Page 45 of Not So Goode

I eyed her. “Count backward from twenty.”

She did so, only faltering a couple times. “I’m still pretty buzzed, but I’m not…insensible. I know what’s going on and what I’m doing.” She finished her sandwich, set the plate aside. “Now, what did you say, Crow?”

“You don’t want to know.” I felt my gut spinning. I shouldn’t tell her.

But her eyes begged me to. That hint of cleavage begged me to.

My cock was insisting I whisper the translation in her ear and see how she responded.

“Yes, I do,” she murmured. “It was something dirty, wasn’t it?”

I just nodded. “Yeah.”

“Tell me.”

I caught her braid in my fingers, traced the complex pattern under my fingertips. Stared into her eyes and sought…something. I wasn’t sure what.

I repeated the sentence in Apache. Tugged on her braid so her ear tilted toward me. Whispered. “It means ‘I wish you were sober, so I could get you naked and make you scream my name.’”

She sucked in a sharp breath. Twisted her head so her nose brushed mine. Eyes on mine, so close she looked cyclopean, one big bright blue eye. “I’m sober enough.”

“No, you’re not.”

“I can be the judge of that. I’m an adult.”

I still had her braid in my fist, and I couldn’t help but pull on it again, and this time, her face tilted, mouth falling against mine. Her lips were soft and wet and inviting, welcoming. I licked at her lips, and she moaned, pushed against me, gave me her tongue. Hungrily, she kissed me back.

Ohh shit, this girl was eager.

My cock sprang alive at the feel of her mouth on mine, and then she pressed her body against me and I felt her breasts crush soft and pliant against my chest, and I tipped back, flat on the couch. I brought her on top of me, one hand coiling her long braid around my fist. Her palm scraped against my cheek, across my stubble, and then she gripped my shoulder and pressed against my chest. She shifted forward, and fuckfuckfuck she was lined up on me, my achingly hard cock throbbing against her soft center, and I had her juicy ass in my other hand, palming and squeezing, kneading.

I delved under the elastic of her waistband and gathered a handful of soft warm silky skin, and I groaned at the velvet wonder of her skin, the firm heft of her ass. She writhed, needy, and whimpered into my mouth, pressing against my hand. I let go of her braid and took a double handful of sweet, tender ass cheek, playing with the softness and movement of it. I twisted her sideways, toppling her against the back of the couch, pressing her in with my body, not breaking the kiss.

My hand reached up under her shirt and I found out for certain that she wasn’t wearing a bra. Just those gorgeous melons piled up in my hand. She gasped as I cradled one in my palm, brushing a nipple. God, so soft. Her nipple was a hard little nub under my fingers, and I tweaked it, toyed with it until she whimpered, and then I played with the other. She arched her back, and her tongue sought mine. Her hands curled between our bodies, splayed out, palms against my chest. Then her fingers dug in, clawing at my shoulders and chest.

I wanted her moans. Her sweet voice whispering, whimpering.

I became mindless, ravenous, a man of want and need—consumed by Charlie, by the soft perfection of her skin and the eager kiss of her lips and soaring scouring drive of her tongue. The plump squish of her tits in my hands, and I needed, needed, needed to feel more of her.

She refused to let go of my mouth, breaking for breath and then diving right back in. Scratching my pec, tracing my stubble and my jaw.

Shit, I was done for. No way I could resist sampling more of her delights. There wasn’t one thought in my brain about denying myself the sound of her orgasming under my hands.

I slipped one hand down, teasing my way south. She huffed, forehead on mine, pausing in the kiss as my hand slipped into the front of her leggings. I paused, but she flexed her hips, and I kept going. Her mouth stole up against mine again, demanding I kiss her, and I did, because kissing her was how I kept breathing.

No underwear either? Fuck, this good girl was maybe not so good after all.

My cock throbbed harder with the idea that a girl as radiant with wholesome goodness as Charlie might be a sex-hungry nymph as well.

That break in the kiss told me she knew what I was doing, and the flex of her hips told me she wanted it.

Scratchy fuzz—trimmed close. God, she was like a drug. I stopped breathing, my mouth open, my lips on hers. Forehead to forehead. Throat closed, mouth dry. Gut trembling in anticipation, though I’d only just met her, barely knew her.

This desire, this need was sudden and it becameeverything to me. Slowly, I delved my middle finger into the slick wet softness of her slit. And ohhhh fuck me sideways, she made a sound that turned my cock into a fiery rod of rigid magma, swollen painfully hard at the desperate pleasure in her voice. There was a faint squelch of her wetness as I slipped my fingers through her essence, spreading it over her clit. Not that she needed it, god no. She was drenched for me. Lying on her side, she lifted her upper thigh to make room. To invite me, welcome me. I slid in, and she was fuckingtight, even around my finger.

Out, then.

Slowly.