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

  Like. I could live with ‘like.’ I like lots of people, and I’m sure plenty like me as well. Geeks, nerds, brainiacs, but people nonetheless.

  He stopped fingering me, then continued as if he’d just realized he’d been rude. “I know why you ask,” he said. “I mean, I was a fucking asshole last week, treating it like ‘just a screw.’ Goddamn it, what a fuck-up...” He exhaled forcefully, then fell on his back next to me, putting his forearm to his head. A good thing, because the constant massaging of my clit had been putting me way in the mood again... “Damn it, I’m so fucking embarrassed about that, Layla. I mean, our first time, and... How can I make it up to you?”

  “You can answer my question.” I turned to my side, looked at him, my head on my hand, my elbow on his pillow. I played with his chest. He had zero hairs on it. A massive scar ran down his right side. He’d told me about his Motocross accident once. It hadn’t really sunk in at the time that it had been life-or-death. I’d never seen it up close. It was deep. Not unattractive, but the thought of the pain he must have suffered gave me chills.

  “Look, Layla, I think you’re...well, you’re fucking amazing actually. You’re smart, sexy. I like you and, well, when you asked if we could do it, I jumped at the chance.”

  I said nothing.

  “Of course then I screwed it up!” he said.

  “No, no, you didn’t,” I said absently, my finger tracking his breastbone aimlessly.

  “Look, Layla, don’t worry about me. You’re clearly very experienced so, I mean, if this is just a fling or...well, I’d rather have a fling with you than have had nothing with you, OK?”

  I froze. My skin went cold. ...very experienced... ...just a fling...?

  I swallowed.

  “Layla?”

  “Um, yeah, um, I mean, no! No, it’s not just...um...a ‘fling’ to me. Not at all.”

  “It’s not?”

  The tone of his voice made me wonder if I’d been too forward. “No, well, I mean if you want it to be, then—”

  He broke out in laughter. “Christ, look at us. We sound like two fucking high school teenagers!”

  “We are teenagers!” I said.

  “I’m not! I’m frickin twenty. Puts me far out of that teeny-bopper category!”

  I punched him. “Not that far out of it!”

  “I know, I know. I mean, I look young. I always have.”

  “You look freaking sixteen!”

  He scowled at me. “Please, I look at least seventeen!”

  I lay back, looked at the ceiling, wondering how things had changed so much. And all of it in one night, practically. Wondering how it was that I was in a room—with a boy, a boy I actually liked—feeling all girly and soft and rosy and...special.

  “So, how many guys have you been with?” he asked.

  “Sorry, wh— What?”

  “How many guys have you been with? I mean, you’re good! Wow... Sorry, I don’t mean to be crass but—”

  “No, no, it’s fine.” Think. Think. Think! “Um, well, there are other ways to learn that stuff, you know?” I said, trying not to commit, feeling the surge of embarrassment pat my cheeks.

  He made a raspberry sound. “Yeah, right. But, c’mon, tell me.”

  A lump formed in my throat. “Um, one,” I said, hoping he’d take for granted that maybe that meant one before him...

  But us computer types, well, we’re never happy with a vague answer. We want to know the memory address, time of occurrence, and what brought the factors about in the first place. I should’ve thought my answer through before I’d given it. I mean, Clayton was smart!

  In other words, I should’ve lied.

  “One, um, before me, right?” he asked.

  I cleared my throat. “Er...”

  Clayton shot up and glared at me, white as the moon. “Lay— Layla, please, tell me that what we had last week was not me taking your virginity away!”

  I swallowed. His eyes quavered. I said nothing.

  “Oh. Fuck. Damn. I’m going to hell...” He ran his hand through his perfect hair, got up, walked to his door absently. His butt was so pristinely perfect. Small and quaint and round...

  “You’re going to hell because you took away a girl’s virginity? It’s not that big a deal for me, trust me.”

  “No, I’m going to hell because I fucked up what should have been the most beautiful experience a girl ever has!”

  “Pfft! C’mon, that bullshit’s over-rated!”

