Page 101 of Not So Goode

13

Charlie

The disaster that is my life continued unabated.

I got a speeding ticket outside Seattle. Dropped my phone in the toilet in the bathroom of a rest stop an hour later, forgot the replacement on the table of a diner in Vancouver—which was an hour out of my way to begin with, meaning I had to go back for it, requiring an extra almost three hours of unneeded drive time. My car’s GPS got confused in a low-signal area, redirected me down a rutted two-track from one highway to another, where I got a flat tire.

No phone to call a tow truck.

Slipping in mud from a recent rain, I thanked the spirit of my father for having taught me how to change a tire.

Running on a mini-spare on a two track at ten miles per hour, it took me three hours to reach any kind of civilization which had a shop that could fix my flat tire and dented wheel. I had to stay in a fleabag motel—which is where I was at the moment, and I wasn’t sure where that was, exactly, except somewhere in Canada––eating nasty fast food, watching Wheel of Fortune on a TV older than me while I got things back on track.

Unable to fall asleep, my mind wandered to the one place I’d been trying far too hard to forget: Crow.

His hands.

His mouth.

That cock.

I squirmed in the bed, remembering.

I blushed, remembering what I’d let him do—whatI’ddone. What I’d begged him to do, which was fuck me up against the door of a dive bar bathroom, and then fuck me bent over a sink.

I had that image burned into my skull: me in the mirror, bent over the sink, tits swaying as he pounded into me, his body lean and hard and dark and strong, his eyes wild and primal, his hands clawed into the round curve of my ass cheeks as he fucked, fucked, fucked me into blithering oblivion.

To say it was the best, hottest, most erotic, most intensely orgasmic sexual experience of my life would be an understatement on the order of saying the sun is a little warm.

I squirmed in the uncomfortable motel bed, wriggling, uncomfortable, aching in my core, throbbing between my thighs. Remembering how I’d ached with him inside me, and how deliciously sore I’d been afterward. How badly I’d wanted him again, even as things fell apart.

His mouth…god, his mouth on me was something Icraved. I’d never felt like that until I met him, never knew what I’d been missing, and now I woke up in the middle of the night craving his stubbled jaw scraping up the tender silk of my inner thighs, his soft wet slithery strong tongue driving into my clit and making me come apart again and again, each time harder than the last.

I gave in and let my fingers slip under the waist of my underwear, picturing him—Crow, tall and strong behind me, the feel of his cock driving into me, splitting me apart in the best possible way…his mouth on my sex, tongue flying and circling. His cock in my mouth—I wanted to finish that. Finish him that way, what we’d had interrupted.

Each thought, each image was more arousing than the last, until I was aching with need and my clit was throbbing and I was arched off the bed as my fingers blurred over my sex, flicking back and forth faster and faster, until I let go with a gasp—

“Crow!” I heard myself screech, breathless and soft.

God, I was screaming his name as I brought myself to release.

I was so drained by the time I came down from the wild high of my orgasm that I couldn’t move, just lay there in the hard, squeaky bed, my hand still inside my underwear, panting, eyes tearing up as my whole body ached, brain to toes, soul to heart.

Had I made a mistake? Had I done the right thing? I still didn’t know.

I saw, again, the body of Yak.

The pile of near-corpses he’d created.

I mean, we’d met that same way—him saving me from six men, whom he’d sent to the hospital.

Could I tolerate such violence in my life? I didn’t think so. Mom had raised me to be calm, to solve problems with our words and our logic and our will, not through yelling and screaming and violence. Hitting someone was a last resort, only if our very life and physical safety was on the line.

Crow was from a different life.

I fell asleep wrestling with myself, fraught with need and doubts in equal measure. I was as scared of him and the life he represented as I was deeply desperate to be with him, to be in his arms.

In his life.