Clayton, sitting smugly back in his chair, arches an eyebrow at my name. I ignore him. There’s no way I’m using my real name online. And I’d quit before he even thought about changing it.
“Tonight, we have something new in store for you. I’m sorry, ladies, but it looks like we’re going to have to bring the men to the party,” I explain, reading from the script Chrissy handed me. Reading the next line, I decide to go off track, giving Clayton a smug look across the table. “But don’t worry, ladies. This is the moment many of you have been waiting for. Men will finally listen to what you have to say. Maybe now they can find the front door and not the back.” I pause, putting on a pout as Clayton narrows his eyes on me. Sighing down the mic, I continue. “Or better yet, maybe they can find our G-spot and let us get some before they get theirs.”
Surprising me, Clayton leans forward, turning on his mic. “Maybe it’s not the man doing it wrong?”
“Are you saying women are?”
“No, but it takes two,” he tells me, running his eyes over my breasts, his gaze heating.
Taken off guard, it takes me a minute to gain my composure. “For some, it only takes one,” I quip. “But that’s neither here nor there.” I pause, my lips twitching a little. “So, why don’t we start the show with listening to your worst or funniest sexual experiences. Call in or message.”
Glancing over at Clayton, I become unnerved. I know the look he’s giving me all too well. It’s the look my brothers get when they’re about to do something dumb and don’t realise it until it’s too late.
“While we wait, Hayley, what’s your worst sexual experience?”
“Why don’t you tell us yours?”
He grins, showcasing dimples, and I sigh, clenching my legs together. “Ladies first.”
“I guess it would be the time I tried shower sex. Not only did the fucker get shampoo in my eyes, but he didn’t have the strength to hold me against the wall. He ended up dropping me on my arse.”
I arch an eyebrow at him, daring him to go on. I can tell by his slack jaw that he didn’t think I’d answer. What he doesn’t know is that wasn’t even my worst. Reid was my latest disaster—well, kind of, since we never got to the fun part.
Clayton chuckles, the raspy sound causing me to shiver. “Did you at least get to orgasm that night?”
I keep my smoky, dark brown eyes on him when I lean forward to answer. “Yes. I’ve got a wild imagination, so it didn’t take long to get myself off when I got home.”
His eyes widen at my declaration as he shifts in his seat, unable to meet my gaze. He clears his throat, opening and closing his mouth.
“Now, why don’t you tell us about yours, Clayton? Oh, and, ladies, Clayton is my new boss, so make sure you give him a warm welcome. I’ll post a picture for you all later.”
I’m a giving person after all.
I shrug at his put out look, sliding my finger across the screen of my phone before opening the camera app and snapping a picture.
I quickly mail it to Leana, knowing she’ll post it online for me.
He clears his throat once again, a pink tinge to his cheeks. “I guess it would be the time I got a blow job off my girlfriend when I was younger. Her parents were away for the weekend, so we stayed in and ordered pizza. Before we had finished eating, we started going at it. She had jalapeños on her pizza, and just when it started to get good, my dick began to burn. It was on fire. I pulled out quickly, just as she bent forward. I ended up poking her in the eye with my dick.”
I can’t help it, I laugh. His face is so adorable right now. All flushed and rosy. It’s such a huge difference to the arsehole I first met.
Maybe having him on the show today is a way for me to change his mind about how to take the segment to the next level.
“Men!” I sigh, playing along. “They can never get the right hole.”
“She’s the one who nearly gave me a heart attack. My dick was on fire.”
I chuckle, shaking my head. “Teaches you for not going down on her first.”
His lips twitch into a smirk. “Oh, I went down on her before we started dinner, and she screamed the house down.”
“Most women fake it,” I tell him, bursting his bubble.
“Trust me, there was nothing fake about it.”
“Probably not during oral sex, but I bet it didn’t feel or sound the same when you had sex,” I argue.
“When I fuck someone, I make sure they’re taken care of first.”
