Girl-Nerds Like it Harder (Erotic Romance) Book 1

by Rachel Dunning

  “Who are you?” I said, my voice suddenly raspy, my brain sending words and sentences to my lips without my control.

  He said nothing, smiled.

  I closed my eyes again, unwittingly.

  Two palms eased themselves around my waist and then slid up my sides, their movement lifting my tattered shirt to reveal some navel. Then Clayton’s tongue teased my belly button, in and out, in and out, tickling, turning. My skin went cold and hot at the same time. I opened my eyes and looked down at his golden hair. Crystal blue eyes looked back at me, clear as the waters of the Maldives.

  And he smiled.

  And, goddamn it, now I was sure something weird had happened in my world! Something big. Big-Bang big! Something completely irreversible, inexplicable from the perspective of physical hormones but which I still desperately tried to fit within that context. I tried to think of that spreadsheet... Of that—

  With a flat tongue Clayton gave a long lick across my belly button and down to my side. He blew across the remnant wetness.

  I gasped, the sound coming out as a ragged squeak. My arms broke out in goosebumps and my whole body shivered.

  He kept blowing on my skin. He moved my shirt up further, to just below my breasts. With the tip of his tongue he teased my skin below them, barely wetting it, just enough for me to know he was there. Lick. Lick. Touch. Lick. And then, just as I’d gotten used to it, he licked me flat-tongued in one sharp fast movement from my breastbone to my side, wetting my skin completely... And he blew on it again.

  I cried loudly now, another set of bumps breaking out at my arms, up to my shoulders.

  My core went warm and wet with such fury that I knew only two things:

  One. I was going to come, soon! I was going to come so fucking hard during this game—or whatever it was—that Clayton was playing that I began to feel that need more and more desperately with every nanosecond that passed, my stomach tensing, my nether lips so engorged with pressure that I felt I would soon explode.

  And Two. The inexplicable thing I’d felt only moments earlier, the one not defined by hormonal needs or physical contexts, suddenly took on a four-letter form for me. And I saw that form in my mind, flashing at me relentlessly like a lewd banner-ad on a dingy porn site. And underneath that banner was a man laughing at me. Because whoever ran this ad-server had tricked me, tricked me into thinking I was ‘doing an experiment’ with this blue-eyed boy and his wheat-colored hair and who likes surfing.

  I hadn’t been doing an experiment at all...

  I’d fallen in love with him! I’d been tricked! The email of love asking me to donate my virginity to Clayton Remington’s bank account or else someone’s poor Nigerian aunt would die of old age or some shit like that, had been a lie! Damn it!

  When had it happened? Straight after the party? When he’d wiped cappuccino cream off my nose a week later? When he’d covered my eyes in the quad after that? Moments before we’d first slept together!?

  Clayton—oh sweet Clayton who now had my skin temperature to a fervent boil and my breathing into full-on hyperventilation—moved the tip of his tongue down to the middle of my non-existent abs, leisurely, dryly, relentlessly...down further toward my belt.

  It stopped, just at the band of my denims.

  Damn it. I whimpered again! Another squeak. Inside me I thrummed, buzzed, ached for...for...Clayton!

  His hands undid my belt buckle while his lips and tongue spared no mercy on my belly button and my pathetically pale and self-conscious skin, then lower, lower... My belt opened. He unwrapped my legs of their clothing while I stared up at the ceiling, wondering what the hell was happening to me.

  His tongue moved even lower.

  It touched the band of my panties—

  Wait, what was I wearing?

  Fuck it. I almost died.

  It was my Minnie Mouse underwear! Gray and pink cotton! (And when had I started caring about this exactly?)

  His tongue pushed the band lower and then touched the top of my pubis.

  Oh, god, heaven...

  I groaned, low and deep...

  I felt the moisture seep onto them, felt them sticking to me with their warmth while Clayton continued to ease them down with his tongue only, his hands on my knees.

  Finally those hands moved up to the straps. He slid his fingers under them, pulled them down, slowly, agonizingly slowly, his tongue ever moving lower, lower, lower...

