Hard Facts by Penny Clarke

24

Summer

“What are some…fuck…” I close my eyes, biting my lip, before shoring my concentration enough to turn the next page in the textbook. “Computational challenges in bioinformatics?”

Grayson’s voice lists them off from the foot of my bed. “Understanding relationship genomes, detecting relatives, and…” He pauses as my mouth parts with a whimper. “Tracking evolutionary courses at both molecular and species levels. Right?”

What do I know? Or care?Since my head drops to my pillow, and I barely hear him over the humming buzz below my waist. He did sound very confident in his answer. Though, that may be that he’s very confident that he has me right where he wants.

I lift my ass in the air as he glides a vibrator over my lower lips. Lightly pressing its sleek, tapered end against my clit.

Then, he takes it away.

“Grayson James…” I warn.

He chuckles, pushing my hips back down on the bed and kissing the swell of my backside. “Hold on. Ask me one more…”

Growling with frustration, I return to the textbook. “Relationships among sequences. What the hell are tho—oh, ooohhh, oh, ah—No, no, fuck, dammit!”

He dips the vibrator inside me. Plunges the whole shaft in. Long enough for the pulsing sensations to wind up my core. And removes it just as quickly. Only to describe, in excruciating detail, the analysis of relationships and sequences and phylogenetic trees and other words that I don’t have any particular care to learn the meaning of right this second. Because every moment he explains them is one more in the delay of my release.

Finally, after wrapping up his answer to the question, he rubs the vibrator on my clit. “Like that?”

“Mhmm,” I sigh, laying my head on my arms. “A little more pressure.”

He does as I instruct, and I reward his adjustment with a deeper sigh. We stay like that, him using the toy on me, me lounging in sweet, sensual gratification. Knocking the textbook off the bed. So quickly, I forget it ever existed, or why it had been there in the first place.

After talking to his professor about the stress he’d been under (with his house basement flooding, not that he’d been freaking out over getting a blowjob), Gray’s been allowed a make-up exam for his bioinfo midterm. Although I’m pretty sure he’s studied for it enough by now, he’d wanted to fit in one last quizzing session this afternoon. For science, of course.

“You going to come for me, Summer?” he huskily murmurs, holding the vibrator tightly against my clit.

Something rigid rubs over me, and I moan, feeling him grind that hard cock on the back of my thigh. “Uh-huh, uh-huh. Yeah, I’m gonna come. I’m—”

That welling throb deep in my core instantly flatlines when he takes the toy away.

I slam both palms on the mattress, my aggravated huff muted by my pillow, as he casually says, “Let’s go over protein structures again.”

On my own, studying has always been a slog. A burdensome act of great mental perseverance. Something to get through. Get over and done with. Never an event to look forward to completing.

Studying with Grayson?

Well, it’s pure torture.

And I eagerly anticipate every moment.

Even if it means I’m left lying on my stomach, as he pins down my legs and teases me, drawing my satisfaction to its greatest heights, plummeting me right back to the bottom, all before starting me up again.

Releasing another frustrated breath, I brush my curls out of my face to glance over my shoulder. “I think you’re more than ready for this test.”

“But you’re not ready yet,” and oh, there’s that smug grin, as he uses his fingers this time. Sinking two into my wet heat, where he can tell that I am certainly more than fucking ready. I’ve been ready. For him. For that hard cock.

I let my gaze trail down his bare torso. To the steely outline of that length under his boxer-briefs. Then I can’t help but roll my eyes at his Cyborg underwear.

I’d asked him, one night as we were watching another killer shark movie and I’d unzipped his jeans to find him wearing Superman briefs, whether he had a pair for every member of the Justice League. And so turned on had I been from his defensive maybe, I’d stroked him right then and there. With my mouth on his, kissing deep, and his hands on my tits, until he came gasping all over my hand and those shorts.

Now, as he builds my desire to its peak once more, I watch him. Kneeling over my thighs. Massaging one ass cheek. Gripping it tightly, spreading me, so he can see just how he works me with his fingers. His glasses slide down his nose but he doesn’t notice. All his senses hyper-focus on me. To the signals of my moans and how I roll back my hips to meet each wet slide of his hand. Honey-brown eyes light up when I reach behind me, grab his wrist, and show him exactly how hard, how fast, I want his fingers to pump into me. He takes my silent direction and runs with it. Amps me up, up, up—

Insanity possesses me when he stops.

