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

by Dunning, Rachel

  Clayton's looks meant he had other suitors as well. Not only this sexy broad here. And, yet, I'd never seen him with any other girls. And that was another problem. Because there really was something to this temptress. Something that had initially attracted him to her, and then kept him with her. Something that made her an opponent I feared more than the biggest boss of any computer game ever developed.

  Something I needed to understand.

  And, if I couldn't beat her in a fair fight, here was something I needed to learn the cheat codes for. Whatever Clayton felt for her was his business. I wouldn't be able to change that. But this bitch had made it personal.

  So I made it my personal mission to take her down.

  I was feeling so bad-ass.

  I was ready to downright blow her out the water.

  I waited around the corner, fists clenched, ready to bomb her to smithereens.

  I was feeling so wicked...

  Until she picked me up.

  Then I didn't feel wicked at all.

  I felt...pretty intimidated.

  The engine of her sports car revved so powerfully that it felt like a huge vibrator on wheels. Maybe it was. The car screamed like a banshee out of there. Its engine hummed and roared all the way while my ass was massaged by its heated leather seats and my olfactory nerves were caressed by its polished smell.

  The second assault on my confidence came when we arrived at her house. No, excuse me, her mansion.

  The gates were so tall I thought I would meet Saint Peter himself. We drove in and there was a circle by her front door with a fountain in the center. And a portico covering the entrance.

  Inside the house, everything was marble with gold trimming. Stairs spiraled upwards into the no-doubt plush bedroom where she and Clayton had probably fucked up a storm together.

  I swallowed hard.

  She sashayed glamorously past me in her designer dress. A butler came out from nowhere, holding a tray, and offered me a flute with some sparkly beverage in it. No doubt alcoholic.

  I downed it.

  Then I downed the second one on there as well.

  I looked out the back sliding doors and the view was breathtaking.

  A perfect view to screw in front of, I thought.

  There was a pool outside, and, beyond it, just open country rolling on forever.

  "Layla?"

  Her statement brought me back.

  The only way to explain how I felt in this house was...I felt like a kid.

  An honest-to-goodness child in her presence.

  I was already overwhelmed.

  She guided me to a room with a flatscreen TV that looked like something out of an IMAX theater.

  "Sit, please," she said.

  I sat at a cream two-seater. It was so soft it almost gave me an orgasm.

  There was a glass table in the center; a plush, white rug underneath it.

  "Another drink?" she asked.

  I shook my head.

  She was standing, looking down at me. "Sure? I think you'll need one. I think you might need...several."

  "No, I'm good."

  "Suit yourself."

  She picked up a remote and pressed a button. Blinds ratcheted down over the windows and the room went dark. The TV came on. First the screen was black, but the surround sound was there.

  From the speakers I heard the following:

  Camila: "Want me to suck your cock?"

  Clayton: "Of course I do."

  Then: Moaning, as if she had his hard-on in her mouth.

  Then: Him groaning...

  "Um," I said, "whiskey. Neat."

  "That's what I thought."

  She paused it.

  The blinds came up. She'd since sat on the one-seater to my left.

  She called her butler who brought out some Bourbon. I poured a glass and downed it. Damn, it burned!

  I downed another.

  She put the blinds down again.

  This time, the screen did show an image, as if she'd only been breaking the news to me slowly beforehand.

  On the screen I saw the dark hair on the top of her head as it bobbed up and down in a blur of motion. Confidently fast. The sounds were loud and affected, like she was sucking a lollipop and wanted to make sure everybody knew it.

  Then she looked up at the camera and licked her full lips. She licked the cock I was seeing—it must be Clayton's—full-tongued from bottom to top, grinning, looking up at the camera.

  "Do you love me?" she asked.

  "Oh, yes, Camila. Oh..." She went down on him. "Oh! Yes!"

  That's my Clayton, I thought.

  With his hard-on still in her mouth, she mumbled, "Tell me you love me."