I take in a steady breath, clenching my thighs at hearing the word ‘fuck’ roll off his tongue. “You do know it’s rare a woman will orgasm during sex? Seventy five percent of women never orgasm during sex, and ten to fifteen never orgasm at all, leaving only ten percent of women who actually orgasm. Most of the time it’s brought on by either her finishing herself off when she’s alone or during oral sex. They say it’s nothing about the man, but believe me, I’ve been so close to orgasming during sex, but just before I finally get that release, the guy will do something to squash that libido. Or they just have no clue what they’re doing.”
“Then you’ve not been with the right man,” he tells me, his gaze heated.
I scoff. “That’s what they all say.”
“When I’m fucking someone, I can guarantee you they aren’t thinking about anything but how good it feels. It’s not just about sticking your cock in a hole. It’s touch, sight, and for some, whether they are in control or not. It’s a fantasy. Everyone has one.”
My entire body is burning, and I have to look away, unable to be under his scrutiny. The screen beside me shows we have a number of callers.
“Clayton talks the talk, but, ladies, how right is he? A poll will be up on our site soon to see how many of you orgasm during sex, how many of you haven’t, and how many of you only orgasm by yourself or not at all.”
“It’s not talk if it’s true,” he tells me, not looking away.
I blink, trying to shake off this lustful haze. It’s hard when all this sex talk with him is making me hornier than hell.
“Let’s go to line one. Juliette is calling from Devon. Hello, Juliette.”
“Hi.”
“How are you tonight?” I ask.
“Okay-ish, it’s why I’m calling. But first, I want to address the sexual tension going on between the two of you. Is he as hot as he sounds?”
I glare at Chrissy, who looks away with a smug smile. Before calls are put through to me, they’re screened. She knew exactly what Juliette was going to ask.
“Hotter,” Clayton announces, and I groan, rolling my eyes.
“Don’t get too carried away; your attitude stinks,” I tell him.
“Oh, the picture has just been posted. He is hot,” she squeals dreamily, and I snort at his condescending smile.
“He’s got really small feet,” I snap, almost shouting. “And, girls, he wouldn’t let me wear my ripped jeans, saying they were too revealing.”
“No, I didn’t,” he argues, looking pissed. “And I don’t have small feet.”
I wink, leaning forward. “It’s okay. Size doesn’t matter.” I chuckle when he grits his teeth. “And yes, you pretty much did. You should see what I’m wearing Friday. I’m going out after work and won’t have time to go home and get dressed.”
Friday’s are my nights where I pre-record. My uncle is throwing my cousin an engagement/wedding/welcome home party. She gets back Thursday and I can’t wait to see her. Jaxon had taken her on a last-minute honeymoon. But then again, their wedding was last minute.
I glance away when his smouldering gaze burns through me. “Did you have a question, Juliette?”
“Yes, I was wondering if you’d give me advice. My boyfriend and I are having trouble in the bedroom. Just when it’s good and I’m getting close to orgasming, he does something that irritates me, or he shifts, and it puts me out of the mood. And I never get it back. He gets funny if I ever ask him to go down on me or when I tell him I haven’t finished.”
“Girl, do you love him?”
“Yes, we’ve been together for three years.”
“You’ve got more restraint than me,” I tell her, trying my hardest not to give her advice that will upset her. But people call for my crazy. They call for my honesty, so I guess I should give her some. “Tell him straight. Tell him you want an orgasm too. And if he gets funny over you communicating your needs, he’s a wanker. You don’t need that negativity in your life, especially when you don’t even get some for putting up with it.”
“Or, maybe him hearing he didn’t hit the mark in bed was a hit to his ego,” Clayton adds.
“Maybe he should man up and start making things right. He has heard of Google, I’m guessing, so it’s not like he has to ask a friend. He should want to experiment. She took a chance talking to him, he should do the fucking same.”
His jaw clenches. “Or maybe she’s in the seventy-five percent of women who can’t orgasm during sex.”
