Girl-Nerds Like it Longer (Erotic Romance) Book 4

by Dunning, Rachel

  "Yeah, in bed, how was she?"

  "She was...pretty...good."

  "You don't need to lie to me, Clay. I want the metrics. I want the numbers, the stats."

  "It's not all about numbers, Layla."

  I retorted quickly. "It should be."

  He turned to look at me. "But it isn't."

  When he moved in to kiss me on my pillow, a tear stung my eye. I didn't break down and sob, but I did cry a little. "What the fuck is happening to me, Clay? I came here to get a Computer Science Degree and I'm leaving with an Emo Degree."

  I searched his long eyelashes, his straight nose and small nostrils. I imagined that my own eyes must be quivering like an archer on crack trying to hold an arrow straight. Because that's how my mind felt.

  "She has big boobs, that woman..."

  "Camila?"

  "Yes, that woman. The other woman."

  "OK..."

  "I don't have big boobs. I have no boobs."

  "You have boobs I like kissing."

  "You hardly ever kiss my boobs, you always kiss my...you know."

  "Should I kiss your boobs more often?"

  I paused. "Yes, you should. You should kiss my nipples and lick the areolae slowly—"

  "The what?"

  "Clay, you're a walking encyclopedia, and you don't know what an areola is?"

  "Clearly not."

  "It's the pink...around the nipple. I want you to lick them both more often."

  "You're making me hard, Layla."

  I still felt too insecure to comment, or even to find that funny. But I did ease my hand over his denims, to his shaft. "You are indeed getting hard."

  His suddenly sinking eyelids betrayed how much he enjoyed what I was doing.

  I heated up my hand over him.

  His breathing became deeper, more regular.

  I started undoing his button and he moved his hand over to my crotch again.

  "Uh-uh," I said. "Not yet. Let me play with you a little, OK?"

  "You already played with me tonight."

  "Now let me do it some more."

  When I got his zip down, the smell of his earlier sex was like H boiling on a spoon for me. It made me swim in my juices.

  My mouth salivated.

  I brought myself back from the daze and eased my hand under his warm balls. I fondled them and rubbed them. Massaged them. I felt him grow harder and harder. When he was hard enough, I caressed his shaft up and down. Slowly, but forcefully.

  His brow developed a light sheen. His breathing was manly and ragged now.

  I let him go, and brought that hand up to his cheek. I closed my eyes and moved in to kiss him. In between kisses, I said, "Kiss my areolae, baby."

  "I love it when you talk geek, babe."

  "Lick my perineum as well."

  He groaned in response.

  He got on top of me and eased in between my clothed legs. He took my shirt off.

  I never wear a bra because my tits are too small for that.

  I expected him to swoop down like an eagle or a hungry carnivore.

  But he didn't.

  He took his pants the rest of the way off and stood on his knees. He took his shirt off. He was completely nude now. With his index and his thumb, he grabbed my left nipple in his right hand.

  And he squeezed.

  First I gave a whimper, sudden and surprised!

  Then I said, "Mmmmmmmm."

  My body started to writhe and turn, slowly, easily.

  Below, I was throbbing and pulsing. I felt so wet that I thought my jeans would be stained by now.

  He took the other nipple, the right one, and squeezed it between his fingers as well.

  It was like knives up to my neck, daggers spearing me.

  My back arched upwards and, again, I groaned, "Mmmmmmmmm."

  He pressed my overly stiff teats and then, gently, gave each a tight twist. The tang sizzled up and down my sides. I tried breathing in through my nose, then out through my mouth. I actually had to consciously focus on my respiration now!

  Because the software drivers to my eyes had been uninstalled or had run into a failure, I couldn't open my lids anymore. So, it was with moist surprise that I felt the first damp flick of the tip of his tongue against my right nipple.

  I was so hard it amazed me that we didn't hear an A-note being played from the solid tuning fork which was now my breast.

  My mouth trembled so much I could hardly speak. "Clayton, my nipples have never been this hard in my life. My cunt has never felt this wet. If you don't fuck me now, I'm gonna go freaking insane."

