Not So Goode
Page 11
I wanted her moans. Her sweet voice whispering, whimpering.
I became mindless, ravenous, a man of want and need—consumed by Charlie, by the soft perfection of her skin and the eager kiss of her lips and soaring scouring drive of her tongue. The plump squish of her tits in my hands, and I needed, needed, needed to feel more of her.
She refused to let go of my mouth, breaking for breath and then diving right back in. Scratching my pec, tracing my stubble and my jaw.
Shit, I was done for. No way I could resist sampling more of her delights. There wasn’t one thought in my brain about denying myself the sound of her orgasming under my hands.
I slipped one hand down, teasing my way south. She huffed, forehead on mine, pausing in the kiss as my hand slipped into the front of her leggings. I paused, but she flexed her hips, and I kept going. Her mouth stole up against mine again, demanding I kiss her, and I did, because kissing her was how I kept breathing.
No underwear either? Fuck, this good girl was maybe not so good after all.
My cock throbbed harder with the idea that a girl as radiant with wholesome goodness as Charlie might be a sex-hungry nymph as well.
That break in the kiss told me she knew what I was doing, and the flex of her hips told me she wanted it.
Scratchy fuzz—trimmed close. God, she was like a drug. I stopped breathing, my mouth open, my lips on hers. Forehead to forehead. Throat closed, mouth dry. Gut trembling in anticipation, though I’d only just met her, barely knew her.
This desire, this need was sudden and it became everything to me. Slowly, I delved my middle finger into the slick wet softness of her slit. And ohhhh fuck me sideways, she made a sound that turned my cock into a fiery rod of rigid magma, swollen painfully hard at the desperate pleasure in her voice. There was a faint squelch of her wetness as I slipped my fingers through her essence, spreading it over her clit. Not that she needed it, god no. She was drenched for me. Lying on her side, she lifted her upper thigh to make room. To invite me, welcome me. I slid in, and she was fucking tight, even around my finger.
Out, then.
Slowly.
In, and this time I found her clit, and it was prominent and firm, ready for my touch. One soft flick of my finger, and she shook all over, flinching bodily, gasping a breathy shriek. So, so sensitive. Another flick, and she whimpered, gasped, and her hips flexed.
I needed more of her.
Twisting, settling her on her back, I straddled her. Her palm cupped the back of my head as I dipped kisses over her throat, and then pushed up her shirt to bare the most magnificent pair of breasts I’ve ever had the privilege of laying eyes on. Plump and firm, high, perky, big enough to fill my hand, wide round dark areolae and big pink thick nipples, sweet as plums and just as firm. I suckled her breast into my mouth and she cried out, arched her back, and cradled my head against her body, holding me there—as if I’d ever leave, now that I had such incredible tits in my mouth.
I palmed the one I wasn’t licking and sucking, pinching her nipple.
My hand was still in her leggings. A finger inside her, slipping in and out, delving into her tight channel and spreading her slippery essence around her clit until she was moaning. Then I started a circle with my fingertips, just two of them, a gentle delicate touch, barely making contact.
She whimpered, gasped, cried out—her hips moved in time with my fingers, and I flicked my tongue against her nipple in synch.
Within sixty seconds, she was shaking all over, and I brought her over the edge and kept her there, and god love me, she was crying out, wordless, hips spasming, pushing. I needed more, more. I was greedy for her, now. I’d had a taste, and now I needed more. Needed to taste her sweetness on my tongue.
I slid down her body, bringing my hands to curl inside the waist of her leggings. She buried her fingers in my hair, and I glanced up at her. Her eyes were wide, wild. Lucid.
Still.
“Tell me you want it.”
“Crow…” she breathed.
I tugged her leggings down an inch, baring the top of her pubis. “Need to know you’re with me, Charlie.”
“Ohmygod, Crow.”
Never heard my name said that way. Sultry. Sensual. Desperate. Her voice was music, my name the melody and the lyrics. It made my already painful dick throb so hard I groaned at the searing pain of its rigidity.
“You with me, Charlie?” I gazed up at her, meeting her eyes.
Blue, azure and intense, fixed on me with a tumult of emotion. No denial, no fear or worry or doubt. She swallowed hard. “Y-yeah.”
