Girl-Nerds Like it Longer (Erotic Romance) Book 4 Page 3

  He consumed every part of me.

  I lost my senses. I started rubbing my crotch up against his lips and face automatically, sucking hard at his cock at the same time and just generally losing control.

  We did come together.

  His come speared into the back of my mouth once, then again, then another time. His cock went wild inside me. I rode him insanely while he spasmed and arched upwards. I groaned a muffled groan and continued to taste him and eat him and gulp all of him down.

  He did the same.

  In the end, I carried on lapping him. Because I hadn't reached the jam on his balls yet. He licked me gently as well, like someone licks their plate after a good Tiramisu.

  "Now that was a first," I said.

  -5-

  We lay there naked from the crotch down for some hours, sipping wine and looking up at the trees. The sun started setting and I was truly shivering now. We'd kissed endlessly and barely touched our food. Well, not since we'd touched it on each other's genitalia, that is.

  We had, however, put jam and cream on each other's lips and licked it off.

  At about six P.M. I was a block of ice and finally decided to put my jeans on. Clayton did the same. We sat up and pulled out a few crackers and pears. And we actually ate food. Just food.

  It was pretty dark now, but not quite black yet.

  "Where'd you learn that?" I asked.

  "I didn't 'learn' it. The idea came to me."

  I took a bite of the pear. "Bullshit. Your sugar-mommy probably taught you."

  His face went suddenly serious. "Her name was Camila, FYI."

  The sternness with which he told me made me feel like I was just beyond a dam wall and it had suddenly opened on my head. "I didn't realize you were so sensitive about her."

  "Sorry," he said, "it's just, I don't make fun of your...sugar-daddy!"

  The way he referred to Nathan as that actually stung a little. Because, even though Nathan was who he was, we'd shared many intimate moments together. Moments that, at least to me, had meant something at the time.

  I understood why Clayton had gotten touchy about her now. Because I felt the same way as well.

  "I see your point," I said. We sat in silence a bit, the wind getting ever stronger. "Wanna talk about it?"

  He pondered my question for a second. "About the sugar-mommy?"

  "No, about Camila!"

  He laughed. "What's there to talk about?"

  "She meant something to you, didn't she?"

  He shrugged, looked down. "Sure, but it was doomed."

  I bit into my pear. "Did you love her?"

  "You mean the second time round?"

  I remember he'd once told me he did think he'd loved her once, the first time they'd been together. "Yeah, the 'second time round.'"

  "It's weird, you know. I mean, she was the first woman I was ever with. Then I was with you. And then that ended. So, by the time I got together with her again, I was kind of free of illusions, you know?" He waited.

  "Care to elaborate?"

  "Well, after that I figured you should take what you get. I figured that love is more of a contract, or a handshake—"

  "A handshake?"

  "Computer definition. You know, two systems communicating and then agreeing to communicate from thereon out—a handshake."

  "Right."

  "So, it was like a server-client handshake, you know. No sparks, no magic. Just a logical decision to be together, but nothing...visceral...keeping you there."

  My mind drifted, he might as well be talking about mine and Nathan's relationship...

  "Layla?"

  "Um, yeah, sorry. So, you felt nothing for her at all?"

  "I didn't say that. She meant a lot to me, but I knew where I stood with her. I knew she wouldn't go to the ends of the earth for me. Have you seen that movie Casino with Robert DeNiro and Joe Pesci?"

  "Never heard of it."

  "It's a classic. But, yeah, it was made in nineteen-ninety-five, so we were babies. Anyway, this babe, Sharon Stone—she was a babe then—she's hooked up with Robert De Niro's character. And she doesn't love him. But she stays with him because he gives her all the money she needs. But she'd never go the extra mile for him. That's sort of how it was like with me and Camila."

  "Hell. That's depressing."

  "The sex was good."

  "In the movie or between you and Ms Camila?"

  "Between me and Ms Camila. And you? With Mr. Texan?"

  I didn't want to talk about it. It was still hard for me to accept how I'd been tricked by him. And it was hard for me to convince myself that I had no feelings at all for him.