  Clayton did nothing but flick his tongue again, over the left nipple this time.

  "Oh, fuck, Clayton. Baby. Please, please just make me snap. Fuck me or finger me or lick me, but I need to come. I'm so damn clenched up now!"

  He flicked his tongue over my right nipple. Just one flick.

  "AAAAARGH! Damn it, Clay!" I forced my eyes open! I saw the top of his head near my pale ironing board of a chest.

  Then I felt air. Cold, direct air pressure as he blew on my skin in a line from on nipple to the other.

  I gave up trying. My whole body felt like a piano string, the highest, tautest note.

  I let him carry me away.

  He licked a line across my skin, left nipple to right nipple. Then blew on it. He did it again.

  On my right breast, he lapped around my areola, flat tongued and wet. Then he blew on it.

  He did the same on the left.

  My sounds were now tortured whimpers, unending, pleading. "Clay, forget what I said about taking it slow. Just fuck me, baby. Please!"

  He moved up so his lips were to my ear. His bare cock on my clothed nub almost sent me surging. He spoke low. "Layla, I heard you, baby. And if you're ready, we can definitely make love. But not in a dark room like this without any romance. Our next 'first time' will be different than the last."

  He was probably right. I guess it should be a little more romantic, shouldn't it?

  Although, surrounded by computers and his own shining joystick between his legs, there was little more I could think of to make this room any more special than it already was.

  But I put that logic down to the hormones currently clouding my thinking.

  "Please make me come, then," I pleaded. "I can't take it anymore."

  "How do you want it?"

  "I want your cock inside me."

  "That you're not getting. Choice two?"

  "Your tongue. Put your tongue inside me." I opened my eyes long enough to see him grin.

  "I was hoping you'd say that."

  If there was a time-span between the moment he moved down to take my jeans off and then washed me in his balmy saliva, I didn't notice it. Just like I didn't notice the time-span between when his tongue scraped my inner labia and the orgasm started pounding me like a game of Mortal Kombat just before the final kill.

  I jolted and thrust and spasmed more than Luigi Galvani's frog after he pumped electricity through its legs.

  But it was bliss.

  In the end, all I could do was smile. A giddy, lost-somewhere-but-don't-know-where smile.

  When Clayton lay next to me, I realized, somewhere in the back of my foggy consciousness, that I should finish him off as well.

  But all I wanted to do was sleep now.

  "Bring your cock up to my mouth," I said, eyes already closing.

  He laughed. "Yeah right. You look about as ready to put your lips together and blow as Microsoft is to tell Google it knows a thing or two about searching."

  I chuckled lightly, already half elsewhere. "No, um, come on, I'll..." I started to fade off. I shook my head awake! I sat up and pushed him off the bed so he was standing. I put him in my mouth and pumped.

  He took himself out of me just before he came and wrapped his tee around his cock. I kept pumping him with my hand underneath it. His melodic groans filled the room while I began dozing off, still rubbing him. Still sitting on the edge of the bed! />
  The last thing I remember was him spooning behind me, his hardish shaft now touching my bare ass. And him kissing me on the ear, then whispering good night to me.

  -11-

  Cougar-woman was at the university grounds the next day, just as I was walking out. She'd gotten a new car. Red, low-riding. Ferrari? Must be from the settlement she no doubt got in her divorce.

  Her divorce. Oh, right. She was single now. She wasn't tied up to anybody anymore. And she'd clearly gotten a good deal out of it. A good enough deal to not have to worry about a man having to "provide for her" anymore.

  A good enough deal for her to be able to fuck some young dude's meat as much as she wanted to while they drank margaritas on her freaking yacht or something!

  Clay had another class for the day. Mandi was having a romantic afternoon out with her girlfriend in a thermal tent in the woods after setting it up that she could control the college cameras remotely.

  I was all alone.

  Give me someone's Facebook account and I'll get into it. I'll post shit on their wall and find all their embarrassing videos and photos and make sure those humiliating moments will never stop floating around in cyberspace.

