Beauty and the Geek (Gone Geek Book 1)

by Sidney Bristol

  It was her turn to tilt her head. He’d said something before about his birthmark—asked if it bothered her—and to be honest, she hadn’t thought much about it since except to ask if he needed more sunscreen. They hadn’t spoken a lot about his father, but the little he’d mentioned clued her into a deeply rooted issue with her sexy, inked professor.

  “You are not a monster.” Were they seriously having this conversation? Was that how he saw himself?

  “No, but the way they’re staring, it’s pretty clear we’re beauty and the beast.”

  “Stephen, my whole life people have thought I’m a slut because I have big—natural—boobs, or that I have to be a porn star, or that I was made to be their fuck toy. That’s how people stare at me. Women hate me. Guys just want to stick their dicks in me. No one cares who I really am. That’s the point.” She wrapped her fingers around his hand. It’d taken her a long time to not feel like she had to cover herself from hairline to toes, or that something was wrong with her just because of the way she’d been born.

  His mouth worked soundlessly. She could already hear his protest, his apologies. He was the kind of man who would want to make reparations for wrongs he hadn’t committed. He was a good guy. A crazy good, smart, sexy guy that other women had overlooked.

  She kissed his knuckles, falling a bit more for him.

  “I had this really smart, funky girl talk to me once. I was super self-conscious at this one con, I was maybe nineteen at the time, and she was this plus-sized girl strutting around in this skintight wiggle dress and—I just wanted to be her. I wanted her confidence. So I talked to her later and asked, what’s your secret? She told me to look around.” Tamara glanced at the bar, the people, taking in other people eating and drinking.

  Stephen followed her gaze, and for a moment they both just watched other people.

  “Say there’s a hundred people in here, right now.” She leaned a little closer, speaking only for him. “Of those one hundred people, chances are there’s really only ten who aren’t so wrapped up in what’s going on with them to even notice you. And of those ten? Five want to be you. They like what you’re wearing, they find you attractive, something. And then the other five? You’ll never make them happy. They’ll hate you, think terrible things about you, whatever. Why live your life for those five miserable people? Are they more important than your happiness? No, they aren’t. So tonight—those five people who want to stare at you or me—why do they matter more than the person sitting across the table? And if they do, why are you here with the wrong person?”

  Stephen’s hand tightened over hers. They were two sides of the same coin. She couldn’t get people to look past her appearance, and he couldn’t get people to stop looking at his. She wrapped her hands a bit tighter around his and leaned her cheek against his fingers.

  The way they’d met…the anonymity…it’d allowed her to side-step a lot of easing someone into who she really was. He’d gotten the deep plunge look, and he wasn’t backing out of her life. To her, that was what mattered. In a world that only saw her for her aesthetic value, he saw more. And damn it if she wasn’t halfway to being in love with him already.

  Stephen jammed the key into the lock. The last three—four?—hours were a blur.

  They’d eaten.

  They’d driven.

  They’d talked.

  It felt as though he’d known Tamara his whole life. They were different—and the same.

  When he got home, he’d use that razor blade to carefully cut out the section of pages that included the test list and a few other…unfortunate doodles and word dumps. Fuck the stupid test, it was bogus and wrong. This? With them? It was right.

  The old, rusted lock finally gave way and he pushed the motel room door in.

  “Are you sure we should be staying here?” Tamara snickered. “You sure this isn’t the set of a horror movie?”

  He stepped into the room and flipped on the lights.

  “Dear…God…” Tamara wandered in, jaw hanging open. She tossed her bag onto the bed.

  “What…the…fuck?” He didn’t know where to look first. He pushed his rolling suitcase next to the wall.

  “This is amazing. Seriously?”

  He kicked the door shut and slid the chain into place before they were ax-murdered to death. Hadn’t he seen this room on a TV show once?

  The wall on one side was faux stone and the bathroom, or what constituted as the bathroom, was sculpted into what appeared to be an outcrop of rock. Tamara climbed into the tub and reached out to touch the…whatever it was.