  "Oh, God, I love you. I so....ooooh...damn, you give the best fucking blowjobs."

  She slurped him out her mouth, looked up at him, that constant evil grin on her. She pumped him with her right hand.

  The camera moved back and I saw her knees. She was on her haunches, wearing heels but otherwise fully naked. Her breasts were so large I saw them even beyond her chin.

  I don't have breasts like that.

  She was playing the bad girl.

  She kept rubbing him up and down. His cock was gleaming and shiny and pulsing. She rubbed his pre-come and her saliva over the tip, then pulled the cock down and just tickled her tongue all over it. Then she sucked the head.

  I heard the slurping and popping sounds loudly again.

  Clayton's moans filled the room. Surround sound.

  It was so real I might as well be watching the two of them doing it right here in front of me!

  I'd never be able to hear those moans the same way again, I realized.

  She looked up again, smiling her wicked smile, still jerking him off slowly.

  "Do you like videoing me baby?"

  "I do."

  She put him in her mouth, went down and up just once.

  She looked up at him again and licked her lips. "Do I suck your cock better than that other girl?"

  "Oh, Cam, why must you bring that up now?"

  She put him in her mouth and sucked, pulling him back viciously. He growled!

  She looked up. "Tell me, Clayton. Tell me I suck your cock better than that Layla hussy."

  "Oh, Cam, oh, please don't—"

  She pumped him! Slammed up and down and thrust—

  "Oh, god, yes!" he cried.

  She stopped! Took her hand off him!

  He heaved and moaned. "Oh, Camila, please don't stop, please!"

  She went serious. "Tell me I suck your cock better than that fucking Layla bitch!"

  "You suck my cock better than anyone ever sucked my cock!"

  "Say it! Say her name!"

  "You suck my cock better than... Oh, Camila, you're killing me here."

  She eased her lips over his manhood, slowly, pushed down...

  Then left him hanging again.

  She whispered, "Say it, and I'll suck you until you squirt it all inside me. Then I'll keep sucking you until you're fully dry."

  His manhood was absolutely thrumming. On the edge. This must be torture!

  I remembered how he'd brought me to the edge yesterday by squeezing my nipples. I remembered how, in that moment, I would've done anything to have him make me climax! Hell, I would've even told him I loved Camila for Christ's sake!

  "You suck better cock than...Layla. Much better. You're the best fucking cock-sucker in the whole goddamned—"

  She went to work on him. Her head moved up and down so fast that the camera shook. He roared and the scene went to the wall and the ceiling. If it hadn't been clear before, now it certainly was, that Clayton was the one holding the camera.

  He focused back on her. She was sucking him, absolutely and completely, like she'd promised, squeezing every last drop from him.

  He groaned pleasantly and non-stop for minutes. She sucked him until he was soft as the couch I'm sitting on.

  The video stopped.

  Camila flipped a ligh
t on. "Whiskey?" she said.

  I poured myself a glass. "Is that all you had for me?"

  She smirked. "Oh, sweetie, hell no."

  She put the light off and the next video was of him doing her on a table. Her bountiful legs were spread and he was ramming himself inside her. "I love you, Camila. I love you more than anyone in the world!"

  "Tell me you love me more than Layla!"

  "Fuck Layla! Forget her! I love you."

  That one stung.

  She let it play until he came in her, condom-free. Then she showed me his come escaping her vag. She took her finger and spread it around herself.

  Then I saw her red nail scoop a bit of it off.

  The camera followed her finger, and she licked it and swallowed, slurping loudly.

  "You're incredible, Camila. Incredible..."

  Her head came closer to the camera as she sat up. Then she got on her knees and blew him. "Oh, my god, you're giving me a blowjob already?"

  She said nothing, only massaged his cock with her lips and rode him with her mouth, bobbing in and out.

  "I love you, Camila. I love you more than anyone could ever love another."

  The video stopped.

  She put the lights on.

  "More?" she asked me.

