Screwed by Laurie Plissner Read Free Book Online Page A

four impossibly tiny triangles of fabric. They were passing a joint back and forth. Nick inhaled deeply, and then leaned over the girl, blowing the smoke directly into her mouth. They both burst out laughing, collapsing on each other, as if shotgunning were the funniest thing in the world.
    Suddenly Grace could easily see through the sparkling shell that had shone so brightly two months ago, obscuring her ability to see who he really was. Disaster had given her clarity, and now she marveled at how she could have been so into him. Yes, he did have the most incredible body, every muscle perfectly outlined under flawless skin, and his face belonged on the cover of a magazine, but was Grace really so one-dimensional that she would mortgage her entire future just to get next to that? She would never have thought so — she still didn’t think so, but what other explanation was there? But this wasn’t the moment for serious introspection; Grace’s legs were getting tired, and there was no time for cold feet. The countdown clock was ticking, and there were no timeouts in this particular game. Putting her head down, Grace propelled herself the last few feet and grabbed the slippery wood, pulling herself up so that her head was visible over the edge.
    “Hey, Nick,” she called out, sucking in her stomach even though it was still under water.
    “You want some?” Nick looked in her general direction and flashed his even white teeth, holding out a half-smoked joint. For a second he wasn’t sure who it was, his pot-fuzzy brain moving in slow motion, trying to remember. Oh yeah, Girl Number Seventeen, Grace, who reminded him of the little wooden angel his mother always put on top of the Christmas tree. So cute, so young. Like a warm peach, she had been so fresh, so ripe, so ready to be devoured. And those jeans, painted on — she was asking for it, and he had simply obliged.
What the fuck does she want with me now?
he wondered. Maybe he could convince her to do a three-way, but even as the fantasy started to take shape in his mind, he realized it could never happen — she was too much of a prude.
    Grace was his seventeenth. If he kept up this pace, he would easily reach his arbitrarily chosen goal number of twenty-one before he graduated. He knew his square jaw and perfect proportion were the result of a lucky draw from the gene pool, but his way with the ladies wasn’t only attributable to his physical beauty. It was hard work; it took skill and patience. Coasting on natural ability was egotistical and didn’t guarantee success. Piles of books had been published on the subject: how to touch a girl in just the right place in just the right way to make her beg for it. Like teaching himself to place the ball in the corner of the soccer net — not too hard, not too soft, right between the goalie’s outstretched hands — after lots of study and plenty of practice, he had it down. Banging a girl was no different. Most teenage guys would probably admit to wanting to screw as many girls as possible, and who cared whether
they
enjoyed it — coming was for guys. He knew he was unique in his desire to make the girl think it was her idea as much as his. For this talent and dedication, his friends had dubbed him the Pussy Whisperer.
    Through his pot fog, Nick thought back to the moment when he’d first slipped his hand inside Grace’s jeans, wiggling his index finger just the right way, feeling how warm and wet and ready she was. That moment, right before they did it, when he could feel how much she wanted him — that part was almost better than the actual fucking … almost, but not quite. Maybe he could convince Grace to let him back in; the second time would be way better for her than the first. She’d been so uptight, and he had to admit he’d been too focused on his own enjoyment. This time he would make sure she came.
    “What? No, I don’t want any.” Grace’s clipped voice jarred him back into the present. No, she