Page 1 of The Good Girl

Chapter 1

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I pressed my hands down firmly on the trunk of the car and let him do me. The door to the garage had stopped halfway down but I didn’t care. It was late at night and no one was out and about on my quiet street. Hopefully no one would decide to take their dog out for a late stroll.

I bit into my lip to keep the wild sounds behind my teeth as I fought to stay upright and not let my knees buckle. From this position his cock was hitting me so hard I was afraid he was bruising me inside, but the pain was too sweet to ask him to stop.

The only sound in the room was our breathing and the slap of flesh against flesh as his hips bounced into mine from behind. I know I was a sight but I didn’t care. My panties were on the floor still wrapped around my ankles, my skirt was hiked up to my waist and my shirt had been torn down the middle, the buttons scattered somewhere on the darkened garage floor.

His hands pulled my bra cups down beneath my ample tits and he squeezed as he forced his pounding cock deeper inside me. I arched my back a little deeper and the pressure built.

I flung my head back against his shoulder and pushed my ass hard into his hips letting him use me at his will. My juices and his pre-cum ran down my inner thighs as the pleasure pain of his fingers tugging on my swollen nipples made me mindless with pleasure.

I wanted to cry out with the pleasure but knew he’d leave me if I did. It was always this way. He’d show up wherever and whenever he pleased with no prior notice. That added to the appeal, the sordidness of it. For a girl who’d always prided herself on being the good girl, being ravished by his cock in anyway he chose was a sort of release.

His face was in my neck now and he licked my flesh, attacking all my senses at once. He was so good, so good, and I wish just once I could tell him. Wished to howl it out loud until my throat was raw.

But there was never much said between us, not since the beginning, but we both liked it this way. At least I used to, but lately, I’ve been thinking of what it would be like to have more.

More of him, more of the promise of what a real relationship with him would be. I dare not utter those words for fear that that too would drive him away. I showed him what I wanted by moving my body the way I knew would drive him over the edge. But instead it was I who fell off the precipice.

My legs trembled and my inner muscles clenched as my body gave into the sweet pleasure of climax. In my head I screamed the word yes over and over again and his grunt of pleasure gave me shivers. They were coming more and more often these days those treasured grunts.

They were like badges of honor to me those grunts. That I could drag them from him when I knew he fought so hard not to give me even that, told me that I was more to him that just a receptacle for his lust the way so many before me had been.

He stayed buried inside me even after the twitching of his cock had ended. His hands still supped my breasts and his lips still nibbled at my nape. Too soon he pulled his semi deflated flesh from my body and I felt that emptiness acutely. I was already mourning the loss before he reached down and pulled my panties back up my legs and patted them in place over my plump Mons.

When he was done he leaned over my back and turned my face to his for a kiss. It was the sweetest part of our interludes, the kiss at the end. It was just as intimate as him being inside me. It’s the last thing I cherished before falling asleep at night. Alone in my cold bed.

“Be my good girl.” Those were always his last words to me and he said them now before ducking under the half opened door and stepping out into the dark. I got myself together and made my way into the house on shaky legs.

Inside I felt the cold emptiness of being alone again. I was no longer hungry, no longer looking forward to the steak I’d left marinating before leaving for work this morning.

I hated this roller coaster ride of ups and downs. Hated all the unanswered questions especially now. My hand went to my flat stomach and fear caught hold of me. I’ve been fighting it for the last few days. Ever since I found out.

Now the anger set in. Why do I keep doing this to myself? Don’t I deserve better? Don’t I deserve someone to hold me at night, to wake up next to me in the morning? Don’t I deserve someone who wanted all of me?

What had I done? To let myself fall in love with a man of whom I knew there was no hope of him ever returning the sentiment was beyond stupid. I’d rolled the dice and lost, and whatever might’ve been with time, was going to die a swift death very soon.

I had no doubt of the outcome. By rights I should tell him, he had a right to know. But I just wanted to steal a little more time for myself. Was that so wrong?

I felt bad for the little boy or girl who would never know their dad. Never know the beautiful, complicated man who’d fathered them. And I felt sorry for myself, for what I knew I would lose before long.

I walked through the house shedding my shoes and dropping my bag on a chair before heading to the bedroom. My eyes went to the big bed that we rarely shared. Our encounters were always unconventional. It’s something that never seemed planned but always just seemed to happen.

But I was beginning to learn that nothing with Jonas was left to chance. He was a very precise and methodical man who left no stone unturned to get what he wants.

He’d always been honest. From the very beginning he’d let his feelings be known, and had left the idea of an affair solely up to me. I knew since the death of his wife and child he’d avoided any real commitment. But that had been more than two years ago. Hadn’t enough time passed for him to be on the mend?

I was well aware that I wasn’t the first woman he’d enjoyed in the past year and a half, but like all silly young girls I hoped against hope that I would be the one he chose. The one who would mend his heart and gain his undying love forever.

I knew that he wasn’t seeing anyone else at the moment. For the last three months since we’d started I was the only one he’d been with. But was I any different than all the others that came before me?

Will I wake up one day and find that I was never anything more to him that something to do to pass the time? Just like all those others had been? Did he see all of us the same way? Or did I mean just a little bit more to him than they had?

All these questions plagued me, as I got ready for bed. This was the part of the evening I dreaded most. This is when I laid awake for hours weighing the pros and cons of carrying on the affair. Or here of late the big question was when should I tell him? My stomach grew queasy at the thought.

I fell asleep still no closer to an answer and woke in the morning with butterflies because I knew I would be seeing him soon. I hurried through my morning ritual while sipping a cup of herbal tea and chewing on a gutted toasted bagel.

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