I scream. Roar and rage with unfulfilled fury. Sob from the indignation of how he could do this to me. Imploring and pleading and begging, begging, begging, for him to please, touch me again, use the toy, use your mouth, your hands, fuck me with that hard cock, please, I’ll do anything, whatever you want, I’ll suck your cock, please, please, just let me have this.

Gray lays on top of me, curling his hands over mine and pressing a kiss to my hair. In my ear, he whispers, “Not yet. A little more. Hold on for me. I’ll make it good, promise, Summer. So fucking good. Wait for it.”

When he speaks, it’s tight. Like somehow, denying my pleasure is more strenuous for him. Even though it’s my body, shivering with unspent agony, as he grinds his dick on my ass.

He lifts off me. Grabs the vibrator and clicks the button on its side. Nothing happens, and he lets it drop back to the bed sheets. “You wore out the battery.”

“Me—?” Gray shushes my complaint with a laughing kiss, before leaving me. I switch from my stomach to my side, watching him kneel by the large velvet-lined case on the floor by the bed. Allowing myself to catch my breath, I will my body to hold off, just a bit longer, even when I want him so much that it steals the very air from my lungs.

We’ve dedicated a lot of time to studying these past couple of weeks. He reasons that he needs to apply his mind. To commit every detail to memory. Leave no stone unturned. Spare no effort. Stop at nothing to educate himself. On everything. Because there’s still so much to learn.

And I’m only too happy to finally tutor him in all I know.

In the art of sexual exploration. Experimentation. Sexperiments, I’ve taken to calling them, and Grayson rolls his eyes, but he never complains. Why would he? When we sexperiment with his hands on me, my mouth on him, with clothes on or clothes off, heels or no heels, with our lips and tongues and toys and fingers, on and over every available surface of my apartment?

Often, as all experiments do, it starts with an observation. Usually by Gray, who is more adept at the scientific method than I am. What do you have on under that skirt, Summer? What areas on your body get you most excited? In what ways? That headboard looks flimsy—how much thrusting force would it take to break it?

So we form more hypotheses. Ponder and plan and figure out how to best put our questions into action. Which we then do, with testing. And the tests. They’re my favorite part. Very comprehensive evaluations, with lots of practice and measuring and running through all variable outcomes to collect and analyze the data. Until we have enough experience and material to report back with our findings.

Sometimes underwear, sometimes not. All the expected places—lips, tits, ass, inner thighs, pussy—but also a few surprising ones—the spot just below my left ear, the bend of my knees, the small of my back and the pulses on my wrist. Kissing. Always, always kissing. Light caressing, hard squeezes. Even some playful biting, if we’re in the mood. And the headboard holds, though not without considerable effort on both our parts to thoroughly overextend its structural integrity.

There can definitely be some trial. Some error. Slow down, ease into it. The coffee table can only take one of us. No fingers there, Summer. Ah, fuck, cramp, cramp, cramp!

But with exhaustive, in-depth study, we’re able to adapt. Switch it up. Yield some extremely positive results. Take me hard, just like that, that fucking hard. The shower fits two. Maybe one finger. Lift your leg like—yeah, yeah, keep going, keep going, don’t stop!

Grayson, it comes as no surprise, is an apt pupil. One who takes his studies very, very seriously. When he dedicates his mind to a task, Gray doesn’t stop until he’s mastered it. Mastered me. My body. My every dirty, indecent desire.

I’ve never had anyone like him. Someone whose tastes are so completely compatible with mine. So wildly emboldened and reckless and adventurous. As open and willing and up for anything and everything. Whatever comes to our minds. Someone to laugh with when everything goes wrong. To scream with when it all goes so right.

Now, he pokes through the box, searching for a toy that isn’t familiar to him—a nearly impossible feat, since he’s become well-acquainted with my vast collection. I’ve started buying more. Adding new ones, just for him to discover.

“Summer.”

“Hmm?” I stretch my arms languidly.

When I look, Gray holds up one of those new goodies. In its original packaging, all long and silver with a beaded tip and flaring, hooked base. “This is a prostate massager.”

“That’s for you.”

He fixes me with a deadpan stare.