  But give me real confrontation? I go weak...

  I averted my eyes and looked down as I approached the main steps...and her car. I strayed to the right, trying to avoid her. But when I got to the sidewalk, she pulled out the guns. "Hey, hussy, come here."

  My heart sank.

  She was very tall, but almost everyone's taller than me. Nonetheless, she seemed gargantuan now.

  She wore Jackie Onassis style shades and a large brim-hat, a white pencil skirt. And, as usual, her breasts just looked freaking ginormous.

  A fur-coat covered her up. I figured it must be real fur. She didn't look like the type who cared about killing helpless animals to get what she wanted.

  I, however, contrasted her with my denims, football sweater, Skechers, and a backpack around my shoulders.

  Sexy. Just like Clayton liked me.

  I toughened up and focused really hard on what I wanted to say because, although I might look like no competition, I sure wasn't gonna act like it!

  "You...talking to me?" I asked.

  "Do you see any other blooming hussies here?"

  If this got into a chick-fight, I'd lose. "I'm not a hussy."

  Er, right, Layla, real good comeback, babe...

  She inhaled ceremoniously, took her shades off, wiped them clean.

  She smirked.

  We were still a little distance away so she was talking quite loudly. There were other students on the steps, and I was starting to feel a little embarrassed.

  Then again, that I, the nerdy kid, was going up against this broad, and technically winning—even though it didn't feel like it—would probably boost up my social stature more than any sexy skirts or make-up ever would.

  "You know," she said, looking at the college grounds instead of me, "I'm actually here to help you."

  Wind blasted against us. She held her hat down.

  "Clayton will eventually leave you, you know that? I mean, he and I have years of history together."

  Her pompous British accent was really vexing me.

  "It wasn't only sex. It never is," she said.

  I thought of Nathan. She was right. It's never only about the sex, especially the longer you're together with someone.

  "But, even if it were," she continued, "I'm sorry to say that"—she looked me up and down—"I don't think you could ever compete with me in that arena." Her smirk grew bigger.

  "Fuck you."

  I turned and started hightailing it outta there. I had my back to her and was storming away when she caught me up short by saying, "Layla, w—wait! Please—I'm sorry! Please!"

  I hesitated in my stride for a second and then I heard stilettos hitting the ground as she strode toward me. "Layla, I'm sorry, look—"

  She put her hand on my shoulder—

  And then...

  Damn. Oh, man. I did something I never thought I'd do.

  Ever!

  It was a total instinct reaction, adrenaline and cave-woman and all that shit.

  I flung around, and I slammed my tiny hands into her flabby tummy and she teeter-tottered for a second on the spikes of her stilettos and then crashed backwards on her ass and to the ground! Her hat fell off her head and the wind picked it up and flung it up into the skies.

  Then, I did what any adult would do. I gave her the finger, and I said, one more time, "Fuck you!"

  And I stormed off again.

  I was three long strides away...when I heard the sobbing. "Please, Layla, please! I'm...so sorry!"

  I stopped, my fists clenched up. Layla, keep walking, I said to myself.

  But I couldn't.

  I turned, and I saw the lady with her butt on the ground, mascara running every which way.

  Aw, hell, now why did she have to go and do that!

  "Damn it, Layla. You're gonna regret this!" I mumbled to myself.

  I walked up to her and stuck out my hand, meanwhile tapping my foot. "I'm helping you up and then that's it!" I said.

  "Thank you, thank you," said Cougar Camila.

  She was much heavier than I'd expected, so I really struggled to help her up.

  But she was indeed voluptuous, damn it. That wasn't "flab" on her stomach, that was downright erotic Rubenesque woman shapeliness!

  "There, I helped you up, now I'm leaving!"

  "Please, wait." Her hand grazed my shoulder. She removed it quickly. "Please, Layla, I..."

  Black lines ran down her cheeks. She wiped them off and sniffled.

  "I thought it was hussy."

  "Lay—Layla, I'm...I'm Camila." She extended her hand out to me.

