I was right there. Trembling. On the edge.
Aching.
Shaking.
My hips flexed up, and he slid two fingers into me, curled them and drew them out and smeared my juices over my clit, and I cried out, feeling it hit me, letting myself fly over the edge. I curled upward, into him, gripping hard him in my fist as I came with the force of a thousand hurricanes, screaming, my spine arched in an upward bow, hips flying against his fingers as they circled my clit with blinding speed, as if he just knew how to touch me, how to make me come, and what I liked and needed.
He was there, on the edge, too. I knew he was close.
I moved my hands along his length.
“Torie, I—shit, I don’t want to come like this.”
“I just did,” I breathed.
“But I want you.” He couldn’t help pushing into my touch, even as he tried to pull away. “I want more than just your hands. I need you.”
No, no, no.
Now the niggling worm in the back of my head erupted into an evil dragon.
I didn’t want to heed it.
It was roaring two words: TELL HIM!
NO.
He’d freak.
He wouldn’t want me anymore.
He’d get scared off.
I let my hands do the convincing.
For someone who’d said he’d pop off like a fourteen-year-old, he sure had lasting power.
A growl, frustrated and wild. “Torie…”
“Rhys, just let me…”
He flopped to his back and I followed him, rolling into him, on my side now. My breasts on his chest and my mouth on his, he was too far gone to kiss, and that was okay. I stroked him, felt him pump his hips. Heard the groan.
“Tor—wait, god, oh god…your hands are magical.” He was flexing into my hand now, fast.
“Just let me have it, Rhys,” I whispered.
“Oh fuck, I can’t stop it, now.” His eyes met mine, and I saw the questions, and I knew he knew something was up. “Fuck, Torie. I gotta…shit, shit you feel so good. Love your hands, love how this feels. Shit, shit, shit, don’t stop, please…ohhhhhh…”
I didn’t hurry, I went slow. In fact, as he begged me to not stop, I went slower, twisting my fist around him, caressing lazily, my touch firm yet gentle. And then he was arching up off the bed and growling, roaring, hips pumping into my fist.
His eyes on mine, hazed with orgasm, he did not look away.
“Oh fuck, there—now.” He snarled it, eyes locked on mine. “Gonna come now, Torie. Oh fuck, there it is. Ohhh—fuck…”
I loved how he talked through the beginning of his orgasm; the helpless guttural tone of his voice, the power, and the desperation, even as he gave in to what I wanted.
And that was for him to come.
I rolled my fist over the top of him, twisted around the plump head one last time. He made a single soft sound, a breath. And then he came.
A spouting fountain of cum burst through my fingers. I let it coat my fingers, gripped him and smeared it all over him and used it as lubrication to pump him faster and harder, and now he was wordlessly crying out, flexed taut, every muscle straining as I drew more and more out of him. My fist was a blur on his cock, I felt the vein on the underside pulsate as he spurted again and again, all over his belly, shooting up to his diaphragm—I cupped his balls and slid them through my palm on my way to stroking him again, and again, through another jet of thick white cum, until he was dripping it on my hand, on his belly, groaning with intense pleasure.
“Torie,” he groaned. “Holy…holy shit.” His eyes met mine, his delirious, and wild. “You need another one.”
He didn’t wait for an answer, and neither did I. He pulled me upward, and I went to where he could reach me, keeping my messy hand out of the way. His fingers found me, and I brought my breasts to his mouth, and he teased me, but only for a moment.
He found the nub of my clit and touched me, teasing me until I moaned, and then when I gasped at a certain touch, a specific pressure, he stayed there, repeating it, while his mouth was on my nipples. He knew the sensitive one already, focused there, playing with the other one with his hand.
Before Rhys, my orgasms had been like riding a steamship across the ocean, and now I was on a rocket ship to the stars. Maybe it was what we’d just shared, touching him, feeling his sticky warm wet cum on my hands and him still shaking from the orgasm…but this was like nothing I’d ever experienced.