“We’ll work up to it.” My phone pings with an incoming text. Reaching for it, I giggle, “There’s something else, too. It has a remote. I know how much you like the ones with a remote.”

And I shiver, thinking of the other day. As we’d been sitting in our usual library study room, and I slid one such device across the table. Innocently asked what he thought would happen if he turned it on. So he did. Off and on. Turning it up. Down. Until I couldn’t concentrate on anything but rubbing my thighs together against the onslaught of each sudden vibration from the toy stashed down my panties.

Needless to say, I didn’t focus much on that lesson.

Gray drops it back in the box, rolling his eyes as he continues looking, and I return to my phone, smiling. Then, “Holy shit!”

“What?” Gray jumps when I squeal. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” I wave him down. “It’s nothing. Just… Natalie, you know.”

He holds out his hand, and I let him read the text. Rylie, Kennedy, and I are going out tonight. If you’re interested.

Sure, it’s not the most… enthusiastic invitation to girls night. But it—It is an invite.

I bite my nail as an affectionate grin takes up Gray’s whole face. He hands the phone back, muttering, “Fucking adorable.”

“What is?” I distractedly ask. What to say, what to say? I’ll be there! Nope. Let me check plans with Gray. Ugh, no, too dependent. Something chill. But not totally apathetic.

“Your girl crush.”

“Shut up,” I pout. “I do not have a girl crush.”

“‘Gray, does Natalie call me rich girl when I’m not there?’” he mimics. “‘Natalie sat next to me at Kellermann’s. She didn’t interrogate me at the game. Gray, do you think Natalie would like these earrings? You’ll never guess who I ran into on campus today. Does Natalie—’”

I push him over with my foot, ignoring his laughter as I reply. Sure, sounds fun! And I press send before I can second-guess if that exclamation mark makes me seem too eager.

Not a second later, three dots appear, and I clutch my phone until a new message appears. Sending more details. Telling me a time and place, but not necessarily indicating that she actually wants me to be there.

Until another text follows it.

It’s official. Hunt blew me off.

I set my phone back on the night stand without responding. A sliver of guilt courses through me.

I smooth it away by petting violet petals. Brilliantly purple, a brand new vase. Appearing on my nightstand after that first time. Along with more new flowers. Roses. Orchids. More chrysanthemums, in a rainbow of colors. I’ve asked how he even gets some of the blooms, since they’re out of season, but Gray only gives me a secret smile, before kissing me and asking if I like whichever new arrangement he’s gifted me.

My gaze falls away from the violets. To the pile of cards with all those flower facts.

“You kept them,” Grayson said when he saw the stack. And in his voice was such quiet marvel that I’d grown uncharacteristically shy. So that night, I rode on top of him, slow and sweet, while he murmured about flowers and stroked his thumb over my clit and the world fell away and all that existed was us and our bodies, whispering secrets in the dark.

Allour secrets. About each other. Our wants. Desires. Every little thing, every little attraction we’d kept hidden, so sure were we that the other didn’t feel the same. How, despite his apparent indifference, he can’t get enough of my heels or my dresses or when I wear red lipstick or my curls are all over the place. The way I dream about ripping off all his punny science shirts. All the facts he has to repeat in his head, to avoid an embarrassing tent in his pants when he thinks of me.

I wanted to ravish you the night of the Fundie Run, I’d admitted, when he’d come straight to my apartment, still sweaty and breathing hard from a workout. And he’d admitted, bending me over the back of the couch, I wanted to take you like this over Kellermann’s pool table.

Have you ever… here?As he’d teasingly rubbed that music syncing plug over me. I’d gasped as he slid it into that lubed entrance. A few times. I would. If you wanted…

Maybe. But he’d rode me from behind, hands spreading me to watch me come clenching around that toy and his cock at the same time.

If you ever make me go to another party at The Green House, I swear I’ll make you come aroundmy cock in Hunt Hammond’s stupid bed. This, after he’d snuck us some more of those brownies Natalie had hidden in his freezer, and we’d been fooling around on the couch, leisurely kissing and fondling each other through our clothes.

Yes, itis huge, I’d confessed when we’d got onto the subject of Hunt. But too big. Couldn’t even wrap my mouth around it. Can’t take it all the way in, not like yours…

Yeah? Why don’t you show me? Prove how deep you can take this cock, and we didn’t share any more secrets after that. Not for a while.

