Hung (9 page)

Luckily, years of bar brawls had more than prepared me for this kind of situation –honing my reflexes and steadying my body. And usually, I'd had a whole hell of a lot more to drink than two small glasses of champagne...

With catlike reflexes, I reached up and caught the fat man's fist in my open palm, halting it only a few inches from Alicia's terrified eyes. His eyes first popped in surprise, then filled with fear as he realized the enormity of the mistake he'd made.

I squeezed down on his closed fist hard, listening to his fingers crunch, crackle and pop like rice pops as I crushed them together.

"You
pathetic
little fuck," I spat. "You've just made a big mistake."

The blood was thundering in my ears, and my anger was now completely unleashed. Nothing could have stopped it.

Nothing, that was, except the gorgeous woman stood behind me.

"Clay!" she said urgently, tugging at my suit jacket, "come on, ignore them, let's go!"

I bit down on my lip so hard it drew blood.

I barely felt it at first, but finally allowed the pain to fight a battle against the rising tide of my anger. I squeezed down on the fat man's fist even harder, twisting it so that he fell to his knees squealing like a baby, then let go.

"Fuck!" I swore loudly. My blood pressure was up, and I needed to do something with the energy that was floating through my body, so I did the only thing that popped into my head. I pushed Alicia against the Aston Martin's passenger door, ran my hand down her thigh and kissed her, hard.

No one was more surprised than me when she kissed me back.

C
lay accelerated
off into the darkness, leaving behind a thick cloud of tire smoke as the black rubber bit into the pavement.

"Thank you, Clay," I said, gratefully – only now realizing exactly how terrified I'd been. Not for Clay's safety, because I'd always known that if it came to it, he'd have left the little man on his ass in a heartbeat, but because I was scared that all this was about to come to an end. My heart was racing at what felt like a thousand beats per minute, and I felt the distinctive signature of fading adrenaline coursing through my body – a dry mouth, fluttering eyelids and nerves that felt like they were on fire.

Clay didn't respond, just clenched his jaw and gracefully put the expensive British supercar through its paces. He was angry, like I'd never seen him, but he was driving like a professional, overtaking cars like they were traffic cones, accelerating into corners and turning on the afterburners on the way out.

"Talk to me," I begged. I didn't know why, but I
needed
him to respond to me. My body was on fire, and it was aching for his touch, ravenous for the sound of his voice.

Clay looked over at me, his face thunderous and his hair windswept. But there was something more than just anger in his expression. "I thought—" His voice broke, as though he were sitting in the confessional box and preparing for divine judgement.

"I thought he was going to hurt you," he continued. "Don't get me wrong, logically I knew there was nothing he could do with me by your side, but it didn't feel like that. It was like my brain turned off and my body was in charge. And my body—"

His voice broke again, and he put his foot down on the gas, passing another car while he steadied himself. "And my body was telling me to beat that guy's face in."

"But you didn't," I whispered, just glad he was talking. "But you didn't – you listened to me, and that's what matters, Clay."

"If you hadn't been there," he muttered blackly, "then things would have gone very differently."

"If I hadn't been there," I smiled, resting my hand on Clay's muscular leg reassuringly, "none of this would have happened… You're a braver man than you think, Clay."

Now that I was touching him, I was uncomfortably aware of how turned on I was. The last thing I'd wanted Clay to do was fight my putative assailant, and I would honestly have called a cab and left him right then and there if he'd given in to his primal urge to protect me, but even so, there was something indescribably exciting about seeing a man in that frame of mind. It made me feel powerful and wanted – like I was so special and so perfect that the merest of threats to my safety had men resorting to their basest instincts.

The adrenaline probably had something to do with it, but regardless – I wanted to be touched. I wanted Clay between my legs, and I wanted him there now.

The hand attached to Clay's leg felt like it was on fire as our body heat melded together, and I knew there was no way I'd be able to resist my urges for long. So I didn't try. I started tracing my hand from where it laid in the middle of his thigh, gently digging my fingernails in and delicately stretching upwards.

"What are you…?" he asked, looking at me through eyes still half-lidded with anger. But even in the depths of his discontent, his body couldn't help its reaction to my touch, and I felt the fabric of his pants shift as his huge, thick cock began to stiffen.

"Just drive," I ordered. I didn't want to focus on anything other than pleasing the man who'd just given everything for me. He did as I asked, teasing the needle on the speedometer beyond a hundred miles per hour, as though the traffic laws simply didn't apply to Clay
Hung
Hunt. Ordinarily, I was a stickler for the rules – I wouldn't have been seen dead in a car caught breaking the speed limit, but tonight was different; a different part of my anatomy was thinking for me, and nothing was getting in its way.

