my sex. Then a finger dragged up through my slit, and I gasped. His fingers touched my clit, and I was struck by searing lightning. It coiled low in my belly, pushing through me, pulsing. His tongue found me, and I exploded, hips lifting already.
“Goddamn, woman. So fuckin’ sensitive. So fast to come.”
“Didn’t—didn’t know I could come more than once at a time.”
“Yeah, you can. Twice last night—wanna make it three times?”
“Oh god, I might die,” I whimpered.
He laughed, and then kissed my nether lips. “Maybe. Be a good way to die, though.” Another kiss, to a different spot, lower.
“You’re teasing me,” I said. Glancing down at him I added, “I don’t know whether to love it or hate it.”
“Making you wait makes it more intense when you do come. It’s all about the buildup.”
“Then tease me till I can’t take it anymore,” I said, and wondered who that was speaking with my mouth. Saying such crazy things.
Not So Goode Page 12