  “Oh, my god,” escaped the words. His tongue had touched my nub and sent throbs of pleasure up my stomach and neck.

  He licked the nub again, warmly, wetly, gently.

  “Oh. My. God,” I groaned again. “Clay... Clay... Clay, what the fuck happened to you this last week?”

  He said nothing. And, yes, I noticed I was calling him Clay and not Clayton anymore.

  He moved his tongue lower. “Mmmmmmmm,” I murmured. A waterfall poured out of me below—warm, soft, pleasant fluid telling the man down there that I needed and wanted one thing, now.

  “Clay, my god, I don’t know what’s happen—”

  “Shhhhh,” he said. He’d gotten my embarrassing Minnie Mouse panties off and thrown them on the ground. And then I felt his tongue all the way down at my taint, between my ass and my vag, and he licked up commandingly, all the way, slipping just once inside me, touching the electrified fire of my inner nerves with the tip of it—I yelled! Clutched his head!—and then up to my nub, finally moving away.

  I trembled. Tingles formed all over me, all over my chest and arms and shoulders and legs and lower back and stomach and face. I wanted him to rip my shirt off, to kiss the tiny lumps I called my breasts, to hold me up by the small of my back and stick his cock in me and slam it hard and fast up inside me and, most of all, I wanted him to make me come. Right now. Right here. His tongue went back to my clit and inside me and licked me...

  I was almost there. I was almost...coming!

  He did it again. Tongue at my perineum, first the tip, then flat against it. He licked up. “Oh mother of mercy fucking god!” I yelled like a lion. I writhed.

  My hands gripped his beautifully golden hair, pushed him against me. I held his head against my crotch as hard as I could. Never have I regretted not going to the gym as much as in that moment. I had no strength in my arms at all! Heck, all I’d done before had been a few Nintendo Wii aerobic workouts, and even then it had only been to see if I could trick the system into giving me a few extra points (which I did.)

  But Clay pushed his head up against my hands and lifted himself like they were sticks of celery. He looked at me with a deadly smile, my wetness glistening off his lips and nose.

  Night was falling, the room ever darker, a soft glow of warm orange light diffusing weakly into the room from the few struggling lamps outside and coloring his face.

  With my legs wide open and Clayton on his knees, looking down at me, my shirt to just below my breasts, I have never felt more vulnerable. He towered above me, looking down, stroking my knees while my vag stared him in the face. I’d never felt more naked, more open, more see-through than in that moment.

  A million things fired through my mind, a million thoughts of how I’d gotten myself in too deep and how this had turned out to be so much more than some Control Panel experiment and how I was destined to spark off a System Crash if I let this emotional crap take over me, if I let it take over this moment which was supposed to have been nothing more than Input / Output.

  Clayton eased his right thumb into my sodden opening, rubbing my nub at the same time with his index, gently, easy, round and round...

  I shivered, shook, trembled... As he rubbed I heard my voice make sounds I’d only heard while knee-deep in an R-Rated film but now I was making those sounds myself and they echoed against the walls and bounced and they said “ohohohohoh aaaaahhhhhhhh mmmmmmmmm.” With every turn of his finger around my clit I made a sound. And then he pressed against it.

  And I shrieked.

  I turned my legs. I thought of how they were m
aybe too skinny and how despite that they already had cellulite in the backs because they have no muscle tone and I thought of how I had no abs and—Jesus this guy is fingering with two fingers now and rubbing my clit with his thumb!

  Before I knew it, his tongue laved my nether lips again and then he pushed it once more inside me, in and out and in and out and in in in in in—“Ohhhhh, my—”

  Then it started: Shuddering, thuddering, Electromagnetic-Pulse-shaking convulsions and trembles and... “Aaaaarrrrrgh!” I cried out so goddamn loud that I just knew someone was gonna come in and bust us for Clayton having a girl in his room! And all the while he just licked and fingered and licked and touched and fingered and licked. “Oh my god! Oh my god! Oh my fucking—Urrrgh!”

