Girl-Nerds Like it Faster (Erotic Romance) Book 2 (Girl-Nerd Series)

by Dunning, Rachel

  "Detailed enough?"

  My mouth waited for a fly to land in it. Janet Jackson's popping-out boob at the Superbowl in front of millions of people was probably less mortifying than this. I slapped (gently!) my forehead with my palm. It still hurt like a mofo. "Um, wow, that's, um, embarrassing..."

  "Yeah, a little."

  I snuck a look at his face through my fingers. He smiled his deadly smile. "So, um, we didn't..." I indicated with my index finger what I meant.

  Nathan scorched me with his eyes. "Layla, a little mouthwash and you would've been the hottest fucking woman I've ever seen in this country. In fact, I was thinking of getting you into bed and us fucking our brains out to growling howls of pleasure on both our parts — several times — when I first started speaking to you tonight. But, call me old fashioned, I like a woman to be conscious when she makes a consenting decision to have sex with me."

  I swallowed. If my head didn't pound so hard I'd open my legs now and ask him if the offer was still up. I hadn't planned on having casual sex with a stranger tonight. But Nathan had me so hot from his chivalry that I was willing and revving to break that promise quick! "Um, Nathan... Could we, um, take a rain check on that offer of yours?"

  "The fucking to growling howls of pleasure?"

  The statement made me forget my headache, and gush with moisture. "Yes, that one."

  Nathan's green eyes lingered on my 'Boss' shirt. He smirked. Slow as a predator, he eased the comforter down to my knees with one hand, raked my body down with his sizzling stare. He put his left hand on my thigh, rubbed it down to my knee, then turned, inside, slid up, slowly, slowly, slowly...

  My breath caught. I literally squeaked.

  His hand carried on upwards, under my skirt. His index finger pressed my soaking underwear (lace this time, I stopped wearing any sort of Disney character underwear after that night with Clayton!) He pushed in, right at my center. I felt my legs opening for him, my back melting into the headboard behind. But his right hand stopped me. He wrapped it around my right knee and eased my legs closed, his finger still pressing — rhythmically now — in and out of my crotch, sending the fabric to just within the folds, scraping the overworked, tensile nerves. My eyes shut of their own will.

  "Layla... I will absolutely take a rain check on that. But I like my girls sober. Completely sober. Now the faster you can get there, the faster you and I can fuck like rabbits on steroids."

  I opened my eyes. Nathan's southern smile washed me with a tingle that buzzed against my sternum. I grabbed the coffee, downed it like I was in a beer drinking contest.

  I held out the empty mug to him. "More coffee, please."

  -5-

  The one thing being a geek has given me is a high tolerance of coffee — lots of late nights playing games or writing code. So, four cups later, it was like I'd taken sleeping pills, and I dozed off.

  I woke up again at about two P.M. Yes, P.M.! At least I felt better. I was starving. When I finally found my glasses I put them on and saw there was a note on the bedroom door. I looked around, still self-conscious at Nathan having brought me to his house, taken off my tights and, who knows, watched me sleep maybe? His room was simple but warm, carpeted, cream and brown tones.

  He wasn't in it.

  I got up and read the note:

  There's pizza in the kitchen. And a black box. With instructions in it.

  Instructions?

  I went to his en suite bathroom and washed my face, avoiding looking at the toilet seat for fear of remembering me puking down it with Nathan maybe even laughing a little at me. But I don't think he laughed. I don't think he laughed at all.

  I walked around his house. It wasn't huge — one master bedroom, a kitchen which extended into the lounge, open plan — but his furniture was top level, minimalist, stylish. Black couches, a glass table. No TV, but a fireplace, an ornate mirror above the mantelpiece.

  The waft of fresh pizza came to me from the kitchen. I opened the box and started chowing down like my life depended on it. Judging from how much alcohol I'd had last night, it probably did. I've never had a great tolerance level for the stuff. A few glasses of spiked punch to me is like seven bottles of tequila on an empty stomach for a 'normal' person.

  I scarfed down three slices and saw the other box he'd referred to, sitting there on the kitchen island with a red bow on the top. The box itself was dead-black with an imprinted rune design all around it.

