I cupped her tits in my hand and worshipped their perfection with my mouth, and I kissed my way to her belly, dipped my tongue into her belly button and licked her left hipbone. She whimpered as my tongue slid across her sex, just above the very keyhole of the top, to kiss her other hip.
“Rhys, I want your mouth on me,” she whispered. “Please.”
“You’ll get it,” I promised. “Right…now.”
I delved into her, plunging my stiffened tongue into her slit and gathering her essence and tasting it and licking upward to her clit, which was prominent and thick and begging.
I gave her what she wanted, my mouth all over her, taking her clit into my mouth and suckling until she whimpered, and then flicking my tongue over it, going all in, unrelenting, until her hips were bucking against my mouth.
“Fingers,” she whimpered, breathless. “Fingers too…please. Put them—put them inside me.”
God, her telling me exactly what she wanted was the hottest fucking thing. I gave that to her, too. One finger at first, and even with just my index finger she was tight, clamping hard. Then I added a second finger, my palm facing up, index and middle fingers curling in and slicking out and pumping until she was bucking all over again, and I let her rise, let her gasp and whimper and pump against my mouth and fingers, and then when her moans told me she was close, I slowed with my fingers and went after her clit with my tongue. Two fingers slowly driving in, curling in a come-here motion on the way out, my tongue lashing her. She was wild, then, and I tongued her to the cusp, until she was groaning and grasping at my head and her heels were scrabbling—
And I slowed again, and now added a third finger, and she was so tight around those three fingers I had to keep them bunched together, and she was clamping down hard, spasming around my fingers so hard I could barely move inside her. So I slid them deeper and curled them and rocked my hand like that, finding that spot inside her that made her…
“RHYS!” she screamed. “Ohhhh fuck, Rhys, yes, yes, yes!”
She wasn’t even coming yet. She thought she was. And I think I understood her confusion over her partial orgasms—she was stopping too soon. Mistaking the preliminary wave of orgasmic power for the main show. Time to demonstrate the difference.
I kept rocking those three fingers inside her, my palm against her seam, tongue now wild on her clit, thrashing in circles, and she arched up off the bed, bucking against me and crying out, a hoarse scream, and I reached up and pinched her more sensitive nipple hard, and her scream ratcheted up into a howl and I kept going, kept building speed with my fingers until my wrist ached and my jaw protested.
She was coming, now. Really, truly orgasming. Screaming wordlessly, arched, tensed, trying to pump against me but too caught up in the mad frenzy of climax to have any control. And I did not relent. Not even when she began sobbing and her hips finally started to buck. I rode her thrashing with my mouth and fingers, and she was a wild thing under me, voicing her ecstasy with utter abandon, screaming my name—“Rhys! Rhys! Rhys!” Chanting it, again and again as she came and came, and the taste of her orgasm and the sound of her voice and the rapture on her face and the sweat beading on her glorious body took me to arousal and into a state of bliss so that I could have orgasmed with her.
I didn’t, though. This was hers.
I kept her there as she thrashed, tensed, arched. She started to come down, slowly, but still quaking, bucking; I tweaked her nipple again and curled my fingers…
And she cried out, a broken sound, and a flood of wetness gushed over my fingers, and she was whimpering, shaking. “Stop, god, oh god, I can’t take any more. I can’t— I can’t take any more—oh fuck, Rhys, it’s too much…”
I let her down, then, pulled away and slowly slid my fingers out of her. I crawled up to the head of the bed and gathered her in my arms, because I just had to. She went willingly, gratefully, trembling all over.
And then…
We experienced the most awkward silence that had ever existed between us.
She was panting, and I could feel her heart beating like a drum.
“I didn’t know,” she whispered. “I didn’t know it could be like that.”
“I didn’t know it was possible for a handjob to feel that way.”
“I didn’t know a mouth could do that.”
“I didn’t know not having sex could be this good.”
And that was it—the elephant in the room.
“Rhys…” she trailed off.
Her hand was low on my belly. And my desire for the woman in my arms was not abating. The reverse. She saw the evidence of that.
“Already?” she whispered, and twisted on my chest to look up at my eyes. “Seriously?”
