Nerd Gone Wild

by Vicki Lewis Thompson

  Yet she had reason to believe her body could turn a guy on. She wasn’t some inexperienced virgin, after all. She’d had boyfriends. She’d incited lust on more than one occasion by stripping down to her panties.

  Then again, maybe he was used to seeing her bare legs. Shorts had been a mainstay of her wardrobe back in Bel Air, and his office looked out on the swimming pool where she’d spent lots of hours in a bathing suit. So seeing her legs was nothing new for him.

  Well, that sucked. If she was going to be in a sweat over his body, he should at least have some reaction to hers. She stroked her thigh absently, as if rubbing a spot that itched a little bit. From under her lashes she watched for a reaction.

  His expression stayed the same as he dealt the cards. But his breathing didn’t. Then he coughed, as if to cover up his reaction.

  Feeling a whole lot better, she drained the last of her beer and looked at her new hand to see if this would be the time she’d make the T-shirt disappear. She had to be careful, because she had only two items to get rid of and he had three.

  She won. This time she didn’t make the mistake of shuffling while he pulled the T-shirt over his head. Good thing. The hem of the shirt was like a curtain going up on the feature show. What fabulous abs. What a nice soft mat of dark hair. What pecs. What shoulders.

  She glanced away at the last moment, right before he pulled the shirt over his head and was able to see again. Then she started shuffling the cards.

  “Guess your luck’s back.”

  “Guess so.” She took the shirt, which still felt warm. She wanted to hold it up to her cheek, like Linus with his blankie, while she gawked at Mitchell in all his glory. But then she wouldn’t look cool. “Need the heat turned up?” she asked.

  “Nope. I’m good.”

  She thought he probably was. And she, silly girl, had told him that having sex was a bad idea. Right now it seemed like the best idea in the world. An outstanding idea, come to think of it.

  She dealt the cards.

  “Now the game gets interesting.” Mitchell looked at his cards, smiled, and made a bet.

  She had squat. She should fold, and move on to the next game. She should, but she wasn’t going to. Picking up five matches, she called his bet.

  The blood rushed in her ears as the game progressed. She was going to lose. On purpose. She wanted to find out what he’d do when she took off her sweatshirt. She wanted to know if he’d maintain his control in the face of her going topless.

  At the end of the game, she turned over her puny cards. Her fingers trembled a little, but her voice stayed calm. “So much for luck.”

  “Uh, yeah.” He sounded hoarse and he paused to clear his throat again. “I win that one.”

  She looked into his eyes. Her heart was beating so fast she could barely breathe, but he didn’t seem all that cool and collected, either. He hadn’t even bothered to pick up the cards and start shuffling for the next hand. She wondered if he’d be able to play cards at all, once she took off her sweatshirt.

  Time to find out. Grabbing the hem, she whipped the shirt off. Then she checked his eyes for signs of booby shock.

  He looked as if someone had flashed a strobe light in his face. His throat moved in a quick swallow, but otherwise he was perfectly motionless.

  Immensely gratified, she decided to rub it in. She waved her hand in front of his eyes. “Earth to Mitchell. Come in, Mitchell.”

  He blinked and shook his head as if awakening from a trance. “Uh, right.”

  “Too distracting for you?” She propped her hands behind her and leaned back. “Ready to concede the game?”

  “No.” His expression evolved from awestruck to intense. He gathered the cards without looking down. “I’m ready to win another hand.”

  * * *

  She is so beautiful. Mitch didn’t know how he’d be able to tell clubs from spades when all he could do was stare at her. She wanted him to ogle her, too. She flaunted those high, raspberry-tipped breasts, making sure that she didn’t block his view as she concentrated on her hand.

  Meanwhile, his concentration was shot to hell. Much as he wanted to win the hand and see if she’d peel off those panties, he couldn’t seem to get it together. She won easily.

  “So?” She gazed at him with interest.

  If he took off his pants, she’d find out that he was like a totem pole underneath the restriction of the heavy material. He wasn’t ready to announce his condition yet. So he took off his glasses and handed them to her.

