Page 20 of Badd Ass

I couldn’t help it. I had to kiss her. Had to. I wasn’t sure about the rules and parameters of this thing, or where kissing fell in the scheme of things, but I had absolutely no choice but to claim her mouth with mine. This wasn’t pre-sex kissing, this was…fuck, I don’t know what it was.

Holy shit, who are you and what are you doing to me, woman?That was part of it.

I don’t know. I just knew I had to kiss her, and I did.

She fell against me, her fingers stealing up to rest against the back of my neck, her breasts flattened against me, her weight pressing delightfully, warmly, wonderfully, intoxicatingly into me. Her mouth felt as divine and thrilling and maddeningly soft and wet and warm on my mouth as it had my cock, and even better in some ways. Her tongue slid against mine, tangling, pushing, retreating, advancing, dancing. The longer we kissed, the more of her weight she gave me, until somehow I was drifting sideways and pivoting and she was laying on her back in the grass and I was above her, kissing the hell out of her, my palms scouring her ribs and cupping her breasts. Her legs scissored, her back arched, pressing into my touch, a whimper escaping the kiss. I flipped open the button of her jeans, slid my fingers under the elastic of her underwear and found her slit wet and begging.

I lost track of everything and focused on the kiss, on the feel of my fingers sliding through her pussy, stuttering over her clit.

She was writhing, gasping into my mouth, hips lifting as I fingered her into whining, whimpering gyrations.

Her hands slipped and skittered along my back, drifted to my head, palms running over my short hair, then her fingertips were tracing my jawline and her thumb was brushing my cheekbone. I let my hands do the talking, then pulled her jeans down.

She grabbed my wrists to stop me, and then cupped my jaw in both hands again, her forehead bumping to rest against mine. “Wait, wait. I’m getting carried away. I promised myself I wasn’t going to let this happen, but you’re distracting me with your wizard kisses.”

“Wizard kisses?” I said, laughing, pulling back. “And why shouldn’t we get carried away?”

She sat up and backed away, re-buttoning her jeans and reaching for the pile of our clothing. “Yeah,” she said, handing me my shirt as I tugged up my underwear and jeans. “Wizard kisses. Magical, sorcerous. Your mouth makes me do crazy things.”

“If anyone has a magical mouth, it’s you,” I said. “I’m still tingly all over.”

We were both dressed then, she tugging on her hoodie and me my leather.

“Why’d you stop us?” I prompted.

She shrugged uncomfortably. “Because I don’t want you to just eat me out, I want to have sex, but I’m not—I’m not quite ready to go that far outside, even here. I just...”

I pulled her close. “Say no more. I get it.”

“You do?”

I nodded. “Sure, of course.”

She gave me that sweet, adorable lopsided grin. “We’re definitely going to get carried away later, though. When we’re, you know, inside.”

I grinned back. “You have yourself a deal, Amarantha Quinn.”

Chapter 5

Mara

Well…holy shit. Who knew I’d find it so fun to suck a dick? I mean, it’s not something I usuallyloveddoing, but neither did I dislike it. Some guys expected BJs as part of sex, and other guys seemed content to let me decide if I wanted to do it; either was fine by me. So, yeah, I guess you could probably say I’ve given my fair share of BJs.

But that? What I did to Zane? That was…something else. I’ve never in my life done anything quite like that, never gone that all out. There just hadn’t been a point to it, really. I mean, I was a generous sexual partner, I liked to think. Willing, fun, eager to please. So if the guy I was with was polite and respectful about asking for a BJ, I’d likely give him one. Usually this meant going down on him a bit and then getting to the fucking, but occasionally if he was super hot and super cool, I’d let him come, but that was a rarity, mainly because I didn’t care for guys sticking around long enough to get hard again for actual sex.

Yes, I know, I’m complicated—sorry, not sorry.

But that BJ I’d just given Zane was on a whole different plane of existence. I’d wanted on some deep, visceral level to make him feel better than he’d ever felt in his life, to give him something from me that he’d never forget. I’d wanted it to be fucking hot, to be erotic as all hell. I wanted him to let go. I wanted to blowhim so good I blew his mind.

Seeing as he literally collapsed to the ground afterward and was still walking funny, I’d say I had succeeded. And I felt pretty damn pleased with myself. The thing that was rolling around in the back of my mind, though, was the question of why I wanted to please him so badly. As I said, I always cared about my partner feeling good; sex was supposed to be a mutual exchange of pleasure, right? But what I’d wanted to prove to Zane was something deeper than that. Not just physical pleasure, but…what? I wasn’t sure. And that was what bugged me—that the question existed at all, number one, and that I couldn’t figure out the answer, number two.

I followed Zane back along the forest path, keeping hard on his heels, because, jeez, this forest was pitch black and I had no idea where I was going or where to even step without his presence and the flashlight in his hand. Something told me he probably didn’t even need the flashlight. Being a SEAL, he could probably see in the dark like some sort of cat. In some places, the path was just a normal trail through the forest, wood chips marking the path. But in other places the path was comprised of giant stepping-stones, primarily where the trail descended the hillside. The stones were damp and slick, but if I went slow and chose my steps, I was fine.

We reached the parking lot after a few minutes of hiking back through the forest; clouds had rolled in while we were hiking, obscuring the moon and stars, making the night darker than ever, a light rain drizzling down. I climbed onto the bike behind Zane, tugged the helmet on and wrapped my arms around him.

This was equal parts comforting and difficult, being on the back of a motorcycle again. Zane hadn’t pressed the issue when I mentioned how I used to ride with Dad, although I suspected he’d heard the tension in my voice when I told him. And I wasn’t sure if I was relieved that he’d not asked any questions or upset that he didn’t seem to care—I decided on relieved, after some reflection, because I just didn’t think I was ready to talk about Dad yet. I’d barely broached the subject with Claire, and she was my BFF.

Zane drove slowly through Ketchikan, cautious because of the drizzle. His jacket gradually became wetter and wetter, until the scent of damp leather filled my nostrils. I clung to Zane’s midsection and focused on reminding myself that this was him, this was Zane, this wasn’t Dad. Yet memories of long road trips with Dad were strong and, despite my best efforts, I felt the old familiar bitterness and sadness trying to take hold.