“I just…need you.” I closed my eyes and spoke the truth. “More than I’ve ever wanted anyone, I want you. It’s…a little scary.”
Silence. There was no clock ticking. No refrigerator humming. No faucet dripping. No traffic. No animal or insect sounds. It was strange, how loud the silence was.
“I know you have questions,” Torie said, eventually.
“Yeah,” I admitted. “Not sure I want to ask them, or if I want the answers, though.”
“Not sure I want to answer them.”
“We don’t have to,” I said. “It could just be…this.”
She shook her head, her cheek moving against my chest. “Once or twice is fine. But you wouldn’t be content with just…this.”
“No, I wouldn’t,” I agreed with a sigh. “As incredible as you made me feel with just your hands, and for a few minutes, your mouth, no, I would want more. I already do want more.”
She sat up, crossed her legs, and sat naked facing me, her hands covering her sex. “So. Fire away, Mr. Frost.”
Torie
After a brief silence, he scratched his jaw and said, “I guess the place to start for me is, how is it you’re a virgin at almost twenty-one?”
I’d been thinking about the answer to this question for some time, so I figured I would just try to explain everything as best I could. “I was shy as a kid. Bookish. Spent most of my time reading, not really socializing. I was also…what you might call a late bloomer.” I sighed, remembering the painful years. “I was shy and antisocial because I was skinny, flat, and boring.”
“I cannot believe you were ever any of those things.”
I smiled at him. “That’s sweet of you to say, but it’s just the truth. I started puberty around the same time as most of the other girls, you know, got my first period at twelve, moods, all that fun stuff. But…my body didn’t change. Nothing happened. None. Zero. Not even little, like, buds. By eighth grade, I still barely even needed a sports bra for gym class. No butt. No hips. Just…stick legs, spaghetti noodle arms. I had the body of a boy. Plus, I was hungry all the time. I could out-eat most guys I knew, and would. So that was extremely uncool. And I read lots of books, but not just any books. I was reading Anna Karenina in eighth grade, and Jane Austen, and the Brontë sisters, Tolkien, C.S. Lewis, all the classics I could get my hands on at the library. And to make matters worse, my favorite hobby other than reading was working on cars with my dad. I’d arrive at school on Monday with my hands stained with the grease I couldn’t get off. And was the only girl in Mr. Moody’s auto shop during the four years I went.” I sighed. “I was made fun of by everyone. Even the kids who everyone else made fun of, made fun of me.”
He made a face of pained commiseration. “God, that sucks. High school is the worst.”
I made a what can you do face. “So, yeah, I didn’t exactly have anyone lined up to relieve me of my virginity in high school. Never went to a single high school or middle school dance. Not one.” I laughed. “The night of prom, Dad and I were putting in a new flywheel. We had pizza and listened to most of Led Zeppelin’s entire discography.”
“Did you ever have a crush on anyone?”
I snorted. “Sure. I had the worst crush on Jeff Ringold. He was the coolest kid in school, drove a Me
rcedes G-Wagen, captain of the soccer and lacrosse teams. Hot as hell. Big shoulders, blond hair that was just like Brad Pitt’s—that perfect. I told him I liked him, and I thought he was cute. I did it after school one day. He laughed in my face, told everyone what I’d said, and they all made fun of me so bad I ran home crying.”
“Jesus. What a prick.”
“Yeah, he was. I just…I’d had a crush on him since he was a pimply violin dork in fifth grade. Wasn’t my fault he’d blossomed into a teenage heartthrob. And a major jackass.” I closed my eyes, remembering. “Every time he saw me, he’d laugh, and shake his head, like he couldn’t believe I’d even talk to him. So that kind of soured me on boys for the rest of high school.”
He frowned. “So…”
I could tell he was figuring out how to phrase his question. “Just ask, Rhys. I won’t be offended.”
“What we did? None of that was your first time. You said you’d done other stuff. So…how’d you get from boys are pathetic to…that?”