  Still chewing my pizza, I opened the lid and peeked inside.

  My breath caught briefly. My skin went warm. I realized I'd stopped chewing. I found a cloth, wiped my hands and put the half-eaten pizza slice down.

  I put the lid aside.

  Above the lace stockings, garter belt, and silky lingerie was an envelope...and a set of fluffy handcuffs. Suddenly the room felt eerily silent and my breathing raucous.

  I opened the envelope:

  LAY-La, before we do anything, we must establish some rules. These items are for you, no obligations. Take them. There is a key to my house underneath. That is yours as well. If you're interested, leave your telephone number on the back of this note. If not, enjoy the lingerie. I'm sure you'll look absolutely delicious in it. I hope I'm the first one to get a look, and maybe a taste.

  My crotch called to me with its wetness. My breath caught again. I held the note in my hand for ages. Before deciding, I sat on the couch, tightened my legs and finished the pizza. I threw the pizza box away and started ruffling through the other box... The black box. Or, as I would forevermore think of it, the 'Sex Box.'

  There were more things in it:

  Underneath the stockings and lingerie was a body stocking, sheer black...crotchless, and open breast-cups. And there was another thing. Lube. Anal lube.

  I swallowed hard, looked around as if someone was watching me.

  But, wait a minute, rules, that's what he'd said... And leaving my number was only to let him know if I was interested in learning about those rules.

  Like any pragmatist, I was.

  It was different sitting in front of this erotic underwear thinking about Nathan's monstrous size compared to my small and athletic Clayton...

  My Clayton. No, he wasn't that. And he never could be. Those who loved, lost. I had to get him out of my mind.

  I found a pen, and wrote my number on the back of the note.

  A few days later, I got the call.

  -6-

  Nathan texted me at four the next Friday afternoon, the day we'd agreed to meet. The text had said:

  Nathan: Wear what you want, but the open-crotch bodystocking should be underneath. No underwear.

  He'd also told me to tell my closest friend where I was going: Address, telephone number, and curfew. He said he wanted me to feel safe. I could step out any time.

  It made me feel better that he'd told me to do that. It hadn't felt creepy in any way before that, but now it just made me even more certain that Nathan was interested in fun with no fear on my part. He made me trust him.

  I wore a one-piece dress that I got from H&M, red, the skirt reaching to a little above my knees. His crotchless lingerie — the bodystocking with the open cups — was below it. No underwear, as he'd asked.

  When Nathan opened the door, my nether lips screamed. When he rumbled simply "Layla" on seeing me, my eyes rolled back and my stomach imploded into desirous goo.

  I cleared my throat. "Nathan," I said, trying to sound cool.

  He had on a sports jacket, designer slacks and a dress shirt that showed off his burly chest so much that I thought he might crush me if he ever got on top of me.

  In my hand I also had the box, another thing he'd told me to bring.

  He sat on the couch across from me, a glass table separating us. My knees were touching and my body burst with anxious heat.

  "Drink?" he asked.

  I nodded.

  He poured me a mineral water.

  "Actually, I think I need something stronge
r," I said.

  "That's rule number one," he said. "Completely sober."

  "I see. And why's that?"

  "Rule number two is no questions."

  I wanted to roll my eyes, but the glint in Nathan's own eyes, and the flames reflecting in them from the fire he'd made, kept me listening.

  "OK," I said, downing the glass in one gulp. He poured me another.

  "Rule number three, and this you need to understand implicitly, is that I'm not, in any way, looking for a relationship. This will be pure sex, fucking, raw and primal. But, at the same time, while you and I are engaged in sexual activities, we will both be monogamous. Call it a physical relationship, but it's only physical."

  I wanted to ask why so badly! "I like that. I need physical right now. Only physical." I thought of Clayton, and how I'd panicked all those months back... Too many emotions.

  He paused midway while pouring me a drink. "Broken heart?"

  "I thought you said no questions."

  "Let me clarify, no questions from you. I can ask all the questions I want, but you're not obliged to answer them."

