Good Girl Gone Badd

by Jasinda Wilder

  I wanted to bury myself in her. Make her scream. Haul those pants all the way off and taste the delight between her thighs. Get her to touch me. Really get her going.

  I broke the kiss and rested my forehead against hers. Slid my hand between us, teasing over her now-bare hip, the crease where thigh met hip bone, inches from her core. "You want to come again, don't you, honey?"

  She hummed an affirmative, flexing her hips.

  "Let me hear some words, honey." I nipped her lip as I slid the tip of my middle finger to the upper crest of her slit. "I want it--say that."

  Her arms wrapped around my neck, and she whimpered. Clung to me, shook her head. "I can't."

  "Try--'I want it, Bax.' Four little words." She shook her head, and I withdrew my touch.

  She whimpered in desperation. "No! Wait." She cradled my cheek in her hand, pushed my face away so she could look me in the eyes. "Why? Why do I have to say it? You know that's what I want, so why do I have to say it?"

  "Because I want to hear it," I admitted. "I want to watch that hot mouth of yours saying you want me to touch your pussy and make you come."

  She actually laughed. "Good lord, Bax. I'm certainly not saying that."

  "I think that's the closest to swearing you've come since we met," I remarked.

  I gave her a light, teasing touch. Watched her eyelids go heavy and her mouth go slack as I delved my finger lower and deeper, and then her breathing stopped entirely as I slid my touch inside her and gathered her wetness--and holy fuck was she wet--and smeared it around her clit and she squirmed and ground against me.

  "At least tell me you like that." I couldn't help bending to lap at her breast, suck her nipple into my mouth. "Tell me it feels good."

  She moaned. "I like that, Baxter. What you're doing, it feels...ohhhh...it feels so good." Another moan. "Too good."

  "Too good?" I pretended to sound alarmed, and moved my touch away. "Wouldn't want that. Better stop."

  "NO!" she squealed. "No. Don't...please don't stop."

  I laughed, and resumed touching her. Circling. Delving in, gathering, smearing. Bringing her to the edge in seconds. "Teasing, Eva. Just teasing."

  "Jerk." She tried to glare at me, but her eyes fluttered closed and then were back open, ruining the glare. She gave up trying to glare, and just gave me a look of desperation and intense delight. Raw bliss. Unfiltered ecstasy--and all I was doing was fingering; holy shit would she be surprised when she discovered what I could do with my mouth...and other parts.

  "Ask me nicely." I slowed my touch, right as she was nearing the cusp of climax.

  "For what?"

  "If I'll let you come."

  "Really, Baxter?" She managed to scold me even as she was writhing and gasping. "You expect me to ask you to do something you enjoy doing?"

  I laughed. "It's the principle of the thing, babe. I like the sound of your voice. I like the reassurance that you're enjoying what I'm doing. I want to hear you say it because it turns me on to hear you beg."

  "Beg?" She sounded dangerously close to angry at the sound of that word.

  "Just a little bit." I kept her hovering on the edge, slowing when she got too close, and bringing her back again. "'Let me come, Bax.' That's all."

  She was so close. So close. Her fingers were clawed into my back, and her hips were flexing. She was moaning, whimpering. A touch, one direct brush against her clit, my lips around her nipple, she would explode.

  I kept her from it, though. Trying to coax a little verbal enjoyment from her.

  "I'm not begging, Baxter." She had iron in her voice.

  "No?"

  She shook her head, trying to shut down on me even as I kept her riding the edge. "No. I'll never beg. There's not much I can claim as all my own, only for me," her glare was fiery and firm, "but this...my body, what feels good, what I want, what I do...I won't beg. So...so then you should just stop, if that's what you're expecting of me."

  I grinned fiercely, my heart swelling. "Goddamn, Eva. Now that was the right fuckin' answer, sweetheart."

  I buried my face against her breast and sawed my teeth around her nipple and flicked the tip of it with my tongue and gave her the quick light rhythmic touch against her clit she needed to fall over the edge. She bit down on a scream, and I moved my mouth to hers, covering and devouring her scream, milking her through the orgasm until she was bridged upward, heels and shoulder blades digging into the mattress, core shoved into my touch.