I heard the hesitation, but she closed her eyes, tipped her head back, and feathered her fingers in my hair—and that feeling of her hands on my scalp, fingertips tingling through my hair…it was more than I could take.
I tugged her leggings down further, and she lifted her butt off the couch to allow me to pull them past her butt, down to her knees. Now with her shoes off and her leggings tangled up between her knee and the couch she was splayed open, her sex was a delicate pink flower. I kissed the inside of her thigh, and she gasped, flinched—the tender silken skin melted under my tongue as I kissed closer and closer to her slit, and when I got there, I smelled her desire, a pungent perfume. I tasted her.
She whimpered as she presented her core for me.
I licked her, long and slow, using my tongue fat and flat, and then hard and thin and probing, circling around her clit. She whined in the back of her throat, a small sound of desperation. I slid a finger into her, curled, and she lifted her hips off the couch, demonstrating her need.
I breathed on her, a hot breath against her soft wet center. She wiggled, huffed a not-quite laugh. I licked her again, and then set a rhythm, fast and relentless. My neck ached, and my tongue too, but her moans made it all worth it.
After the first orgasm, the second was slower in coming, building gradually. A breath, a gasp. A whimper, a sigh. My fingers moved, my tongue slicked and circled. I pulled away and then used my fingers on her clit, until she responded, giving herself up to pleasure. Wanting to please her, I devoured her again with my mouth, taking my time, not hurrying her.
When her hips began to flex, I slid off the couch and pivoted to kneel on the floor, twisting her, pulling her ass off the edge of the couch, holding her aloft. Bringing her slit to my mouth, I gave her the speed and intensity she needed to get the rest of the way there.
She was whimpering, trying to flex, to move, but I had her at my mercy. She tasted sweet, so sweet. Her ass flexed taut in my hands, and her legs hooked around my neck, thighs quivering, pinioning. I welcomed them, letting her squeeze her thick strong thighs against my face, my neck. God, yes, it felt incredible.
She was writhing, now. I opened my eyes and watched as her big lush tits jiggled and swayed, falling to one side as she twisted, pushing her core against my mouth, trying to extract every bit of feeling.
“Oh-oh-ohgodCROW!” Shit, her voice was tight and hoarse and maybe a bit shocked.
I hummed, moaning my pleasure at the sounds this gorgeous woman was making. I held her in place, firm against my mouth, devouring her with every ounce of my energy, creating a rhythm that answered my insatiable hunger for her slick sex. Slurping her essence, the flexing bubble and swell of her beautiful ass in my hands, her soft thighs vise strong around my face, her hands boldly gripped in my hair, yanking me against her, wantonly grinding her slit against my mouth, forcing her rhythm on me.
The harder she demonstrated her need, the more I gave her, wilder and faster, until her hips were pumping and her breasts were heaving and her voice was lifted in a loud song of crazed luxuriation. Screaming, screaming, careless and heedless of who may hear. All lush bare skin and soft flesh sweat-smeared, fingers knotted in my hair, grinding and grinding against my tongue.
The buildup was so slow, from gentle movements to whimpers, to soft cries and then gently circling her hips, loud gasps of needy, thrusting sex, and finally to madly pumping hips and hoarse screams of orgasmic abandon.
The good girl had a potty mouth when she came. God, yes.
At the last, her eyes flew open and she curled forward, thighs locked around my neck and hands knotted in my hair, her whole body tensed and taut, eyes riveted on mine, wide and tearing up with fervent wonderment, with shocked ecstasy.
The orgasm was seemingly endless, and I tasted her release flood against my tongue, felt her slit clamp and spasm, felt her stomach tighten and her thighs go rigid. I growled against her sex as she came, held her up with one arm and slid three fingers inside her and curled them in a come-here motion, thrusting in and pulling out fast and faster, pushing her from orgasm to something beyond, to utter dissolution. Her breathless cry became a sobbing whimper, her eyes never leaving mine.
Those open, wild eyes. Blue as the sky and the sea, roiling with a turbulent flood of emotion—shock and wonder and incredulity and disbelief and something like relief but amped a thousandfold.
As if she’d never come before, or at least not like that.
