Page 77 of A Real Goode Time

I bit my lip around a flattered grin. “You’re sweet. If I’d known you thought it was that hot, I may have made more of a show of it.”

His eyes flicked over my chest, my braless breasts poking against the thin T-shirt, as if he hadn’t just had his hands and mouth all over them. “Maybe good you didn’t. If you’d put on a show, we’d never leave.”

I slung my bag over one shoulder. “Don’t tempt me, Rhys. We’re supposed to be taking time to think about things.”

He sighed. “I know. But I can’t help wanting to get you naked and screaming every time I look at you.”

I had to get out of here before I tore off my clothes and threw caution and prudence to wind. “Dammit, Rhys. You and your dirty, sexy mouth.” I turned away, headed for the door. “Get dressed before anything else happens.”

He just let out a dry, amused chuckle as I made my escape outside.

Within a couple minutes, Rhys joined me outside and we jumped into the Jeep and headed out—it looked like he’d done the same thing as me: clean underwear and a T-shirt, but same jeans as yesterday.

Once we hit the highway, top back, wind blowing and sun shining, it was easier for me to sink into my complicated, twisted, chaotic thoughts and feelings regarding Rhys, my attraction to him, and my virginity.

I didn’t know what I wanted the future to look like. Time to think was definitely necessary. But he was…cooled off toward me. Maybe cooled off wasn’t the right phrase. I’d instigated things last night and this morning. And, honestly, if nothing else happened between us, I wouldn’t regret anything. If anything, I was glad I’d gone for it. He’d made me feel things I hadn’t known were possible. I hadn’t known I could come like that—once, hard, and all the way.

And god knows I’d learned a delightful lesson in making him feel good. In fact, I was fighting a seething desire to get my mouth on him again. I’d never imagined I’dwantto do that. But I did. Badly. The short time I’d had my mouth on him, he’d gone wild, clearly enjoying it so much he couldn’t seem to cope with it. I’d had a momentary impulse to finish him that way, in my mouth, but I’d chickened out. I was scared of the cum in my mouth, afraid of swallowing it. Did I spit it out? Where would I spit it? I hadn’t known what it tasted like. He’d come, this morning, and then I’d wanted him in my mouth and had second-guessed not having him come in my mouth—he’d…I don’t think it was a real second orgasm, because nothing had come out except a few little drips, but the taste ofthathad been enough to make me want more.

What that said about me, I wasn’t sure. I wanted to talk to my girls about it, how they felt about blowjobs, and maybe get some tips. I knew Leighton was a bit of a dick aficionado, and talked about going down quite frequently, Jillie not so much.

Was it weird that Iwantedto suck him off and swallow every drop of his cum?

I didn’t care.

I wanted to.

I wanted him to go absolutely crazy. Lose all control. Gasp and pant and cry out my name as I made him come so hard he saw heaven. Or, as he’d said, make him die and go to heaven.

He wanted sex. Actual, real sex. He wouldn’t be content with handjobs and blowjobs. I mean, sure, he’d take them and he’d give as good as he got, and then some. But he wanted to fuck me. He wanted things I knew for a fact I had no clue about. I was fairly confident in my handjob skills as I’d pretty much perfected them on Max, with the help of plenty of porn, because how else is a girl supposed to learn new techniques?

And I knew Rhys had appreciated the techniques I’d learned, because he’d made sounds that had told me so. I mean, at first, with Max, I’d just done plain old up and down jerking. Then I’d watched a video where the lady had done all sorts of things with her hands, twisting and using both hands and cupping and playing with his balls, and I’d realized there was a hell of a lot more to giving a guy a great handjob than just jerking up and down. If that was what he wanted, he could do that to himself. I wanted to do things he couldn’t and wouldn’t do to himself, which meant technique. I’d watched enough porn to know about blowjobs and figured I could do those pretty well, and definitely planned on trying it on Rhys at least once before whatever this was between us ended.

But did I want to have actual sex? Was I ready to give my virginity away? Did I want to give it to Rhys?

The complicating factor was that I was certain there were real feelings developing. For him as well as me. Ilikedhim. And now that I’d gotten a little freaky with him, I liked him even more. Whereas with Max things had been fun, and I’d enjoyed the things we did, but there was nothing more. I would neverwantorneedMax. He was convenient, and he was safe—we’d both agreed on that. I had risked nothing with him. I could jerk him off as many times as either of us wanted, I could get fingered by him as many times as either of us wanted, and I’d never feel for him the way I already did for Rhys.

That was a problem.

Feelings were a big problem in this scenario; I knew enough about sex to know that if I slept with Rhys, things would change. Shit, we’d only messed around in familiar territory and things had already changed. If I gave him my virginity it would mega change. Whatever I felt for him would be intensified by an untold amount.

I’d fall in love with him.

Truthfully, I was already falling in love with him.

Dammit.

I choked, my eyes misting as the realization hit me. Thank god for the wind and the noise, because they covered for me.

I was falling for everything Rhys was. His thoughtfulness and kindness. His hint of roughness, the hard edges around his soft, giving center. The way he spoke, the twang that came and went. His humor. His love for cars, and the way he’d start rambling passionately about them.

I wanted to get into an engine with him. Hand him tools, wedge my little hand into places he couldn’t. Fix cars with him. Build things with him. Ride along on salvage runs. I wanted to be his partner.

I was falling for his body. His jawline and the stubble, his sharp cheekbones and puppy dog eyes that could shift from humor to intelligence to boiling with sexual heat. I was falling for his lean frame, his hard shoulders and shredded abs, his sharp hips and taut ass. His huge, long, fat cock with the round pink head and the tan wrinkled flesh of the shaft and the purple veins, and the bulging, heavy, swaying balls which he went crazy for when I played with them. I was falling for the way he kissed me, like I was the last woman on earth and he’d die if he didn’t kiss me.

I was falling for the way he seemed to literally and absolutely love my breasts—which I’d always been self-conscious about. They were small, sloped, with upturned tips, plumper at the base than the peaks. They weren’t anything like the tits on the girls in the locker room of high school gym class, much less those of the women on the porn I watched. Just more reasons to be insecure or, at the very least, self-conscious.

Jillie and Leighton thought it made no sense that I was self-conscious about what my boobs looked like.