He got me there faster than I’d thought possible. Swift circles, the perfect pressure, flicking my sensitive left nipple with his tongue, tweaking my right with pinches until it almost hurt…
“Rhys, oh god, Rhys…” I breathed.
“Like this?” he growled.
“Yeah, oh yeah, just like this.”
“Nope.”
“Wh—what?”
He lifted me, picked me up seemingly without effort and suddenly I was straddling him, sitting on his face and holding on to the headboard for dear life because holy shit he was devouring me, and with such passionate ravenous insatiable hunger that it eclipsed the way he’d kissed my mouth, or the worship he’d paid my breasts…
This was something beyond.
What Rhys Frost did to my pussy over the next sixty seconds was out of this fucking world.
I screamed. A literal, legitimate scream. And he devoured me through the scream, holding me up with one hand and he had two more fingers inside me plunging in and out as he slathered his tongue over my clit. I couldn’t stop coming, the whole universe was this orgasm, this mind-altering detonation, and I wanted to live here forever with his mouth and fingers doing exactly this to me, taking me to this new and unexplored nadir of orgasmic perfection.
Fuck.
I came so hard I started crying, and not a cute little tear down my cheek but actual sobs of climactic release, hips gyrating, grinding on his mouth as he pushed and pushed until I was just…gone.
I fell over, completely limp, flopping onto the bed.
“Fucking…hell,” I gasped. “Rhys…you win.”
“I dunno,” he murmured. “I still can’t feel my face or move my toes.”
A long, weird silence.
“Torie?”
“Yeah, Rhys?”
“Look at me.”
I flopped my head to the side, to look at him. “Yeah?”
I knew what was coming.
“Why did we do that?”
“Do what?”
“Not have sex.”
“I…”
Shit, shit, shit.
“I have condoms in my bag.”
“Rhys…”
“Torie.”
“I’m a virgin.”
He blinked at me. “You…you’re…a virgin?”
“Yes.”
He took my hand, the one he’d come all over, which was still messy. “You knew what you were doing. That was not your first time doing that.”
I closed my eyes. “It’s…complicated.”
“Not really.”
I sighed. “No, not really. I’ve done other stuff. Just not…intercourse.”
“Is that why you didn’t want to start anything? Because it’d be your first time.”
“And I don’t do hookups.”
He barked a laugh. “You certainly don’t.” He rolled out of bed, went to the bathroom.
I heard the sink going and turned to watch. It was a small bathroom and the mirror was placed so there was no privacy if the door was open. So I got to watch as he used a washcloth to clean himself. His cock, his belly, his chest. Then, he wet a new washcloth in steaming water and came over to me, and stood beside me. He took my hand, and gently cleaned each finger, and in between, and my palm and the back, the wrist.
It had the feeling of…an act of tender service.
And then he yanked open his bag, jerked on a pair of shorts, shoved his feet bare into his sneakers, and went for the exit. He opened the door, flipped the deadbolt so the door wo
uldn’t latch, and left.
“Need a minute to think,” he shot over his shoulder.
Yep, see?
Tell a guy you’re a virgin, and zhooom, off he goes, like a scared little rabbit.
Of course, I did spring it on him moments after we’d given each other earth-shattering orgasms. So maybe it was warranted.
Some time to think about the fact that I, the girl he was clearly very, very turned on by, was a virgin.
I just had to hope he’d come back and say…
What?
What did I want?
I was more confused than ever.
Because pretty much every fiber of my being was screaming and begging for me to have sex with him. Again, and again, and again.
It’d be…everything.
And therein lay the problem: It would be too much everything and I’d never want to stop, and our lives were headed in literally opposite geographical directions.
I collapsed backward onto the bed, naked, confused, glutted from a concussive, mind-melting orgasm, which somehow managed to leave me hornier and needier than ever.