"You're the boss," Clay agreed with a wide smile on his face – and I couldn't blame him. After all, wasn't getting head while driving a sleek, fast sports car every guy's dream?

I dragged my fingers across the now fully-formed, thick bulge in Clay's slim-fit pants, and saw him shift his buttocks ever so slightly in response, breathing out gently as he put his foot down on the gas once again. "Don't tease me, Alicia," he begged. I ignored him. He might be driving the supercar, but I was in charge of his cock.

I slowly unzipped Clay’s pants, almost pulling the zipper down one tooth at a time in order to extend his delicious torment. He sighed heavily, taking his hand off the steering wheel and grabbing mine, pushing it down on his thick bulge.

I tutted. "Who's in charge here, Clay?" I asked sternly.

"You," he groaned in dismay, picking his hand back up and placing it back on the wheel like a naughty schoolchild. I unclipped my belt, grateful for the fact that it was a racing harness, not a normal seatbelt, so I didn't have to listen to the annoying chime designed to remind me to keep safe. There was nothing safe about what I was doing, and besides – I wanted my full attention on the task at hand. I unfastened his belt, pulling it out of his belt loops entirely and tossing it aside.

"You're not wearing any underwear!" I exclaimed in shock as my lover's massive cock popped straight out of his pants. After watching Clay hold back from his initial desire to beat a man into pulp for daring to insult me, I didn't know why
this
surprised me so much. After all, apparently this was a night for surprises.

"I never do." Clay grinned. "I'm all about easy access…"

I looked up at him from where I lay, now leaning directly over his package, my mouth no more than three inches from the organ that was straining to reach it. "Mhhmm," I muttered simply, then got to business.

I wouldn't have believed that Clay could have driven any faster, but the moment his cock entered my mouth, I was greeted with a roar from the supercar's loud engine as the car pulled through the gears. "God, yes," Clay groaned as I wrapped my lips as far down his shaft as I could manage on the first try. My mouth was filling with saliva, and I knew that it must be a warm, wet heaven for his huge, smooth cock. I twirled my tongue around the head, dancing across the exposed, sensitive skin like a ballerina on ice, gratified by the delicate grunts and moans falling unintentionally from Clay's open mouth. I could barely hear them over the sound of the engine, and once again, the vibrations from the sports car's powerful engine were transmitted up, through me, and into my core.

I felt Clay's hand on the back of my neck, toying with my hair and pushing me down. There was no other man who I would have submitted to, who I'd have let use me like this – but for Clay, it didn't feel like a sacrifice – it was a gift. Clay knew what he wanted, and I was happy to give it. I heard him panting above me over the roar from the engine, and I knew he was close.

"No," he grunted gutturally, "not yet." He pulled my head gently upwards by the roots of the hair at the back of my neck, and finally my lips pulled away from the base of his huge cock with an audible
pop
.

"No!" I moaned, unintentionally repeating his word in my disappointment. I'd
wanted
him to finish
, wanted
to savor the taste of his cum in my mouth.

"Not yet," he grunted, pushing my chest back so that my back once again met the chair. "I don't want to waste it."

At the time, I didn't know what he meant by it. I didn't know that this man wasn't just a fling – he was going to change my life.

Clay was driving, one-handed, at speeds of well over a hundred, darting and dodging and ducking and diving through cars that flashed by in an instant to my right and left. He hiked up the material of my gorgeous silk Valentino dress, pulling it over my full, firm legs, and leaving my pussy exposed to the cool, air-conditioned interior of the car.

I
was wearing underwear, even if Clay didn't feel the need, and I looked over to see Clay's reaction.

When I saw the way Clay had prepared my closet, I had to admit, I was a bit taken aback. When I saw the look on his face as he saw that I was wearing the white bodysuit that he'd so presumptuously – and obviously – placed, unfolded, at the top of a pile of incredibly sexy lingerie, I took all that back.

"You wore it…" he sighed.

"Seemed like you wanted me to." I smiled seductively, keeping my hand wrapped tightly around his cock and stroking gently. He had the good grace to look – if not embarrassed, then at least like he'd been caught with his hand in the cookie jar. In truth, I didn't think that Clay Hunt could ever be
embarrassed
.

"I won't say I haven't thought about it." He smiled, not bothering to look at the road, just keeping his eyes fixed directly on the scrap of white lace poking out of my silky red dress by my crotch. "But," he continued with a pleased smile on his face, "you wore it. Does that mean you always thought something might happen between us tonight?"