  “Hey, what’s that all about? You can’t play without your glasses.”

  “Sure I can, if I get close enough to the cards.”

  “Glasses don’t count. They aren’t clothes.”

  “I was wearing them. I say they count.”

  “So I’m fuzzy to you now, right?”

  “Uh-huh.” Fuzzy might help him out with his control, but he could see her perfectly with his contacts.

  “I get it. If I’m fuzzy, you’ll be able to pay more attention to the game.”

  “I’m paying attention.”

  “No you’re not.” She smiled. “I can tell. Haven’t you ever played poker with an almost naked woman before, Mitchell?”

  “Sure.” He’d told her so many fibs, what was one more?

  “I don’t believe you. I think this is your first-ever strip-poker game. And you are so going to lose.” She shuffled the cards.

  Oh, Lord. He hadn’t considered what her shuffling technique could mean under these circumstances. Instead of dividing the deck in half and shuffling the ends of the cards together, she held the entire deck loosely in one hand while she pulled out sections and fed them back in with a chopping motion. Consequently her breasts shimmied in the most tantalizing display he’d ever seen, even counting the strip joint he’d gone to for his twenty-first birthday bash. His mouth watered. His hands clenched. He was over the edge.

  “Ally.”

  “What?” She kept shuffling as she glanced up. Her lips parted as she gazed at him.

  What little blood had been left in his brain drained south. He needed to tell her to stop shuffling the damned cards, but his tongue wouldn’t cooperate.

  “Mitchell, are you all right?”

  He shook his head. He was in the grip of a need so fierce it was flooding him with hormones, marinating him in testosterone. He’d never wanted a woman this much in his life.

  She stopped shuffling and put down the cards. “You look feverish.”

  Which he probably was. He was afraid to speak, afraid all that would come out would be earthy, four-letter words describing what he wanted to do to her.

  “Mitchell, say something. You look like you’re having a heart attack.” She rose to her knees and reached across the playing area to put a hand on his knee.

  That did it. The minute she touched him, he went up in flames. Adrenaline mixed with desire was a potent cocktail, and he was drunk with it. Grabbing her waist in both hands, he stood in one smooth movement, amazing even himself as he managed to get them both upright without staggering.

  She shrieked as he plopped her onto the bed, shoved pillows out of the way, and followed her down.

  “Mitchell!” She grasped his head in both hands. “What are you doing?”

  Holding her gaze, he ripped off her panties, which were sufficiently wet to make him even wilder. Then he plunged his fingers deep into her hot, wet vagina. Right before he kissed her, the gift of speech returned. “If you don’t know, then you’re not as smart as I thought you were.” Then he kissed her hard while he made her come.

  * * *

  Ally had never climaxed so fast, ever. From the moment Mitchell had grabbed her and flung her to the bed, she’d been halfway there, and when he’d ripped off her panties, tearing the cotton right in two, that had nearly done the trick. A few rapid thrusts from his fingers and she was airborne, flying high on a powerful orgasm.

  Wrenching her mouth away from the force of his kiss, she gasped for breath and ment
ally thanked whoever had invented poker. “Mitch…” It was all she had the energy to say. And it did sound right. One syllable fit this unbelievable rush of lust much better than two.

  From the time she’d decided to lose a game and take off her sweatshirt, she’d known this would be the probable outcome. She hadn’t known when or how, but she’d surrendered to the inevitability. Given Mitchell’s personality, she’d expected something less… explosive. But she wasn’t complaining.

  His breath feathered her ear. “That’s one.”

  “What… what do you mean?” She quickly found out. While she was still quivering from that first wild ride, he slid down between her thighs and began paving the way for another one.

  He didn’t waste any time about it, either. No coy little nibbles and licks for this man. He moved right in and proceeded to show how much he knew about this particular activity. And he knew a lot. If anyone awarded a Ph.D. in oral sex, Mitch deserved one.