  "I see." I downed the next glass, wishing for all the life of me that he'd let me get even just a little tipsy. "Well, then, I'll remain silent on the broken heart question."

  "No problem..." He smiled, a warm, kind, engulfing smile. The crackling fire put me at ease and I sat back on his couch, putting my arms on the back of it and crossing my legs. Nathan's gaze seared my knees as he looked up and down my legs.

  He cleared his throat, then he downed a glass of water.

  "I don't like the no questions rule," I said. Millions of them scorched my mind.

  "The no questions rule is there for starters. Too many questions equals too little fucking, and if there's one thing I want — and have wanted — to do to you since I met you last week, is put my cock in you and fuck you for hours. Is that enough with the no questions rule?"

  Damn! I exhaled, warm as an egg toasting on the hood of a car in the Sahara Desert. "Yes," I croaked, "no questions." I shuffled in my seat, my body temperature sizzling, my center soaking. I felt myself drip onto his couch. I tightened up.

  "Rule number four: You can leave whenever you want.

  "Rule number five: I call the shots. Always. You don't like it, leave. But, and this is vital to understanding rule number five, if at any time you give me the slightest impression that you don't like what we're doing, I will stop. I'm old-fashioned. I don't like codewords. No means no, just so we're clear. We're two consenting adults here; equals. I just like certain things and I want to do them with you. Understood?"

  I nodded, thinking of the handcuffs, the lube...

  Behind Nathan was a windowed wall leading to the backyard. My eyes flickered between him — specifically his crotch — and the gathering stars outside. I tried to place his age. He was older, much older, thirty-two? Thirty-five?

  I was OK with that.

  "Rule six: I hate rubbers. We can start with them, but if we're going to do this you need to get on the pill."

  "I'm on the pill."

  "And I'm disease-free. You?"

  I'd gotten tested after that night with Clayton. I'd been nervous about his affair with that married woman. "I'm clean. Tested recently and..." I hesitated. "Well, I'm not that...'active.'"

  A wry smile crawled up his face. "Good. So, Layla..." He dragged the lay more often than usual this time, making sure I got it. "Are we going to have a monogamous no commitment fucking-only relationship?"

  My vag went so wet I thought I'd just jumped in a pool. My heart thumped like an elephant on meth. I nodded, swallowed, waited. I wanted this. I wanted something physical. I wanted to get away from the idea of love as much as possible, from the fear that had gripped me the moment my father had died and torn my mother's life apart. The same fear that had resurfaced when Clayton had told me he loved me...

  I didn't want love. I wanted this. Exactly this. Meeting Nathan had been perfect.

  "Yes," I said. "I want this. I want a fucking-only relationship."

  -7-

  The words had barely escaped me when Nathan was already off his couch, around the table, his massive hands already under my armpits, lifting me off my seat. The suddenness of it both froze and excited me. I let out a gasp.

  Before I knew it, I was on the kitchen island, my body-stockinged legs around Nathan's hard waist. "If you don't like something, say it," he said.

  "I like it," I whispered, no breath in my lungs. A sheen of sweat broke out on my forehead. My bottom lip dropped, my eyes closed.

  Nathan yanked me by the ankles and pulled me to him so my crotch rubbed his abs. I gasped. He squeezed my ankles tightly and I felt my eyes shut more forcefully, knowing that his size and strength could break my small frame like a chicken wing.

  Still squeezing my ankles, he swooped over to my neck, the left side, kissed me down it slowly and expertly, his tongue drawing circles and runes along the bones. I lifted my dress while he kissed me. He gripped my hands, shook his head.

  I knew what it meant. He would run the show.

  He eased his calloused hands up my sheer legs, watched and looked at them and then looked at my knees, eased his left hand down to my calf. Each touch was a blistering hiss of desire, sending tingles and goose-bumps up and down my legs, my crotch, my stomach. My spine.

  He undid my left bootie, threw it on the ground. His right hand was at my ass, my butt-cheek. He squeezed it, lifted me from the countertop and moved his finger to between my butt-cheeks. His fingers grazed my anal hole. I thought of the lube...

  My head dropped onto his shoulder and my arms wrapped around his broad body.