  He flung around to face me, his cock dangling and pointing down. My mind wandered as I thought of how it had tasted earlier, the flavor of sex on it. I thought of kissing it again, rubbing it with my hands and making him hard again.

  “Layla, you should’ve told me. You should’ve...” He hunted around the floor for his boxers, put them on. He sat on the other bed.

  “Hey, Clayton, you’re making me feel a little weird,” I said. I sat up and covered my vag with my shirt. I didn’t have anything to cover my breasts with so I just hunched down a little.

  “Whoa! Whoa! Wait a minute!” He sprang from the other bed back to the one I was on. “No no no!” He took the shirt away from me. I gripped it tightly but he fought it and threw it back. “You never have to cover yourself in front of me, OK? Never!”

  The words were kind, but the effect minimal.

  “Layla?”

  “What?”

  “Talk to me. What is it?”

  “It’s nothing...” I wanted to get up and look out the window, but I was suddenly embarrassed at him looking at my butt, or my back, or at any part of me...

  “Please, tell me.” He grabbed my hand.

  I’ve never been good with nudity. If I face the facts, that’s probably the real reason I’d never been laid, never made myself up, never made an effort. It terrified me. That night when Clay had taken my virginity, I’d psyched myself up for hours beforehand, and made sure the lights had been off. Just like tonight.

  “Clay, I have a confession to make.”

  “Sure, what?”

  “I, um, I... The reason I asked you to have sex with me was more out of curiosity than anything else. I mean, I’ve never had a great interest in it—”

  He let go of my hand. “Curiosity?”

  “Yeah.” I ran a hand through my hair.

  “Oh. I see.”

  Wow, the emotional temperature dropped thirty degrees. I reached for my shirt.

  “No,” he said firmly.

  I put the shirt back down.

  “Look,” he continued, “so we both made a mistake, OK? I mean, I like you. I actually really do. I’ve liked you since you arrived here, over a year ago.”

  I frowned. “Bullshit.”

  “I did.”

  “Bull. Then why didn’t you speak to me?”

  He looked away.

  “Oh,” I said, realizing why. “You were...seeing this other woman?”

  “Yes.”

  “Ahhhhh! And, um, when did you break up with her?”

  He glared at me, making sure I got the full brunt and meaning of what he was about to say. “The very next day after I laid eyes on you...”

  I scowled at him. “You’re such a bullshitter!”

  He waited, his stoic gaze betraying nothing.

  “You’re not bullshitting me...?”

  He shook his head.

  “Then why didn’t you speak to me afterwards?”

  “I wanted to be sure that I wasn’t seeing you on a rebound. That when—if—you and I started dating, that it would be for real...”

  I processed that a bit... “A rebound?” And then it hit me. “Oh, you...loved...this woman?”

  “Damn it, has it gotten colder in here?” he asked.

  “Much! Now answer the question.”

  He looked down. “Sure, I loved her. But I was young when she started seeing me. Sixteen. I thought it was love. I’m sure it meant something else to her. But it worked for me at the time. We saw each other on and off for a few years. But
it was wrong. She was...married.” He paused, looked at me, gauging my reaction. “When you’re young and male, well, you think that kind of shit is cool. But it’s not cool to be with a married woman. It’s very uncool. Anyway, I was ‘the other girl’ in a way. Roles reversed. And I was fooled, young and naive. But it was the same shit. I wanted her to leave her husband for me. She wouldn’t, of course. What a joke. What bullshit. I mean, I believed in love carrying people through and all that crap at the time, having no freaking idea that an older woman looks at things like financial security and such when judging a man. I can’t say she used me, but I also can’t say she didn’t. I was her toy, I was fun for her. She needed ‘satisfaction’ that her husband couldn’t offer her or something. Or maybe she was just a slut. Who knows. Anyway, I’m equally responsible here. I don’t deny that. And I know that now.

  “But she did know more about this shit than I did. She didn’t only teach me about sex, Layla. The pain that ‘relationship’ caused me also taught me about betrayal.

  “I shouldn’t have been with her.

  “Anyway, when I saw you...well, I thought, ‘There’s someone I’d be willing to give it a go with. Someone that it might actually work with.’”