“Crow, my god…what was…whatthefuck was that?” She was gasping raggedly, sweating, as if she’d sprint a few hundred meters full out.
I slid up onto the couch and brought her with me, swiveling her around to cradle her. Clothed, she was breathtaking. Nude, she was…a goddess.
All pale skin and perfect curves. Heavy, swaying breasts and full hips, an hourglass waist. She obviously took care of herself, but I don’t think she was obsessive about it. I think she ate well and exercised intelligently. Soft in all the right places, with just enough sweet tender soft extra something to sink my fingers into and, believe me, I wanted to devour each curve, each line, each morsel of her gorgeous body.
I just held her. Ignored the agonizing throb of my hot, iron-hard cock in my jeans, ignored the way it throbbed all the more painfully as I settled her bare ass on my crotch, feeling her buttocks split perfectly around it. I knew she could feel it.
I just held her.
She nuzzled against my chest, her head under my chin, hair smelling of lavender and roses. Her naked breasts pressed against my bare chest between the edges of my open cut.
She was shaking all over. “Crow…I—”
I cradled her in my arms. “Hush, Charlie. Close your eyes, relax.”
“But—”
“I got you, babe.”
She wriggled her backside. “I can feel what you need.”
“Later.”
She hesitated, silence extending. “I want you to know…what you just did? That was…an incredible gift.”
I huffed a laugh. “Goddess like you, Charlie? Oughta have guys lined up around the block, begging for the opportunity to drop to their knees and worship that sweet pussy.”
She inhaled sharply, tensing. “God, Crow.” I felt her embarrassment. “You can’t say things like that.”
I laughed. “Sure I can. You’re a goddess, and you have the sweetest fuckin’ pussy I’ve ever tasted. How some lucky fucker hasn’t locked you down with a ring already I do not understand.” I felt my mouth running away from my better sense. “If you were mine, I’d never let you fuckin’ go. Not for anything in the whole damn world.”
Shit, that was way too much. Where had it even come from?
She was gonna get up and leave.
Instead of lurching to dress and run, however, she sank deeper into me. “I don’t know what to say to that.”
“Nothin’ you need to say to that, darlin’. I got you. Just relax.”
“Gonna…pass out. Soon.” She was muzzy, halfway there already.
“Good.”
It felt for all the world like I was holding the woman of my life as she fell asleep in my arms. Like I had some bone-deep urge to protect this woman, to hold her, shield her, make her feel good and safe.
It made no sense—I didn’t know shit about her life, or her past. I didn’t even know her middle name. And she sure as shit didn’t know some pretty fucking salient details about me. I’d told her a lot about my family, but there were some details which I just knew were going to be deal breakers.
But, for right now? I had a beautiful, naked, satisfied woman in my arms, and she seemed content to be there.
I’d take it…while it lasted.
Gathering her more fully into my arms, I snagged her clothing, shoes, purse, everything, and carried her and all of her stuff to my bunk. Slid her in. Covered her with my blankets, hesitated, and then said fuck it. I climbed in with her, and lay next to her, and knew we would wake up outside of Denver.
Charlie
I woke up feeling…okay, actually. I was clinging to the side of a bed, my eyes firmly closed.
A little woozy, a bit of a headache, but considering how drunk I’d been, I was not too bad. I had slammed several bottles of water, and I think there’d been some painkillers at some point. I’d had some food. God, delicious food. Such good food. That guac, that sandwich? So good.
Then, still with my eyes closed and no real comprehension of where I even was, I remembered the rest of what had happened.
Crow.
Kissing him.
Or, him kissing me, and then suddenly needing to kiss him like I needed my next breath. Needing him to touch me, to do things to me. And good god did he ever. He did things to me.
Dirty, delightful things.
I squirmed, remembering the scratch of his stubble on my thighs, and Lexie telling me exactly how good that would feel, and jeepers criminy, was she ever right. The feel of his tongue, his mouth, his lips all over my sensitive sex, driving me wild. His hands cupping my ass, holding me up like I weighed nothing at all.
But the way he looked at me.
That was it. That was everything.
No man had ever looked at me like that and it was more than I could handle.
The way he’d looked at me was…too much. Too intense, too wild. Too hot and hungry and primal. He wanted to do things to me.
And I wanted that.
