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

  GIRL-NERDS LIKE IT FASTER

  BOOK TWO OF THE GIRL-NERD SERIES

  BY RACHEL DUNNING

  Copyright © 2013 Rachel Dunning.

  The moral right of the author has been asserted.

  Cover Design Copyright © 2013 Rachel Dunning.

  Cover Photo Copyright © 2013 iko.

  Obtained from Shutterstock and used with permission.

  No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

  This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real locales are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author's imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Also by Rachel Dunning

  Hot Holidays Series

  Christmas Comfort

  Perfectly Flawed Series

  Standalone Novel

  Over 420 Pages

  NO Cliffhanger!

  Like You, #1 Perfectly Flawed Series

  Naïve Mistakes Trilogy

  Finding North, #1 Naïve Mistakes Trilogy

  East Rising, #2 Naïve Mistakes Trilogy

  West-End Boys, #3 Naïve Mistakes Trilogy

  Finding North is available for FREE to US and UK customers in the Kindle Store!

  Girl-Nerds Series

  Girl-Nerds Like it Harder, #1 Girl-Nerd Series

  Girl Nerds Like it Faster, #2 Girl-Nerd Series

  Girl-Nerds Like it Deeper, #3 Girl-Nerd Series

  Girl-Nerds Like it Longer, #4 Girl-Nerd Series

  Please subscribe to new release info here:

  http://racheldunningauthor.blogspot.com

  For old friends...

  Table of Contents

  BEFORE WE CONTINUE...

  GIRL-NERDS LIKE IT FASTER

  BOOK THREE

  BEFORE WE CONTINUE...

  Hey there, it's nice to see you! Do you drink coffee? I'll brew us a cup... Oh, we haven't met before? No worries. Let me tell you a little about myself and this book you're about to read then.

  I write two types of story lines. Hot, and supremely hot. This book you're about to read falls into the latter category... The stories I write in this category are typically a little shorter than my usual ones, a little wilder, and much...warmer.

  If you are into this latter category of books then welcome! Put your legs up, your coffee is on the way (or tea if you prefer.) I'm looking forward to the next hour or two we'll be spending together...

  Have a fan ready.

  Love,

  R

  P.S. It goes without saying that this book is intended for adults only.

  If you want news of upcoming releases, please subscribe here:

  http://racheldunningauthor.blogspot.com

  GIRL-NERDS LIKE IT FASTER

  -1-

  I fell a little off the mainframe after my encounter with Clayton Remington. The night when he'd made me come so hard and so often that, by the end of it, he'd declared his love for me. And I'd panicked.

  But one thing he had shown me was that I, Layla Rudemeyer, the simple geeky kid who'd once sworn by horn-rimmed glasses, the girl with traces of cellulite on the backs of her skinny legs because she'd never bothered to exercise anything other than her fingers on a keyboard her whole life, was also endowed with the ability to enjoy butt-smacking, pelvis-shaking, mouth-whetting, tasty sex like any other red-blooded female on campus, or anywhere else in the world.

  It's true that I was terrified to death of love. But sex? Not anymore. That fear had dissipated along with any hopes of ever having a relationship with the one person I knew, deep down, was my soulmate. Heaven-Eyed Clayton Remington.

  So I went a bit off the wagon. I got a little wild. I started wearing make-up, switched the torn-at-the-knees jeans for torn-at-the-thigh ones. Torn high on the thigh...

  Now, don't get me wrong, I didn't go all out and serve my body up as shareware for any guy wanting to upload his software into the host computer I call my body. And I also didn't do any kinky stuff trying it with more than one person at a time. I've always been the binary type — one on one, and never more than a total of two.

  But I did make myself a little more user-friendly, a little more approachable.

  The first place I tried out this new-found user-friendliness was at a May Day party, celebrating something or other that had shit to do with May or May Day, or even springtime. There were always parties at college, and just because I was in England made it no different.

