Sunday, July 28, 2013

Review: Naughty Bit: Geekus Interruptus by Mickey J. Corrigan

Title: Geekus Interruptus

Author: Mickey J. Corrigan

Publisher: Noble Romance

Genre: romantic comedy, erotic romance

Length: novella

ISBN: 978-1-60592-202-7

Release Date: May 1, 2013

Marcy Margate has it all: she's young, rich, and built like Barbie. She isn't the brightest bulb in the chandelier, but the girl's got sass and spunk to spare. Plus, she's sizzling hot. When her marriage to a real live genius starts to dim and grow cool, she's tempted to fool around with the horny neighbor. It would be so simple to revert to her former loose, single-gal ways, so easy to take the sleazy way out.

But Marcy loves her husband, even if Jess Margate is from the planet of the nerds. She decides to play it smart for a change. Using spyware and creative strategy, she plots to find out why her geek has been interruptus. Armed with the latest in miniature technology, Marcy plans to uncover the cause for the downtime in their love life.

A modern romantic comedy of hot errors and hotter apologies, Geekus Interruptus is a story for our time. Because these days, nerds rule. And geeks have guilty pleasures too--some quite different than our own.

Naughty Bit: 

"You never take me seriously, Marcy. You're like a blowup Barbie doll. My brain is turning to mush after so many years of this, this…this total lack of stimulation." Jess turned away from her, his eyes distant, unfathomable.

Marcy laughed. Since when was slipping it to your wife over a homemade roast beef dinner lacking in stimulation?

When she kept on snickering, Jess blurted, "I mean mental stimulation, Marcy. Intellectual stimulation."

Her mood darkened. Oh, that. She'd never been good at providing cerebral challenges. Her forte was erotic activation.

Jess stood up and threw down his napkin, letting it land on the bloody roast. Now Marcy would have to use stain remover. This pissed her off. He was so selfish. How dare he turn up his nose at her carefully prepared dinner? And did he think he was just going to walk away from her now? Insult her by refusing to partake of her primped and powdered, perfectly tanned and toned, totally naked flesh?

When he headed out of the dining room, obviously intending to hide himself in his office, she made an offensive move. She attacked, lunging at him, tackling from behind. They fell together onto the cold hard floor with a grunt (his) and a scream (hers).

"You motherfucker! How dare you insult my food, my body, my brain! I ought to kill you. I think I'll fuck you to death," Marcy yelled.

She was out of her mind, flailing her arms, kicking, writhing on top of her husband, who was attempting to buck her off his back without hurting her.

"Calm down," he said in a muffled voice, his face mashed against the Italian marble.

"No! I'm tired of calm. I want wild," she yelled.

Then she screamed again, thrusting her pelvis against the wrinkled back of his yellow polo shirt until he grunted like a rodeo steer. She eased up on him, but only enough so he could roll over onto his back. He stared up at her. His face was unreadable, but his dick was unquestionably hard.

When she felt his fingers on her spine, she stopped rutting on his chest and dove for his mouth. Eventually, he kissed her back. Reluctantly, then forcefully. And soon enough, he had her buttocks tight in his hands and he was driving himself into her with a deep thrusting rhythm she hadn't enjoyed for some time.

She enjoyed it for less time than usual, however.

Maybe it was the weeks of celibacy, maybe it was the anger at being ignored and possibly betrayed, but something snapped inside her head and Marcy lost it. Geek sex with Jess had always been a quiet, sweet affair, a tender conjoining of her juicy twat with his ropy penis, bolstered by a lot of adolescent kissing and cuddling. Some women go for that kind of comfy sex, but Marcy wasn't one of them. She'd gone along with Jess's romantic approach to their coupling because she loved him. She'd wanted to please him, keep him. Now, however, she wondered if she should have shown him what she was really like much earlier in their relationship. She'd been afraid she would scare him off. Now she didn't give a shit what his reaction might be.

She pulled away, pressing against his chest with her palms until he stopped thrusting. He lay flat on the floor and said, "What the hell, Marce?" She shook her head, then rocked herself against his solid cock until she came with a shudder and a groan. Then she licked her index finger and stroked herself, still rubbing against his thick cock, until she came a second time. God, that felt good. She was ready for another one, la pièce de résistance, but as soon as he began to pump again inside her, Marcy pulled away. She laughed when she saw the look on his face as she stood up.

His forehead was covered in sweat. Splayed out on the dining room floor, his plaid boxers down around his knees, her husband displayed the biggest boner she'd seen in years. He looked like a confused teenager caught in the act of Playboying.

"Where're you going?" he whispered.

"I want you to lick me until I tell you to stop," she said, dropping down into a squat so she was positioned right over his head. "Do it."

His soft tongue entered her soaked vagina like a butterfly seeking pollen. It flitted here and there while her orgasm built itself into a delicious climax. When she grabbed his head and yanked up, he lapped her juices and sucked them hard. She came with a bloodcurdling yell. God, she'd needed that.

She stood up and walked away.

"What're you doing, Marce?" His voice sounded weak, vulnerable. 

"I'm going to teach you a motherfucking lesson, that's what," she answered with her back to him. Then she sat down at the table and began to eat his untouched dinner. "I'll do you, but only if you tell me what a great cook I am," she said between forkfuls of broccoli casserole. "I will come back and finish you off, I'll blow your geek head off, but only if you tell me how smart and sexy you think I am."

"You're nuts," Jess said, his erection wilting. "I don't know what's gotten into you, Marce."

"I'm tired of being your geek whore," was what she said.

He was pulling up his underpants, shaking his head. She'd said whore, but it wasn't what she'd meant. What she'd meant was, she was tired of being his geek love.
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