  I clamped down on his head with me legs as they spasmed and the pleasure railed through me like the L-Train with no brakes, ready to speed off the tracks. The orgasms continued and continued as if they’d sat inside me for years just waiting for that right touch, that perfect finger or tongue...

  A random thought crossed my mind that maybe my spreadsheet was wrong; maybe I could only come when a guy fingered me or muffed me...

  The next wave of ecstasy stopped that thought faster than a five Gigahertz processor. (That’s fast, by the way.) Clayton’s tongue pounded me, rammed me, flicked and licked, did me like I’d never been done before (even with that touch-screen vibrator I’d bought once as part of one of my trial-and-error experiments.)

  And then...he slowed down. And as he slowed, so did I.

  My hands went to his head, his hair—his soft, straight, completely unstyleable hair—and I relished the sensation of each strand through the webs of my fingers while he lapped my pussy slowly and tenderly, licking and kissing, sending sounds of wetness—my wetness—up into his room.

  I closed my eyes, willingly now, my body absolutely spent. I faded into a twilight-sleep while Clayton eased away from my center, and the licks became pecks and touches and gentle kisses as if he were kissing me directly on the mouth. I rolled my left leg around his head and locked him there by the neck, just gently, as he continued to mouth me and swing his tongue around delicately, softly, in, out. I wanted him to stay there. I wanted to feel him kiss me down below forever and always. Because something had changed in my internal system-setup. Preferences had been changed or adware had been loaded—I didn’t know.

  And without warning, I felt afraid. I felt vulnerable. I felt, goddamn it, way too human!

  And that scared the shit out of me.

  -4-

  I must’ve fallen asleep because I awoke some time later, dazed from a dream of sex and werewolves and witches. I sat up quickly and saw I was covered in Clay’s quilt, my hair matted and wet.

  “Heya,” said a voice that gave me the sense of cold water being poured down my throat. Cold, lovely water.

  “Hey, Clay.” I curled a lock of hair behind my ear, suddenly acutely aware of my lack of make-up. I coughed. “Um, what time is it?”

  “Eleven.”

  “Eleven!?” I almost fired the blanket away from me to get up but quickly remembered I was naked below. Or was I? I felt with my hands... Yes, completely bare. “Um, do you have my underwear? I really need to study. Damn it. I should’ve been out of here hours ago! How long have I been asleep?”

  I was rambling.

  Clay lifted his eyes from his magazine, sitting on the floor against the bed across from me. He had no roommate yet, so that had suited our current arrangement just fine. He looked at the fogged up window.

  “My god!” I said. “How much did it snow?”

  “A lot. And knowing England, they’ll probably close everything down tomorrow, including the university. Half the faculty probably won’t even arrive because of car trouble or frozen roads.”

  “Really?” I asked. I’d never seen snow in England.

  “Sure, they’re about as good at dealing with snow over here as the Americans are at understanding how their own elections work.”

  I scowled at him. “Sorry, I couldn’t help it.” He smirked. And I blushed. I felt it at my cheeks, and I only hoped the room was dark enough for him to not see it. Clayton had a desk-lamp turned down toward him, otherwise the room was completely dark.

  The circumstances were obvious. I lived a few miles away, in a small studio apartment that was always too cold at night. And walking in the five or ten inches of snow that had since fallen, as well as the current blizzard, would damn near kill me. Catching a ride would be impossible at this time...

  I thought once more about my unclothed legs, feeling irrationally self-conscious... “Uh, Clayton, do you have my underwear?” I repeated.

  From behind him he picked up my Minnie Mouse panties and dangled them from one finger, just far enough so I couldn’t reach them. “You mean these sexy things?”

  I stretched for them. He pulled back as I’d reached. I tried again. He pulled them away again! “Hey!” I said.

  “Try not to cry out too loudly, you might get us both suspended.”

  I thought of how I’d screamed earlier... “Well, that didn’t stop you earlier, now did it?”

  My mind drifted, to his tongue, his finger, the twilight against his skin...