  Of course, Clayton had tried to convince me in all the months up to that, since he and I had hooked up in January, that we were meant to be together. That he was sure I'd felt something, just as he had.

  He was right of course. But I couldn't let him know that. He and I are just made of a different kind of source code. I just wasn't wired correctly for love. So there.

  In my one-plus year that I'd been at the University of England, I'd never been to any 'cool people' college parties. This was my first one. I also didn't have any friends that knew how to dress for these things, seeing as I usually hung out with the crowd that walked the corridors with their books tight against their chests, looking down, hoping nobody looked at us funny, or, worse, said hello, thereby striking hard against that one barrier all nerds and geeks have that normal people don't have: We struggle to communicate unless we have our mouses and keyboards, a chat box, and a network connection.

  So, when I called up my best friend Mandi (also a geek, and crazy smart) and asked her, "So, what should I wear?" she gave me the obvious answer: "Uh, Google it, I suppose." (Mandi is British. All the British say 'I suppose.')

  The whole hot-and-sexy make-up and torn-at-the-thighs look had gotten me a few looks at college, but nobody interesting actually came and spoke to me. Guys avoided me like I had a computer virus or Adware. And I guess I did. I had the "I'm a nerd" virus.

  I needed an antivirus to quarantine this sucker, quick. And this party was going to be it! My coming out party, my debutante ball. I had to dissociate myself from the geek crowd without neglecting my friends. A new look, and a new outfit was exactly what I needed.

  Because I'm seriously under-endowed in the breast department, and my skin is so pale it looks like it snowed on me and never melted, I had to figure out what were my assets... I almost gave up. I had zero muscle-tone, but I wasn't technically overweight. So maybe I could use that to my advantage. What I didn't want to do was come out looking like a freeware skank. So I went with a sort of Avril Lavigne look I found on the Nylon website: Sheer black tights with a lace pattern (the lace was my idea, not Avril Lavigne), black mini skirt, a tee with a rhinestone pattern on the front that said 'Boss,' and a shitload of bangles. I topped it off with ankle-height booties that made my sorry-ass shortness seem only slightly sorry-ass. Mandi had come over to my place to give me tips. When she looked at me from behind her huge horn-rims as I walked out the bathroom, she said, "Holy fuck, who are you?"

  I'd successfully hit the reset button on my fashion-sense.

  I was ready.

  -2-

  I went alone because Mandi wasn't keen on being left by the punch bowl, being hit on by guys who'd found their hands too boring to keep them entertained. "I'm not leftovers," she'd said.

  I knew the feeling. That's how I used to feel before Clayton Remington...

  Hmmm, Clayton. Thinking of him again as I walked the
two miles to the House Party made my stomach ache briefly. I forced the thought away.

  My goals for this party were clear:

  One. Establish myself as a cool geek who can turn heads and who, as a result, is able to attract the hotter guys on campus.

  Two. Do the above without looking like a whore. And, no matter what, do not get drunk and get laid while someone films me with a camera!

  When I walked in the door, the waft of body-heat hit my face like a blanket. A dude in a bowler hat and suspenders spat out his drink and gawked at me. That caused the guy next to him to say, "Bro, what the — ?" and then he stopped, and looked at me as well.

  I smiled. My plan was working...

  I raised my left leg onto tip-toes and moved its knee over my right one. Then I stroked my thigh absently as I looked around. "Um, is this the May Day House Party?" I asked demurely.

  Bowler-Hat Dude continued to stare, drink in hand. His friend choked out "Uhm, uh, er, y — yes, yes. Could I get you a drink?" The friend was ugly, real ugly.

  "No, thanks."

  I sashayed in, making sure the fragrance I'd put on lingered just long enough to have them both salivating from the pheromones the bottle advertised as being able to release. (OK, I doubted it myself when I'd bought it, but the night was important so I wore the stuff anyway. Smelled OK I guess.)