  I poured a Bourbon. I wanted to see it all. It was a sick fascination I held for it now. I wanted to know every time he told her he loved her and every time he said she was better than me.

  I know, it was stupid. Of course he'd say that. I mean, even if I somehow felt like, in some moment of weakness, that Nathan were better than Clayton in some way, I'd never tell Clayton that! I'd always tell him that he was the best!

  That's just good manners.

  Surely that's what was happening here.

  But logic, as I'd been learning all this time, has shit to do with love.

  "Yes, show me more," I said.

  The next one was her standing bent over next to a couch, one knee on it, a heeled shoe on the ground, her massive breasts almost reaching China. Clayton was behind her. It was paused.

  The one thing I noticed about her was that, in every video, she always looked bad. And she always smiled.

  A real pro.

  "He gives me anal now."

  She pressed play.

  "Put it in my arse, Clay-Baby. Fuck me in the arse."

  Clayton moved slowly forward. The camera was far away so the detail wasn't too close, and her butt was not directed to it.

  "It's not going in," he said.

  "Get the lube, honey."

  He moved away. While he was gone, she looked at the camera and grinned, licked her lips.

  Like I said, real pro.

  It occurred to me at that moment that maybe, every time they'd videoed each other, she had been thinking it would one day be for my benefit. Or the benefit of any other girl he might choose to go out with.

  Clayton arrived with a bottle of lube. He rubbed it all over his cock.

  I saw the moment when he entered her. Her eyes closed and she gave a deep groan. "Oh, yeah, baby," She said. "Now move it in and out of me, slowly, slowly..."

  He did. "Cam, it's too tight. I'm gonna come—"

  "Come inside me, honey. Come inside my arse!"

  He eased out. Her face was surprised. "Clay?"

  "I'm getting the camera."

  The image moved jaggedly. Then I saw his cock, and I saw him put it into her anal hole again.

  He moved in and out of her. He zoomed in on his veiny penis. I heard him groan before I saw the throbbing, once, twice, a third time. And he pushed himself deep into her.

  "Oh yeah!" she cried.

  I wouldn't do that, I thought. That would freaking hurt! Wrong connector in the wrong port, I figured. Nathan had stuck a finger in there once with me. But what if he'd wanted to go all the way?

  I'm not ready for that.

  I remembered her earlier comment to me: Clayton has certain needs, Layla. Certain...sexual...needs...that I fulfilled in him. Do you really think he'll stay with you if those don't get satisfied?

  He groaned and howled and moved in and out of her while his cock pulsed. After, he eased it out. White come oozed out of her. I saw her finger approach it, she moved it around herself. Then I heard a slurping lick.

  Oh, gross!

  Bad girl. She was the epitome of a bad girl.

  I couldn't compete with that.

  And if that's what Clayton wanted, she was the only one of the two of us who could give it to him.

  Because I'd played that game with Nathan already. It's just not what I wanted anymore.

  She put the lights on again.

  "More?" she asked.

  I poured a Bourbon. "Hell, why the fuck not?"

  The room was singing to me now.

  The next video I saw was the one thing I knew I couldn't do. She was squeezing her luxurious tits around his gleaming shaft while he titty-fucked her.

  I thought that one would have shattered my self esteem. But it didn't. The one that shattered it, was the next one...

  The image changed quickly. I realized Camila had put these together as some sort of compilation.

  All for my benefit, no doubt.

  She was on a satin bed, and he had her nipple pressed between his thumb and index—

  "Enough!" I said.

  "But this is the best part," she said casually.

  I turned away. I heard her groaning and I knew what that groan meant. It meant he'd twisted it and the spiking sensation had shot through to her neck and—

  "Enough! Please, stop!" I cried.

  She clicked it off, lifted up the blinds.

  I was burping fire by now. The Bourbon was just way too strong. Nonetheless, I poured myself another.

  "There's more," she said.

  Feeling the way I did, the room twirling around my finger as it was, I slurred, "Bring it on."

