The Good Girl by Emma Nichols Page A

There was something incredibly erotic about it. “It’s okay,” he urged. “This is completely natural. Just let go…”
    A moan escaped my throat, but there was fear, too. “I don’t know how,” I panted.

    Instead of responding to me verbally, he kept doing what he was doing, focusing all of his energy on pleasuring me. My hands were knotted in the comforter above my head and at the foot of the bed, my toes were curling. His erection was pressed against my thigh. What if he was experiencing this agonizing ache, too? Without thinking, I tried to slide a hand down his pants. The belt was a challenge he made short work of. The same was true of the button on the pants. Soon enough, my hand was wrapped around his penis. It was almost hot to the touch, unbelievably hot, and pulsing. Though it jerked in my hand, I soon had control of it. Just as I was rubbing frantically against his hand, he had his hand around mine, showing me how to run my hand up and down his erection as his hips bucked wildly.
    This only intensified the feelings within me. Something was building...I could feel it. Just let it go . His words echoed in my mind. Frustration was mounting. How? Then, my instructor taught me.

    “Stop thinking,” he hissed. “Just feel…”

    We had found a rhythm. The same one he was using within me was being mimicked in his thrusting hips. I could almost picture it if so many layers of clothes didn’t separate us. Then, it changed. My vagina was contracting in waves. This must be it. This must be what an orgasm feels like. Afraid that he would stop, I clutched his hand to me, riding it out until the waves ebbed and subsided. So distracted by my own body, I nearly missed what was happening in his pants. His hips had stopped. Now his penis was erupting until my hand was covered with thick, sticky semen.
    I had never felt it before. Those two times before...nothing like this. Slowly, I slid my hand out from his boxer briefs and brought it straight up to my face. It was very much like all the textbooks described, pretty much clear. It was mostly odorless. Sticking out my tongue, I lapped up a bit of it, curiosity getting the better of me. Hmm. Not terrible, but not awesome either. When I glanced at him, his eyes were wide.
    “Oh, Willow Stone,” he said in a low husky voice. “You are going to be the death of me.” He kissed me deeply, making me breathless.

    “What was that?” I questioned.

    Wyatt smiled. “#6. Masturbate. Told you we were starting off slow.”

    It took some time, looking over the list. I wanted to give input. I wanted to make suggestions. Of course, every time I opened my mouth, he silenced me. Sometimes, it was lovely, more of that kissing. Other times, he just openly objected.
    “I swear, Willow. Do your college professors welcome your opinion on the syllabus?” He asked with a hint of annoyance.

    My head tilted to the side as I remembered one such occasion. “Huh. Actually, no…”

    “Exactly. Back off. Let me do this. Stop trying to run everything because, I promise, you can’t run me.” His look was serious, his voice stern.

    With a shrug, I dropped it. I’d give him a chance to steer the course of this little experiment. When he crashed and burned, I’d be there to pick him up. I was a Stone. We always held it together. I slowly crawled out of bed. It was closing in on midnight.
    “Whatcha doi ng?” He asked, looking like he was ready to react on a moment’s notice.

    Running my hands down my dress, I said, “It’s almost midnight. I should go.”

    Shaking his head, he stood and walked over to me. His hands were on my shoulders before he spoke once more. “Nope. You’re staying.”
    Looking up into his eyes, I was certain he could read the doubt in my face. “I don’t really do that…”
    “You did last night,” he said, his grip tightening some.
    “Last night was something of an exception. Really, I’ve never done that before.” I glanced over at the door.