Not So Goode

by Jasinda Wilder

  “Oooh, lady, you’re askin’ for it, now.” I heard the grin in his voice. “You sure about that?”

  I nodded. Toyed with his hair. “I wanna know.”

  “You asked for it.”

  And so began the most insane few minutes of my life, thus far. He would lick and lick, and just when I started to rise, to push against his mouth, he would slide a finger into me and stimulate me a different way, getting me closer that way all over again, and then when I started to really enjoy it, he would change again. Go back to using his mouth, but not the same way as before. Different rhythm, different feel of his tongue. Again, and again, I got close, and he would change.

  It made me crazy.

  The need to come was building to frantic intensity, and I was gasping, huffing, whimpering, lifting my hips, seeking the edge I needed.

  Closer, and closer, each shift of technique bringing me nearer the edge than last time, with consummate skill. He knew my body, intimately, exquisitely, knew my reactions and could read them perfectly.

  “How do you…oh fuck, how do you always know when I’m getting close?” I asked.

  He waited to answer until his tongue circling my clit had me flexing, pushing against his mouth, and then he added two fingers and used those and his mouth together to make me ride the closest to the edge I’d been yet.

  “You are the most responsive, sensitive woman I’ve ever known. I touch you, you gasp. Lick you, you flinch. Get you going, your hips start moving. Get you close, and you just start makin’ these noises, the sexiest goddamn fuckin’ noises I’ve ever heard. Get you close, and fuck, man, I’m done. So fuckin’ hard it hurts. When you come, the noise you’ll make, I may just come in my pants like a friggin’ schoolboy.”

  I squeezed my eyes shut tighter. “I’ve always been self-conscious about the sounds I make.”

  “Don’t. The noises you make are the most sensual music in the world.”

  And then mouth and fingers together, again, and I rode up to the edge, hips rocking, belly taut, breasts quivering. I flicked my eyes open, looked down my body, saw Crow, his wide deep dark eyes shining, smiling, eager, watchful. Eyes that knew me, wanted me, more of me, eyes that saw me, truly saw me in way I’d never felt seen before.

  I was shaking all over, thrusting against him nonstop now, and need was a wildfire inside me. Raging, demanding.

  Silence was no longer an option.

  “Crow…”

  He pulled his mouth away enough to speak, but kept his fingers kept working. “Yeah, babe. Talk to me. Say anything.”

  “Need…I need to come.”

  “Yeah?” A swift hot lick. “Now?”

  I pulled at his hair, drew him closer, thrust myself against him, wanton and greedy. “Yeah, now. Please, now.”

  Another lick, a circle. Fingers flying. Pumping in and out, driving. Maddening. Nearly enough, but not quite. “You wanna come?”

  I curled forward, hooked my heels together around his neck and lifted. The only way to put it is that I fucked his mouth. “Yes, fuck, yes, I want to come, I want to come, Crow. Make me come. Please, fuck, please.”

  “Love when that sweet, innocent mouth gets dirty.” He licked again, and sunburst heat flashed through me, and I knew I was close. So close. He could put me over the edge in an instant. “Would you do anything to come?”

  “Yeah, god, Crow, yes, I’d do anything. Please.” I rode his tongue, but he kept it light, teasing. “No more, I can’t take it anymore. I’m so close, so fucking close. I need to come so bad it hurts.”

  A slow fat lick, hard against my clit. It felt divine, but it wasn’t good enough. A slow circling of his pointed, firm tongue, but it wasn’t enough. His fingers slicked wet in and out, making me ache for something bigger and harder and thicker and more him.

  Nothing was enough.

  “Not sure you want it bad enough.”

  I growled, so feral and rabid I didn't recognize myself. “Crow!” I squeezed my thighs around him. “I’ll crack your head like a melon if you don’t let me fucking come!”

  He laughed, as if the feel of my thighs crushing around his face was the best thing ever. And he just kept going, slow and steady and maddening.

  I was so frustrated, then, so wild with need, so crazed with the need to reach the edge that everything just broke inside me, and I started crying.

  “Fucking let me come, please!” I whispered. “Please!”

  He stopped, everything, all at once. Grinned up at me. “Now you’re ready. Now you fuckin’ want it.”