I laughed. “I graduated high school at just barely seventeen—I skipped a grade, which also didn’t help my unpopularity. And that year, the year I graduated, was when I finally got these.” I cupped my breasts and shook them. And his eyes followed them for a comically long time. And the sheet he’d covered his erection with tented even more. “I filled out, and without the pressure of high school, I just…was a little happier. I think the stress and pressure of high school literally kept me from developing all the way. I dunno.”
“You didn’t answer the question,” he said. “You also said, maybe you don’t remember saying it, but last night or this morning you said you’d only seen two penises, but mine was your favorite, or something like that.”
“What I said was, yours has to be the prettiest penis there is.” I laughed. “I get weird when I’m half asleep.”
He snorted, grinning at me. “I know, I noticed. I like it.”
“Because I compliment your penis?”
“Because it’s adorable.”
I rolled my eyes. “Adorable. Not sure how I feel about being adorable.”
“In an arousing kind of way?”
I laughed. “Better.” I twisted my hair in my hands, a nervous habit. “You really want to know?”
He laughed ruefully. “Yeah, and no. But yeah.”
“My saving grace, ever since sixth grade, has been Max Horowitz. The only kid more unpopular than me. Chess genius, computer genius, and the literal Hollywood personification of nerd. Thick-rimmed glasses, dressed like a college professor, was getting college credit by tenth grade, played the bassoon.”
“The what?”
I laughed. “It’s a wind instrument.”
“Oh. Never heard of it.”
“They’re weird.” I sighed. “Max and I would sit together at lunch. He’d read his programming or chess books, and I’d read my classic literature. He’s the kind of chess genius who knows how to play chess with moves that have names like ‘Harkov’s Gambit’ or something. He used to go to Manhattan on the weekend and play speed chess for money. Actually, I think he still does.”
“Now we’re getting somewhere.”
I nodded, laughing. “So, yeah. Max, being just as unpopular as me, was just as lonely as me. We both graduated high school and were like, now what. He’s insanely smart, and he could do just about anything, but for whatever reason, he decided what he wanted to do was be a freelance programmer. He could, like, be in the NSA, if he wanted, but he’s happy designing websites and playing speed chess.” I sighed again, not wanting to get into this. “We hung out a lot. We both tried pot together for the first time. He had this roommate, his first roommate in his first apartment on his own; we were both just barely eighteen. His roommate was like, dude you have zero vices, it’s annoying, try some pot. But he was scared to try it alone, so we did it together. And that’s how it started between us. We’d hang out at his apartment, smoke pot, and watch movies. Talk.”
I paused, because it was weird to talk about this. Jillie and Leighton knew, because they’d been there for most of it, but even they didn’t really know.
I needed to tell him. So I continued. “Then, one day, we were sitting there on his couch, stoned, watching some movie. It had a sex scene in it, and I noticed Max was getting a little…excited. And I was like, that looks like it’s a problem. It was awkward. And he looked at me, and he was like, I’m a virgin. Never kissed anyone, never done anything sexual. And I told him I was the same. And he said, so, what if we…did stuff together. Maybe not sex, but…stuff. So…we did. We’ve never talked about it since, and it’s just a thing we do…did. Once in a while, I’d go over to Max’s, and we’d smoke a bowl and watch porn, and mess around. Just hands, usually.”
He frowned. “And it never went to sex?”
“No. Because pretty early on, I realized I really enjoyed the sensations, the physical stuff we did, but I knew I had no feelings for Max beyond friendship, and that wouldn’t change—for me anyway. Just messing around, getting handsy, hasn’t changed my feelings. He’s my friend. My best friend, in a lot of ways. And if I never touched him again, he’d still be my best friend. If we had sex, I couldn’t be his friend. And I couldn’t—haven’t, and won’t—have sex with him because I don’t have feelings for him.” I swallowed hard. “By the time I was seventeen and the only person I knew other than Max who was still a virgin, I knew having sex needed to be something meaningful. With someone I had something with. I’ve never been like...” I put on a faint, breathy voice. “‘I’m waiting for Prince Charming to sweep me off my feet and live happily ever after’.” I resumed my normal voice. “But it wasn’t going to be—and it won’t be—just a hookup, just to get rid of my virginity. So, I’m not, like, saving myself for marriage or true love, I’m just not going to give it away cheaply.”
