Page 49 of For a Goode Time Call…
“Want to know what I think about that?”
He nodded again. “Yeah, I do. The honest truth of it.”
I put my lips near his ear. “Good.” I pulled back, smiled at him, a helplessly aroused, sensual smile. “I’m glad you did that.”
He frowned. “You…what?”
“If that’s using me, then Ink, I want you to use me like that.” I touched my lips to his cheekbone again, kissed him wet and slow. Moved my lips to his, hesitating. Whispered. “Want to know something else, Ink?”
“What?” he murmured back.
“I thought about you, too. Tried to picture you, naked. Touching me. Tried to imagine you naked, hard for me. Pictured my hands wrapped around you…” I let my hand drift south to his belly. “Pictured myself touching you. Making you feel good. Pictured myself naked and on my back, with your face between my thighs.”
He groaned as I inched my hand lower. “Jesus, Cass.”
“Would you do that, Ink?”
“Do what? Put my face between your thighs? Eat you out?” He groaned again, a long, tortured sound. “Until you begged me to stop.”
“I wouldn’t. Not ever. I’d never want you to stop.”
“Then I wouldn’t.”
“But what really turned me on, Ink, what really made me touch myself and make myself come so hard, was thinking about touching you.” I watched his face as I reached for him. “Just…like…this.”
I curled my fingers around his cock, and he let out a long low growl. Hardening in my hand, he grew and grew, to improbable proportions. The tip extended past his belly button. Thick as my wrist, straight and lying flat against his belly. His arousal was shockingly huge. My mouth watered, my core ached.
“Fuck, oh fuck,” he breathed. Eyes flicked open to watch me. “You lyin’, Cass?”
I just held him. “Lying? About what?”
“Touching yourself, thinking about me.”
“No. Not at all.” I stroked him slowly. “I masturbate every day, Ink. Sometimes more than once. It’s been a long, long time since I’ve been with anyone, and I’m so horny I could explode from it.” I bit my lip, watching his huge erection slide through my tiny hand. “I made myself come so hard I saw double, thinking about you, about touching you. Making you feel good.” I stroked, and stroked, slowly, relishing the feel every satin-soft and hard as iron inch. “I have needs, Ink. Crazy, intense, insatiable needs.”
He was breathing hard. “Needs.” As if making sense, full sentences, was now beyond him.
“Yes.” I used both hands, then, and with both fists wrapped around him at the root, his erection still stood several inches up out of the top of my upper fist, and my fingers only just barely closed around him. “You want to know something about me?”
“Yeah,” he muttered. “Tell me.”
“No one has ever been able to keep up with me. I finish, and I want more. And more. I just always want more. I want it more intense, more of it, faster, harder, rougher. And no matter how much or how good it is, I want more. I just always want more.” I looked at him, met his eyes. “It’s been frustrating, my whole life. Makes me feel like there’s something wrong with me, that I just can’t get enough.”
He didn’t seem to know what to do with that information. “Before—all that shit happened, you know. When it was just messing around. I felt that way. Like, no matter how good things were, how good it felt, how frequently we did things, like I would just never be satisfied.”
“You still feel that way?” I asked.
He shrugged, shook his head. “Dunno. Haven’t let myself feel anything for a long time.”
I rubbed my thumb over the tip of him. “What about right now?”
He didn’t answer immediately, as if he had to catch his breath, organize his thoughts into something like coherency. “It’s been so fuckin’ long I don’t…you, what you’re doing. It feels like the first time, all over again.”
“Is that a good thing, a bad thing, or just a thing?”
“I dunno. It feels so good, though. I don’t want it to ever stop. I don’t—I don’t want you to ever stop.”
“What else do you want?” I asked.