  When the climax faded, she collapsed onto the bed, sweat dotting her forehead and upper lip and the slopes of her breasts. She was gasping in a series of relieved, disbelieving, euphoric moans. "Wow. I mean--wow. Just...wow."

  I felt pride ripple through me. I found her bra, took one of her hands and threaded it through the appropriate loop, then the other, and then lifted her to a sitting position. Hooked it behind her back on the loosest setting.

  Leaning against my neck, she murmured, "One tighter."

  So I tightened it, and she pushed away enough to stuff herself into place. And then I tugged her pants up and found her shirt, slid it over her head, and helped her fit her arms through.

  "I can dress myself, you know," she remarked with a bemused smirk.

  I shrugged. "I know. This was more fun." I stood up, trying to be at least somewhat subtle in my adjustment of my monster erection as I moved to the door and grabbed the crystal knob. "Meet you in the foyer when you're ready?"

  She eyed me, and the obvious outline. "Where...where are you going?"

  I jerked my head at the door. "We're going shopping. Also, it's time for lunch, thought maybe we could hit up my favorite burger joint."

  She indicated me with a flick of her finger. "Like that?"

  I shrugged. "It'll fade...eventually."

  "Isn't it...I don't know...uncomfortable?"

  "Hurts like a bitch, if you really wanna know." I shrugged again. "I'll live."

  "Isn't there some way of..." she moved her hand in a vague, circular gesture, "...alleviating the discomfort?"

  I grinned. "Yeah, but I'm not beating off in the bathroom of a bed and breakfast."

  She blushed. "Oh. You mean...masturbating."

  I laughed again. "Yeah, princess. I mean masturbating. Which is when I take my cock in my hand and stroke it until I come all over the place." I winked as she gulped. "That's the only option, other than letting it subside on its own."

  "Oh."

  Just to test her a little, I moseyed back across the room. "There is...one other option."

  She was wide-eyed and innocent and lovely and intoxicating. "Oh--oh really?"

  "You could help. Instead'a my hand, you could touch me." I stopped when I was just within touching distance. "The thought just occurred to me. Just, you know, as a possibility."

  "I see." She was playing along with the game, keeping her expression wide-eyed and innocent and naive. "I suppose that is an option."

  4

  Evangeline

  * * *

  My heart was hammering in my chest, again--as it so often seemed to do around Baxter Badd.

  This time, insanely, I was actually considering doing it.

  Touching him.

  This whole morning--afternoon, whatever--all I could think of was the way his...his manhood...had looked last night. Bare. Huge. It had looked as if it was straining. So engorged with blood it was near to bursting. I'd been imagining it like that, inside his plain black shorts. Enormous and thick and pink and straining.

  Now he was standing in front of me, and I was sitting on the bed, feet on the floor, facing the door. His shorts were thin, almost like swim trunk material, but cut to look like regular shorts. His arousal was obvious, outlined behind the thin fabric. He looked...tense, all over. As if he was engaging in self-control, holding himself back. I may not have been a virgin, but I was totally inexperienced in things like this, so I may as well have been one for all I knew about what he was feeling, thinking, or going through. What he wanted.

&n
bsp; Me, I knew that much.

  To touch me. To hear me say things I could never say.

  And...probably, for me to touch him. Do things to him I'd barely even dreamed of or fantasized about doing.

  Like--I swallowed hard, staring up at him, and then letting my gaze travel down and down and down to his zipper, and the thick ridge bulging behind it--like unzipping his pants, taking out his thing, and touching it. Touching him, on purpose, until he reached orgasm.

  Giving him what the online pornography videos would probably call a handjob. I'd watched...well...more than a few of those videos. It was my dirtiest, darkest secret: I watched porn. I had an account under a secret email address comprised of nonsense letters and numbers, which I paid for monthly with a pre-paid Visa card loaded with cash drawn from my secret bank account of money filtered from Father.

  I watched porn regularly, habitually, almost obsessively.

  I touched myself watching it. Made myself come, again and again, watching it.

  I'd never, ever, ever come so hard or for so long touching myself, though, like I did when Baxter touched me. Not even close. The orgasms I gave myself were like paltry little sparks in comparison to the fireworks, the exploding-star supernova detonations he made me feel.