  I felt totally in control. Girls who'd only scoffed at me in the college hallways — girls almost twice my height! — blinked and stared down at my legs, then at my hair. They turned to their groups and talked amongst themselves. Many of them didn't recognize me. Some snubbed their noses at me.

  I couldn't help smiling.

  Of course, Clayton was there. He was one of the few smart people I knew at college who was actually and factually cool. Like, really cool. Like, no-act-needed cool.

  He looked away when he saw me. My fault. I'd pushed him away so much that I figured he'd never talk to me again.

  I found the famous punch-bowl, sniffed it once and saw that it was most definitely spiked. I took a cup and filled it, downed it. Then another. On the third one, I felt my body sway and my ass moved back toward the table.

  Only it didn't hit it... It hit a hand. A warm hand. A calloused, firm hand which didn't hesitate groping my ass gently and expertly, stopping me from falling.

  "Be careful there..." said a rumbling, Southern US voice from behind me. If you could extract all the sex essence of the world and put it into a bottle, then sell it as a breath-freshener, that's what this voice sounded like.

  I turned to face my ass-groping savior (I guess if the punch had fallen over it would've ruined my chances of falling in with the cool crowd.)

  When I saw the man, I opened my mouth, gasped, then left it open.

  The guy was a fucking...deity. His perfect teeth gleamed at me from behind a juicy smile. Bedroom eyes warmed me up top to bottom, but especially bottom... Trimmed chest hairs peeked at me from behind his dress shirt — two buttons open, just enough to show me his golden skin, his muscled chest. This dude had more cleavage than me. His light-brown hair teased me with its waves, one strand flicking up from a gentle breeze currently stroking my unexpectedly quivering legs. "I don't believe we've met," he said. The words were decadent maple syrup oozing from his lips.

  I closed my mouth, swallowed.

  I was so fucking screwed.

  -3-

  "Lay — Lay — Layla." Damn it, did I just use the word 'Lay' twice in a row with this guy?

  Mr. Dark-and-Sexy-Skin's lip curled up on one side, revealing a miracle dimple and a glint of mischief in his leafy-green eyes. "Layla?" he said.

  "Yes, um, Layla." I downed another glass of punch, felt it all the way to my toes. My legs began to wobble. I blamed it on being in the vicinity of male pheromones on heat.

  "Well, Layla, I'm Nathan. Nathan Lockwood." He extended his hand to me.

  Nathan. Mmmmmmm. The name coiled around in the fog of my mind and grabbed me by the arms, pulling my thoughts into his manly chest...

  I shook my head, trying to focus, swaying once back but catching myself fast. Nathan grabbed the glass from my hand and said, "It looks like you need some fresh air..."

  Wait, did I shake his hand or didn't I? "Um, yeah, maybe I do need some air."

  The man towered above me. It had never occurred to me that my anatomy might be against me in this subject of sex. I mean, down there, size-wise... My mind drifted again, wondering about Nathan's size...

  Clayton, chatting to some babe against a wall, looked at me askance.

  Before I knew it we were outside, the early spring breeze crisp on my skin. How had we gotten here? Nathan sat me down on a bench by the side of the road. Were it not for the party behind us, it would be a very quiet street. That's the way it goes in small West Sussex towns. Only the parties rock.

  I sat back, wondering when the world had started spinning...

  When Nathan's hand grazed my right shoulder from having put his arm around me, three things happened:

  One. I knew I was going to need a change of underwear, soon.

  Two. The world spun even faster, too quickly, too much movement.

  Three. I hurled. All over his loafers.

  -4-

  Before I knew it I was in a dimly lit room with orangey lights surrounding me, lying on something comfy, covered by something else, also comfy, and warm. I saw little, mostly just a haze. A deep, manly voice called out from another room and said, "Earl Grey OK?"

  Huh?

  "Urrrrghhhh," I groaned. It felt like someone was slamming me in the head with their cleats, and I was the soccer ball.

