by Holly Hart
"Uh huh." I nodded.
He opened the door. His bedroom was far starker than I'd expected – very modern, with dark greys accented with a deep, rich, almost burnt orange. His bed was huge – I didn't even know what to call it. King size? Queen size? No, this was something more – it looked custom-made. Clay-size, even…
"Well, I don't think he and his wife had a lot of alone time, if you know what I mean." He grinned.
I knew exactly what he meant, because all this looking at beds while standing only inches away from Clay's taut, muscular back had my mind on only one thing. "Yeah…" I said noncommittally.
"They didn't sleep in the same bed," he grinned, "so this place has two master bedrooms." He opened another door, which opened up onto an opulently decorated master bathroom with two sinks – a bathroom which had another entrance on the other side.
"It's a Jack and Jill bathroom," I said, surprised. I'd rarely been in a house before that even had enough space for two bedrooms, let alone two masters, so this was the kind of thing I'd only even seen in interior design magazines before.
"You got it," Clay agreed, looking me up and down lasciviously, "so I can't have you sneaking into my bedroom at night for a piece of my ass, okay? I need my beauty sleep…"
I raised my eyebrow and adopted a pissed off expression – I knew exactly what Clay was doing. Dropping in a little piece of sexual innuendo and making out like I was the one with a dirty mind for picking up on it was precisely Clay Hunt's modus operandi.
"That," I replied firmly, putting plenty of emphasis on the word, "goes doubly for you. Trust me, if I find you creeping in my bedroom, you'll find I pack a punch…"
"I bet you would." Clay smiled, still looking me up and down like I was a piece of meat. "Shall I leave you to unpack?"
"Please," I replied curtly, "that would be nice."
* * *
My bedroom was huge, and decorated in a similar fashion to Clay's. Best of all, it had closet space, so much so that I was doing cartwheels of joy. I'd brought most of my possessions with me, but I soon found that most of them were consumed by just one of the empty closets.
I went into the bathroom and dumped out the contents of my wash bag onto the marble counter. There was a mirrored closet in front of each sink, and I checked the right one – it was empty. Perfect.
I sang to myself as I worked, neatly putting away the different elements of my beauty regimen – foundation, mascara, eyeliner, the vast array of lipsticks that I seemed to accumulate like collectables, then the more mundane items: my pads, cotton buds, and then my medicine.
As I put the last couple of boxes away, I couldn't help but obsessively read the label, as I did every time I saw the boxes that marked me out for what I was – infertile. And as happened every time I read those words, my heart sank and I felt like less of a woman. After all, why did I even exist if I couldn't bring life into the world?
Clomid - Clomiphene Citrate, the label read. Take twice daily on an empty stomach. I looked at the time on my phone, realizing it was time for my daily dose. I put the box back into the cupboard, leaned forward and took a drink of water direct from the tap, and gulped down the tiny white tablet.
An oppressive silence surrounded me as I stopped singing, and I hurriedly pushed the mirrored closet door closed, perhaps slightly too hard in my desperation to leave the bathroom and the ever-present reminder of my incompleteness behind me.
In my rush, I didn't notice that the closet door bounced back open behind me.
14
Clay
"How about I take you out for dinner?" I offered.
Alicia had been stalking around like a caged lion all day, and it was beginning to drive me up the wall. The girl needed one thing – a good hard fucking, and more than anything, so did I, but she wasn't going to let me give her one, so I decided to show her the next best thing: a night out on the town with Clay Hunt. Of course, if things went well, then I wasn't ruling out a bit of escalation in the bedroom later on…
She glared at me. "I'm not going to sleep with you, Clay. I don't care if you buy me an expensive dinner, it's not going to happen."
The thing is, I saw the way her eyelashes fluttered when she said the words sleep with you, and I knew exactly what she was thinking about. We both knew how horny she was, and we both knew it was a matter of time. I didn't need to push her buttons because before long, Alicia Hudson would be begging me to fuck her.
That was the plan, anyway.