  I'd watched a video, recently--the morning I left Yale for vacation, actually, mere hours before getting on the plane--in which a sultry blonde with massive fake tits had slowly, erotically and skillfully fondled a man to orgasm. The man hadn't been shown at all, except for his abs and his manhood, and the woman had frequently stared erotically and with great intensity into the camera, inviting the viewer to pretend it was him she was touching. I'd tried to pretend it was me touching him, and I'd come swiftly and hard. I'd never done that, had no reference for the fantasy, but it had been potent nonetheless.

  Now, I was presented with an opportunity to live out that fantasy. With a man who, I was very certain, featured an even more incredibly impressive member than the man in the video had possessed.

  Which...had been rather bogglingly enormous. Veined. Bulging at the head. Shiny. Smooth, yet hard looking, and also soft. Straining upward and away from his body.

  I thought of Baxter, last night. Even taller, even thicker. Straight up, standing flat against his belly. The man in the video hadn't been circumcised, and Baxter, I was fairly certain, was. Not that it mattered. I could almost see myself wrapping a hand around him. What would it feel like? To touch him, to watch him have an orgasm I'd given him. The videos were obviously staged, the people in them actors. What would a real person, not acting, do?

  I wanted to know.

  When would I ever get this chance again? Never, probably. I'd never be in a position where I felt...safe enough, I supposed, free enough from the normal constraints of my life, even at Yale...to indulge in living out my many, many fantasies.

  Baxter was watching me. He knew I was thinking hard.

  "I want to do it," I said.

  He frowned. "Do what?"

  I swallowed, my throat dry, full and thick and burning with my throbbing heartbeat. "What...what you said."

  His brows furrowed. "Gonna have to be a little more specific, honey."

  I rubbed my palms on my thighs. Swallowed again. Breathed past my nerves. "Um. Touch you. Like you said."

  "Like I said, huh?"

  I nodded. Gathered up all the courage I had. "Make you--um..." I let out a breath and tried again, forcing the words out in a rush. "I-want-to-make-you-come."

  He rocked back on his heels. "Evangeline, babe, I was just--"

  "Pushing me, a little, to see what I'd do," I interrupted. "I know."

  "I'm not sure you're ready for that, Eva."

  I blinked, surprised, and then found anger boiling through me. "Do not presume to tell me what I'm ready for, Baxter. I can decide that for myself."

  He held up his hands, palms out. "You're right, I'm sorry. I just didn't mean for you to--"

  "Actually want something for myself?" I demanded. "You wanted me to just do things your way, on your time frame?"

  He let out a breath. "You know what? You're right. That is sort of what I was assuming, I guess." He let his hands fall to his sides. "I don't mean to think I can control you, or make you do things my way. This is about you. I want you to..." He shrugged. "Choose what you want for yourself. That's the whole point of this."

  Mollified by the sincerity in his voice and in his expression, I pinched the fabric of his bright red polo and tugged him closer. "Then...take this off." I tugged on the shirt again.

  He grabbed the polo by the back of the collar with one hand and hauled it off, tossed it onto the floor. "Okay."

  "Now, just..." I felt my resolve wobbling, "don't laugh at me, and don't try to take control, okay?"

  He frowned down at me. "Why would I laugh?"

  I swallowed hard yet again. "I-- because I've never..." I shrugged. "Done this. Any of this."

  "You said you weren't a virgin."

  "I'm not!" I shook my head and waved both hands in front of me. "Now shut up, you're distracting me. I want to do this, because it's..." I couldn't quite admit it out loud.

  "It's what, Eva?" His voice was soft, kind, encouraging.

  I looked up at him. Let out a breath, stared down at the floor, and released the truth from within me, where it had been caged for so long. "It's a fantasy of mine."

  "To...touch me?"

  I shrugged. "Not you specifically, no." I met his gaze. "Not until now, at least."

  "Your fantasy is to...just...touch a man?" he clarified, sounding puzzled.

  I nodded. "Yes. I don't want to talk about it."

  "Later, maybe."

  I shrugged, noncommittal. "Maybe." I reached for him, glancing up at him as I grasped the button of his shorts. "My point is, I've never done this before, so..." I shrugged. "I may not, um..."

  He clasped his hands behind his back, to stop himself from touching me. "There's no right or wrong, Eva. All there is, is what you want. That's it."