  A space ship was painted on the left side of the room. Metallic silver and green aliens stood ready and waiting to accompany guests to their leader. Even the light fixture above the king size bed was oddly ship-shaped, oblong and strange. Somewhat ship-shaped.

  “Did we just drive onto the set of Supernatural?” Tamara was grinning and giddy.

  “I don’t know, but I think I have some salt packets in my bag. Just in case.”

  “Who puts a toilet out here?” She gestured to the toilet bowl sticking out of the wall, sitting on a stone pedestal.

  “I think that’s a curtain.” He gestured to the wall.

  Tamara pulled a retro-pattered curtain around an arc-shaped track. Stephen shook his head, not sure what to think, or if they should leave.

  “This is seriously the best motel ever.” She opened the curtain back up, way more excited about their accommodations than he was.

  “If you say so.” He shook his head. “I’m going to go get the cooler. Need me to get anything else?”

  “Some Ray-Bans? We might get a visit from the MIB.” She flopped onto the bed, her sundress riding up until he got a glimpse of the swimsuit bottoms that had taunted him all afternoon.

  “I’ll see what I can do.” He shook his head and let himself out of the room. “Lock this behind me.”

  “The car is thirty feet away,” she yelled after him.

  Stephen waited until he heard the chain rattle. There was nothing wrong with being cautious. And after everything she’d shared with him? The things she’d been through? He never wanted to let her out of his sight.

  He wrestled the cooler out of the car, drained the water, and iced down their drinks and snacks from the vending area. So far, day one of this trip was…fantastic. He couldn’t have imagined things going this well. If he were brutally honest, he’d been waiting for Tamara to cancel on him. That she hadn’t…That she’d wanted to be with him…He was still having problems wrapping his head around it. He was, to a letter, the luckiest guy.

  He lugged the cooler to the room and tapped on the door.

  “It’s me,” he said.

  “Me, who? I don’t know a Me.” Tamara’s voice was muffled, but he still heard the implied laugh.

  The door cracked open, showing him nothing but the room, her open bag, and a bunch of clothes strewn around already.

  He’d been gone ten minutes.

  And it looked like she’d been there ten days.

  How much crap had she packed in one little bag?

  “Moving in?” He stepped into the room and deposited the cooler under the window, next to the AC unit.

  “I wanted to change.”

  He turned as the door thudded closed, and his mouth went completely dry.

  10.

  In the time it’d taken Stephen to mess with the cooler she’d, changed into a silvery, ethereal…thing. It was lingerie. That much was obvious. It covered just enough to make his imagination race.

  “If I’d have known we were staying here I’d have totally brought my Leeloo outfit.

  “You have a Leeloo outfit?”

  “And an orange wig and a multi-pass with my name on it.”

  Is it too early to say I love you?

  His mouth wasn’t working or those words would have been out there, floating around.

  She turned, kicking one foot up and locked the door. He got a glimpse of ass cheeks, a little bit of material. No
t much else.

  Holy shit.

  He was staring, but that was because all the blood had left his head and gone…well…to his other head.

  Tamara sauntered toward him. He should say something. Do something. But he was caught in her spell. Watching her be her. She grasped the hem of his shirt and pulled it off. For the first time since they’d met, he didn’t hesitate. There was no doubt, no pause, just—hell yes. He wanted to be naked. With her. Because what came next was a hell of a lot better than what he’d had before she walked into his lab.

  She shoved her hand into his swim trunks and cupped his balls.

  “They aren’t blue, are they?” Her grin was infectious. “I’ve been thinking about you all day. Getting my hands on you.”

  He shoved his hands into her hair and dragged her up on her toes. Kissing her, thrusting his tongue into her mouth—that was more important than air. Her hand slid up around his erection. He shifted, wanting more. Of everything. Her. This. All of it.

  She led him by his cock—she walked backward, their mouths pressed together—until his hip bumped the dresser.