I raised my hands in submission. "I wouldn't dream of it!" I said, adopting a mock innocent expression on my face. This was a charade, and we both knew it – but if we were going to act it out, then I was sure as hell going to play my part. "But if you won't let me go out and party, then you've got to give me something… I'll go mad in here, do you want that?"
"I don't care if you go crazy, what's it to me?" she said haughtily. Damn, for a girl who was begging for my cock only a few days before, this girl was a hard nut to crack. But it all added to the thrill, just made me want her more.
"Think about it, Alicia, if I go off the rails because you won't let me have fun, or even have the decency to fuck me," I said, throwing in the last bit just to test her, "then I'm going to blow. And when I do, it'll be bad for the both of us."
"How so?" she asked. "I don't see how it'll affect me…"
"If I go out there and punch someone, Alicia, then all of this has been a waste of time, hasn't it?"
She considered my point for a few seconds and had to admit it had some merit. I knew what was really going on, though. I knew that she was really just jumping through whatever mental hoops she needed to jump through to justify going out with me tonight. And if she justified it to herself now, then whatever happened later would be okay, too…
"I guess," she said. "I guess you're right. Hell, a night on the town might do me some good, too."
You don't know how right you are…
"Great." I smiled, trying to hide how excited I was. "Shall we leave in a couple of hours?"
"Where are we going?" she asked curiously.
"It's a surprise," I smiled, "but you'll like it, trust me. Oh, and Alicia?"
"Yeah?"
"I had some clothes delivered; they’re in your closet. I think you're going to like them…"
* * *
"Alicia, you look incredible…" I croaked.
When she walked down the ballroom stairs I had installed in my mansion, Alicia took my breath away. She was dressed in a floor-length, shimmering red silk Valentino dress, and she looked like could have been on the way to accept a Best Actress award at the Oscars.
In short, she looked stunning. I couldn't help but notice that she wasn't wearing a bra, and it seemed like every twenty minutes around Alicia, my cock stiffened noticeably. Of course, it wasn't exactly an accident that she wasn't wearing a bra… I knew a whole lot about women's fashion a day ago, but when I'd had the idea to take Alicia out, I knew I wanted her looking incredible. I wanted every other man in whatever room we were in to see her and to know that she was mine. Even if we hadn't quite worked that bit out yet…
I'd spent literally hours poring through high-end fashion catalogues, and countless more scrolling through pages and pages of online web stores until I'd made a list of all the top fashion designers from London, Milan and New York. And then I started shopping.
I didn't really know where Alicia's tastes laid – I'd only ever seen her in fairly plain attire: black jeans, a variety of blouses and jackets, but I was willing to bet that that, as much as anything, was a budget thing. Alicia had struck me as the kind of girl who prioritized her future over simply looking good. She was the kind of girl who made plans and had her life all laid out in front of her like a board game. But that didn't mean she didn't want to look good as well. She did her best with what little she had, and she still looked better than any other woman I'd ever laid my eyes upon. But I wanted more.
I wasn't in her plan, nor a piece in her board game, so
I didn't have to play by the rules. If I wanted her dressed in all the hottest, sexiest, latest fashions, then I could – I just had to click my fingers. Or, more realistically, stay up late searching the Internet for an entire wardrobe that catered to every imaginable taste, and organize to have it all couriered over.
It went better than I could have ever expected. She looked stunning.
"Thanks." She blushed, her gorgeous leg poking out of the thigh-high slit in the long silk dress. I wanted to tear her clothes off right then and there, but knew I couldn't. I had to play a slow game. "I can't believe you bought all this for me," she said, still blushing. "How did you choose it all? Did you have someone pick it all out?"
I had to tear my mind away from trying to guess which of the many different pieces of lingerie I'd picked out that Alicia was wearing. God, I hoped it was the white bodysuit. I wanted to tear off that red dress and see it contrasting against her caramel skin.
"No," I said, still shaking my head to dispel the filthy images coursing through my mind, "it was all me. You like it?"
