Page 20 of Fundamentals of Being a Good Girl
“Do you like that?” I murmur, and oh god, what am I murmuring? What am I saying? We haverules. But I have to know. I have to. “Were you jealous when you thought I was still married?”
Her eyelids are hooded now, her long, dark lashes nearly brushing her cheeks. “Yes,” she releases on a low note. “I was jealous.”
“You want me all to yourself?”
She swallows and closes her eyes all the way. Nods.
I do what I definitely should not do, and I brush my lips gently over the shell of her ear as I speak. “I’m not scared of your jealousy, Madelyn. I’ve got nothing to hide. But if you’re going to come flaunt your bad manners at me, I’m going to assume that you’re looking for attention. And you should know that I’m happy to give it to you.”
A barely audible gasp.
“You like that? Does it get you wet to think about me fixing that bratty little attitude of yours?”
We’re still not touching, save for the graze of my lips over her ear, but my words have her trembling and trembling. She finds my hand, and keeping her eyes closed, she pushes it up her skirt. We both inhale when my fingertips encounter hot, wet silk.
She’s soaked.
“Madelyn,” I say as I find the top of her panties and slide my fingers down, down, right into heaven. “You’resucha bad girl—”
A broken moan.
“But you know what I think? I think you’re a good girl, deep, deep down. In fact, I think you want to be my good girl.” I don’t even know what I’m saying—it’s a fog, it’s a fire—all I am is this fuckingfeverfor her. Burning in my blood. Swelling my cock with need. Hollowing out my belly with hunger.
It doesn’t matter, though, because the moment I say those words—good girl—it’s like everything in Maddie changes. A low, whining whimper quivers through her as her cunt grows hotter and wetter and softer. Her lips part and her eyes open and she has this expression of shock, butgoodshock, and she’s nodding then, quick, desperate.
“Yes,” she says, and now she’s trying to fuck my fingers, her hands grabbing at my forearm. “Yes, please. I’ll be your good girl—”
The front door opens and slams shut with a glass-rattlingbangand the sound of teenage sobbing fills the ground floor.
Maddie and I both freeze, eyes meeting, my fingers still buried in all that soft heat.
I blow out a silent breath, my fatherly concern briefly warring with the very selfish urge not to move. And then my better angels take over, and I carefully free my hand and adjust Maddie’s dress so it hangs straight again. (And then adjust myself.)
“Wait,” Maddie says quickly as I’m about to leave the office to find Fern. She grabs my hand for the second time today, but this time, she lifts my fingers to her mouth. And licks them clean.
Fuck. Me.
I watch as her tongue curls around each knuckle and pad, and when she whispers a quietthat’s better, I nearly die.
“Good girl,” I tell her, and I relish seeing that delicious shock ripple through her again. Has she never been called a good girl before? Has she neverbeensomeone’s good girl before? Then again, maybe not. Maddie is argumentative and bold and confident, everything you’d expect a law school grad with an interest in political science to be, but not always what the world expects a woman to be. And maybe a person can only go so long being told that they’re the wrong kind of girl before they sayfine,fuck it, if I can’t be a good girl the way I am, then I’ll be a bad girl the way I want to be.Like Milton’s Satan with a thwarted praise kink.*
But I don’t have time to consider what it means that my brat secretly wants to be a good girl. Reluctantly, and with some bodily pain, I leave Maddie in the office and go upstairs to knock on Fern’s (shut and locked) door.
“Fern, honey, is everything okay?” I call.
“Go away!” she cries.
“I’ll give you space if you need it, but can you at least tell me if you’re safe?”
A loud sniffle. “I am.”
“And the other kids at school? Everyone is safe as far as you know?”
“Yes. Now, go away!”
I hate leaving her like this, but it feels ham-fisted and futile to force her to open up when she clearly doesn’t want to. I have no idea what’s worse—leaving her alone to face something clearly upsetting or unhelpfully crowding her when she needs to process something on her own.
Teens need to know they’re supported! But also teens need to learn resilience and independence!Like, why the hell is parenting a teenager so complicated and contradictory? How can this be nature’s plan for us??? Get it wrong, and you risk all sorts of horrors: self-harm, addiction, start-up culture. Get it right, and they hate you anyway for chewing too loudly at the dinner table.