  Tamara pulled away. He didn’t want to let her go, but of the two of them, she was still in possession of her mind. His brain had completely stopped processing past the overwhelming need for her.

  She grabbed the waistband of his swim trunks and pulled down. He hissed and gripped the edge of the dresser. His dick popped out of his shorts, erect and ready. His knees were weak, and his balls ached. He’d been waiting for this all day.

  He kicked the shorts away and stared down at her. It was a picture he wanted to save forever. Her on her knees, her hand splayed over his hip. He could see down the front of her lingerie into the valley between her breasts.

  Tamara’s mouth was working; she was saying something.

  She wrapped her hand around his cock, the other supported his balls, her talented fingers stroking back to the sensitive strip of flesh behind the sac.

  “Oh, fuck.” He let his chin tip up, losing himself in the feel of her hands on him.

  Her hot breath fanned against his shaft. Her tongue licked up the underside, along the throbbing vein, all the way to the head of his cock.

  He made some sort of guttural sound.

  “Can I suck you?” she asked.

  Tamara wanted words. Dirty talk. He’d stepped up his game since she’d come into his life, but was it enough?

  He wasn’t used to telling a woman what to do. He’d never been as…controlling in bed as he’d been with her. But that was what she seemed to like, to want, from him. And when it came to her, he wanted it, too. She was confident, sexy, and so much smarter than she gave herself credit for.

  Stephen swallowed and grasped her hair again. Her eyes closed a little, and she seemed to melt. He tightened his hold, and she practically hung from his fingertips, lips parted in pleasure.

  “Suck my cock.” The words felt cumbersome, and his throat closed up before he could form the word slut. It wasn’t a word he’d ever uttered before her. But the way she shivered and smiled when he did—he’d say it again.

  Tamara leaned forward, his cock slipping between her lips. Her tongue rubbed against his skin, her hands working in tandem on his cock and balls. It was bliss. But what was better was watching her.

  She peered up at him through her lashes, never once looking away. There was no doubt that she was there both body and mind—with him. That she wanted this. And he wanted her.

  “Pull your top down,” he said.

  She released his balls and yanked the front of the lingerie down. Her breasts were firm, the peaks tight points.

  How long had she been aroused?

  Her breasts swayed as she moved.

  “Fuck.” He gripped the edge of the dresser for a moment. “Your mouth…”

  There was no stopping. Tamara was a woman on a mission. The best he could do was give her what she wanted.

  “Suck my cock, slut,” he said, little chills racing down his spine.

  Her eyes widened, and she groaned around his cock, the sound vibrating his shaft. She palmed her breast before going down until he felt the back of her throat.

  “You like sucking my cock?”

  Tamara released her breast and cupped his balls, her fingers sliding farther and farther back. He gulped and rocked into her mouth, gentle at first, until her finger pressed against his anus. He thrust hard, and she sucked, taking almost his entire length into her mouth.

  “Your mouth feels amazing.” He dug his other hand into her hair, moving his hips in time to her stroked. “You’re my slut. My cock slut.”

  The more he spoke, the more she moaned, the farther he sank into her.

  He was ramming into her now, nothing gentle about it. He tried to pull back, but each time he did she pressed that finger to his ass. Words poured from his mouth, things he’d never imagined saying. Sweat slicked his body. Her nails scored his thighs, his hips.

  “Fuck!”

  Stephen gasped for air.

  He pulled Tamara off his dick just before the first spurt of cum jetted out of his cock. She sat back on her heels, her hand still around his cock, pumping him gently. He rocked his hips into her hold, groaning her name until she’d wrung him dry.

  At last, he propped himself up on the dresser, and she rested her cheek against his hip, smiling up at him. She seemed far too pleased with herself for not having been the one to come.

  “Was that your plan?” he asked.

  “Maybe.” She kissed his stomach, and he hooked his hands under her arms, dragging her up his body by force.

  “You are a cock slut.”

  “Only for you.”

  “My cock slut.”

  “Yes.” She grinned. “You said it that time without hesitation.”

  “I’m learning.”