"I love it," Alicia replied, looking stunned. "You shouldn't have…"
"Trust me, Alicia," I said earnestly, "when it comes to you, nothing is too much."
What's this girl doing to me?
She flushed, and judging by the awkward expression on her face, I knew she wasn't used to receiving that kind of praise. Hell, I wasn't used to giving it. "Shall we go?" she asked, clearly trying to deflect the attention.
"Definitely," I agreed.
Alicia gasped when we stepped into my garage, and I realized I hadn't shown it to her when I'd given her the tour around my mansion. "Oh, feel free to take any of these out for a spin whenever you want," I said. "The keys are all in that wall safe there." I indicated a section of the smooth concrete wall. "Same code as the entrance."
"Are you crazy?" she protested. "I'd kill myself in one of these. And I don't drive stick."
"That might make things a little more difficult," I agreed, looking out at the half-dozen supercars parked diagonally against the exposed concrete walls of my underground bunker. "I'll get an SUV delivered," I said offhandedly, my mind mainly occupied with choosing which of my many sports cars I wanted to take out tonight. "BMW or Mercedes?"
"What?" she replied, sounding confused.
"Do you want a BMW or Mercedes?" I asked, as though it were the most obvious thing in the world. Hell, for me – it was.
"Clay, you can't buy me a car! We're only living together because we have to," she protested. "This isn't for real."
"Whoah!" I smiled. "Who said I was buying you a car? I'm a brand ambassador for both BMW and Mercedes – don't ask how they were okay with me promoting both of them. Mike's a damn genius when it comes to the commercial stuff. I just have to give one of them a ring, and they'll drop one off the next day."
"Seriously?"
"Uh huh," I agreed – enjoying the note of surprise in Alicia's voice. Sometimes I forgot just how privileged I was. "But think about it, people see me driving one of their cars, their sales rocket up like the freaking space shuttle."
"God, Clay," Alicia said, unable to hide an impressed smile, "you couldn't be more full of yourself if you tried, could you?"
"Probably not." I grinned, the mild putdown bouncing off my Teflon confidence like a bullet off body armor. "Which car?"
She looked the two rows of supercars up and down before deciding. "The black one."
15
Clay
Alicia had good taste. The black Aston Martin DB9 was by far my favorite car. Zero to sixty miles per hour in four-point-six seconds, ceramic brakes that could bring the elegant sports car to a halt on a whim, and more than five hundred angry, loud horsepower under the hood.
The car was beautiful. It was my baby.
I dashed to the passenger door and held it open. Watching Alicia step in, her gorgeous cocoa thigh breaching the slit that ran down the side of her dress and extending into the foot well, was like watching a scene from a James Bond film. I couldn't get my mind off how stunning she looked.
I checked my watch – a black leather strapped Breitling dive master that Mike had given me after my first tour. I realized that we were running late – the reservation was in only twenty minutes time.
I'd have to put my foot on the gas. It was a challenge I was more than willing to accept.
I opened the door and stepped in, taking a deep breath through my nostrils and enjoying the scent of the gorgeous Italian leather race seats. "Ready?" I asked, turning to my right. Alicia looked nervous – she had every right to be. This wasn't going to be a comfortable ride… She gave me a concerned little nod, and I took that as acceptance of what was about to happen.
I fired up the engine, revving it in the confined space of the concrete garage so loudly that it sounded like the starting grid of a NASCAR race. The garage automatically detected I was ready to go – I still had no idea how the designers had managed that – and retracted the door. I put the car into first gear and idled it out onto my gravel driveway. I wanted to light it up right then and there, but knew I had to hold back – the last thing I wanted was for some errant stone to chip the gorgeous black paintwork.
After all, I knew I could be responsible – at least when there was something I really cared about.
The gates of the enclosed courtyard swung open, and I cast one appreciative glance at the gorgeously manicured, backlit hedges that lined the imported Italian stone walls, and then we were out – on the open road.