Rhys
She was a virgin?
What—the—hell?
How?
That handjob she gave me was…fucking incredible.
What we’d done had been, to her, not a means to an end, but the entire experience. Touching each other for the sake of touching, to make the other person orgasm, but not via sex.
Bizarre, to my way of thinking.
Of course, it made sense if I thought about it from the perspective of her being a virgin who had still done other things.
Gah, what a confusing situation.
I was even more fucked up in the head about this girl. Because, fuck, she was gorgeous. To get her naked like that? Glorious. Every damned inch of her was perfect. Her skin was soft and pale, warm and pliant. I wanted to keep touching her for the rest of my life, to kiss her everywhere and never stop. I had already wanted that before I got to see her bare all over, before I got those sweet, plump, upturned tits in my hands, in my mouth. Before I got that tight, delicate, sensitive pussy against my lips.
Fuck, I was hard again just thinking about her.
But she was a virgin, and I was wary, at best.
I just didn’t know what to think.
I wanted her.
I wanted to feel her come again, to make her scream again. To keep her naked and orgasming until she begged me to let her stop coming. I wanted her mouth on my cock. I wanted her pussy on my tongue. I wanted her to ride me until my cock refused to get hard again.
I wanted to make her mine.
The potency of that possessiveness scared the hell out of me.
The virulent, scorching, all-consuming need I felt for Torie Goode was terrifyingly intense.
And she was a virgin.
She’d never felt a man penetrate her.
Never been held in the afterglow, sated and replete and aching and full of satisfaction.
Shit, this was bad.
I had to talk to her.
I’d paced the parking lot about a dozen times thinking this over, and gotten nowhere but I was hard as a rock and confused as hell.
I went back inside, locking the door behind me.
The lights were off, because we’d never turned them on—the only light was a sliver of dim orange glow from the parking lot lights through the curtains. Torie was naked on the bed, splayed diagonally across it.
Asleep.
On her back, her head turned to the side, one hand resting low on her belly, the other curled up against her cheek. One knee drawn up, foot flat against the inside of her calf. She was displayed for me, and I soaked up the sight of her. Considering what we’d just done, I didn’t feel guilty for staring at her, for memorizing her features. She had a mole on her left hip, and a small red birthmark under her right breast, near the outside, close enough underneath that it would likely be hidden by her breast when she was standing up. A spray of freckles dotted her belly. A small thin white scar ran at an angle over her right hipbone.
God, her curves were absurd. How could she be so slender and svelte, yet still have hips that wouldn’t quit? Thin, slender waist, flat stomach, and a curve to her hips and ass and thighs that was just…too much for my poor male brain to handle without walking around erect all the time.
Those tits.
All that hair? God, so much thick black hair. She’d had it braided, but as we’d driven with the top back, it had slowly begun to come free of the braid, and now, in her sleep, it was more undone than it was braided. I wanted to see it loose, to run my fingers through the shimmery raven-black tresses and feel it draped in a waterfall around my face as she rode me…
I clenched a fist and turned away from her, forcing my breathing to slow, trying to force my libido to slow down.
God, I was tired.
I wasn’t a guy to pass out the moment I blew my load, but it did make me tired, and I’d already been tired from barely sleeping for two days and then spending the day in the car. So now I was deliriously exhausted.
And Torie was taking up the entire bed.
I didn’t want to disturb her.
Dared not touch her. Because I was so horny that even exhausted, my hands would likely do something inappropriate.
But I had to lie down.
I had to just move her, or wake her up enough to get her to slide over, just a little.
I sat on the edge of the bed, slid my hands under her shoulders, lifted gently, and moved her over.
She stirred, snuffled, shifted. Eyes fluttered. “Hmmm?” It was more of a sound than a word.
“Sorry. Just getting into bed.”
She nodded sleepily, gave a little half smile that about melted my heart straight to liquid. “Mmmmhmmm.”
