Hung (5 page)

I
didn't know
how I got myself in this situation, but right now Clay wasn't giving me even a second to consider whether what I was doing was sensible.

Right now, I didn't
care
if it was sensible, it felt so damn good.

He pulled off my boots, one after the other, long and sensuously, and I was so turned on that even that felt good. My skin felt like it was on fire, like thousands of tiny fireworks were going off all around my body, and it was all Clay's doing. More than anything, more than ever – I want to find out if his nickname was accurate.

I wanted to find out how hung he was. I needed his huge cock inside me, but for some reason, he was holding back. A couple of seconds later, I found out why.

He unzipped my jeans and pulled them off in one swift movement, his huge unbridled strength meaning it was nothing for him to take off the denim that had taken me more than thirty seconds to shimmy up my legs. I looked at him, the bulging abs rippling as he exerted himself, but he wasn't there for long.

He buried his head between my legs and kissed my fiery slit. I knew without a doubt that my panties were soaked through. I could feel the heat radiating from my pussy, and when he kissed me, my back arched as an electric shock sparked throughout my entire body.

"Oh God, Clay…"

His only response was a growl, and the deep reverberating sound had me desperate for him. He licked and nibbled the soft, silk material of my panties, and suddenly everything became clear to me. I hadn't waxed this morning for nothing. My pussy wasn't clean and hairless just because I'd woken up with a sudden desire to do so…

After all, when had
that
ever happened?

Never, that's when.

I knew this was going to happen, knew it the moment I walked out my front door, even if I never admitted it myself. As much as I hated him, Clay had something about him – an animal magnetism that sucked me in from first sight.

And then he pulled off my panties, tossed them aside and licked my pussy from the bottom to the top, and took my breath away. No man had ever got me to the point where I was begging for his cock and ignored me before, but I knew I'd never be able to go back to a normal man.

Clay was a master at this, he was a conductor, and he was conducting my orgasm like a pro – building me up in stages, taking me closer and closer to the edge. He nibbled my clit and I moaned in ecstasy, grabbing the back of his head and entangling my fingers in his hair, pushing his mouth hard against my pussy. If he was willing to give, then I was more than willing to take.

He took my participation as a challenge and buried his face deeper between my legs, licking and nibbling and suckling against my dripping lips until I was groaning, my fingers twitching, my muscle spasming in anticipation of the pleasure that was about to crash over my body.

"Clay…" I groaned. "I'm so close."

This time, it was an invitation he didn't ignore, and I'm glad he didn't. I didn't think I could have taken it again. I needed him inside me. I pulled his head up and he came willingly, hand deftly fumbling with the buckle of his belt, which soon landed with a clink on the floor. He unzipped his jeans and let them fall around his powerful but slender legs.

He wasn't wearing underwear. Of course he wasn't wearing underwear.

He pulled a condom from somewhere, and I was grateful that I didn't even need to ask. He bit the wrapper and slipped it on easily in a practiced motion. And then he was on top of me.

"Are you sure?" he asked, almost as though he were worried he might hurt me. Nothing could be further from the truth – my pussy was pulsating, it was ready for him – and only him.

My desperate eyes gave him the only answer he needed, and he couldn't hold himself back any more.

He guided his cock between my legs and pressed the huge, bulbous head against the lips of my pussy. He grabbed the back of my neck with one huge, powerful hand and pushed in slowly. I gasped, my back arching with the intense and unbridled pleasure of the biggest cock I'd ever taken combining with the effects of the best foreplay I'd ever received.

He slid his entire length inside me and let it rest for a second, and I gripped it with the powerful walls.

"My God, Alicia," he murmured, "you're filthy…"

He said reverently, as though I was some kind of holy site that he was defiling, and he was receiving an almost religious conversion. I didn't know why, but hearing the husky growl of worship in his voice made me almost pass out with pleasure.

What he did next certainly did.

Clay flipped me onto all fours in one easy, fluid motion, once again lifting my bodyweight like it was nothing, all while keeping his cock firmly embedded between my legs. I jerked with the unexpected pleasure, my clit clattering against his firm, pulsating hardness as he moved me effortlessly.

"Tell me when you're close," he growled, and I want to shout out that I already was, but I was so horny I could barely speak.

He began to thrust into me in long, fluid strokes, teasing me – never going fast enough that he pushed me over the edge, but never slow enough to allow me off the fiendish, toe-curling plateau of my impending orgasm. I began to pant, squeezing my pussy around the thick, huge hardness of his cock, trying to tease him into giving me what I wanted.