  “You’re such a talented student.”

  He slid his hands over her, under the lingerie, and cupped her breasts, reacquainting himself with every inch of her.

  “How wet were you at the beach?” he asked, hand over her mound. Whatever she was wearing, it was a hell of a lot thinner than her swimsuit bottoms had been.

  “Let’s just say it wasn’t the water drenching me.”

  Stephen pushed the triangle of lace aside and thrust his fingers inside of her. The slick heat nearly seared his skin. She was hot, ready, wanting—and his dick was soft.

  Tamara clawed her way up his shoulders, finding his mouth. Her tongue stroked his, and he sucked, while plunging his fingers as deep as they could go. She hiked a leg over his hip and his cock stirred. It was too soon, but fuck, he wanted to be in her again.

  He turned, putting her ass on the dresser to get her at the right height. She leaned back, bracing her hands on the surface.

  “Make me come,” she pleaded, before dragging his mouth back to hers.

  He worked his hand in and out, curling his fingers, listening to her little moans, when she’d bite down on his lip, and concentrated on those motions, the spots he touched.

  She was beautiful in the way she gave herself over to passion and pleasure. Totally uninhibited.

  Only for you.

  Those words were important. Because what this was, what they had, was special. They were two sides of the same coin. And he wanted to be everything for her.

  Which meant this.

  Here.

  Now.

  “You’re my slut. You will come on my fingers and then my cock, understand?”

  She kissed his face, one hand still clinging to his hair, nearly yanking it out by the roots. She groaned, her face a twisted mix of pleasure and pain. He cupped a breast and tugged at the nipple. Her back arched, and she gasped, her head tossed back.

  “God, you’re so damn beautiful. Sluts come when they’re told.”

  “Oh—Stephen, fuck, yes! Oh, God. Oh, yes.” She rocked her hips into his hand, faster now.

  Her eyes widened, and she was no longer staring at him. Her pupils dilated, and her internal m
uscles quaked with orgasm, squeezing him.

  Stephens cock twitched, brushing her thigh.

  When had he gotten hard again?

  Tamara slumped against the mirror, one foot drawn up onto the dresser. She pushed her hair off her face, her smile bright, beautiful, but not sated. And here he’d never really believed her when she spoke of that thing called multiple orgasms.

  Stephen grasped the hem of the lingerie and pulled it up over her head. As alluring as it’d been, now it was just in the way. He wanted to see all of her, to be unencumbered. She stretched, leaving the work up to him.

  He jerked the delicate fabric, ripping a fist-sized hole on it.

  Tamara’s eyes widened.

  “Fuck, I’m sorry.” He let go, hands up.

  “It’s lingerie. It’s made to be destroyed.” She grabbed the same hole and ripped it further.

  “I’ll buy you another one.”

  “It was like, five dollars, I swear.”

  “Oh.” He didn’t feel quite so bad.

  “See if you can rip it off me.”

  The idea was…hot. But what if he couldn’t? There’d be nothing more emasculating than being defeated by a bit of fabric.

  She tugged the front of the nightie back up, over her breasts.

  Here goes nothing.

  Stephen grasped the bust line and yanked. The delicate fabric split, coming apart in a spray of fine, glittery threads.

  They both stared at the shredded material.

  “Oh—that—was hot.” Tamara glanced up at him, her eyes wide, a spark of mischief in their depths.

  He grabbed the strap still hooked on her arm and tore it in two. It was just material, a cheap, sexy outfit, and yet shredding it like this made him a bit caveman-like.

  “Don’t forget the panties.” She scooted to the very edge of the dresser and presented her hip.

  He leaned in, thrusting his tongue into her mouth as he grasped the thin strap. It snapped with the same ease as the rest of her outfit had.

  At five dollars, he was going to buy one for every night of the week, and consider it the best investment possible.

  “I want you in me,” she said between kissed. “Now.”

  “Yes.”

  He shoved away from the dresser and staggered to his suitcase. The condoms he’d packed were in an outside pocket.