He’s got me there. “But she admitted she was close. That’s more than what most women get.
“Juliette, talk to him again, tell him you aren’t satisfied and if he can’t act like an adult, then he shouldn’t even be having sex. Or tell him you’ll find someone who will. If you don’t want to break up with him, let him know he won’t be getting an orgasm until yours is completed.”
“Or you could try something new. Close your eyes when you’re in bed tonight and think of your dirtiest fantasy. Everyone has one. Men and women. No matter how kinky it is or taboo, use it. Twist it in a way that will fit you and your man. Maybe then you’ll have that push to be so turned on, you’re crazed with lust and will finally orgasm,” Clayton advises her, surprising me.
I have to wonder if his advice is from experience, and if it is, what does he fantasise about?
“Um, thank you,” Juliette murmurs, clearly thinking it over.
I stare over his cut jaw, his firm lips, and wonder if he’ll be willing to shut up for an hour while he plays in my fantasy.
Licking my bottom lip, I force myself to look away and read who the second caller is. “Thank you for calling in, Juliette. Don’t forget to let us know on our forum how everything went.” I pause, waiting for the green light to come on to reveal we’ve connected to our second caller. “Let’s go to line two, where Frankie from Stoke is waiting. How are you tonight, Frankie?”
I hear a sniffle and sit up in my seat, preparing for the worst. We have rape victims and abused women call in, and from time to time, someone slips up and they’re put through. It’s not like we don’t want to help, it’s that we aren’t allowed.
For a while I’ve been wondering if I should start my own blog. I might not be able to give professional advice, but I could give them an anonymous platform to talk to others and give my own advice.
“Not good,” she answers, before blowing her nose.
“What’s up, Frankie? Is everything okay?”
“No.” The heavy breath of a sigh echoes down the line, and I can tell she’s trying to compose herself. “I broke up with my boyfriend a few months ago because I saw a text from a girl on his phone. It ended badly, with a lot of arguing. We were together for a year. But I was cheated on repeatedly before by an ex, and I promised myself there was no way I was letting it happen to me again.
“I’ve been trying to date again for the past month, but they all keep cancelling or have left me waiting. Tonight was the seventh cancelation, and I found out why when I asked the guy who ditched me. We share mutual friends with my ex, and he told me my ex has been saying some things about me.”
Hearing another girl cry over a loser gets my back up. “What did he say?”
“He’s been telling everyone and anyone that I’m crap in bed, that I lie there like a sack of potatoes, and that I have a fishy fanny. Apparently, that was the reason we broke up, and the story of him texting other girls was just to cover up the fact I smell. He was trying to save me the embarrassment.”
I roll my eyes. It’s the oldest remark in the book.
When Clayton leans forward to the mic, I watch him curiously, surprised he would answer this kind of question.
If he fucks up and smarts off some bullshit about how the guy is just jealous and clearly still loves her, I will fuck him up. Because the guy isn’t doing it so he has a chance to get her back. He’s doing it because he’s a fucking wanker. Plain and simple.
“Then it’s good you broke up with him, Frankie. Men like that need something to prove. They want to feel powerful, manly, and the only way to put you down is to say something so demeaning. And the funny part is, none of his friends truly believe him. They know he’s being a dickhead. I bet whilst you were together, he bragged about you to make them jealous. They’re just saving face so they aren’t taken the piss out of by the people who do believe it.”
I stare at Clayton in disbelief. He got it spot on. But it was more than that. I not only heard the truth in his words, but I saw it too. He meant what he said.
The worry lines across his forehead show his concern too, his compassion for the stranger over the line.
He looks up, and for one single moment, everything around us fades away.
For that one single moment, I see him.
Really see him.
A throat clearing snaps me out of it, and I do the only thing I can do at being caught.
I give him a dirty look.
I straighten in my chair, leaning forward a little. “Clayton’s right. But I will add that he’s an immature dickhead. And I hate to go there again, but we’re back to orgasms. I bet every time you had sex, he got his while you didn’t get yours. That doesn’t mean you’re crap in bed. He is.”