  And he thrashed me with his tongue, drove three fingers inside me in a fast hard rhythm, and I soared. Sky high, to outer space, past Mars. I flew, ecstasy a mad skyrocketing blush taking over my whole body, staining my soul with the flood of beauty. God, I flew.

  Arching off the bed entirely, I pressed against him. Only my shoulders and head touched the bed, the rest of me was suspended, bridged upward, against his mouth. And he was taking me there, wild and fast and vigorous and unrelenting, and I felt a hoarse whispering escape my throat in a raw whistle.

  I couldn’t even scream.

  Stars burst behind my eyes and inside me. My core exploded, and I was seized by lightning, like I’d stuck a fork in an outlet. My heels scrabbled at his back, and his stubble roughened my tender inner thighs, and his tongue drove me to utter madness.

  How long?

  I have no way of knowing how long that orgasm lasted. It destroyed the concept of time within me, leaving me shaking. Trembling helplessly, boneless.

  * * *

  After a time, I was able to open my eyes.

  A while later, I could start to move.

  Crow had his chin propped up on his hands, still laying awkwardly between my legs. Gazing up at me with an expression of complicated emotions I dare not try to parse.

  “Hey there,” he muttered, smirking. “Back with me?”

  “Yeah.” I blinked. “I think.”

  His grin was pleased. “You, Charlie. You’re…so fuckin’ incredible. Watching you come, making you come, goddamn if ain’t the most amazing thing I’ve ever gotten to experience.”

  “Did…did I pass out?”

  He nodded. “For a couple minutes, yeah.”

  “Wow.” I laughed, a soft breath. “Didn’t know that was a real thing. Just thought it was for fiction.”

  “Guess not.” He crawled up over me, lay beside me. “So. Hungry?”

  I nodded. “Starved.”

  He tugged his zipper up, not without difficulty, however. “I’ll rustle us up something while you get dressed.”

  I grabbed his wrist. “That was only half of what I wanted.”

  He stilled. “Charlie, you—”

  “So far, I’m the only who’s gotten anything.”

  He shook his head. “Ain’t in this to get anything, Charlie. I just can’t help but want to do things to you. Got a woman like you, classy and smart and beautiful as all hell, and you want to let me make you feel good? Well, shit. I’d be a fool to pass that up.”

  I looked at his groin—he was about to break the zipper, he was swollen so hard. “Crow. You asked me what I wanted, and I told you. It was the honest truth of what I wanted.” I was less sure I had the courage to do this, but god, I wanted to try.

  Him making me feel good in all new ways was incredible.

  What else could I enjoy? What else was there which I’d never experienced? Making him feel things? Touching him? Exploring this body?

  Yes, please.

  I grabbed his wrist, pulling it away from his crotch. I turned onto my side and braced on one elbow. Unzipped his black jeans. Hooked two fingers in each belt loop on either side of the fly and tugged down. He lifted his butt, and the jeans came off inside out. He kicked them off, left them tangled at the other end of the bunk. His cock was outlined fully by the tight stretchy fabric, and it was…monstrous. A quarter inch of the tip was poking out the top, pink and leaking clear fluid.

  I curled my fingers in the el
astic on either side of his cock, feeling it brush the outside of my fingers, and pulled down. Another lift of his hips, and he was kicking those off, too, and ohhh shit, oh shit, oh shit.

  What in the world had I gotten myself into? His cock was…

  Beyond any scope of comparison. Seeing it outlined in the underwear hadn’t done it justice. So long, so thick. Straight as an arrow, lying flat against his belly, the tip at his navel.

  I just looked. “Oh…my…god.” I turned to stare into his eyes.

  He just gazed back levelly. “Whatever you want, Charlie. Everything or nothing at all.”

  “It’s…” I bit my lip. Grinned helplessly. “Crow, your penis is colossal.”

  He laughed. “You know how to make a man feel good about himself, Charlie-girl.”