But Clay, corrupted Clay was – in this respect at least – incorruptible. He had the patience of a monk, of a saint, hell – the whole damn pantheon. I didn't know how he managed to resist it, but he did.

I groaned, frustrated and ready to come. "Please, Clay," I begged in desperation, "I need you to let me…"

"Let you what?" he growled, knowing exactly what he was asking. He just wanted to hear me say it.

"Let me come," I almost screamed. And he did exactly what I asked him for.

He grabbed my firm, juicy ass with both huge hands, taking handfuls of my soft cocoa flesh and pulling me back bodily towards him. My ass bounced against his hard, muscular thighs as he hauled me into him, and the impact reverberated
hard
through his cock into my body.

I yelped with desire, the heat building between my legs like a volcano primed and ready to blow. I reached back, grabbing hold of one of his lean, hard hips, and helped ease him ever deeper into me. Finally, it felt like I was taking his full length. And finally, it felt like Clay was losing control. His breath was becoming ragged, matching mine, his grip on my ass alternately loosening and tightening like he didn't know what was real and what wasn't anymore.

I clenched the walls of my pussy one last time, then I exploded. Stars crashed behind my eyes, and this time, thousands of fireworks exploded across my tender, overheated skin. My nipples felt like black holes, drawing in every scrap of pleasure they could find, and in the delirious depths of my orgasm, I picked one hand off the floor and pinched my nipple hard.

And then I felt Clay jerk inside me, the heat of his cum evident even through the thin latex material of the condom and the rampant, raging heat inside my pussy.

Right then, all I wanted was to feel his cum inside me.

F
ucking Alicia
on the floor of the recording booth was, more or less, how I'd hoped today would go. But as soon as I was done, I knew one thing – she deserved much better.

Much better than me, and much better than this.

Alicia was the kind of girl, no – the kind of woman, who deserved to be made love to, not just fucked, and in bed, not a dusty floor. Judging by the rosy flush on her cocoa cheeks, she didn't seem to mind too much, though…

I was still in a post-orgasmic daze when she said, "I'll be back in a second. I'm just going to clean up." She shot me a warm but uncertain smile, shucked on her jeans, and left the booth pulling her floral top over her head.

I looked down at my cock, wishing I was still buried deep between her thighs, and smiled as I saw that even now, when it was shrinking, it was still bigger than most men when they were fully erect. It was a little thing, a stupid thing – I knew that – but it didn't matter. I'd always know.

I pulled the johnny off my cock and tossed it into the trash can under the table. A part of me felt sorry for whoever had to clean that up, but then again, a bigger part of me didn't care. That shit was valuable – sometimes after a one-night stand, I'd tie up the condom and take it with me. I sure as shit didn't need some baby anchoring me down, some baby momma squeezing me for child support for the next eighteen years. Hell no.

Alicia wasn't that kind of girl, though. She was classy. I could just tell that she had something about her that most other women didn't. It was in the way she carried herself, the way she flicked her hair…

And the way
she fucked
.

I blinked. How the hell was my mind still on her? Usually after I'd slept with a girl, that was it. I tossed them away as easily as the condom carrying my seed. But there was something about Alicia that didn't let me do that. I pulled my plain white T-shirt back over my head, stepped into my jeans and zipped them back up.

Just in time, because Mike had seen my cock enough times, and he was about to step through the door of the recording booth.

"How’d it go?" he asked jovially.

"Pretty well." I grinned, still firmly caught up in the chemical afterglow of a good, hard fuck.

"Jesus, Clay," Mike groaned, "you didn't screw her, did you?"

How the hell did he figure that out?

"How'd you guess?" I asked, genuinely surprised. I felt no shame in it. How could anyone feel shame after making love to an ebony goddess like Alicia? No, the only shame I felt was that I'd ever slept with lesser women. They didn't deserve me, not like she did. Hell, with Alicia the real question was – did I deserve her?

"Oh, I dunno," he shot back, "maybe that wide, shit-eating smile on your face? Maybe the fact this whole booth smells of sex? Where is she?"

"Aw, Mike, don't be like that. I thought you'd be proud of me? When have I ever slept with a girl like that? She's a classy lady, Mike. She'll be good for me."

"I wanted her to be good for your career, not your cock, Clay," Mike sighed.

"Why not both?" I asked, perfectly reasonably. Mike just rubbed the bridge of his nose with pinched forefingers and groaned.

"Jesus, Clay, you're unbelievable – you know that?"

"I know." I smiled. "Thanks. Did you get it done, then? The deal."

"Oh yeah, Clay," Mike said sarcastically, "while you were here working
hard
, I was out there getting the contract all fixed up."