  “‘Give it a ‘go’ with’?”

  “Sorry, that came out wrong. I meant, someone I’d like to try and maybe have a relationship with. A real relationship, not one doomed to failure right from the start.”

  “Hmmmm, I can’t say you’re trying to get me in bed. Because you’ve already done that. But I also can’t say you’re not saying these things just to keep getting me in bed.”

  He gave a tight nod.

  I realized the statement had come out all wrong. Because I knew that something about him and me had clicked. Something in the ether or in the circuitry above our conscious awareness. I knew enough about him. Knew enough to have even tricked myself into sleeping with him!

  “Clayton, I can’t fucking believe I’m about to tell you this. But I am...” I sighed. “...For whatever godforsaken reason, inexplicable to me as it maybe is to you, but I think I’m...falling for you.”

  I waited in the deafening silence. I’d never felt so bare in all my life.

  A slow smile crept up his face...

  Then he kissed me.

  -6-

  He nibbled my left earlobe. “You requested something of me tonight, to fuck you hard and often,” he said. “I intend to honor that request.”

  The statement got the butterflies going inside me. Nervous, psychotic butterflies that always sabotaged the best of my plans. “You make me so nervous, you know that?”

  His fingertips grazed my bare stomach, easing up to my breasts, so lightly I could barely feel them. “I know. You’ve mentioned that...”

  “Somehow I think you planned the snow.”

  “Maybe some things are just meant to be.”

  He got onto his knees on the floor below me, pecked my left knee once, then my right. My legs were clamped shut as I sat there on the edge of the bed. The uneasiness I felt at intimacy reared its head.

  Clayton pried my legs open. I realized only then how tightly I’d been holding them. He looked up at me. “You OK?”

  The tension in them eased after he’d asked that. “Yeah, um, sorry.”

  “Layla, we don’t have to continue if you’re uncomfortable.”

  “I’m... I’m always uncomfortable with intimacy. I think I’ve just been kidding myself into thinking I never wanted any.” He stared blankly at me. “What I’m saying is,” I continued, “I’m...glad...it’s you. Just...” Man, I couldn’t believe I was going there. “Clayton, what you and I have here is a key case of the player getting played. I’d convinced myself that I wasn’t interested in intimacy. I’d convinced myself that sleeping with you was just to ‘see what it was like’—both times. But I know now what it is. I’m terrified of relationships. I always have been. And...well...”

  He closed my legs.

  “No!” I said. Then I whispered, “No...” I opened them again, slowly, deliberately, baring all of myself to him. “I want you. I want you inside me. Your tongue, your fingers, you, all of you.” I widened further. “I want you inside me. Because I...trust...you.”

  My god, I couldn’t believe I’d used the Big T word.

  Clayton glared at my center, wanton lust raging in his eyes. Then he spread my legs as far as they would go so that the outside of my knees touched his bed. Holding my legs out, he eased in and kissed the inside of my left knee, licked it.

  “Clay.”

  “M-hmmm.”

  “I want to feel something. I want to feel...more than just an orgasm. I want you to fuck me like you’ve never fucked anyone. I want it to last, over and over, and over.”

  He smiled playfully. “You’ve also mentioned that before.” He bit the skin of my inner thigh. I gasped, clutched his hair.

  “I mean it,” I said. “Fuck me harder than you’ve ever fucked that...that other woman. Fuck me like there is no one else. Make me feel there is no one else. Make me feel like the most important person in the world.”

  I knew my words reeked of insecurity. I knew the fears I’d carried with me ever since my father’s death were eking out in undertones, in between the lines. I knew the thoughts of how three of my mother’s boyfriends had beat her, one even making her scream in the bedroom so much that to this day I still have nightmares about it, I knew my words to Clayton were tainted with these memories.

  I didn’t care. “Fuck me, baby” I said. “Fuck me with all you have.”

  Clayton grabbed my little body and picked me up off the bed, pushed me around it to the nearest wall, buffering the impact with his own hands behind me as our bodies slammed against it. He ripped his boxers off, pressed the tip of his hard-on against my clit. Cool sweat broke out on my skin. The smell of our mutual spent sex wafted up into me, making me wild with hormonal desire to feel him once again inside me, pushing all the way to the back of me until he couldn’t go any deeper.