She fell back asleep. Without making room.
I sighed. Nudged her a little more firmly. “Torie, scoot over a little.”
She blinked her eyes open at me. “Wha?”
I brushed her cheek with the back of my hand. “You’re across the whole bed. Make a little room for me, would you?”
She blinked again. “You came back.”
I frowned. “Of course. I just needed a minute to process and think.”
“Sleepy.” She wriggled with awkward adorableness so she was properly oriented in the bed. “Cold.”
I slid in, pulled up the covers, and tucked them in around her chin. “Better?”
“Mmmhmmm. Thank you.” Her eyes were unfocused but gazing at me. “Sorry I’m a virgin.”
I laughed softly. “Don’t be sorry.”
“Will you still be here when I wake up?”
She had issues about this virginity thing, it was obvious. “Yes, Torie. I’m not going anywhere.”
“Okay.” Another of those tiny, sleepy, heart-melting smiles. “Good.”
I was a side sleeper, so I rolled toward her, watched her tumble into drowsiness, twitching as she fell asleep.
I almost laughed out loud when she twitched so hard that it was almost a full body jerk, which brought her semi-awake again.
“Huh?” she mumbled.
I shook my head. Cupped her cheek. “You’re just twitching. It’s okay. Sleep.”
“I’m a twitcher when I’m sleepy. Watch your shins.”
I snorted a laugh. “I will.”
Another twitch, her eyelids fluttered open and closed. “Rhys?”
“Mmm?”
“You have the most beautiful penis I’ve ever seen.”
I choked on a laugh. “I…thanks?”
“I’ve only seen two, including yours. But yours is just…it has to be the prettiest penis there is.”
Was she sleep-talking? Or did she just get weirdly unfiltered when she was half asleep?
She seemed to fall fully asleep after that, taking away the need of a response, which was good since I wasn’t sure how to respond.
I dozed, and then the dozing turned to deep sleep.
My
dreams, of course, were of Torie. Namely, her mouth, doing delightful things to me.
I woke up disoriented, confused. Entangled. Something was tickling my nose; something else was weighing on my chest. And why did my dick hurt?
I struggled to make sense of my existence.
Where was I?
I forced my eyes open, and saw a world blurred and distorted by a snarl of black strands.
Hair?
Something—someone was on my chest. So, so disoriented. More than half asleep.
Not ready to wake up.
A vague awareness filtered into my brain—I was in a hotel, and it was Torie sleeping on me, splayed entirely across me, her face on my chest, one hand on my stomach, and one leg tossed over mine. My dick hurt because it was morning wood hard, meaning so hard it ached painfully, and I had to pee. Which was always a tricky combination.
And I was pinned under Torie.
But my bladder felt like it was bulging against my insides, pounding with the need to pee.
Reluctantly, I wiggled out from under Torie, who murmured a small soft whimper of protest as I left the bed. Stumbling, eyes not quite all the way open, I made it to the bathroom and tried to figure out how the hell to pee with a monster erection. I was way too sleepy to do the trigonometry of arcing it while standing up, so I just sat down and bent way, way forward. Pressed my fat, throbbing dick down and cut loose.
I must have peed for, god, at least a full minute.
When I was finally done, my bladder sighed in relief, but my cock was still standing up like a flagpole.
This erection was not going away anytime soon, dammit.
I slid back into bed, for the first time in memory not even caring what time it was—I had nowhere to be, nothing to do, and it was the greatest feeling in the world.
Especially because, as I slid into bed, Torie peered at me through one slitted eyelid, and wriggled toward me, clawed at me clumsily, and tucked herself against me. She rested her head back on my chest, in the crook of my arm, and mewled like a contented kitten.
I wasn’t sure whether to melt from pure overwhelmed heart-blossom joy, be scared of how right and natural this felt, or just relax and enjoy it for what it was.
She wiggled again, as if trying to get closer.
A Real Goode Time Page 17