  Because it wasn't true that I didn't. The only thing that was true was that he'd videoed us having sex without me knowing it—once.

  And also that he'd told me he loved me when I left him.

  I probably should talk about it with someone, but not with Clayton. "Could I skip the question?"

  "Sure."

  -6-

  Back at my studio apartment Clayton asked me, "So, how do you pay for the apartment?"

  "It's part of the scholarship."

  He whistled. "Wow. They must really want you here."

  I said nothing.

  "That was a hint," he said.

  I lay on my bed and Clayton turned a chair and sat at my desk, the one with the three computer screens on it.

  "I know it was a hint. I chose not to answer it."

  "Suit yourself. Any plans for Christmas?"

  I turned my head away and tried not to think about it. Christmas in the states had never been a big thing with mom and me since dad had died. Once I even spent it alone while she partied it up with one of her boyfriends. "There's still quite some time before Christmas."

  "I know, I just wanted to know if you had plans."

  "Yeah, I have plans. I plan on playing Grand Theft Auto on my PS3."

  "Wanna come meet my family?"

  "I thought your parents were divorced."

  "They are. You'd be meeting my mom and whatever boyfriend she's chosen to bring, as well as my pregnant sister and her boyfriend."

  "You want me to meet them?"

  "No, I want someone to talk to while I'm with them. We normally just get crazy drunk when we're together because we can't stand each other's guts. Then we end up throwing drunken slurs at each other close to the end of the night, and then it's over. But my sister actually sort of likes me when she's drunk, but now she's pregnant, so she'll just tell me how much she hates me because she can't drink. I'd rather skip the drunken slurs and just have a friend I could talk with."

  "A friend? Do you normally lick whipped cream off a friend's vagina?"

  "Layla, don't get me horny by using the word vagina in front of me."

  "Vagina."

  "Layla."

  "Va—gi—na."

  "At this rate, we'll be having sex again before you know it."

  "Clayton, something tells me I get you horny no matter what I say."

  "No wonder they gave you a brainy-person scholarship."

  I ogled him wistfully. Whenever he smiled, his eyes lit up like lamps floating on a river. His body was sturdy, healthy, not overbearing. And no matter how old he would get, I don't think he'd ever stop looking young and care-free.

  "Will you lick my vagina at your family's Christmas party?"

  "Whatever happened to taking it slowly?"

  "It went down the chute when you decided to introduce whipped cream into the equation. But we are taking it slow, last time we were together we screwed after only a few weeks."

  "It's been only a few weeks this time round as well!"

  I swallowed. "Yeah. How exactly does a geek with no interest in sex turn into...this?" I gestured at myself.

  "It's called puberty, love."

  I threw my pillow at him!

  "So, how you feeling in general? I mean, about the sex thing," he asked.

  "Why, are you desperate for some?"

  "No! I just
wanted to know. That...other...guy seemed to have put you on edge a little about it."

  "Because it was only sex with him. And I thought that's what I wanted."

  "And it wasn't?"

  I shook my head. I played with something on my bed.

  "You still feel stuff for him, don't you?"

  Sadness washed over me as Clayton said it. I still didn't face him. "I'm just...confused. I mean, even this whole thing about falling in love with you the first time, I mean...it was so...surprising."

  "What are you saying, Layla?"

  "I'm just saying that you make me feel warm and special inside. You have since the day I met you. That's what I'm saying."

  "And that's love to you? 'Warm and special' feeling?"

  When I'd decided to sleep with Clayton, it had been to try things out, to experiment. And then I got caught up in emotions so powerful that...I could only call them love. Because I had no idea what they were.

  But were they really that?

  "Do you know what love is?" I asked him.

  He shrugged. "I think I do. I mean, it's when you...get that 'warm and special' feeling."

  "Very funny. See? Not even you know what it is..."

  He opened his mouth to answer, but couldn't. He frowned pensively. "It's a good fucking question. All I know is that I like how geeky you are. I like how you think in ones and zeros. I like how you play Grand Theft Auto on Christmas."

