Hung

by Holly Hart

  "Can I get you anything to drink?" the waitress asked me, pushing her chest forward and pouting as she put herself on display. I was used to this kind of attention from women, but Alicia looked shocked.

  "Please, ask my fiancée first…" I said, indicating Alicia and politely, but firmly, shutting the waitress down. This time, her pout was less than friendly.

  "Oh no," Alicia said looking quietly pleased, "I wouldn't know what to order in a place like this. You choose!"

  "A bottle of Bollinger," I ordered without even looking at the wine list. "The ‘92, if you have it?"

  I knew they did, or if they didn't, they'd find one. After all, no restaurant worth its salt ever turned down the chance to sell a customer a two-thousand-dollar bottle of champagne…

  The waitress nodded curtly and sulkily flounced off. I hid my grin.

  "Did you see that?" Alicia asked me, looking aghast at the woman's behavior. "She was practically throwing herself at you!"

  I buried my head in the menu. "Oh, really?" I asked, biting down on my tongue. "I didn't notice…"

  Alicia cast me a suspicious look. "I don't believe you," she said firmly, and I knew there was no deceiving this beautiful, intelligent and piercingly aware woman.

  “Alright, alright," I said, throwing my hands up, "you got me. Trust me, you get used to it."

  "I'm not sure I could," Alicia said with her nervous look on her face. "How could any woman date you when they know girls throw themselves at you like that?"

  "I'm not looking for just any woman, Alicia," I said earnestly. "I'm only looking for you. And trust me, she's not my type."

  "Oh," Alicia said mockingly, "tall, skinny and Russian isn't your type? Next you'll be telling me you're a monk!"

  I cast a quick glance over my shoulder to check the waitress wasn't in earshot. "Look at her," I said quietly. "Does she have your tits? Your ass? Your gorgeous cocoa skin?"

  Alicia flushed. "Shhh!" she admonished. "Other people can hear!"

  "I don't care," I replied. "I want the whole world to know how gorgeous you are. I want you to know it, too…" It was true. I didn't care who heard, I just wanted to break through Alicia's thick, closed off exterior and into her heart. I needed her to know that I wasn't just the player she thought I was – not with her.

  The waitress returned with our champagne and poured it, acting decidedly more frostily than she had when we'd just arrived.

  "Cheers!" I said, raising my glass to Alicia.

  "What are we toasting?" she asked. "I've never had champagne before… Isn't it for special occasions?"

  She was holding her champagne flute gently, almost tenderly, as though she were afraid to break it. I extended my arm and clinked my own glass against hers. "What's not special about this?" I asked. "I'm sitting next to a beautiful woman, in a lovely restaurant, about to have an amazing meal. Doesn't that feel like something worth celebrating?"

  Alicia flushed, again. It was more or less becoming her default state around me, and I'd be lying if I said that I didn't enjoy having that affect on her.

  "Clay," she whispered, "stop."

  I reached over the table and grabbed one of her hands, cradling it delicately in between my two, much bigger hands. "I can't, Alicia. Not around you." I meant it, and I could tell she knew. But she was clearly conflicted.

  "We should eat," she said, reluctantly pulling her hand back and trying to change the subject. "I've never had Japanese before, well – not good Japanese, anyway. What do you recommend?"

  "I'm thinking sashimi, some California rolls and some tuna maki," I said without bothering to look at the menu. Like always, I knew what I wanted.

  "Shall we get enough to share?" she asked shyly.

  "Anything for you…"

  Two hours later, my stomach muscles ached from the amount of food we ended up consuming. The critics were right, Kikuchi really was the best Japanese restaurant in town, and probably the whole of America, too. I knew I'd be coming back, and hopefully with Alicia by my side.

  I paid the check in cash, leaving a generous tip. It wasn't worth my time to get change, so I simply stood up and we walked out, arms linked. Alicia's warm, cocoa skin felt like heaven pressed up against my arm, and I could have taken her right then and there. Though if I did, we probably wouldn't be able to get another reservation…

  We walked out at about the same time as another couple – a short, squat man who, judging by his pasty complexion, looked like he worked behind a computer screen all day and his companion, a plastic, bleach blonde woman who was either a trophy wife from the bargain bin or a cheap escort. I hated to judge, but compared with the beauty on my arm, she was nothing.

  "Hey!" I heard the woman slur, discounting the noise as I picked the keys up from the valet and prepared to step into the idling Aston Martin, its engine gurgling and chuckling like a newborn baby. In the restaurant, I'd been slightly disappointed that I'd had to stick to two small glasses of the delicate, floral champagne so that I was good to drive, but when I returned to this dutiful, beautiful piece of British engineering, I knew it was all worth it.

  "Hey, you – yeah, you, Clay," she slurred. I turned my head, confused.

  "Clay, do you know that girl?" Alicia asked, looking scared. That sent my protective instincts into overdrive and I felt the hair on the nape of my neck bristling.

  "Nah," I replied honestly. "It happens sometimes; ignore it."

  "Is she okay?" Alicia called out selflessly to the woman's male partner, her moral compass clearly far straighter than mine.

  "Hey, Clay, are you gonna let that black bitch fight all your battles?" the woman slurred, stumbling over towards the car.

  What the hell?

  I stepped in front of Alicia protectively. "Get in the car, Alicia. We need to go," I requested urgently.

  "Hey, stop hitting on my girl!" the drunk, middle-aged man said aggressively.

  For fuck's sake, can't I go anywhere without drama following close behind?

  "Hey, buddy," I warned, flexing my bicep beneath my tailored Armani suit, "get your wife under control. She can't be going around talking to a nice lady like that. I don't care if she's drunk."

  As far as I was concerned, the woman should have be locked up for talking about Alicia like that, and I was having to bite down on a rising tide of anger. I knew that if I succumbed to it, if I allowed it to swallow me up, then Alicia and I would be done – and that was the only thing keeping me grounded. But I didn't know how long I could last.

  Alicia tugged at my arm. "Come on, Clay – ignore it. It happens." Judging by the sad look on her face, it happened far too often, and the thought made me sick.

  "Why don't you date a girl who deserves you, Clay?" the drunk hooker whined. At this point, I didn't care if she was or wasn't a hooker because she was acting like the worst kind of street walker. I knew exactly what she was getting at – the implication was clear.

  "I said," the short man said threateningly, "stop talking to my wife!" Out of nowhere, he limbered up one of his stumpy, fat arms and tried to throw a punch. I began to duck, already packing my shoulder and preparing to lay a hard blow directly into the douchebag's stomach, when my blood ran cold.

  Alicia's behind me.

  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.

  16

  Alicia

  Clay 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.