  The moon, sun, stars, and planets flashed behind her eyelids at the intense pleasure. He used exactly the right pressure, exactly the right suction, exactly the right stroke of his tongue to make her writhe in his arms and, finally, arch off the bed. As the waves of another climax crashed over her shuddering body, she clutched handfuls of the blanket and cried out her joy.

  His warm breath tickled her damp thigh. “That’s two,” he murmured.

  While she continued to float on a sea of utter satisfaction, the bedsprings creaked as he left her. From the rustling noises she had a good idea what he might be doing. Opening her eyes, she turned her head to look, and was oh, so glad she did. A girl didn’t want to miss seeing her gift package being unwrapped.

  He shoved down his briefs. Oh, my. To think she’d almost denied herself something that amazing. Anyone groping Mitch under the table would get a handful and then some. Ally hated to see the latex being rolled over all that natural beauty, but maybe she’d get a chance to explore the territory later on.

  Climbing back onto the bed, he moved over her. Brazen hussy that she was, she spread her legs and bent her knees, making things easy for him. She’d hate for him to lose his way.

  Not much chance of that with a man as focused as Mitch seemed to be. With the smile of a man who knows his business and is damned proud of it, he sent that heat-seeking missile straight to its target.

  “Mm.” Her little expression of delight didn’t even begin to tell the story. If she’d thought she was in paradise before, she’d only been cruising down the street in that direction. This was the place.

  Mitch looked into her eyes. “Not bad.”

  She gripped his hips and wiggled in tighter. “Not bad at all. Am I fuzzy?”

  “You’re hot and wet.” He withdrew and pushed in again. “Not fuzzy. Unless you mean here.” He reached down and stroked her curls, rubbing his knuckle against her clit. “That part’s sorta fuzzy.”

  Instantly she felt the tightening begin again. “I didn’t mean that. I meant can you see me, or am I blurry?”

  “You’re beautiful.”

  “You didn’t answer… the question.” But she completely lost track of the question as he continued to rub his knuckle right there, right where all sorts of happiness lived.

  Then he began moving his hips in a slow, easy rhythm while he kept his knuckle moving, moving, bringing her closer. The bedsprings kept time with his movements, and he smiled. “Didn’t fix ‘em.”

  “No.” She began to pant. “But you’re… fixing… me.”

  “Good.” He gazed down at her, his eyes hot as they traveled over her face, her breasts, and down to the spot where he was giving her a double dose of all things wonderful. Then he glanced into her eyes again. “Want to watch?”

  Her breath caught.

  “Yeah, you do. I can see it in your eyes.” He paused long enough to snag both pillows and prop them under her head. “Enjoy.”

  She looked down the length of her body as he settled in again. Wild. Watching him thrust while feeling the friction deep inside threw her into a whole other category of pleasure. And when he slipped his hand between her legs and started in on her clit again, she felt control sliding rapidly away.

  The bedsprings squeaked a little faster. Oh, yeah. She kept watching that magic wand of his disappearing inside, retaining and disappearing again. He was casting a spell, all right. This was good. This was very… good.

  As she hovered on the brink of an orgasm, he pumped faster, and she came in a rush, gasping and laughing all at the same time. What a trip!

  Slowing down, he kissed her gently on the mouth. “That’s three.”

  And finally she knew what was going on with this counting business, and she got the giggles. “It’s not a contest between you and Poopsie, you know.”

  “I know.” He nibbled on her lower lip.

  “So why are you counting?”

  “Because I wanted to make you laugh besides making you come.”

  “You did. Both things.”

  “Anyway, I feel like I could do this all night.”

  She’d never felt more ready for a long night of sex. “I know what you mean.” But then she remembered the jammed machine in the men’s room at the Top Hat. “Are you wearing the only condom?” Maybe that’s why he was making this episode last.

  “That would be a sad state of affairs, now wouldn’t it, with me ready to come any second?”

  She cupped his face in both hands. “Go ahead and come, Mitch.”

  “You called me Mitch.”