  "So you like lots of things about me. But is that love?"

  He looked at me suspiciously. "Layla, are you trying to break up with me?"

  "No!"

  "Are you trying to analyze and graph and calculate out the formula of love?"

  "Maybe."

  "Maybe we moved too fast."

  Lead sank in my chest. "I'm sorry— What?"

  "I mean, maybe we said 'I love you' too quickly. Maybe we should've just settled for 'I really like you.'"

  "Clayton Remington, are you now telling me you don't love me?"

  "Jesus H. Christ! You're impossible!" He threw his hands up in frustration. Then he laughed. "Is there anything you don't analyze and overanalyze in life?"

  "Sadly, no."

  I moved into a sitting position on my bed, feet hanging off the edge. There was silence for a while. I looked at the ceiling, looked at the gray carpeting, kicked my feet up and down, then I said, "Have you seen Pulp Fiction?"

  "Of course I have. But I though you didn't watch twentieth-century movies."

  "I don't watch movies in general. Except sci-fi. But Pulp Fiction was a classic."

  "So was Casino."

  "Whatever, anyways, in that movie, the babe—"

  "Uma Thurman."

  "—says to the dude with the blue eyes—"

  "John Travolta."

  "—that she heard somewhere that when two people can share silence together, they're in love."

  "I remember that scene," Clayton said.

  "And?"

  "And what?"

  "What do you think?"

  "It was a good scene."

  "No, you British dry-humor asshole! What do you think about what she said?"

  "Firstly, I have the scene memorized. And she said that the sharing of silence comfortably meant you'd found someone really special, not that you'd fallen in love. Secondly, I think that if you're analyzing love and what makes it up based off of a Quentin Tarantino movie, then they seriously need to reconsider whatever brainy-person scholarship they gave you!"

  I turned to grab a pillow and throw it at him but I didn't have one! I took off my shoe and cocked it back, then I realized I might hit one of my computer screens so I put it back on. "You were lucky there."

  Clayton swung the chair away from under him and sat next to me. He put his arm around my shoulders and I felt myself tremble. "Layla, I know what's going on here."

  "You do?"

  "Yeah, don't worry about having told me you love me. Let's just take things as they come. I mean, we're young, right? I like you and you like me. What else is there to care about in this current configuration? I'm not gonna go and be with another girl while we're together. And I don't think you're gonna be with another guy..." He waited.

  "Are you waiting for me to comment?"

  "I am."

  "You really think I might go and be with another guy?"

  "No, but I like it when you get that pissed off look on your face, like you're doing now."

  I punched him on the arm! "Ow!" I said, feeling the pain in my own wrist. It didn't look like I'd hurt him a bit.

  "Anyway, so let's just see how things progress. OK?"

  Clayton had seen through me, seen through all the nervous questions.

  I wanted to make love to him, and that's what had gotten the worm replicating itself in my mind so that I couldn't stop thinking about it.

  Because that's the point: I didn't want to fuck Clayton. I wanted to make love to Clayton.

  And, me being me, I got into the semantics of it. And that threw me over the edge with word etymology and definitions and all that nerdy crap about the English language that really has very little to do with science anyway.

  I mean, we use the word muggle because someone made it up in a book. Chortle came to us from Lewis Carol. Children are munchkins, and serendipity never even existed.

  But here's the worst part: And this part is really, really, bad. According to the English language, I don't even exist! Because the word Nerd was actually invented by Dr. Seuss when he wrote the book, If I Ran the Zoo!

  It has no basis in fact. Someone just made it up!

  So, do you think I would use the existence of a word in the English language as scientific proof of the existence of a thing? Hell no!

  So, when I got this feeling in me, this warm, wholesome feeling, and when I got the idea of making love to Clayton, I got confused.

  Just because love is a word in the English language doesn't mean it's real or that it even exists.

  Sort of like that phrase, An Honest President.

  What bullshit, right?