  He teased...

  He kissed my neck, my collar bone, my opposite shoulder.

  One of his fingers grazed the inside of my nether lips, tickling and pushing slowly, making light squishing sounds from my sodden arousal, even above the overwhelming sounds of our heavy breathing. I got up on my tip-toes, pushed my ass against the cold wall.

  Clayton pressed gently into me with one fingertip, then two. I became more wet with every caress. He spread some of that wetness around, on the outside of my lips, my mound, then onto my legs. His full palm pushed against me, against my clit, and rubbed down.

  That’s what brought out my first groan. Low and deep and lasting.

  That incessant banner-ad flashed in my mind. L.O.V.E., it said. I ignored it. The second press of his hand against my mound and clit made me mouth a guttural “urgh”.

  Clayton tapped his foot against the inside of mine, widening my stance. He got on his knees and, without warning, without preparation, drove his tongue into me as deep as the tips of his fingers had just been. And he kept it there.

  My knees buckled. He supported me with his chin as I tried to stand again. I tried to gain strength, tried to steady myself on my feet... “Clay,” I said breathlessly, “I need to sit down...”

  He held me there, his hands around my waist, his tongue far inside my inner walls, tasting me, moving gently left and right, in and out, sizzling my nerves inside. I widened for him, felt my inner walls expanding, opening, waiting for his manhood to enter me and fill me.

  One finger moved in under his tongue and I wailed like a baby. I ground my pelvis into him, desperate for this man-boy to fuck me, to do me hard and now. He eased his finger, in and out, all the while licking... He took his tongue out, tickled my nub with the tip of it, stuck a second finger into me. Then a third.

  My legs trembled. By the time he stood up I was Jell-O. I could only feel his left arm around my waist, supporting me, and his three fingers inside me holding me up, pushing me back agains
t the wall, then up, then back, then up...

  I rode those fingers. I ground and pushed my pelvis into them and heard their moisture and felt the tension building inside me, in and around my pelvis, my ass, my legs. Clayton’s left palm fanned across my lower back.

  Suddenly, he was my Clayton.

  His hand sent tingles up and down my rib cage...

  My legs quivered, aching to snap with that final pleasure, but I wanted something else now. I wanted him, all of him...

  I pushed myself out!

  “Hey— What’s—?” he tried to say.

  I spun our bodies around, thrust him to the wall and got on my knees. “Lay—?”

  Before he could finish, I put his cock in my mouth. I bobbed and licked it flatly, up, down, all around his shaft, tasting the tangy combination of our earlier sex. The scent of ‘us’ drove me quickly wild. I devoured him. Lapping his shaft up and down and dropping my saliva all over him so that it oozed onto the ground below us, just ahead of my knees. I bobbed, sucked, sucked until I tasted the salt of his pre-come.

  I looked up at him, just with my eyes, his cock still in my mouth, and smiled a decadent smile. My right hand wrapped around him and worked him up and down, squeezing, covering him with his own moisture and my saliva combined while his own hand caressed the back of my head. I licked his shaft with the tip of my tongue all the way from the bottom to the top, then I sucked the tip. Just the tip. Sucked it hard until I heard him yowl and felt him pulse under my lips. Again I grinned up at him.

  “Oh, Layla, you drive me fucking insane.”

  I smirked, rubbed him, licked him, bobbed and tightened my lips around him, feeling him harden by fractions and grow.

  He groaned. His hips started moving, slowly, gently, into my mouth instinctively but still holding back. I lifted my mouth away, a stream of saliva falling once more, and I said, “Don’t hold back, baby. Fuck me so it feels good for you. If I don’t like it I’ll let you know.”

  I buried him in me again. He pushed in, all the way to the back of my throat but, before he could move out, I held him, by his ass, and I sucked hard. Then I slid him out, gradually, inch-by-inch, pressing down with my lips all the way. A suction sound smacked the air as his scintillating tip finally left me.