Good Girls Say Yes

By: Penny Wylder

“Good.” And then he stops. Just freezes with his fingers still inside me, and my building orgasm trips and falls over into nothing. I groan because being that close and losing it makes me ache. I want to ask him why he would do that, but I also want him to fuck me with his hand again, and if I ask him why, I don’t think he will.

“You would have come,” he says simply, as if he can read the questions racing across my brain. “And I’m not ready for that.” Glancing down at his watch he says, “We still have five minutes together.”

This guy isn’t a Dom, he’s a sadist, and I’m calling him all kinds of names in my head that would probably piss him off. He smiles, easing his fingers back into motion and adding another one. That extra finger fills me up and my breath goes short because it feels impossibly, improbably better than before. Matthew captures my mouth with his, mimicking the motion of his fingers with his tongue, and I’m ready to come apart again. I moan against his mouth, but he doesn’t relent.

I’m not sure how I’m supposed to hold back an orgasm like this—it’s rising and overwhelming and oh my god I’m so close. Matthew pulls his face back abruptly, never missing a beat with those clever fingers. “I want you to count backwards from thirty,” he says. “Out loud. And when you reach one, you have permission to come. Not before.”

My mouth falls open. He can’t be serious, can he? I won’t make it that long. I can’t. It’s not possible.

“The faster you count, the faster you get to come.”

Numbers start to fall out of my mouth faster than I thought I could speak. “Thirty, twenty-nine, twenty-eight…”

And of course he doesn’t go easy on me, he speeds up, fucking me with his fingers so fast that I think I’m going to go blind with the pleasure. Every thrust pushes against my G-spot and my voice is desperate, pleading.

“Fifteen, fourteen, thirteen, twelve…”

Oh god oh god oh god I’m not sure how he can even understand the rest of the numbers, they’re more moans than words and I’m starting to crack, the pleasure leaking out, pulling me in as he holds me right at the edge, and then “fivefourthreetwoONE!” and everything explodes. I come, the orgasm ripping through me like a storm and leaving me spent and heaving against the wall, still pinned and spread open while the pleasure has its way with me. Matthew’s thumb brushes my clit, and I come again. The orgasm wracking my body so hard that if he let me go, I wouldn’t be standing.

Sharp, high notes of pleasure spiral through my stomach and up and out until it’s enveloping all of me, and I know that I’ve never had an orgasm like that before.

I come back to the world out of breath, noticing that it’s the only sound in the hallway. Matthew’s fingers are still inside me, unmoving, his hand like iron around my wrists. “I think time’s up,” he says, a wicked grin on his face. Gently, he removes his hand, casually bringing it to his mouth. I can see how his fingers are slick with my wetness, and the sound he makes while he tastes me has me wet all over again. “I wish we had more time,” he says, “I have so much more that I’d like to do. But,” he releases my hands and helps me back to a normal standing position, “a deal is a deal.”

There’s a small part of me that wants to ask for more, to say that we can have more time. But I know that if I say that he’ll ask for more from me. He’ll want me to obey him and pretend I’m a submissive little thing like those women at the reception, and I’m not. I am not.

Instead, we walk side-by-side back to the ballroom.

“So you got me to pretend to be a part of your world for fifteen minutes. What was the point?”

He looks over at me as we walk, and I can practically hear him thinking, deciding what to say. “Do you need there to be a point?”

“No, I don’t. But that doesn’t mean that you weren’t trying to make one.”

Matthew laughs, a brilliant sound that rings down the empty hall like sunshine. “You’re not wrong.”

“Are you going to tell me what it is?”

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