Good Girl(37)

I can see where we're joined at this angle. My pelvis is raised off the bed, my hands back to gripping the comforter in clenched fists. He pulls out of me and I feel the loss immediately. The slow slide of his body leaving mine, the feeling of fullness easing into emptiness. He pauses with just the head of his cock inside of me and we can both see the blood. His dick is wet, covered in me and streaks of red, and I suck in a breath because it's a little weird, a little base, a little primal and my feelings about all of this are raw, but Rhys doesn't look freaked out in the least. He looks like he's super into it so I exhale and try to relax.

Then he flexes his hips and drives back into me and I don't really care what his dick is covered in as long as he doesn't stop doing that. He repeats the motion, a long slow drag out followed by a smooth deep glide in, and I decide that I like sex very much.

"That's a good girl," he praises me when I lift my hips to meet his and I like hearing that almost as much as I like sex. Positive reinforcement is totally my thing and being called a good girl while his dick is inside of me is a filthy twisted spin on positive reinforcement that I find suits me just fine.

"I'm glad it's you," I say softly. "I'm glad I'm doing this with you."

His eyes shut for a moment and he swallows. A drop of sweat runs down his chest and I give an experimental clench around his cock where it's buried deep inside me and everything gets impossibly tighter and that feeling of pressure and heat gets more intense.

"That's good," he groans, his eyes opening, gaze hooded. Then he leans over me again, bracing himself on one hand and using the other to bend my knee towards my chest. That feels different, but I don't have time to think or adjust too much because he's pounding into me now. Fast. Quick and deep. Hard. My tits bounce from the thrusts and the sound of his skin slapping against me echoes throughout the room. The lights from the Strip flash and sparkle and glow just beyond the windows and I feel like I'm close to doing all of those things as well. So close.

Rhys bends my leg farther so my knee is practically at my ear and ohmygod he's even deeper and harder and bigger this way and then his thumb is back on my clit and yes, firm yes, I like sex. I arch my back and dig my fingertips into Rhys's forearms and he's whispering the good girl thing again in my ear and all the pressure and friction ignite and my legs are tensing and I'm coming and it's all so tight and warm and I squeeze my eyes shut and a stream of 'ohs' fall from my mouth.

Rhys groans when I tighten around him, holding himself still over me, and then he's moving again, making short jabs with his hips until he's coming too, the tension leaving his jaw and he's beautiful, so beautiful, and I can't believe I got to do this with him.

"That felt like a wave," I tell him, when he's done, collapsed on top of me, breathing hard. "Like a warm intense wave, or maybe the best part of a roller coaster or like flying." I run my fingers along his back, exploring the lines with my fingertips, running my nails lightly across his skin. "It felt different with you inside of me, the orgasm. Different than it felt with your thumb or your mouth. And wet. It felt wetter. Feels wetter. I think it's probably because you just came in me. It feels kinda messy, but like a mess from a good party you don't want to clean up yet." He's silent, save for the sound of his breathing. "Sorry, I'm not any good at dirty talk."

"Are you trying to kill me?" He pants the question into my ear.

"No." I shake my head against the pillow under my head. "Of course not. I want to do that again."

He eases out of me and I feel an instant void from the loss. And sore, I feel sore and exposed and vulnerable. Rhys gets off the bed and walks through an open door, flipping on a light as he enters the bathroom. His ass is perfect, just like I thought it would be. Tight and muscular and there's a little dimple thing I need to explore next time.

I sit up on the bed, not sure what I'm supposed to do now. Should I leave? That's what he paid me for, right? So I'd get out when he was done? Am I allowed to use the bathroom first? His normal girls probably just get the hell out, right? I spot my bag sitting on a chair across the room so I get up, wincing as I do. Yeah, I'm gonna feel that tomorrow. I'm slipping a t-shirt from my bag when Rhys returns.

"What are you doing?"

"I thought this was the part where you slapped me on the ass and told me it was time to go, sweetness."

"Sit down," he says, nodding to the bed. He doesn't look amused by my assessment of how tonight ends so I drop my shirt and return to the bed. Which is when I realize I just lost my virginity on a fluffy white duvet cover and there's no coming back from that for the fluffy white duvet cover and I am mortified. Five hundred thousand dollars and I ruined his bedding. I'm a terrible, terrible hooker.

I start to pull the duvet from the bed when he stops me.

"What are you doing?" he asks again, resting a hand on my arm. He looks confused and I wonder if I'm behaving rationally.

"I ruined your bed."

"Lydia, who cares?"

I do. This entire apartment is pristine and perfect and I'm like a messy rescue puppy.

"I'll call housekeeping and have a new one sent up," he says softly, running his hand down my arm. "Go take a shower."

"When you say you'll call housekeeping you mean you'll meet them at the door and then you'll get rid of this bedding, not hand it to someone I'll bump into in the employee cafeteria on Monday, right?"