  Don't shake it. Don't shake it!

  She was being so darn polite that I...shook it.

  "Layla," I said. "But I see you knew that already." Her hair was flying in all directions. "Sorry about...the hat."

  She laughed. "No, I...I deserved it. Look, I need to talk to you. And you need to listen to what I have to say."

  "If you're gonna tell me how Clayton shouldn't be with me and—"

  She put her hand up, but the way she did it made me stop talking. Because there'd been an odd sincerity in her large brown eyes.

  Everything about this woman was large.

  Large money, large booty, large boobies, large... Must be.

  "You're...right that I want to be with Clayton. And you're right that this is not a 'friendship call.' But I'm also right that he and I spent years together. He loved me and...I loved him. Love him, present tense—"

  "I think I've heard enough."

  "Clayton has certain needs, Layla. Certain...sexual...needs...that I fulfilled in him. Do you really think he'll stay with you if those needs don't get satisfied?" She shifted her bra slightly. For a second I thought I was gonna be knocked over by the incoming H-cup.

  "He and I have a perfect sex life."

  "And what about love? He loved me first. He'll always love me. I pushed him away at first. But now that I'm not doing that anymore, he has no reason to stay away from me."

  "Except me," I said.

  She...smiled. A condescending smile, but a smile anyway. "Layla, you need to know your enemy. I am warning you, I will not stop chasing him. Because I love him. You need to know what you're up against. Because if you're positive that Clayton has no feelings for me, that you're perfectly secure with your"—she looked me up and down—"figure, then you have nothing to fear. But if there's even the slightest doubt in your mind..."

  There was plenty of doubt in my mind. "Your point is?"

  "Have a drink with me, at my place. Get to know me."

  "Why, so you can convince me how much better you are than me?"

  "No, so I can show you what Clayton and I had. So you know it. Think about it, if he really does love you, you have nothing to fear. But if he still has feelings for me, wouldn't you want to know what you'r
e up against? Because, like I said, I am going to fight for him! And I have a feeling you know there's something there between me and him that you're afraid isn't dead. Would you really want to stay in a relationship with someone when it's doomed?"

  For a dumb bimbo, the chick had a point. "So, you're taking me into the lion's den. Sorry, the cougar's den."

  She smiled wryly at my dig. "Precisely."

  I dug my feet in the ground. She was sort of right. This freaking hussy was right.

  I did need to know. Clayton had been with her for years.

  And if there's one thing I learned from Nathan Lockwood, there is no such thing as a physical-only relationship. It doesn't mean I understood what there was instead, but there isn't that.

  There are always emotions involved. Always.

  Would I ever go back to Nathan? If he fought for me? If he came to me and begged and told me he'd changed, and that I'd been the reason for that change?

  Like this woman is intending to do for Clayton?

  I can't say I wouldn't.

  Oh, damn it. This was a clear case of poorly planned systems architecture! And I was the architecture! I just wasn't programmed to be a high-powered server that can juggle multiple clients at the same time, not like this chick. She'd been juggling her husband and Clayton for years! And now that the husband was out the way, she had all those extra resources she could use to focus on Clayton.

  And what about me?

  In all honesty, if I truly faced the facts, there was another factor in the equation at play here. Nathan. I was also a little insecure about my own feelings and desires for him. So who's to say that Clayton wasn't confused about his feelings and desires for this siren in front of me?

  I needed to know.

  I needed to know just how deep this thing had gone with her. I needed to know just how much she'd influenced him.

  I needed to know into which basket I should put all my eggs.

  OK, bad pun. But I'm a geek, not a writer.

  -12-

  "Fine, I'll go with you," I said.

  I texted Clay and told him I wouldn't be able to see him today. I didn't tell him why. Then I put my phone off.

  I told Miss Homewrecker here that, if she wanted me to go with her, she'd have to pick me up away from the college grounds, because there was no ways I was letting these kids on the steps spread the word that I left in her car. As far as Clayton should know, I had a run-in with her, and that was all.