  Oh, damn it. I was wet again. Just like that. It oozed out and below onto his sheets. My stomach tightened. Butterflies filled it. My crotch clamped. I sighed heavily and ran a hand through my hair. “Please give me my underwear?” I asked.

  Clay smiled, closed his magazine and put it on the desk between the two beds. I looked out the foggy window behind it.

  “Come and get them,” he said.

  I faced him, my heart thumping just like a little fricking girl’s when looking at the hot new substitute teacher. When did this get so serious?

  I wanted to get them...and I also didn’t want to. So I spoke instead. “That was quite a different”—I fought for the word—“performance from you tonight, buddy.”

  Clay blushed, then looked down, embarrassed. “Uh, yeah, I’ve been meaning to talk to you about last week. Well, I’m, um, really sorry about it actually.”

  He seemed mortified. “No, no, it’s fine.” I tried to play it cool.

  “Look, Layla, I have a confession to make.”

  Damn it, he does? What is it: Another girl? He’s gay? He fucked someone while I was lying here? “You do?”

  “Yeah, um...” My heart pounded. Earth-moving tractors tore at my chest, digging a hole in it, ready to put it on show on the internet for everyone to comment on and make fun of and bully it. “...I was,” he continued, “um, a little drunk last week. So, well, I didn’t really take your needs into”—he cleared his throat—“account.” He coughed, looked out the window.

  It took me a second to process the new data. “Wh— Huh?”

  “Last week?” he said, as if checking that I still remembered that we’d, um, screwed.

  “Yeah, yeah, you—um, what? I didn’t get it.”

  “I was drunk, you know. Really drunk. The guys and I had gone out... Damn it, this is so embarrassing. Look, I’m just really sorry I let you down.”

  Let me down? “I don’t get it.”

  “Layla, you’re not fooling anyone. I’ve seen enough female orgasms to know you didn’t have one last week.” His face changed, realizing what he’d actually just said. “I mean...I haven’t seen that many...”

  OK, did someone just put my face in a microwave? Just bring some popcorn over and I’ll pop it from the embarrassed heat that’s flushing from my cheeks now!

  I raked Clayton’s body with my eyes. Every millimeter of it. First there were his Tanzanite eyes, his perfect nose, lethal lips so red you’d think he had on lipstick. He wasn’t big, muscle-wise. Not at all. He was shapely, the kind of body a guy would have if he’d been active his whole life but never lifted weights. Perfect symmetry, every muscle, every bone. And then there was the combination, all of it put together, a jagged smile and confident gaze, the sum of it giving him this insubstantial ‘aura
-thing’ which had constantly attracted me to him, like tiny metal filings being pulled by a ten-thousand volt electromagnetic crane...

  That insubstantial ‘aura-thing’ was Charisma. Clayton had it, and it dripped off every part of him like honey from a hive.

  “Layla?”

  “Yeah, sorry, I was just...thinking.”

  “No you weren’t. You were gawking at me.”

  Damn it damn it damn it damn it! This guy was so self-assured, so certain of himself... How the fuck had I gotten myself into this?

  “So you say you’ve seen...a lot of girls...?”

  He looked away. “Sorry, I didn’t mean it like that. Anyway, I just wanted to apologize.”

  “No, please, tell me.” This was a new factor, a variable that needed to be clamped down!

  That, and, um, I might’ve been a little self conscious of it all. And maybe a little jealous. But only a little. Microscopic even.

  Clayton fidgeted. I snuck a look at his boxers and saw that he was bulging, growing. I swallowed and looked away.

  “Why is it important?” he asked. “You said this didn’t mean anything to you anyway.”

  Yes, I had indeed said that... And now I regretted it. “Because I want to know, Mr. Remington!”

  I gave him my best flirty look. But I only managed to turn myself on a little more because I saw his cock twitch an infinitesimally small amount as I’d done it. I squeezed my legs, pulling the quilt tighter around them as I sat facing him.

  Clayton said nothing. He swung my panties around, then eased them to his nose, inhaled deeply, making a show of it. He rolled his eyes. His cock pulsed.