The Good Girl by Emma Nichols

experimentally. “Seriously...it doesn’t hurt.” Once again, the stupid drugs seemed to be making me overly emotional. Tears had begun to sting my eyes.
    “Doll,” he murmured, leaning over me, “it’s not supposed to hurt. It’s supposed to feel so good.” Then he whispered conspiratorially, “Rumor has it, it feels even better with someone you have a real connection with. At least...that’s what I’ve heard.” He winked at me, but his words had struck a chord. A light had gone on in a new room in my head. It’s not as though I had ever previously experienced this...painlessly. Now, he was suggesting that I might find it pleasurable. Huh.
    Without waiting for another conversation to begin, I began to move my hips slightly. It was frustrating. For some reason, I wasn’t experiencing this euphoria he had described. Right now...it was nothing much to write home about. Still, I couldn’t understand what my friends gossiped about. What was the big deal?

    “Let me show you,” he murmured into my ear while his hips began to pull away from me. It was as though he had read my mind. Then he thrust forward once more. Only, it was far smoother than my inability to adequately express would suggest.

    There was a beautiful fluidity to his movement. There was something amazing about how he was able to multi-task, to touch me so many places and kiss and lick and nip so many others. While I was all caught up in the logistics of it, I was also incredibly overcome by all the feelings and emotions this was stirring within me. It’s the drugs, Willow. I reminded myself again and again, but still, by the time I felt my body orgasm around him, contracting in glorious release while he was deep inside me, I was crying just as much as I was moaning in pleasure.

    Curling up into a ball after he pulled out, I swiped at my face and fell asleep. Stupid drugs. Stupid Wyatt for making me feel.

When I woke, it was still dark and once again I found myself alone in his bed. The only difference was that this time, when I looked around, Wyatt really was gone. Suddenly the room seemed colder and lonelier than it had before. Glancing at his pillow sadly, I found a piece of paper on it.

    Doll,

    #40 & #48

    Call me if you wake up.

    Next to the note...was my phone. When I grabbed it, I discovered a text message from him.
    Look on the nightstand.
    There I found a Gatorade with a message taped to the lid:

    Drink me!
    Made perfect sense. The entire night had a surreal quality to it. It very well could be something out of Alice in Wonderland. Without further thought, I just started following his very explicit directions. Opening the top of the Gatorade, I began to drink, taking long swallows. It was as if I could feel each swig replenishing what I had lost within me. Feeling more myself again, I grabbed my phone and realized it was 4am, then I called Wyatt.

    “Morning, doll!” He exclaimed happily by way of greeting.

    “So, I wake up at 4am and even that isn’t early enough to catch you in bed with me? Really?” I laughed.
    “I decided to drop off a paper to my professor early so I wouldn’t have to go in later this week,” he said. “After all, I have bigger plans for us.”

    “Oh, you do, do you?” I asked as I settled back on the bed lazily.

    “Definitely,” he said intensely. “Now...did I just hear you lie back down in bed?”

    Giggling, I replied, “Maybe…”

    “Good, because I want you all warmed up for me when I get back. We have a nice long recovery day ahead.” He chuckled.

    “Recovery day?” I questioned. “You know this is all new to me.”

    “Yeah, I know, doll. Why do you think I asked if you had to be anywhere today? We’re going to take it easy. You are going to need that.” He was silent for a moment before speaking again and I was too tired to interject my thoughts...or I would have been if I had any. “Now...what are you wearing?” His voice had a seductive air to it that left me shivering