Page 20 of The Good Girl (Nashville Neighborhood)

Fucking gifted.

Like me, Cassidy hadn’t known what she was doing either. She had nothing to compare me to, no way to know how much I sucked—which meant I didn’t get negative feedback from her. Really, I didn’t get any feedback at all.

No, that came from my other ex-girlfriend, Iris.

We’d dated my sophomore year at Vanderbilt and been together six months when she’d left her phone in my room by accident. My name in a text message rolled across her screen, catching my attention.

Apparently, she’d told her friends in a group chat about my less than spectacular performance, and I’d become a running joke to all of them.

The damage to my ego was intense, and fatal for our relationship.

After the messy breakup, I’d gone to visit Colin at his fraternity, we both got wasted, and I confessed all the hurtful things Iris had said about me. It was fucking embarrassing, but—shit. I needed help. I loved sex and wanted to keep having it, plus I was competitive.

If I was going to do something, it was important I be the best at it.

Colin had given me all the pointers he had, explaining I’d get better if I studied. He didn’t mean porn either. I needed real-life experience, to get hands-on with as many partners as possible, and be ‘open to their honest evaluation,’ he’d said.

If you needed ten thousand hours to be considered an expert, then I had to start honing my craft as soon as possible. And I’d done that over the last three years. Surprisingly, I’d gotten addicted to, like . . . learning.

Sex when we were both having a good time? It was on a whole different level from anything I’d had before. So, I was confident I no longer sucked. In fact, the last few girls I’d been with had told me, unprompted, how much I didn’t suck.

The first few raindrops splattered against the roof of the car, then built into a steady drum.

My hands were still on Sydney’s waist, and I subtly tightened my grip as I stared up at her. She was all wide-eyed and innocent looking, with a flush across her cheeks, and her chest moved rapidly with her uneven breath.

As if being this close to me was dangerous and thrilling.

The dark, bad part of me wanted to ruin sex with other guys for her, for it to be all downhill after me. Was that possible? The thought made me pull her closer, urging her to rock her hips and feel the sensation of my dick between her legs, even with clothes in our way.

“Ride me.” I hadn’t meant for it to sound like a demand, but like a dutiful student, she followed my order.

Oh, fuck.

One hesitant move of her hips wiped everything from my mind. She swiveled again, dragging the center seam of her shorts along my zipper—and my rapidly hardening dick—and the sensation felt so much better than I expected. The grind of her body against mine . . . fuck. Each move she made was a torturous, pleasure-filled stroke.

Thunder rumbled in the distance and the curtains of rain closed around the car. It meant it was just us. No one who drove by would see the way the car rocked as Sydney dry-humped me, or how desire began to twist through her face.

I wasn’t the only one who liked how it felt. I’d bet she liked it a hell of a lot more, judging by her hooded eyes and ragged breath.

Blood rushed loudly in my ears when she clasped her hands on the sides of my face and gripped me tightly. Was she worried I’d turn my head and break the connection of her intense gaze?

No. Not a chance.

Every inch of this girl seemed to be filled with lust.

“Yes,” I said in a low voice. I slid a hand down and gripped a handful of her ass, guiding her to rock faster. “That’s a good girl.”

The phrase had spilled from my mouth without thought, and she jolted, but I didn’t get the sense it was a turn-off. I’d only caught her by surprise, and it caused her to pick up the pace.

I was rock hard now, which was unreal. We were fully clothed, but the back-and-forth glide of her body had me moving in time with her, nudging and rubbing and grinding right where my dick wanted to drive into her.

A whimper of pleasure leaked from her mouth, and at the sound, I lurched forward. My mouth crashed into hers, and I jammed my tongue inside, wanting to fuck her right now in all the ways that weren’t actually sex.

There was a powerful craving building in me, sharp and disorienting. I wanted her, and maybe more than I’d ever wanted someone in my life. I needed my fingers inside her, my mouth on her tits, my tongue teasing her little clit. I was anxious to make her come in a bunch of different ways—not just from my dick.

And I wanted to know what her orgasms sounded like. If she’d quiver as she hit her climax, or if I could get her to scream.

As she kept up her urgent pace, my mouth and hands ventured to new places. My lips ghosted kisses against the side of her neck, my hands stroked down her bare thighs, and I cracked a smile when I felt goosebumps lift on her skin.

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