Page 41 of Not So Goode

Crow

She was good. Too good. Just sweet as sugar and sexy as sin, but something told me she’d sort of lost track of feeling sexy at some point in her life. Damn shame. But the good girl, the girl who didn’t know how to talk to me, couldn’t hold her liquor, got uncomfortable the closer I got, and went stiff and tense as a board when I touched her…was fuckin’ impossible to resist.

I wanted to see if some of the squeaky clean would rub off on me. Get her just a little dirty.

I shouldn’t, god, I really shouldn’t. She was just genuinely a good, decent person.

One who didn’t seem to know what to do with the goddess body she had.

Good and holy fuck, did I want to show her.

I craved her curves, her skin. More of her. All of her.

Stupid of me, but I did. She was too good for an old road dog like me—sure, I was only twenty-eight, but I’d packed several lifetimes of hard living into those years, and felt every bit of a thousand years old, most days. Looking at the pale creamy skin around the V of her shirt where I got tantalizing glimpses of mouth-watering, resistance-melting cleavage, I wanted nothing more than to bury my face there…on my way south. She wasn’t wearing a bra, I was pretty certain. Just those big beautiful tits of hers pressing against soft cotton, the shape of them outlined, nipples peaked.

I bet she’d moan so sweet when I take those lovely things in my mouth…

Shit.

Stop, Crow.

She wasn’t a one-hit wonder. Not a groupie or backstage bunny to tumble with in the corner of the bus, when no one was looking. This was a woman you fought for and held on to, a woman you kept as long as she’d let you. A woman you stayed up all night hoping she’d be there in the morning.

She was just staring at me, eyes wide, a little glassy. Head was weaving—exhausted, now, rather than blasted.

“How long you been up, shorty?”

She glanced upward. “Uh. Since like, six. Then I fell asleep in the car for a couple hours.”

“Road trip?”

“New York to Alaska.”

I whistled. “Holy hell, woman, that’s clear across the damn continent two ways.”

She frowned. “Huh? Two ways?”

“East to West, and South to North?”

“Oh, right. Duh.” She rubbed her face with both hands. “I swear, Crow, I’m actually a very smart person.” She laughed. “I have two degrees from Yale.”

I cocked an eyebrow. “Two?”

“Double major, business and law.”

“Damn, girl.”

“So, I’m not this airheaded, normally. Promise.”

I squeezed her thighs—fucking mistake. Juicy, soft, tender, strong. I wanted them bare, and wrapped around my neck. Gritting my teeth, I shoved the lecherous thoughts away.

“I never thought you were airheaded.”

“I’m acting like one, though.”

I laughed. “Alcohol can turn the smartest person into a fuckin’ dweeb.”

She was gazing up at me, soft blue eyes searching me like she had a billion things to say and couldn’t make any of ‘em make sense. I knew the feeling.