I ignored his irritation. As far as I was concerned, the past was in the past. "Great job, buddy."

Alicia stepped back into the recording booth, mouth open like she was about to say something to me, and immediately flushed, her dark, chocolate skin glowing red with embarrassment.

"Oh, I'm sorry – I didn't mean to interrupt," she said, stuttering over her words.

For a second, I thought Mike was going to twist the knife, but luckily he was too gentlemanly for that.

"Miss Hudson," he smiled through gritted teeth, "I thought you might like to know I've managed to get those contracts all typed up and okayed with the label."

Forgetting her embarrassment, Alicia flushed again, but this time with excitement. I wanted to hug her, to hold her, and to celebrate with her – but even I knew that this wasn't
my
moment.

"Can we, uh, sign them?" she asked haltingly, almost like a child asking for permission.

"As long as you're not too
tired
," Mike said, unable to resist taking a little jab at my expense. "You must have had a long day."

"Mike…" I warned.

Luckily, Alicia seemed to miss his sarcasm. "If you don't mind?" she asked.

"Of course not."

Mike laid out the contracts, and Alicia had a pen in her hand and the contract signed within what seemed like seconds.

"Clay?" Mike asked inquiringly, proffering me a pen.

I looked at Alicia up and down, drinking in her curves, her beautiful glowing skin, and it made my mind up for me. I was happy to give her the thirty percent – hell, if she asked, I'd give her all of it just to spend time with her. I wanted this girl like I'd never wanted anything before in my life.

And I wouldn't do anything to hurt her.

"Clay? You there?" Mike asked, startling me out of my daydream.

Alicia was looking anxious, like she was worried I was having second thoughts, and I gave her a warm smile to allay those fears. "Oh, sorry – I must have drifted off. Here, toss me the pen."

Mike threw, I caught, and the contract got signed.

"Champagne?" I asked, smiling, and even Mike cracked a little grin. Alicia was giggling, like she'd just won the lottery, and in a way, I guess she had.

"Champagne?" she repeated. "I've never had it. Is it good?"

"It's expensive," I grinned, "and that's all that really matters. Mike," I said, turning to my manager, "how the hell do we get some champagne in here?"

"On it," he said, walking into the office next door to find a phone. I knew he would. The man like to drink as much as I did – he just dressed smarter and spoke fancier.

Then it was just Alicia and me standing there, alone, in the room where we'd just fucked. I could still smell it on the air, a musky scent. It smelled of her, and it made me want to bend her over again. I could tell she knew what I was thinking and I could tell she wanted me, too.

"So," she smiled, "about what just happened. It didn't mean anything, okay? We can still, you know, work together."

If any other girl had said that to me after any other fuck, I'd have been jumping for joy. One fewer woman I needed to let down lightly. From Alicia, it was like a gut punch. For some reason, with her, I wanted to hear that it meant something. What was happening to me?

In the background, I heard the raging screech of an incoming telephone call, and the unpleasant sound mirrored my mood. I put a brave face on things and smiled back.

"Don't worry about it." I couldn't have her knowing that she meant more to me than the others. After all, I still had a reputation to uphold. But I couldn't look at her, couldn't see that face, because all I wanted to do was press her against the wall and have her once again. I looked away, through the recording booth window, and saw Mike furiously gesticulating at me to join him.

"What the hell?" I asked the air, and jogged over, Alicia following close behind.

"Okay, Fred, I'm going to put your speakerphone – okay?" Mike said, pointing at the comfortable leather chairs set around the small boardroom table and indicating that we should sit.

Alicia looked nervous, and she didn't even know who Fred was. But it didn't take a genius to read Mike's facial expressions right now. He was worried, and so he should be. Fred Peters was the new CEO of Atlantic Records, and he was a hardass. Worst of all, judging by the miserable look on Mike's face, he wasn't calling to congratulate us on the new contract.

"Is he listening?" The speakerphone crackled.

"Mr. Peters," I said, injecting as much false friendliness into my voice as I could without throwing up, "how you doing?"

Alicia shot me a look – clearly surprised at my tone of voice. She was right to be. Dealing with record labels didn't suit me at all. I hated it.

"How am I doing? How am I doing? How do you have the nerve to ask me that?" the incensed music executive screamed down the phone. I met Mike's eyes and we shared an
oh shit
moment. This wasn't good. Hell, that was the understatement of the year.

Still, I couldn't help but feel pissed off that this good-for-nothing desk jockey was about to chew me out. Hell, I'd made hundreds of millions of dollars for Atlantic Records – and he'd only just joined. Who the hell was he to talk to me like that?