  I reached out, because I had to touch him. Had to feel him, to know how he would fit in my fist. Soft delicate heat, skin stretched thin against his shaft, the veins blue-purple. I wrapped my fingers around him and he flinched, his cock twitching. I glanced at his face, and he had his eyes closed, but flicked them open in that moment, to watch my hand on him. A single slow stroke downward, my fist stuttering lightly over his veins. My mouth was dry, my tongue sticking to the roof of my mouth, heart pounding—I was doing this. Touching this man. Simply letting go and allowing him to go down on me was one thing—that felt like an out-of-body experience. Passive, in a way, allowing something to happen to me…something delicious, incredible, every fantasy I’d ever had come true. But still, a passive event.

  This was something I was doing.

  Very, very different. In my sex-starved little brain, at least. I mean, it had been months since I’d had sex, and even flying solo, my Os had been lackluster at best, because apparently I lack any kind of imagination. I had even tried porn a few times, but everything just seemed so stupid and contrived and silly—and I sampled a little of everything. Plain fucking? Gross, who wants to watch fifteen minutes of ultra-closeups of a giant hairless penis entering a surgically enhanced hairless vagina—both disembodied? Not me. Um, how about the more “female-oriented” stuff? Still just an actor and an actress pretending. Not as many extended closeups of body parts entering body parts, but it just didn’t turn me on, watching two people have sex. Oral scenes? A little better. I had no experience with giving BJs, so that didn’t do anything for me, and I also just had this feeling giving a blowjob was for him, not me, and that I would find it fun to watch him enjoy it, but that I wouldn’t personally get much out of it. The only thing that ever really got me going even a little was videos of girls getting eaten out.

  Because god, I wanted that.

  Just for a man to want me enough, to care about me enough, to put me first long enough to just give me pleasure.

  It was that fantasy which got me going, not the contrived sounds and elaborate displays of position, all the arching and writhing and screaming.

  Now, having experienced Crow’s oral skills, I realized that maybe, just maybe, some of that wasn’t entirely contrived.

  “Charlie?” Crow’s low, amused voice.

  I started. Realized I’d stopped, just holding his cock in one hand, and had been spacing out.

  I grinned sheepishly. “Sorry.”

  He just chuckled. “You really get lost in your head, don’t you?”

  I nodded. “Yeah, I do. I’ve turned overthinking into its purest art form.”

  “Just be here, now.” He snagged my wrist. “And don’t do anything you don’t want to.”

  I sighed. “I do want to,” I said. “That’s the thing. I really want to…try new stuff. And you’re…I guess you seem like a safe person to try it with. But…I’m just fighting a lot of…mental conditioning, I guess.”

  “Maybe instead of getting lost in your head, you just talk it out?” He pulled my hand away from his member.

  I shook my head. “It wouldn’t be sexy to hear me going on and on, like some sort of messed up hormonal female version of Ulysses.”

  He snorted. “Not sure what that means, but you’d be surprised what would be interesting to me.”

  “Interior monologue. Ulysses is a novel by James Joyce, who more or less invented the idea of what he called stream of consciousness, where the narration of the story is the interior monologue of a person.”

  “Sounds boring.”

  “It’s not boring, per se, but hard to follow, if nothing else. It’s a book a lot of people like to say they’ve read to sound more erudite than they really are.”

  He caressed my back, fingers tickling and tracing, following the angle of my extended shoulder blade, the curve of my spine. “Well, this ain’t James Joyce, and I am interested in hearing what’s going on in your head.” He gathered a handful of my hair, running it through his fingers. “You don’t have to be doin’ nothin’ to me, either.”

  I bit my lip, tracing his rugged, brutally handsome features with my eyes. “Crow, I know I don’t make any sense. But I do want to touch you. I want to…” I swallowed. “I don’t how to put it.”

  “However it occurs in your head, babe. No filter, don’t worry about sounding cool or shit. Just say it like it is.”

  I felt his eyes pulling me in, deep dark wells of intelligence and kindness and complexity and desire and a million things I couldn’t even begin listing. I let myself fall into his eyes, let my mouth run, just let the words tumble out unbidden, unfiltered, raw and weird and maybe incomprehensible.

