For A Good Time, Call... (15 page)

The
next one had been a year later. And I liked him. I really liked him
even though he was city-roughened and a nasty drunk. By then, a year
and a half of living on the streets had given me quite an extensive
knowledge about sex. Regardless of my traumatizing first time, my
hormones were begging for me to try again.

“I
have some... scars,” I had told him, feeling shy.

“Whatever,”
he said, and shoved himself inside. It was quick, mostly painless,
but wholly unsatisfying at the same time. Afterward, he reached down
and lifted my skirt to look. He looked for so long that I felt a
swell of hope that he wasn't repulsed. But then he had dropped my
skirt, looked at me, and shook his head. “That's the ugliest
pussy I've ever seen.”

I
couldn't bring myself to ever face him again.

I
shook my head, trying to clear it. That was the past. This was the
here, the now. This was with Hunter. And I was going to face the
issue head-on no matter how much I felt like throwing up all over my
own feet.

I
pushed the material down, stepping out of the legs and straightening.

His
eyes stayed on mine for a long time and I could feel myself trying to
project the need for him to look. Please, please look. I need to get
this over with. I'm dying little by little.

His
eyes finally started to trail downward, stopping slightly at my
breasts then going down my belly. Stopping. I heard his breath exhale
out sharply. I tensed against the sound, sure I knew what was going
to follow. Revulsion.

Then
he was moving, walking closer. Stopping right in front of me, he went
down on his knees. His hand moved up the front of one of my thighs,
reaching the spot where my leg met my hip, just an inch away from
where his eyes were planted.

Where
the word “wicked” was scrawled in huge, ugly, uppercase
print across the triangle above my sex.

“Why
do I get the feeling that this wasn't you trying to say you have a
wicked cool snatch?” he asked, attempting levity.

The
tension in that moment was as thick as honey when I didn't laugh. “I
didn't do it,” I said again.

Maybe
I should have just... owned up to it. Said that I did. I self-harmed
all the time. It would be completely believable. But I had my hands
full with my own depravity, I suddenly didn't want to claim his as my
own anymore. At least not with Hunter.

“What
happened to you, Fee?” he asked, his hand moving to cover the
scars as he tilted his head back to look at me.

I
took a deep breath, closing my eyes against the tears. I wasn't going
to cry. Not because I was embarrassed to. Not because I was afraid to
let Hunter see that side of me. I wasn't going to cry because my
father didn't deserve that.

I
swallowed and looked down at him. “I grew up in a very
religious household,” I started, my words sounding robotic. “My
father raised us in a shack with no running water, no electronics.
No... nothing. Even though he was from a rich family. We needed to
know humility. I... wasn't even allowed to learn to read. But my
mother taught me in secret. It was a rough life but we didn't really
know any better.” I paused, taking a breath. Hunter's blue eyes
were still on mine, patient. Expectant.

“I
have an older brother. Isaiah. He's about two years older. We shared
a room and when he was twelve... he started to... watch me change,”
I said, watching Hunter wince slightly. Because it was gross. I
couldn't blame him for thinking how disgusting that is. It totally
was disgusting. “One night, my father came in and saw him
watching me...”

“You
don't have to tell me,” he said when I paused, when the words
failed me. “If it's too much. You don't have to.”

“I
want to,” I said, surprising myself. “He saw Isaiah
watching me and he grabbed me. He dragged me through the house and
threw me out into the snow. Naked. I was naked. And he was rambling
on about the wickedness of Eve. Of women in general. He beat me. And
then he... he got on top of me and he pulled out a knife and he did
this,” I said, touching the scars under my breasts. “Then
he did this,” I said, reaching down and touching his hand that
was still covering the word. “He told me that I was dirty and
wicked. That I was leading my brother into the temptations of the
flesh. That I was evil. He told me that he would make me so ugly that
no man would ever want me. So I couldn't lead another man to sin
against God like I had with my brother.”