"You're a mess, Hunt – you know that? It was bad enough when you plastered your dick all over the gossip pages…"

How the hell was I supposed to know someone had snuck onto the island to snap a photo of my cock? It was a fucking private island!

"…that was a mess that took us a while to clean up, but it pales in comparison to this, Clay. Mike, when we spoke a couple of hours ago you told me you had a handle on your boy!"

Boy?

"I don't suppose," Mike ventured, "you could tell us what the problem is, Fred?"

Fred started spitting feathers. "Oh, that's right, your boy's such a mess that you don't even have any idea, do you? You had your chance to get a grip on him, Mike. You've forced my hand. This video's the final straw – we're pulling the plug on this little experiment."

Little experiment? I was Atlantic Record's highest grossing artist two years ago. I made that company!

"Fred," Mike began with a note of panic in his voice as he watched his meteoric rise as a top music manager coming to an end, "tell us what happened. Maybe we can fix this…"

"The fucking video, Mike. It was bad enough that your boy was getting in fights, but at least he had the good sense to do it behind closed doors, at white collar fight clubs or in dark alleys, but now he's gone and got himself caught on camera. We can't have this, we just can't have Atlantic Records’ name dragged through the mud like this."

Mike punched the mute button on the speakerphone. "Fucking hell, Clay – I thought you said no one filmed it!"

I cast a quick glance over at Alicia, who was looking shocked, as though she could see the impending danger of a car about to crash into her, but her muscles had given up the fight and instead of forcing her out of the way, had instead locked her to the ground. I couldn't blame her. After all, until just a moment ago, she must've believed that she'd finally achieved her dreams of being a star.

My blood was boiling, and I was in no mood for Mike to shout at me as well. What part did these people not understand that we were the goddamn moneymakers here – we were the talent, not them. Everyone else in this room, barring Alicia, was expendable – they were just office monkeys at the end of the day.

We had the voices that people wanted to listen to, not them. After all, you could hardly stick Fred fucking Peters up on stage and expect to sell any records.

"I didn't think they'd post it," I said, pissed off that yet again someone had taken advantage of my sense of honor. For exactly the same reasons that I was an unreformed, old school bad boy who liked to fuck, smoke, drink and fight, I had sometimes unrealistic expectations that people would live their lives with the same basic level of honor as me.

Very few lived up to it.

And then, suddenly, I had an idea. I knew how to fix this – I knew exactly how to appeal to a man with as little moral fiber as the music executive on the other end of the phone line. But Alicia wouldn't like it. Then again, I imagined she'd like the alternative – losing her only shot at a music career – even less.

"Fred," I began, dispensing with the formalities, "have you seen the video?" I needed to know whether what I suspected was in fact the case before I could attempt my plan.

"Do you think I'd be calling if I hadn't?" he replied acerbically, with a tone of voice that could freeze a lake in summer.

"Then you see how it starts?" I asked – hoping to all hell that I was right and that he hadn't. I was pretty sure that no one had picked up the start of the fight, only me knocking that punk out, and that was what I was relying on for my plan to work.

"No, I just saw you flooring some thug. Thank God it was some lowlife, because otherwise, Clay, we'd be suing you – you can be sure of that. Frankly, the only reason we aren’t doing that already is because we don't need the bad publicity. Atlantic has enough of that as it is right now…" He sighed, as though the stresses of his new job were beginning to mount up already.

That was what I was hoping for. I looked at Alicia and hoped that she would forgive me for what I was about to do. Hell, I hoped she'd go along with it at all, because if not, then the three of us were about to witness the end of my career.

"But you saw the first video, didn't you, Fred?" I didn't give him the chance to finish, just wanted his mind thinking about the number of views our duet had clocked up already – over a hundred million, and speeding up – and the money he was throwing away by putting a bullet in my career. "What you don't know is," I paused for a second and looked at Alicia, crossing my fingers behind my back, "that beautiful girl in the video – we're engaged."

I let my pronouncement fall like a hammer blow and watched as both Mike and Alicia's jaws dropped open in disbelief. Even Fred was stunned into silence for a second.

"You're
what
?" he sputtered down the phone.

I knew that I couldn't give him too long to think about it, because there were too many holes in my story – not least the fact that Alicia had only just found out that I'd apparently proposed to her – to give him a chance to poke his finger through one of them. Hell, he could poke his entire head through one if he tried…

"We were keeping things off the radar because Alicia wanted to make her own way in the business," I said, training my gaze directly on Alicia's stunned eyes and begging her to understand, and to play along, "but I guess the cat's out of the bag now…"