Yet, I realize as I ignore his friend’s last message, despite all our honesty… there’s still more. Still so much more I can’t tell him. Because secrets hurt. They would hurt him. And why would I ever want to hurt someone when I think—when I think that I—

“Grayson.” I stretch my hand until my fingertips brush the side of his head. He leans into my touch with a smile, and I curl my fingers in his hair. “Please.”

My voice. It’s too much. Too revealing, choking as it is. Weak and cracking, like old metal breaking under its own weight. Corroded to the core.

“Right,” he finally makes his selection from the box. And he rises, one knee back on the bed, and I roll back to my stomach, ready for it, for him, to be distracted from all those things I can’t tell him and—

“Wait, stop,” he gasps. “Don’t. Move.”

I’m about to ask why, when his warm hand settles on my thigh. Holds me in place as that intense honey-brown gaze falls to my hip. I breathe, “What is it?”

Gray says nothing. Just keeps staring at that same spot. The creased junction of where hip meets thigh, and slowly, that warm hand travels up. Fingers digging into my backside. Thumb brushing over my skin. “Just, when you bend your leg like that…”

He mumbles something, and at first, I think it’s a different language, so I ask him to repeat it.

“Fibonacci,” he says, and it is a different language. Gray’s language. Those things he gets so passionate about, so he has to explain them in-depth and with his hands and that glittering, openly excited expression that always leaves me so speechless.

“Tell me,” I say, and he grabs my phone again.

Cradling me close, he lays his body half on top of mine, one arm wrapping around my shoulders as he uses one thumb to search on the phone. “Fibonacci numbers form a sequence. Each number is a sum of the two that came before it. So, zero plus one equals one, one plus one equals two, one plus two equals three, and so on. In geometry, we can take that sequence to make a spiral. A golden ratio. And once you know it, you see it everywhere. Art. Nature. Architecture. Space.” He shows me images on my phone of that spiral. In seashells. Galaxies. Storm clouds. Plants. And flowers. So many flowers.

“And right… here.” Gray smooths his hand over that part of me, that round hip. “When you bend your leg like that. A perfect curve. It’s the most beautiful thing.”

I almost tell him he’s wrong. That the most beautiful thing is the look on his face, when he stares at me like that. Talking about, of all things, the curve of my hip. The smallest, most insignificant detail.

Money, I want to argue. I can give you more money. After a lifetime of nothing, I can give you riches. Computers, phones, all the silliest science shirts you could ever want. Pay all your expenses, every last bill. Buy you a new car. Every comic book ever written, or killer shark movie ever filmed. A private jet to fly anywhere. Wherever you want to go. Take you to the top of mountains, just so you can be close to the stars. Yet…

He cherishes that small, insignificant part of my body with a single brush of his thumb, as though it’s the most beautiful thing in the world. All he could ever want.

You’re happy with justme.

I squeeze my eyes shut to distract from the prickle of moisture behind my eyes. And I add iron to my weak, strangled voice. “Gray.”

With a nod, he drops my phone on the bed. Gray knows that willful demand in my tone. No more teasing. No more delays. I need him. Now.

Settling on his knees just next to my head, he pulls down his shorts. Fists that cock in my face. It bobs before me, stiff and standing, but not nearly enough. Not as hard as I want him.

“Get me ready now.” He knows that he doesn’t need to tell me, but he likes to, all the same. Likes to make my mouth seek him out, and watch me swirl my tongue over the round tip. Lick the length of him before coming back up and sucking him, fully, between my lips.

Gray likes getting head as much as I like giving it. And I moan around him, remembering that other day in the study room. When he’d had enough of teasing me with the remote and the toy. How he’d risen from his chair with a frayed breath. Unbuttoned his jeans. Slid his boxers down with shaking thumbs. Released his standing cock and told me, get on your fucking knees, Summer, in a tone that made me fall right to them. Until he’d fucked my throat raw, and after, had bowed me over the study room table. Held my ass in place with squeezing hands, as he licked every inch of my pussy. And when it was all over, he’d sat back down to continue explaining covalent bonds. As though my skirt wasn’t bunched over my hips, my panties not around my ankles, or my legs weren’t still quivering from the feel of his tongue over me.