Rhys nodded. “I admire that a lot.”
I frowned at him. “You do?”
“Hell yeah. You have a conviction. It means something to you, and you’ve stuck with it. It’s awesome.” He shrugged. “So you and Max. You literally just…get stoned and give each other handjobs? And that’s all you’ve ever done with him?”
I nodded, then tilted my head to the side. “Yeah…well, sort of. One time, he tried going down on me, but it…tickled. I dunno. I wasn’t feeling it and neither was he, and he stopped. And the last time we hung out, about a month and a half ago, I tried going down on him, with similar results. I was scared of him coming in my mouth, and it just…was weird. So I stopped.”
He eyed me. “You did it to me, though.”
I blushed. “Yeah. I wanted to try it again.”
“And?”
I blushed harder. Whispered. “I liked doing it to you.” I met his yes. “A fucking lot.”
He grinned. “It was incredible.”
“Maybe sometime I could do it again. You know. For practice.”
His eyes darkened. “I’d be okay with that.”
“You have something going on under there,” I said, pointing at the sheet. “Now might be a good time.”
He hissed. “In a shock to myself, I’m going to say we should finish this talk. Because there’s still things to talk about.”
I let out a breath. “Yeah.” I let my hair go, and untwisted it. “Such as, where does this leave us?”
“I guess that’s up to you.”
“Don’t make it all on me. Dear god, I can’t handle that kind of pressure.” I pointed at him. “Is me being a virgin a problem for you? Because it seems like you’re conflicted about it.”
“It’s not a problem. I just—”
“Because Rhys, if I were to decide I wanted to go there with you, it wouldn’t come with, like, expectations. I do mean that.”
He shook his head. “It’s not that.” Rhys rubbed the back of his neck, which meant it was story time. “After I left home, I told you I worked my way north and east. I’d stay somewhere long enough to make enough to cash to keep moving. And, you know,
being an unattached and horny eighteen-year-old, I’d find local girls willing to have some fun. I was always forthcoming about the fact that I was just going through and would be moving on soon, so there were never any hurt feelings. Which more than a few times cost me the fun for the night. But I’d always rather that than have a girl with a broken heart on my hands, because broken hearts mean angry dads and brothers.” He sighed. “So, I think I was in...New Jersey, somewhere. The countryside. Working on this guy’s C-10 Fleetside for fresh eggs, a place to sleep in his hayloft, and a hundred bucks cash. And, at nights, I’d go up to the little town square, hang out with the local kids. And there was this girl. We hit it off, the usual banter, whatever. We decide to go for a drive out to the little spur-line, a little road that dead-ended at a small pond. Private, right? Things start happening. I always made sure they were okay with how things were going, and it was no different with this girl, Emily. You all right? You want to keep going? Things like that. She was like, yeah, yeah. But something kept feeling a little…off. She was…clumsy, I guess. Hesitant. I dunno how to put it. Like she wasn’t sure of herself, or me, or what was happening. And I was getting weirded out, but she kept telling me she was fine, she wanted to keep going.
“And I just gotta make this clear, I asked like half a dozen times if she wanted to keep going. Because of how weird she was being. So finally, we, you know. Did it. And she was…just dead silent. She didn’t move. Didn’t make a damn sound. I was like, you okay? She was like yeah, I’m good, keep going. So I did. It was dark in the truck, so I couldn’t see all that well, but it seemed like she was wincing or something, and I even asked if it felt okay, and she faked this giggle, like, yeah, it’s great.”
I sighed. “Oh dear.”
“Yeah. So I finish, and she never really, like, got into it. She clearly did not enjoy it. So I cleaned up and I was finally like, what was that? I admit I was a little angry, or annoyed, or whatever. She said forget it, it was great, can we go? Fine, whatever, I took her home. But it left a sour taste in my mouth, you know? I couldn’t figure it out.” He let out a long breath. “So, I spent another week finishing Smith’s truck, and I thought I’d hang another day or two, say goodbye to the kids I’d been friends with. And there I was, in the town square where everyone hung out at night, and here comes Emily. With her dad. And her brother. And her uncle. And they all had shotguns.”
A Real Goode Time Page 19