My
heart was pounding in my ears and every inch of my skin felt hot,
feverish.

Hunter
ducked his head. “You were ten years old,” he said
quietly.

“Yeah,”
I agreed, trying to focus on breathing. In. Out. In. Out.

His
hands moved, slipped around my hips and touched my ass, settling
there softly. He leaned forward, planting a kiss on the center of the
awful word. “You're not wicked,” he said, shaking his
head and I felt his hair brush my thighs. “You're father was a
sick fuck and your brother was warped,” he said, sounding
angry.

“I
know,” I said. I knew that. I did. I had known that for a long
time. But it didn't take the sting away. It didn't take away the
years of believing he was right about me. About how I was going to
burn in hell for my sins. About how I was a punishment to my family.
A penance that needed to be paid. So they could go to Heaven. While I
rotted.

“He
was also wrong,” Hunter said. “You could never be ugly,”
he said, looking back up at me. “And I want you.” He
slowly got onto his feet, one of his hands reached out toward my
face, stroking my cheek. “Thank you for telling me.”

“Thank
you for not telling me I have an ugly pussy or running away like I
was a demon,” I said, thinking of the other boys. They were
boys. Because a man acted the way Hunter was acting.

“Whoever
did that was a dickhead and had no idea what they were missing out
on,” he said.

“What
were they missing out on?”

“You.”

Then
he leaned forward and kissed me, soft. Little kisses across my lips
before pressing down. I sank into it. Into him. My arms went up and
around his neck, pulling him closer. His tongue slipped between my
lips, teasing mine and sending a flood of desire to my core. He
kissed me for a long time, until I felt like I was floating, until I
felt it all the way down to my toes. Then he pulled back, his eyes
hazy. “We don't have to have sex,” he said and the
pulsing need between my thighs was in complete disagreement with him.

I
smiled slowly at him, shrugging a shoulder. “All talk, huh?”
I asked. “Cant get it up without the phone in your hand?”

He
snorted, leaning down and planting a kiss on my forehead. He reached
down, grabbing my hand and turning it so the palm was out, then
placed it down on his crotch. His cock was straining against the
thick material of his jeans. “Cant get it up, huh?”

“I'm
afraid I'm going to have to see it to believe it,” I said,
pursing my lips at him.

He
chuckled, taking a step back, reaching for the hem of his shirt and
pulling it off in one swift motion.

He
was too good looking. Like, seriously. It wasn't right for one man to
be that perfect. The face alone was enough. The face should have been
paired with some flabby man boobs or a beer belly. Just so the other
guys stood a chance. But, no. Hunter was perfect everywhere. His
shoulders were wide, strong, his chest defined. And then, of course,
because no God would be complete without them... he had abs. The kind
that you could sink fingers in between. And that glorious, beautiful
V that half-hid beneath the waistband of his jeans. There was a thin
black trail of hair that disappeared underneath his top button.

As
if sensing my need to see more. See everything. Like he got to see
me. He reached down, slowly unbuttoning the button and pulling down
the zipper. He pushed the material down and it fell with a slight
whooshing noise to the floor. His dark boxers were all that was left.
Beneath them, his legs were solid. His cock was hard, pushing against
the thin material and I could make out the perfect shape of the head.

He
grabbed the waistband and pulled it open, letting the boxers fall to
the floor.

Yup,
perfect. Head to toe. Every little space between.

“Okay,
I believe it,” I said, glancing at his long, thick cock with a
surge of anticipation. What would it be like? Without the fear?
Without the shame?

All
I knew was I wanted to find out.

“Come
here,” he said, tilting his head to the side, looking down once
then back up to my face.

I
did. My feet moved across the cool floor with a weighted feeling.
“Hi,” I said, my feet next to his, our bodies a whisper
from each other.

“Hi,”
he said back, smiling. Then he leaned forward and kissed the tip of
my nose. “So, wanna go to the bed?” he asked, reaching
down and taking my hand.