"Time to go," I whispered, flicking the gear shift lever. I'd paid extra to get it installed on the steering wheel, and it had definitely been worth it. I felt like a racing driver as I flicked through second, then third gear and eased into fourth.
"Clay!" Alicia said urgently, and I looked to my side to see her gripping the leather hand rest to one side with one hand, and the center partition between us with the other so hard her fingers were going white.
I knew she wanted me to slow down, but we'd barely hit seventy miles an hour, and I knew the Aston Martin could hit almost triple that. And I had every intention of opening her up.
The five-mile stretch of highway opened up in front of me, strangely quiet for this time of night. It was perfect.
"Don't worry," I assured her, "I'm a good driver. Scout's honor."
And then I gunned the engine into fifth gear, and the needle on the dashboard hit red. We screamed past a hundred miles per hour and never stopped accelerating. I heard Alicia breathing as heavily as if I were lying on top of her, easing my cock between her legs, but knew I must be imagining it, because it was almost impossible to hear anything over the roar of the engine.
"Clay…" she moaned, but this time there was a different note in her voice – not concern, but elation. There was something indescribable about travelling at speed, a feeling I could tell Alicia appreciated as well. Seeing the world flash by at speeds that most of the population would never reach made me feel alive. And then I had an idea. I slowed the car, just fractionally, and put it into fourth gear, but allowed the revs to tick up on the dashboard so that the needle was firmly in the red.
The beautiful sports car began to shudder, just fractionally, underneath us, and then vibrate with an almost superhuman speed. I felt my hard, toned buttocks responding to the minor centrifugal force, and knew that for Alicia, the vibrations would be far more intense. For her, sitting where she was almost directly over the gearbox, it would feel like sitting on top of a washing machine.
She moaned again, but this time she wasn't terrified, not even elated – she was turned on. And just listening to her made my cock stiffen inside my pants. I started streaking through traffic, changing lanes every few seconds as I overtook car after car, but I didn't do it so that we could get to the restaurant any faster – no, I did it because every time I urged the car left or right, Alicia let out a breathy, throaty moan.
I had to ease off the gas as we reached the more built-up areas near downtown, an
d it was a damn good thing, too, because just listening to Alicia moan beside me was enough to tempt my cock to rip through the thin material of my pants.
"Hungry?" I asked, sounding far more nonchalant about what had just happened than I really was. Alicia swallowed and took a few seconds to respond.
Her eyes flicked downwards, and I could have sworn that she was checking out my cock, but she met my gaze a second later.
"Oh, I could eat…" she said sultrily.
All I could think about as I gently guided the sleek black sports car to a halt in front of the valet was that I didn't care about eating the meal – I just wanted to eat her.
"Is this it?" Alicia asked, excited, as we pulled up. Kikuchi was the hottest ticket in town, and by all accounts she had every reason to be excited. It was a Japanese sushi restaurant opened by one of Japan's finest sushi chefs, and it was nigh on impossible to get a reservation.
Far from impossible, of course, if your name was Clay Hunt…
"Sure is," I agreed. I'd chosen the restaurant carefully. I'd never taken another girl here, and I never would. I didn't want it to be tainted by the memory of any other woman, and I didn't want Alicia to think that she was just a notch on my bedpost, because she was more than that, so much more.
"I can't believe I'm about to eat here," she giggled, displaying a sense of girlish excitement that was so unlike her – or at least, so unlike the cold exterior she tried to display in front of me – that I couldn't help but smile.
"Not a dent, understood?" I said, tossing the valet my keys and shooting him a sharp look. If he was anything like I was as a kid, then the first thing on his mind would be taking a joyride. He quailed under my glare, and I knew he wouldn't dare.
We were showed to our seats by our waitress in a slinky black cocktail dress, her ass bobbing from side to side in a way that would normally have had me slavering at the lips for a chance to taste her. I'm almost certain Alicia was keeping an eye on me to check if I was staring, but she had no need. Even I was surprised, but I had absolutely no desire to check the waitress out. I only had eyes for Alicia.