I wanted to be overwhelmed.
Taken. Used. Needed.
Owned.
Appreciated.
Fuck, I must be crazy. Utterly crazy.
I had just met the man. Literally. Yesterday. I had let a man put his mouth on my vagina—a man I had met only hours before.
God, what was wrong with me?
Where was I, anyway?
I became aware of a gentle movement, a bump, and a sway.
I tried moving. Testing my body. I opened my eyes.
It was then that I realized I was naked, and in an unfamiliar bed.
I was, like, totally naked. Had he taken off my shirt last night? I remembered, with intense vividness, his hands on my breasts, his mouth on my nipples, his tongue slathering over them, making them stand up into diamond-hard points of sensitivity, but had he actually taken my shirt off? I didn’t think so. I thought he’d just pushed it up. Now, I do, for sure, remember him taking my leggings off, but only on one side. But they were gone. Where? I would have to find them later.
I was aware then of something else—other sounds and movements.
I became aware of the motion of the tour bus and the quiet sounds of other activity. We were on the move, and I guess the next stop would be Denver. I think it was still dark outside, so I imagined we had a ways to go. Now, semiconscious, I couldn’t believe Lexi and I had ended up on the Myles North tour, for god’s sake. Not to mention everything else that had happened. But I was adopting a new mantra: just go with it, and so far that had worked out pretty well for me.
I heard a huff.
Soft, slight, gentle, snores.
I twisted slowly around, and saw him.
Crow, lying next to me.
As magnificent as I’d remembered him from last night. More so, perhaps. His hair was messy, thick and black, cut into a short, utilitarian, easy-to-leave-messy style. His skin was so dark, a
gift of his heritage certainly, but evidence of a life lived outside in the sun and weather. Squint and laugh wrinkles on the sides of his eyes. A scar over his left eyebrow, partially bisecting it. Another along his jaw. Thick stubble, almost a beard but not quite. His mouth was a thin slash in his face, but his lips were…was it emasculating for me to say they were plump? Because they were. As soft-looking as I remember them feeling. I wanted to kiss them all over again. Right now.
Gahhh.
He was shirtless, and god, the body on the man was unreal. Hard muscles, firm, large, but not shredded by obsession or compulsion, nor bodybuilder swollen out of proportion. Just fit, strong, healthy. Faint abdominal definition, enough to make my mouth water as he flipped onto his back, his head turned toward me. One hand rested on his thigh, low. The other tossed up over his head.
Thick arms, powerful, and covered in tattoos.
I’d never been a fan of tattoos, but god, on him they were extraordinary. More than just decorative art, it was obvious, even to me, they were meaningful.
His jeans were still on, but unzipped and unbuttoned, slung low, showing a hint of tight gray underwear. A bulge pushed against the fabric, straining. I could clearly make out the shape of the head, the ridge, an inch or so of the shaft, and I thought about how hard it had been behind his jeans last night, clearly fully engorged with arousal, yet as I’d shaken and shuddered through my orgasm and the ripping afterquakes, he’d just held me. He’d obviously let me drift off into sleep, and then had gotten me into bed. His bed, I assumed.
I felt a warm rush of gratitude for that. Yet gratitude didn’t seem like nearly a strong enough word for what he’d done for me—rescuing me from danger, feeding me, giving me two intense orgasms, and then allowing me to fall asleep and just be…
Taken care of?
It felt like heaven.
His bunk was a decent size, I realized. Larger than I’d imagined a tour bus bunk being, honestly, but this was no average tour bus. This thing was a luxury condo on wheels. There was enough room in this bunk to prop up on an elbow, but not to sit up. It had a flip-down TV screen in the ceiling, and a cubbyhole in the wall to plug in a cell phone and an iPad. There was also room for a battered black wallet, a small folding box cutter, and a much larger fixed-blade knife—that one was showpiece quality, the handle made of handworked antler, carved into an intricately detailed meadow scene with deer and trees, along with a leather sheath with an exquisitely detailed crow worked into the side. At the foot end of the bed, there was another cubby, this one was a bookshelf stuffed well beyond capacity with paperbacks—I saw sci-fi, fantasy, biographies, histories and historical fiction, and even a romance or two. All well-thumbed, dog-eared.