  She went out the room. When she came back, my head was on the couch. "Layla?"

  "Hmmm?"

  "Here." She put a silver briefcase on the glass table in front of me.

  "Wazhat?" I said.

  "Open it."

  "Icantmovemyheadzzzzzz."

  Me and heavy booze really don't mix well...

  She opened it for me.

  In my intoxicated state, at first I thought she was paying me off with lots of cash! But as my eyes focused slowly on the contents of the briefcase, I saw that they were only letters.

  "Wazhat?"

  She picked one up and gave it to me. The words on it separated into many different lines.

  "I can't read it. Too much spinning."

  "I'll read it to you.

  "Dear Camila,

  "I love you more than anyone has ever loved another. You are the world to me, everything I live for. I'm sorry I went off with that other girl..." She stopped, then said, "That's you by the way."

  She continued. "I'm sorry I went off with that other girl, but now I see that you're actually the one for me. You always have been. I'm so glad the divorce is finally going through.

  "Love you forever. Clay-Baby."

  There really was only one response to that, and to the no-doubt several hundred other freaking love-sick letters staring me in the face right now.

  I hurled.

  All over her cream couch and white rug.

  Then I did it again.

  And one last time, just for good measure.

  Ahh, much better.

  -13-

  When I next woke up I was in a comfy bed that smelled clean and tidy. The bed did, not me.

  I smelled like vomit.

  I saw a bathroom and got up and went to it to wash my mouth out.

  The last time I'd passed out like this, Nathan had cleaned me up and tucked me in bed.

  I guess Camila here is not as gentlemanly as he is.

  There were chunks on my sweater and so I took it off and folded it up.

  I walked out into the pink and white fluffy bedroom and then out into
the hallway.

  Yip, the marble floors showed that I was still in Camila's mansion.

  It was time to leave.

  When I got downstairs, she was seated in the same room I'd puked in. "Oh, honey, come over here," she said casually.

  When I got there, it smelled rosy. No vomit in sight.

  "You lasted a lot longer than I thought you would," she said.

  "Huh?"

  "The puke. I know you're not a big drinker—"

  "How do you know that?"

  "Why, I hired a private investigator, of course."

  Pompy British of course!

  "I need to know my enemy. I know plenty about you. I even hired a security expert to watch over my online accounts. You can try hack them all you want. You'll never get in. Don't think I don't know how you got into this university in the first place."

  Right, I hacked into a local bank and then sent them my recommendations as to how to up their security. They were about to press charges until the British government stepped in and "offered" me my education in "the hopes" that I might be interested in working for them one day. The government, that is, not the bank.

  Although, technically, that is the bank. Because banks own the governments.

  Well, on the sorry income my mother had been making, I'd never go to college. So I took the offer.

  "Anyway," said Camila, holding up what looked like a Martini, "I did my homework on you, just like I did my homework on my husband and ended up with ninety-percent of his wealth, and the house. So, I figured you'd blow chunks after you saw my homemade video collection. The new couches were in the back. I'd bought them already. And so was the new rug. Your sweater? Well, that's your problem. Not mine.

  "You see, Layla, I like the game. And I like winning. If you play against me, you will lose! Do you think I like a cock up my arse? It's all the same to me. Do you think I like swallowing come, especially after it's been in there? Much of a muchness to me. But boys like it. And boys like a girl who can take it. There's something...sinful...about it all.

  "Do you think I like having homemade porn movies made of me? Please! But I needed leverage. Clayton had left me once before for you. If he ever did it again, I needed something to win him back with. Welcome to the arena, bitch. I fight for keeps."

  "So, the whole crying thing. It was all an act?"

  "A good one, 'ey?" She smiled her Cruella de Vil smile, and then she flicked on her TV to watch yet another video of her and Clayton getting jiggy with it. Only, this time, he was going down on her. Her full-figured thighs hugged him around the ears. Her excruciating moans filled the room. Those were no fake moans. Those were real moans.