  “I just…I’ve always done the right thing. The good thing. My mom has a super strong moral compass—we’re not really a religious or spiritual family, but my mom was always like super into being the best version of yourself. Doing the right thing, always, no matter what. Being good. Doing good. Sounding articulate and intelligent and sophisticated and cultured and proper. No swearing, no crude jokes, don’t use fillers like ‘um’ or ‘like’ or whatever. I’m the oldest, so I got it the worst, so to speak. She was the strictest with me. Had the highest expectations for me. So I was always the absolute paragon of virtue, morality, rightness, and achievement.”

  I stared into his eyes, relaxing my tension, letting the whole dumb story fall out, because for some bizarre reason he was listening. As if he cared. As if I was the only thing in this world worth looking at, worth listening to, and it was genuine and it just drew words out of me like a clown pulling on a trick silk tie.

  I let my fingers dance on his firm skin, over his belly, on his thighs. Just touching him, not sexually, just…male skin, reassuringly real and warm. He didn’t move, didn’t stop me or urge me anywhere, just kept his own hands busily moving on me, tracing continually from shoulder to spine, hip to side to clavicle, never touching me sexually, just…touching me as I was touching him. So weird, to be this comfortable with a near-perfect stranger. I didn’t dare examine that too closely—just went with it.

  I kept talking, my voice pitched low. “I never cut loose. Never partied with my friends. I stayed home and did homework, helped Mom at home. Watched my younger sisters, did chores. Book reports, just for myself, for fun. Boring, nerdy, ridiculous nonsense. I had friends, and we’d go to the mall together or hang out and do each other’s nails or hair, girl stuff. But I didn’t drink, didn’t smoke, didn’t sneak out. Never had a boyfriend in high school. I kissed Scott Pruitt under the bleachers during a football game my sophomore year. Kissed Al Crenshaw in the limo on the way home from senior prom. He wanted to go further, tried to cop a feel, but I wasn’t having any of that and told him so. I just…I couldn’t have messed around with him and then faced Mom. She’d have known, and would have disapproved. Even though I know now that she wouldn’t have disapproved as long as I was in control of myself and the situation and wasn’t being pressured into anything, especially senior year, it was this ingrained idea that I had to be perfect, and messy physical relationships felt imperfect to me. Letting a boy touch my boobs felt wrong. Letting him touch my privates felt wrong. Me touching him? Even more wrong. Dirty. Nope—not happening.”
<
br />   “Wow. Mom was a powerful influence for you, huh?”

  I nodded. “Yeah. No kidding.”

  “So then you get to college…” he prompted.

  I sighed, grinned a little. “Yeah, then I got to college. Straight As, with extra GPA points and a ton of college credits by graduation from taking a bunch of courses at the community college on a transfer program through my high school. Nearly perfect SAT and ACT scores, accepted to pretty much any college I wanted. I even got an offer from Cambridge.”

  “Like, the one in England?”

  I laughed. “The only one, yeah.”

  “And you didn’t take it?”

  I grimaced. “Yeah, no. I should’ve. But it was too scary, moving that far from Mom. So, I chose Yale. It was a toss-up between Yale, Harvard, and Brown, but Yale just sounded…I don’t know. Cooler, to me. Probably pretty shallow and stupid reason. But it’s where I went, and I met Glen the first day during orientation. We sat together during the initial meeting, and stayed together for the whole tour, hung out afterwards, and never really separated.” I swallowed. “We dated for six months before I worked up the courage to let him kiss me. Another month before I felt confident enough being away from Mom and making my own decisions to let things progress. Poor guy was very patient with me, I have to give him that much. It took nearly a full year of dating before we had actual sex. A lot of messing around, and me getting used to that. Just kissing and stuff. All the stuff I think most people do in high school, I was doing in college. He never rushed me or pressured me.”

  “Good for him, for that much at least.”

  “But he was also not…” I sighed, not sure how to put it. “Excited, I guess. By me. By us.”

  He stared at me, eyes narrowed. “You’re filtering.”

  I groaned. “Yeah. So, it’s weird to say these things out loud, but…he clearly was aroused by me, because when we started kissing he’d get an erection. And…before we had sex, yeah, I…you know. We did things with our hands.”

  “Just fuckin’ say it, Charlie. We’re not kids, here. Not gonna be weird for me to hear you tell me you jerked off your college boyfriend.”