“Yes, he always did,” she sniffles.
“As for the fishy fanny comment, have they smelled their privates? And this doesn’t go to just you, Frankie, this goes to all the girls. Men piss out of their dicks, and then the fuckers just shake the residue off. At least we have the common decency to wipe ourselves clean.”
“We’re kind of taught to,” Clayton interrupts.
I gnash my teeth at him and he draws back, a line etched between his brows. “I’ve not finished. I haven’t even gotten to the worst part of going down on a guy. One,” I start, holding my index finger up, “pubic hair is not your friend. Most of you have more than women but you expect us to be the ones to go through excruciating pain to get ours wax. And two, if that isn’t bad enough, ball sweat. Am I right, Frankie?”
She giggles over the line, making my lips pull into a small smile. “Yeah, it’s not the best smell.”
“I know. You’d think they’d make breathable joggers for them, let that fucker breathe.”
“Hey, pubic hair isn’t good for men either,” Clayton interrupts, looking affronted.
I raise an eyebrow, crossing my arms over my chest. “Please, do tell before I get to the last part.”
His lips twitch but a smile doesn’t form, disappointing me. “You going to town on a knob isn’t the same as us going to town on you. We’re licking, sucking and what-have-you on your pubic area. I think that should give us a legitimate reason to want you to shave it down there. Personally, I’m not a fan of a girl being bald down there, but I do like them to keep it trimmed. Have you ever gotten a pubic hair stuck in your teeth?”
I cringe, nearly gagging. “Dude, it’s not a competition. And going by your expression, you have. Now all I’m going to see or look for is pubic hair in your teeth.”
Once again, he surprises me, throwing his head back and laughing. I pause my rant, watching as his face transforms into something more beautiful. He’s hotter when he laughs. Lines appear in the creases by his eyes, and a promise of dimples appear in his cheeks. He’s hot. Gorgeous.
And I badly want to forget he’s a jerk and my boss—and fuck him.
Maybe.
Clearing my throat, I turn my attention back to Frankie a
nd our listeners. “But to finish off what I was saying, they also don’t have to taste cum. I don’t give a shit what those romance books tell you, it tastes like shit. It’s nasty.”
Frankie tries to smother her laughter. “Thank you.”
“What for? I haven’t given you any advice.”
“No, but instead of stressing and worrying over what they’re all saying over social media, I can laugh about it. And I can finally see the silver lining and tell them where to go.”
“Well damn,” I mutter, sinking back in my chair. “I was going to advise you to tell them where to go. I’m proud. I’m all for revenge, so anything petty you can do, do it, though I will guarantee not retaliating will get to him more. It’s like smiling at the person who loathes you. They hate it. But I can be bitch, so I can’t talk for everyone.”
“I will. Thank you, Hayley. This has really helped me.”
“You’re welcome. Let us know how it goes.” I pause, waiting for Chrissy to end the call before addressing my listeners. “We’re going to take a fifteen-minute break, but we have some banging tunes for you to listen to. So, go put the kettle on, make yourself a cuppa and just enjoy. We’ll be back after the break to see what Kyle needs help with.”
My eyes follow Clayton’s movements as he slowly drops his headphones onto the desk, staring right at me.
“What?” I ask, forcing myself not to check whether I have something in my teeth.
“You’re as good as my dad said.”
Pride fills me. There are times when I don’t enjoy doing these live chats, but I still dedicate and pride myself on doing the best I can.
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. But you really need to watch your mouth when addressing callers. No woman should swear like that.”
I grit my teeth as I glare holes into him. “Fuck you.”
CHAPTER THREE
It feels like a lifetime since Clayton started working at the station last Monday.
His new addition to the segment has added a lot more to our workload, and we’re paying for it. Yesterday lasted longer than expected because of it, so today, I’m dragging after another long day pre-recording.
Hayden (A Next Generation Carter Brother Novel Book 4) Page 4