  "Layla?" said the rumbling voice.

  "Um, yes?" I said slowly. The dude who'd been kicking me took a break, now the guy with the sledgehammer had a thing for my cranium.

  The owner of the voice walked in. Oh, god, even through the foggy haze he made me hot. Nathan's shoulders looked as wide as the Golden Gate Bridge, in his tight tee. When had he changed?

  When had — ?

  Oh no. We screwed, and I was drunk, and I don't remember...

  I groaned. Not wanting to know how or what or where... I just hoped he'd used protection, and if he hadn't I sure as hell hoped he was clean!

  "Where...where am I?"

  "You're at my house," he said in his Sexy Southern Drawl. "After you puked all over my feet I needed to change my shoes, and I figured you'd need to get some rest before your boyfriend or friends or whoever picked you up."

  "You're American?" I asked, totally out of context.

  "Of course. You hadn't noticed?"

  I put my palm to my head and let out a keening growl of hungover pain. "Actually, I did, I don't know... Why is everything so freaking hazy?"

  "You took your contact lenses out when we got here. At least you remembered to do that. Now, I asked you if Earl Grey is fine."

  "No, I hate tea. You got coffee?"

  "Course I do."

  Heavyweight-Chested Nathan went out the room and I took the opportunity to look down at myself through the murk which was my vision. My booties were off. So were my tights...

  Oh, goddamn it. We totally screwed!

  I dropped my head back down on his pillow. It probably was a very comfy pillow, but now it just felt like it was filled with rocks. It sent machetes of pain through my skull. I wondered what my face looked like. Had my eyeshadow smirked? Did I look like a skank? Had I gone down on him?

  I'm so mortified.

  "Here ya go," said Nathan in his hypnotizingly mellow voice... No wonder I did him. I'd probably do him sober, twice. Then once more for good luck.

  Whoa, who was this girl and what had she done with the real me!?

  The smell of coffee brought new waves of nauseating thoughts to me and I fought to keep them down. Nathan put the coffee on the bedside table and sat by my legs.

  "Drink it," he said, "it opens up the capillaries which will get more blood flowing in the body and improve the headache
."

  It sounded like a good idea to me. I sat up and felt for the coffee. Nathan grabbed my comparatively tiny hand and eased it over to the coffee handle. "Thanks," I said. "Um, could you pass me my clutch bag?"

  I couldn't believe I was about to do this, but, hey, I needed to see. And this dude had already done me so what was the point in trying to look sexy for him? I pulled out my ten-foot-long horn-rims that I kept only in case of emergencies and put them on. Ah, sight!

  Nathan stared at me. "Attractive."

  I rolled my eyes. Even that hurt! The man was so beautiful. Oh, darn it.

  "Look, Nathan, um, could you at least tell me what we did last night? I mean, just so I know?"

  "Last night? It's still night-time, honey. So, technically, it's this night." Holy moly, his drawl felt like fleece on my bare skin. "Well, let me see, you know the puking part. Then you offered yourself to me, put your arms around me on that bench we'd been on. I must say, your breath left much to be desired. I told you you were drunk. You grabbed my... Well, I think you get it."

  OMGOMGOMGOMG!

  "Then you hurled again, only I'd gotten the sense to move away from you by this time. Your booties are outside drying. There was puke all over them. Your tights — very sexy tights I must say — also had chunks falling down them. I asked you where you lived. You said you live in the city of love. I asked who you were with. You asked me to be your boyfriend. Then you hugged me, tried to kiss me with your chunky breath. I used the motion to pick you up, carried you over to my place which is only a few blocks away. You kept flirting with me. I took your booties off, peeled your tights off because they were stinking up my house. Then I held your head while you puked three more times into my toilet. When it looked like you were about to pass out, I wiped your mouth, put you in my bed, and since then I've been reading by the fire waiting for you to wake up. When you roused, I asked if you wanted Earl Grey. You said you wanted coffee.