  I unbuttoned the fly of his shorts and then pinched the zipper between my index finger and thumb. Inhaled sharply, feeling a thrill shoot through me as I began to realize fully that this was real, that I was doing this. It wasn't a dream, or a fantasy. It may be simple to someone else, but to me, this was...a big deal. I pulled the zipper down, and the shorts sagged open. The bulge expanded, pushing apart the edges of the opened fly. A tug, and the shorts slid in a quiet plop to the floor around his ankles, and Baxter toed them aside.

  I had to suck in a deep breath, and squeeze my hands into fists and shake them out to try and stop the shaking.

  "Eva, listen--"

  I glanced up at him. "I know you're not about to try to talk me out of this."

  "Hell no," he chuckled. "Just reminding you that this is real. Don't cheat yourself out of an experience by pretending it's not real."

  "Oh." I nodded. "That is a good point."

  It was, too. Thus far, I'd been sort of holding on to the idea that this was still all a very lucid dream. I knew better obviously, but it helped me cope. So much had happened, and I wasn't sure I'd be able to handle it all if I thought about it, so I chose not to dwell on any of it, and pretend it was all a lucid dream or a hallucination, or something.

  But it wasn't.

  This was my life.

  I was in Ketchikan, Alaska. My father--and Thomas--had no idea where I was, for the moment, which meant they weren't monitoring me or my actions or my decisions. I was free to do what I wanted. No one had any expectations on me. Least of all Baxter.

  I could do this. I wanted to touch this man, and I was going to. No one could tell me it was bad or wrong or not the behavior expected of a du Maurier. I didn't know him, not at all. He was a virtual stranger. But he was a virtual stranger who had saved, if not my life, then saved me from an assault. Gotten me a shower, and clean clothes, and a drink or two. Introduced me to his family, who were really interesting and cool people, who had calmed me down and relaxed me
and accepted me and gotten me to open up in a way I never had with anyone.

  And then...he'd walked me to my B and B, and then he'd done...well...incredible things to me. Touched me. Made me feel wanted. Beautiful. Made me feel...sexy. In control, somehow, despite the fact that he'd pushed the situation from start to finish. But he'd given me the choice. Asked me if I wanted it, and forced me to admit that I did--forced me to admit it to myself. He'd never taken advantage of me, and was in fact being very careful with me, giving me every opportunity to demur, or change my mind.

  Letting me dictate things.

  Like now. I was just ruminating, staring, thinking, and he was in no hurry at all. Watching me, hands behind his back, brown eyes curious and patient. Heated, interested. Just waiting.

  "I'm sorry," I said. "I'm just--"

  "I got nowhere to be till tomorrow, babe. Take your time."

  I wanted this. Just this, for now. I told myself to open my mind, to let myself feel this and experience it and savor the moment. This was my moment. I was doing this because I wanted to, and for no other reason.

  I just...had to actually do it.

  I hooked my index fingers in the elastic waistband of his tight yellow boxer briefs, inhaled slowly, glanced at Baxter, and then at what I was about to expose. Slowly, I pulled the waistband away from his body and drew the undergarment down, careful to make sure the elastic didn't get caught. My heart was thundering, pounding wildly; Baxter looked calm and cool and composed, hands behind his back, one corner of his mouth tipped up in the tiniest hint of a smile. The muscles in his jaw were flexing nonstop, though, making a bit of a lie of his nonchalance.

  In one smooth movement, then, I lowered his underwear until they fell free, and Baxter toed them aside with his shorts.

  And now he was naked. Hands still clasped behind him, exposing himself to me, confidently, even a little arrogantly.

  God...he was a work of art.

  I looked him over, top to bottom, several times. Just soaking in the mammoth masculine perfection of him. Rugged, manly, powerful features. Sharp, chiseled, cliff-craggy jawline. Intelligent brown eyes. Expressive mouth, one which I knew could kiss with power and gentility that could take my breath away. His neck was thick, corded. His shoulders were like mountain ranges, bulging with hard, rounded muscle. His chest, too, was carved as if from granite, and his abs were a study in raw brutal power, thick and blocky and hard as an anvil. He had a deeply-etched V leading down the line of his hip bones to his groin, and as my eyes wandered downward, my heart leapt into my throat and my pulse pounded in my ears and my hands shook, and my stomach did flip-flops. There, at the center of that V, was his manhood.