"That good, huh?" I ask.
She grins, nuzzles against my neck. "I think you know the answer to that question."
"Yeah, but I want to hear you say it," I reply.
She giggles. "Then yes, it was good," she replies. "And you didn’t mistake me for a mountain lion or whatever this time?”
I laugh softly. "I didn’t." I brush my nose against her hair, just fine with spending the rest of the night like this if that’s what she wants. I haven’t felt this good in a long ass time. Her in my arms feels like fate.
She lets out a long breath and nestles against me, and I wrap my arms right around her more tightly. Hard to believe that I only met this girl earlier today. It feels as though she has been this close to me from the start, as though the two of us were always meant to be this way with one another. I like the feeling of her soft, supple little body in my arms, and I want nothing more than to learn every inch of it as best I can.
"You know, Cliff… I want to return the favor," she remarks playfully.
"What do you mean?”
"Only fair, right?” she replies, lifting her head so that she can look at me properly. "I mean, you got me off. So I want to make you..."
"You don’t have to worry about that," I assure her. "If you’re not ready."
"And what makes you think that I’m not ready?” she asks, pouting playfully. I trail a finger down her back, admiring the curve of her shoulders, the way her body seems made to fit against mine.
"It’s your first time," I reply. I don’t want to bring up the fact that I know that she is a preacher’s daughter, but that’s part of it, too. She must be new to all of this, and the last thing that she needs from me right now is to push her into something that she isn’t sure about.
"So?”
"So, there’s no reason to rush," I point out. She tips her head to the side, looks at me for a moment.
"You think that I need you to set the pace?" There’s a little edge of rebelliousness in her voice. I’ve got to admit, this is the last thing that I would have imagined if someone had mentioned a preacher’s daughter to me, but I like that she is full of surprises.
"It’s not that," I reply.
"Let me guess," she sighs. "You know who my father is?”
"Yeah," I admit.
She shakes her head at me, but she doesn’t seem pissed or anything. "I thought so," she sighs, trailing her fingers over my chest in the most tantalizing way. "Most people get a little freaked when they find out who I am."
"I can imagine."
"But they don’t seem to get that I’m my own woman," she continues, shaking her head. "And I can make my own choices. Just because my father wouldn’t approve of everything that I’m doing with my life doesn’t mean that I’m crazy for wanting it."
"No, I get that," I agree. I don’t want her to feel like I am patronizing her, but at the same time, I need to know that she wants this as much as I do.
"Good." She moves her hand to my head, running her fingers over my scalp. I swear, I feel like I am lighting up every time she puts a hand on me. It’s almost more than I can take, but I manage to contain my primal desire to bend her over the seat and fuck her here and now.
"I came here to get away from that," she continues, a little more softly than before. "Not my father, just – just all the pressure that comes from being seen as nothing more than this good little girl, you know?”
"I understand," I reply. "I don’t think I could handle any of that. It’d drive me crazy."
"Yeah, it drives me crazy sometimes, too," she agrees with a sigh. "You should have seen what it was like at my Christian college – oh, that stuff was just too much for me."
"You went to a Christian college?" I ask. Honestly, I have a hard time imagining someone like her somewhere like that.
She nods. "Right out of high school," she explains. "I did my first couple of years there, but it just wasn’t for me. And the men – I swear, most of them were just trying to out-pious each other. Felt like nobody actually wanted to have any fun or explore the world, you know?"
"So why did you stay so long?" I ask.
"My father," she admits. "Didn’t want to let him down."
"And you didn’t find some nice Christian boy to marry?” I ask her, teasingly. She grins at me and shakes her head.
"No, none of them were to my taste." She shrugs. "They weren’t real men. They weren’t like you.” She grins and slides an arm over my chest, as though she is still having a hard time believing that I am right here in front of her. "They were all canned lines, you know?" she remarks, shaking her head. "Every time any of them came near me, it was like they had planned out exactly how the conversation would go in their heads. And they couldn’t handle it when I didn’t play by those rules."