  “It works in bed.”

  He laughed. “Okay. I can live with that.”

  “So, Mitch, if you come now, and later on, you feel the urge again, I’ll take care of you. There are alternatives, you know.”

  “Oh, yeah?” His dark eyes sparkled. “Like what?”

  She ran her tongue over her lips. “Use your imagination.”

  “My imagination is making me want to come right now.”

  “So do it.”

  “I just might.” He started moving again. This time he went even deeper, stroking her with long, deliberate thrusts. “And for your information,” he murmured, his mouth curving in a soft smile. “The machine in the men’s room is fixed.”

  * * *

  Considering the way he’d felt when he’d first grabbed Ally and tossed her on the bed, Mitch could barely believe that he’d held off his own climax through three of hers. But it wasn’t only Clyde’s performance that had inspired him. Ally inspired him.

  When he’d felt her body humming beneath his on the bed, when he’d felt how sopping wet her panties were and realized she was ready for action, he’d wanted to make it happen right that second, right when she needed it. And she’d come so gloriously that he’d gotten hooked on the idea of getting her to do it again. The second time had been beyond great, so he’d clamped down on his own response in order to give her number three.

  He’d thought he’d had a reasonably good sex life up to now. Nope, Blahsville. He’d never felt this white-hot urgency before, never dreamed of doing it all night, doing it constantly until neither of them could move. Wearing each other out.

  And now he was looking into her eyes and watching the tension build there, wanting to know that she was close before he let go. She was getting close. This was the woman of his dreams, someone who matched him urge for urge.

  In the back of his mind he’d known it all along. He’d denied the truth because he couldn’t see it working out for them. There was the chemistry between them, which meant they were perfect for each other. Then there was the harsh reality of all that money. The idea of her marrying some rich idiot because at least they’d have financial parity sickened him, but it would make more sense than Ally hooking up with a guy like Mitchell J. Carruthers, Jr.

  For now, though, he was in her bed and she was welcoming him in wonderful ways, tightening around him and meeting each thrust with a lift of her hips. They didn’t have a future, but they had one hell of a present. Gazing down at her flushed
face, he watched her build to a climax.

  The bed squeaked frantically as he tipped her over the edge. Then the squeaking became a constant din as he rode hard to his own nirvana. All the way there he watched her face, and knew this was how it was supposed to be between a man and a woman. Then he came, and as glory rained down around him, he refused to think of anything but the wonder of this moment.

  Chapter Twenty-two

  “Is the poker game over, then?” Ally had propped herself against the headboard with a pillow and was sipping her second beer while Mitch fiddled with the baseboard heater, trying to turn it down. Despite the coating of frost on the window, they’d both worked up a sweat.

  He glanced over his shoulder and grinned at her. “Want to get dressed and try it all over again?”

  She waved her beer bottle in the air. “Way too much trouble. Hey, forget that thing and come on back to bed.”

  “Yeah, I can’t figure it out.” He stood and walked toward her. “Maybe it’s broken.” He picked up his second beer from the floor and twisted off the cap. “We’ll have to stay naked, I guess.”

  “Now that’s a darned shame.” She looked him over for about the tenth time, still not believing that such a body had been parading around the mansion for months and she’d never noticed. Clothes really could make the man, or not, as in Mitchell’s case.

  Not Mitchell. Mitch. The shortened version fit a guy who could play such fabulous bedroom games. “I’m going to take Rudy’s suggestion and start calling you Mitch all the time,” she said.

  “Not just in bed?” He climbed in beside her and put a pillow behind his back so he could lean against the headboard.

  “I think I want to use it all the time.”

  He laid a hand on her thigh. “But if you only used it when you were feeling like making the bedsprings creak, it could be a signal. You could call me Mitchell most of the time, and Mitch when you were ready to get naked.”

  His hand on her thigh was starting her engines again. But this time it was a lazy, no-pressure kind of arousal, the kind she was content to let build for a while. “In that case, I might as well stick with Mitch.”