Geek in the streets. Freak in the fucking sheets.

As he grows harder under my efforts, I look up to catch him grab the toy he’d chosen to play with next. I smile, before covering my lips over him again. So many toys to choose from, and he always goes back to that one. A small, egg-shaped vibe, with a notch on the back. Big enough to fit two fingers through, which he does. Cupping it in his palm and clicking it on. Rubbing it over my shoulder, the back of my neck. While his other hand grips my hair. Pulling me closer to his hips, as he gently slides his cock in and out of my mouth. Down my back. Over my breasts. Flicking it over my nipples. His cock falls from my lips as I withdraw to take in a few quick, quietly moaning breaths.

When he notices my legs restlessly fidgeting, he sweeps his hand and that buzzing toy down. Tracing my side. My arm. Down, down, down. Only stalling once. At that hip that so fascinates and captivates him. Gray leans over, to lay one sweet kiss there, and I wrap my arms around his own hips. Hum in appreciation as I leave my own cherishing kiss on the bulbed crown of his cock.

Gray continues down, down, down, again. Until his hand sinks between my legs. And when I show him how much I enjoy that, with a hard, hard suck on his cock, he finally groans. Pulls his hips back. Releases my curls. Pauses momentarily to remove his shorts, grab a condom from the nightstand, and roll it over his length.

He moves on the bed until his body’s situated behind me, all the while taking care to keep that purring toy pressed tightly against my pussy.

“Ass up, Summer,” he directs. When I don’t move fast enough, he hitches me up himself, squeezing my hips and driving his cock—hard as stone now, thanks to my mouth—straight into me.

“Fuck,” I cry out. From that rock-hard dick. From that small vibe, which he seats firmly over my clit. From that warm hand, desperately grasping the spiraled curve of my hip.

As though sensing my thoughts, he rolls his hips into mine, asking, “Do you want me to keep talking about Fibonacci?”

Oh, fuck, his facts. Nothing ignites my passion more than seeing his. Than hearing it in his voice. Feeling it in his movements. Sharing it, between us, our bodies.

I try to rise on my arms, but Gray forces me back down with one firm hand. I stay like that, helpless beneath him. As he drives into me. Pulses my clit. Caresses my spine. My ass. And always, always, my hips.

“No,” I gasp out. “Chem—chemistry.”

Gray chuckles and fuck I feel it. All the way down to his cock. Inside me. Through me. Because it’s not the first time I’ve chosen that subject, just as it’s not the first time he’s chosen that particular toy. Grayson Rowe can’t get enough of me, of touching and caressing and kissing me. And I could listen to him talk chemistry any day, every day, forever.

So he starts, and in my head, I repeat his words. Because these facts, these are ones I memorized, just from listening to him speak them.

Testosterone. Estrogen. “—We see each other, and our hormones trigger a response. Stimulate us. Drive up our desire for one another.”

I bury my face in my pillow, wriggling and writhing under his thrusts. Pushing back into him. Needing more, more, more. That buzzing between my legs disappears. A moment later, a touch returns. Gray’s hand. Gray’s hand because he needs to touch me. To stroke my clit, not through a toy, but because he needs his fingers on me. Feeling me.

“Norepinephrine, serotonin, fucking dopamine,” Gray grunts on each syllable, slamming his hips into mine. That heavy sack slaps wetly on my clit, and fuck, I need to hold on, just wait, wait for it, Summer, wait, wait, wait, not yet.

Suddenly, he stops. Flips me over. Pushes himself between my thighs. Spreads my legs, my pussy, wide open to his gaze.

I’m not surprised by this rapid-fire change. Gray loves switching things up, just as they’re getting good. Always testing, testing, testing. Every position. Every fucking angle. More than often, we’ll start in one pose and wind up finishing in a completely opposite one. Just a tangle of limbs and heat and sweat and passion and soft, panting sighs.

He hikes one of my legs over his hip. The other, aloft in the air. Bending forward, as his hand falls to the apex of my thighs and strums my clit with his thumb, the way I like it. The way he knows I like it. Just as I know he likes to watch me, my face, my lips parted in silent plea, as he enters me. All the way. Nothing between us but a thin slip of rubber.