  "Good," he growled, "very good. Now you're getting it."

  Getting it? All I got is that I was in this man's control, that I was his. That I could ask him to stop but that I didn't want to. I felt owned, protected, ready to be pleasured in ways I had never imagined before.

  Then again, maybe I did get it...

  What I didn't get was how I also started to feel, even at this early stage, a certain need for him, beyond the physical. That need which always scared me, tore at my heart —

  No! I cried inside. No emotions...

  His right hand fired away from my butt, moved down to my right bootie and undid its straps. Both his hands massaged my toes while his mouth made its way to my right collarbone, his tongue licking me so that my skin cooled wherever he'd been. He licked the hollow at the base of my neck, then just below the collar of the sheer bodystocking below. "Good, you put it on," he said.

  "You told me to."

  "Yes, I did. Very good, very good."

  His southern drawl and the rolling timbre of his voice seethed with ownership and power. I became acutely aware of the crackling fire behind him, the sounds of my breaths in this otherwise silent room.

  Then he ripped off my dress. Just ripped it open at the collar and tore it down the middle! He slid the rest of it off me, the sleeves, the back. It hung at my waist. A gush of cold air hit my almost-naked skin. My too-small breasts peeked at him from the slits cut out of the bodystocking. He grinned, licked his lips.

  He slid his hands behind my butt, slammed my crotch into his waist, then stared me down as he moved my body against his, causing wholesome friction on my nub. My breath increased. I gasped out loud. Pressure built up. He pressed, rolled me against him, looking me deep in the eyes as he did it. Sweat glistened from his collarbone.

  I wanted to kiss him. I wanted to lick that collarbone and the colossal pectoral underneath it. Still he rubbed my clit against his waist, lifting my ass and body like I weighed nothing to him.

  "Hah!" I cried out involuntarily, the waves of stimulation sizzling my insides.

  He pulled, pushed, grinding my pussy against his manly abs. "Oh, my god, Nathan, I'm going to come if you carry on like —  Urgh, god!"

  "That's the point, babe."

  Still he pushed. I tensed up. My legs went hard. I began to shive
r. "Oh, god, yes, I'm gonna come, Nathan."

  I was so damn close...

  Sweat dripped down my brow. I wrested his dress-shirt open, buttons popping left and right, several bouncing audibly on the countertop and floor.

  Then he lifted me, just damn-well lifted me off that fucking countertop and held me against him! I ground my hips hard against his shirt, increasing the friction, speeding up my breathing. The sounds I made were a combination of "Ha. Ha. Ha. Oh. Oh. Oh." He held me by the small of my back, dangling in mid air, my legs around him. He looked down at my pussy as its moisture wet what was left of his shirt. There was no embarrassment on my part, no shame, nothing. Just two adults, hot for each other. Doing it.

  I tightened my legs around his massive torso and began to growl as I felt the surge within me, building, increasing, thrumming its way around my legs.

  My arms tensed. My stomach tensed. My legs tensed...

  "Oh motherfucker!" I absolutely yowled so high that I thought the windows might crack. "Damn fuck me oh yes lord have mercy god!" I cried. Then I howled a bunch of other irreverent curses and threw in a few everyday swearwords as my body pulsed and pummeled and shook with the beating palpitations of creamy joy.

  At one stage I became aware of practically strangling Nathan and whamming my forehead against his shoulder as each throb fired through me, gunshots of satisfaction.

  In his husky, gruff voice, he groaned, "That's right, baby. Come hard. Come fucking hard. We're only just getting started."

  When I was done, I exhaled all the clamped-up breath I had inside me, my hair matted to my face. Nathan put me on the tiled floor. The cold on my feet made me shiver.

  His chest heaved, his mouth twisted up into a smile on one side as he swallowed me whole with his eyes. I must have looked a sight: Dress half-on, torn, otherwise fully clad in a lace-trim bodystocking providing access to all my erogenous zones.

  A bead of sweat fell down his brow. "You still OK?" he asked.

  I played it bad-ass. "If I'm not, I'll tell you, now you promised me you'd fuck me, and I'm still waiting..."