I
laced my fingers between his and nodded.

He
pulled me into the hall then to his room, still bare-walled and
dominated by the huge bed with rich black blankets and sheets. He
closed the door, turning to me and wrapping his arms around my hips,
pulling me against him. I felt myself shiver as our bare skin
touched. He leaned down and breathed in the smell of my hair, then
started moving forward, making me slide backward blindly across the
floor.

The
backs of my knees hit the bed and I untangled myself from him and
slid up on it, moving toward the center, my knees to my chest. He
stood there looking at my for a minute before moving closer, crawling
across the bed toward me. I laid backward against the pillows.

He
sat back on his heels, running his fingertips up the tops of my feet,
my calves, the sides of my thighs, not even hesitating over the cuts
and scars. Like they were normal. A part of me. A part of my skin. I
felt my thighs part around his hips, my knees touching the sides of
his stomach. He pressed forward sightly, letting his hands settle on
either side of my shoulders.

“Guess
what?” he asked.

“What?”

“I've
thought about you naked a thousand times,” he admitted,
lowering down to trail kisses across my shoulder, my collarbone. “and
my fantasies didn't even come close to the reality of how perfect you
are,” he told me, sinking his lips into my neck and sucking the
skin into his mouth.

I
knew I wasn't perfect. Far from. But, for the first time in my life,
that was okay. Because Hunter thought I was. And that was more than
enough.

My
hands moved up his back, enjoying the hard muscle beneath. His
hardness was pressed up against my lower belly, as needy as I felt.
But Hunter was taking his time, his lips moved to mine, pressing into
them with every bit of passion I was feeling, before trailing
downward. Touching my throat, moving between my breasts. His hair
fell forward, tickling my nipples as he slowly planted soft kisses
across the scars under each breast. I arched away from the strange
sensation, noticing the surge of panic at the contact.

He
moved upward, taking one of my nipples into his mouth, running his
tongue over the peak until it was straining, until there was an
impossible tightness there, then moving to the other one to do the
same. Then he was trailing his tongue down the center of my belly and
I felt my legs fly out on the mattress around his legs.

Every
muscle in my body felt tense as desire pinged off of each nerve
ending, making me feel frazzled, overwhelmed with each new sensation.
He moved his lips across my hips, his hands reaching down to press on
my thighs, holding them open against the mattress. Then his tongue
was touching the edge of the W, tracing it down then up, then down,
up, before moving on to the next letter.

And
all of a sudden, they felt different. They didn't feel like a brand,
like a curse. They felt cherished. They felt like something that was
a source of desire, not shame. I almost cried. But then he looked up
at me, a devilish smile toying at his lips for a second before his
head dipped and I felt his tongue sneak between my delicate folds,
sliding upward. His lips closed around my clit, sucking. My thighs
strained against his hold as I let out a surprised yelp. My hips
arched into his mouth, begging for more, begging for things I was
barely familiar with. The pressure built until it was painful,
before his lips pulled away, his tongue stroking over the sensitive
bud quickly side to side. My hands went to his hair, grabbing it and
twisting, but pushing him closer. Holding him there.

“Hunter,”
I whimpered, my toes curling, my whole body straightening as I felt
my orgasm build higher and higher.

He
opened his mouth, breathing warm air over my clit for a second before
his tongue started working in small circles. Then I felt his finger
press against my slick entrance, pausing for the briefest of seconds
before pushing in, turning, and stroking against the top wall. Over
and over until I couldn't fight it anymore and my body exploded into
orgasm, making me cry out and push his head harder against me.

I
fell back against the mattress after, feeling sweaty and weak, like
my limbs were too heavy to move. He went back on his ankles, looking
down at me with heavy-lidded eyes. “You're so sexy when you
come,” he said, running his fingers up and down my inner
thighs, giving me time to recover and making my body come alive at
the same time.