“All those chemicals,” he throatily murmurs, bucking into me. “We kiss—We touch—We get excited. Aroused. Because of all those chemicals, sent directly from the hypothalamus. They increase blood flow. Makes our skin flush. My dick hard. Your nipples so fucking tight.” His fingers leave my clit to flick one nipple, and I whimper.

“Your pussy—fuck, makes your pussy get so fucking wet. Always this fucking wet for me.” And he dives in with his hips. Not that he needs to prove it. Since I can hear it. How wet Gray makes me, with each hard pump. And I can feel it. Dripping from me. Coating my thighs. Glazing Gray’s cock, as it pushes and pushes and pushes so deep and hard. And fuck if I could just feel it. Feel him. Bare and twitching inside me. Bursting. Mixing his own slick cum with mine.

“Fuck, all those chemicals,” Gray repeats. “They shut off communication with the prefrontal cortex. Cut off all rational behavior.”

So we do irrational things. Like awkwardly fumble and bump heads. Knock over vases. Break furniture. Set kitchens on fire.

Or we say irrational things. Fuck my face. Take all that cum, every last fucking drop. I want your thumb in my ass. Come where you want, I don’t care, come wherever you fucking want.

And think irrational things. Come inside me. No condom. I want you to fill me. I want it all. All I want is you. I might, I might be head over heels—

“What else, Summer,” he pants. “What comes fucking next? Tell me.”

“Va—Vasopressin,” I obediently reply.

“And?” His breaths come in short, heavy bursts. Mine do the same. “What do you feel when it’s all over? Makes you relaxed and spent and feel so. Fucking. Good.”

“Oxytocin,” I cry out as he pounds me in an ever-increasing, wild, desperate rhythm. I yank his head down to mine, starving again. Always, always starving for his lips, his tongue, all that passion in his every word, sound, breath.

Gray kisses me, so deeply and dearly, crushing me to the bed under the weight of those strong arms and leanly muscled chest. He takes both my hands in his and pins them above my head, and I have no choice but to stare into those mesmerizing, magnetizing honey-brown eyes as he grinds his hard cock in my pussy.

It’s testosterone and estrogen. Hormones.

“So fucking good,” Gray whispers, eyes on mine. Mouth brushing mine with every pant. “Do I make you feel good, Summer?”

Norepinephrine. Serotonin. Vasopressin. Fucking dopamine.

“Does this hard cock make you feel good?”

They’re just chemical reactions.

“Yes, yes, yes,” I moan. Tense pressure rises, rises, rises as my muscles clench. As my whole body presses up into his.

And I see Gray. Gray, above me. Looking down. Watching me. With those eyes. Eyes narrowed and concentrating now, on total pleasure. On bringing me release. Observing and noticing and watching me succumb to that hard stare. The same stare that, when it looks at my hip, sees Fibonacci and spirals and beauty.

Gray sees me, and he sees math. Gray feels me, and he feels chemistry.

Those things he’s passionate about.

Those things he loves.

And I—I—

They’re just chemicals.

I shut my eyes against that too-hard gaze. I let myself feel all those chemicals surging. For a moment, that rising tension freezes. Waiting to be cut off again. He’s conditioned it, through all his teasing and torture, to expect the worst. To stop. To forever be incomplete without him.

But Gray doesn’t stop. Not now. Not when we’re both so close. When we move as one and he fills me and builds me up and makes me feel so. Fucking. Good—

I come, in a rush of oxytocin. Ripping my hands out from his to crush him close to me. Hold his body as tight as I can, crying how good it is, it’s so good, you make me feel so good, Gray, I can’t believe how good you are. To hear his roaring exclamation in my ear as he follows me with his own climax. Groaning out his own satisfied whispers. Oh, Summer. Oh fuck, Summer. I’ve never felt anything as good as you.

His mouth presses through my sweaty curls to kiss the crook of my neck. I hold him there. Running my hand over the back of his head. Tender, affectionate touches in the aftermath of all that raw, aggressive intensity. Gray’s lips find the racing pulse in my neck, and he nuzzles it. Calms it with soothing murmurs and soft kisses, even though it feels like my heart will never cease its buoyant beating.

It’s just chemistry. That’s all it is. Chemistry.

And I keep repeating it. In my mind. To that too-real heartbeat.

Keeping secrets, even from myself.