  I put my hand on his jeans and rubbed his thigh up and down. "I think mankind in general is just fucked up, you know that?"

  "What? Hell, Layla, what were you thinking there to come up with that bollocks?"

  I rubbed his thigh some more, then a little higher. "I just think life is fucked up. I mean, nobody has any answers about shit. And then, two people meet, and they like each other, as you say, and nobody can even tell us if we're in love!"

  Clayton didn't answer. He lifted my chin with his index finger and stared at me.

  His eyes raged with fear and questions that I felt, now, I should ask him about. Because I'd never bothered to really ask him anything about what burns inside the hull of his cranium. I'd never bothered to take a screwdriver to his head and peer into his motherboard.

  In short, maybe I'd been selfish.

  He eased down closer toward me, confident and self-assured. And he pressed dry lips to mine so that my little body loosened and eased off so much that all my thoughts of words and meanings and analyses and questions...disappeared.

  I heard the gentle smack of our lips opening and closing as his tongue stretched out to meet mine. He cupped my cheek in his hand and then turned his mouth sideways while pushing deeper down into me until all the air I was breathing was from his own lungs.

  He eased me down onto the bed and got on top of me.

  My eyes closed.

  He kissed me as I lay there and my arms went around his back and rubbed his athletic build.

  It was like being hypnotized, being with Clayton. I felt my vital organs slowing, my breathing deepening. All fears started dissipating.

  It wasn't long before he had my pants and panties off again but this time he didn't ingest me ferociously. This time he kissed me tenderly, as if my labia were the lips of my mouth. Softly and kindly, he licked the outer ones, then the inner ones.

  My clit.

  "Mmmmmmmmmm," I groaned.

  "M
mmmmmmmmm," I said again.

  "MMMMMMMMmmmmmmmmmmm," I cried a third time.

  His tongue stretched out to reach my nub rhythmically. One lick, then back. Pressing again, then back, flicking up and down it, then back.

  He gave a long, slow lap all the way into me and I—

  "Ohhhhhhh, yes, baby. Mmmmmm. Mmmmmmmmm." I licked the lips on my face, turned gently on the bed and swayed left and right as his tongue massaged me and made me forget the complexities of my mind and the confusions of my thoughts.

  He put his hands on the top of my thighs and drove his tongue into me.

  Now the pace change changed.

  Now he wasn't delicate anymore.

  Now he dug and thrust—

  I yelped and swung and rocked and—

  I didn't hold back this time. I didn't. Every time I'd come before—with him, with Nathan, alone—I'd always held back the screams. I'd never fully let myself go.

  But, oh boy, this was too good. And I needed to freaking snap.

  So. I. Freaking. Howled!

  I sounded like that chick from the movie, Psycho. (Yes, that one I have seen.) I just freaking detonated.

  "OH FUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCK YEAH CLAYTON MOTHERFUCK!!!! OH, GOD! GOD! GOOOOOOOOODAMN!"

  When he was done, I laughed. I was giggling and chuckling and feeling like someone had just loaded me up with Nitrous Oxide or something.

  Clayton got up and lay next to me. I was still guffawing. He smiled proudly. "You've got my come on your lips and nose," I said, pointing at him.

  He laughed as well.

  I stared at the ceiling. "Damn!" I exhaled. "Damn. Damn. DAMN!" I said again. "Shew! Wow!" I breathed out forcefully. "Hell, who needs love when you have that?"

  Clayton smiled even wider. I guess such a reaction in a girl must be a big moment for a dude.

  After a few minutes, when the euphoric feelings that Clayton's orgasmic tongue had brought about in me had settled, I thought it only fair that I do the same for him, after all.

  I bent over him and undid his belt and jeans. He smelled of our earlier sex and it made me want to lick him immediately. There was still a little sweetness left over from the jam, but mostly there was only pre-come. Lots of it. Clayton was so turned on that he didn't last very long in my mouth.

  I bobbed long and deep into him and let him jerk and pulse inside me. It felt like whipped cream all over again. His groans made my heart flutter.