"No," I flushed, my turn this time to be caught with a hand in the cookie jar, "I just like to be… prepared."

"Uh huh," he said with a knowing smile, "whatever you say." He took a hand off the steering wheel and unerringly placed it on my mound. I jumped with shock, only becoming fully aware in that moment of precisely how horny I was. Apparently having your mouth full of a pop star's cock was quite the distraction. Now it was gone, my mouth ached for its presence – and so did the wet slit between my legs. I pushed my hips forward to meet his hand, but Clay was an expert – and he wasn't afraid to apply enough pressure between my legs to tell me who he was and why he was there.

I moaned as he pushed his palm down onto the thin white lace material, the only thing that stood in the way between his hot, hard fingers and the aching wet lips of my slit. He threaded a finger around the material and stroked the slippery pink skin, and my hips bucked involuntarily.

"Good girl," he said, satisfied with my response. I only moaned back. He was barely doing anything, and even so, I was enthralled, enraptured, and almost ready to cum. The scenery flashed by on either side, and I noticed that we'd slowed ever so slightly now we were off the highway. It was hard to concentrate on it, but I knew one thing – we were nearly back to Clay's mansion, and that meant one thing – it wouldn't be long before I'd be able to feel Clay's hard cock inside me once more.

"How far?" I begged, desperate for him to take me.

"Two minutes," Clay replied, not breaking his attention away from either my pussy or the road.

He was better than his words – we were back in under sixty seconds. The gate to the enclosed, private courtyard swung open unbidden at the command of some hidden sensor, and we sped in. Clay spun the elegant sports car to a halt, kicking little stones up to either side.

He was out of his seat, leaving the keys and the engine on, quicker than I could comprehend, and then he was at mine, opening the door hungrily and pulling me out.

He planted his mouth on mine, kissing me desperately and feeling me up, his hands roaming my body like an explorer. If I hadn't been so turned on, I would have found the sight of Clay with his unbelted pants hanging halfway down his thick, muscular thighs comical – but I was.

He moaned with frustration, and I could almost see the gears ticking in his head – he wanted to fuck me right there, on the gravel, but he also wanted to last.

"Inside, now!" he commanded me, and I was in no mood to resist. He pulled me by the hand and we half-walked, half-jogged towards the house. Suddenly, Clay stopped dead, and I almost careered into the back of him.

"What is it?" I asked, terrified that there was something wrong – that there was something wrong with
me
, that he was going to put a stop to this. I didn't know if I'd be able to bear it.

He looked at me hungrily, and I knew immediately that my fears wouldn't come to pass. This man wanted me more than life itself – more than food, more than water. He looked like an animal, sizing me up and making a decision. And then he acted. In one swift motion, Clay placed a hand on my dress, made a fist of silk, and then in a shocking display of brute, primal strength, he ripped it off. I was left there, almost naked, in just heels and a white lingerie bodysuit.

I looked down at the scraps of silk at my feet and moaned with frustration, even if I was secretly delighted at his display of masculinity. "Clay, I loved that dress!"

"I'll buy you another," he promised. "Hell, I'll buy you a whole wardrobe of them. I needed to see you,
all of you
."

And then we were inside, up the stairs, in Clay's modern, tastefully decorated master bedroom. And I was on the bed, heels kicked off, with the most delicious man I'd ever seen standing over me with a proprietorial look on his face.

"Fuck me, Clay," I begged. Clay's face twisted as though he were tussling with the most difficult problem he'd ever faced, as though his heart was at war with his cock. His heart won.

"No, Alicia," he said, leaning over me. His face was so close to mine that I could feel the warmth of his breath on my cheeks. My pussy was on fire, I needed him inside me – I need him to fuck me, and I couldn't understand why he wouldn't.

"What? Why not?" I replied, jumping the gun in my swiftness. I
needed
him inside me; it wasn't just a mere desire anymore. I felt like if Clay didn't enter me now, I might explode.

"I don't want to
fuck
you, Liss," he replied, maintaining eye contact with me so that I felt I was being swallowed up in his deep, speckled, ice blue eyes. I could swim in them, float on them, or… drown in them, and I didn't know which it would be.

"Please, Clay…" I whispered.

Liss? That was new
.

Clay grabbed my hands from where I positioned them, resting on my belly, and held one of his huge hands across my wrists. With his other hand, he quickly pulled his suit jacket off one, then the next arm, quickly switching over the hand that was pinning me down.

"I should say," he continued slowly, picking every word with care, "I don't
just
want to fuck you, Liss – I want you, I want to be in you, I want to be
with
you
.
Properly, now.
"