Hung (4 page)

"
S
o
, shall we jam?" Clay asked, his rugged and handsome face alive with excitement – which I feared was because of his anticipation of spending the rest of the day buttoned up in a tiny recording studio with me, rather than because he had any great desire to sing for its own sake.

"I guess…"

I was keeping my sentences concise and to the point, mainly because I was stunned how well this crazy little plan of mine had gone. When I walked in here this morning, my phone might have been blowing up, but the calls were mainly from my friends – I didn't have a
single
offer from another agent, and there certainly weren't hundreds of record producers queueing up to call me…

That was all a bluff.

But it worked. It worked better than I could ever have expected. When Mike, Clay's manager, suggested a seventy-thirty income split, a strong breeze could have knocked me over. I walked in expecting maybe ten percent, if that. I'd never been happier to have been proved wrong. Hell, I didn't understand it – Clay was the big draw, I was just some girl with barely enough money to stay off the streets!

"I'd better get out of here," Mike said. "I'm going to have to run this deal past the label. You guys don't need me here."

"No, we certainly don't," Clay said, looking at me avariciously. I shot him a dirty look, but it did nothing to put him off. The man was shameless! I'd have to watch out around him, that much was clear. I had no idea whether my will power would be enough, because truth be told, I wanted nothing more than to share his bed, to taste his cock, to find out
exactly
how accurate Clay ‘Hung’ Hunt's nickname was.

Judging by the bulge in his pants, extremely…

"You kids have fun," were Mike's parting words as he spun around the door, briefcase in hand.

"It's just us, then," I said nervously to Clay. "You're going to have to show me the ropes – I've never been in a recording studio before."

"Oh, I'll show you the ropes, alright," he replied, a satisfied smirk filling his face.

"I didn't mean it like that," I replied, horrified at the minor double entendre I'd accidentally inserted into my request. At least, I thought it was accidental, but perhaps it was my brain doing its best to finally get me laid. It had been way, way too long… But I sure as hell couldn't break my dry streak with Clay Hunt – he was my ticket to the big time.

Was it going to be like this all day, I wondered. Hell, was it going to be like this until the record was done? Everything I knew about Clay, which admittedly didn't go much beyond a
thorough
perusal of a certain celebrity gossip magazine and some Internet searches that morning, suggested that this kind of behavior was exactly his modus operandi.

I knew I was going to have to be careful around him, especially because I wanted to do nothing more than let him have his way with me.

I followed him into the recording booth and was immediately thrust uncomfortably close into his broad, muscular back as he closed the door.

He shot me another one of those panty-dropping smiles. "Sorry," he grinned, "it gets a bit tight in here sometimes…"

"I noticed." I said it coldly, doing my best to throw cold water on his advances to me, but I was struggling to hide the fact that ever since my face grazed his back a few seconds ago, it was like a switch had been flicked in my brain. I didn't know if it was his pheromones, or something else entirely, but all of a sudden, I wanted to jump him – right then and there. It took every ounce of strength I had to control myself, but like a predator sensing prey, I was pretty sure Clay knew exactly what kind of affect he was having on me.

"Anything in particular you want to sing?" he asked.

This, really, was where all of my plans broke down. I'd written some of my own stuff, but it wasn't exactly suitable for a duet – mainly powerful black power ballads, and I couldn't really see Clay Hunt playing the Whitney Houston part.

"Uh, not really…" I confessed. "I didn't come with any lyrics…"

"Don't worry about it. You know how this business works?" he asked, shuffling through a stack of papers on a small table in front of the microphone stand.

"Again, not really." I was beginning to feel like a fish out of water, and Clay was just about the last person I would ever have picked as my mentor. As the other half of a holiday fling, sure, but a musical partner?

"Songwriters send in dozens of these things, and most of them just get stuck in a pile somewhere – never looked at. The best writers might have a few agents on speed dial, but mainly they just send it into a slush pile and hope someone eventually comes across it."

"So that's the slush pile?" I asked, indicating the stack of papers in front of him.

"Exactly."

"Mind if I have a look?" I asked, curious.

"Four eyes are better than two," he agreed, handing me half of the thick stack of sheaves he was leafing through.

I idly flicked through a few pages, with very little idea of what to expect, but at the same time not really expecting to find much of anything – after all, Clay was the expert in this domain, not me.

I left one eye on what I was doing, and casually studied Clay with the other. He wasn't
exactly
what I'd expected – at least, not in the booth. Sure, on the one hand, he was clearly a sex-crazed alpha male, struggling desperately to find a place in a world that had more less moved on from the days when it was okay to just drink, fight and fuck, but on the other, it was quickly becoming obvious that Clay loved his work.

Other than with his frequent and obvious attempts to get me into his bed, I hadn't seen him display much enthusiasm for anything. Music, it seemed, was the only thing besides his cock that still managed to light a fire underneath him. He looked single-mindedly focused and dedicated as I watched him flick through the prospective songs.

He seemed a million miles away from the man I'd seen a couple of nights before, drunk, with his lip still bleeding from the fight that had almost ruined my one shot at the big time. The only question I had was – was I somehow responsible for the change, or had he always been this dedicated?

Or perhaps, maybe the truth lay somewhere in the middle.

"What about this one?" he said, offering me a couple of sheets of white paper.

"Doesn't it have a title?" I asked, surprised.

"Nah, the writers don't bother – they know it'll just get changed later on. Hell, unless you're as successful as I am – was," he corrected himself, looking knowingly into my eyes, "even the labels rarely let us singers choose the names of our own songs…"

"Seriously?" I asked, outraged. "How is that fair?"

"Marketing," Clay shrugged. "I wouldn't get too worried about it. It bothered me, too, when I released my first album, but you know what?" He smiled.

"What?" I asked, finding myself leaning in – hanging on his every word.

"By the time you've released your fifth album, you'll be more than happy to leave the marketing department to come up with your song names for you. It's fun doing it once or twice, but twenty times per album?" He jutted his chin out dismissively. "I don't need the hassle in my life."

"I guess…" I unwillingly agreed. I could see the sense in what he was saying, but I didn't want to accept it – didn't want to believe it was true. Hell, couldn't he just let me wallow in the magic of my new career for just a little while? I decided to change the topic back to safer ground.

"Song looks good." I wasn't lying just to change the direction of the conversation – Clay had a damn good eye for a song. The lyrics were perfect. "Is there backing music?"

"Yeah, kinda."

"Can you give me a little more than just
kinda
?" I grinned. "I'm the newbie, remember?"

"Oh, yeah," he smiled, "sorry – I forgot." He moved his chair closer to me and looked me directly in the eyes. For a second, I wanted to lean in and kiss him, lean in and run my hands through his impossibly soft looking hair. I shivered and shook off the desire.

"We'll just play some ambient music, just something to get us in the mood, you know? This is just the first run. We'll record it, see how it sounds, then if it's good – we do it properly."

I could have sworn he winked as he said,
get us in the mood
. I shivered again, and this time, I was pretty sure it wasn't because I was shaking
off
the desire to kiss him. If anything, it was coming back stronger.

Clay pushed a button, and as he'd promised, some easy-listening ambient tones filled the room. "Ready?"

I nodded, and with a little frisson of excitement, donned a pair of heavy recording headphones. I felt like a goddamn music star! Years of watching my idols do this in music videos, and here I was, standing next to Clay Hunt in a recording booth! I had to pinch my skin just to allow myself to believe it was real.

It was the best three hours of my life, or at least the best three hours that I could remember in a hell of a long time.

"…turn this town to rubble, no trouble…"
Clay sang
.

I knew the bars of the songs we sang would be floating through my dreams for weeks, and I loved every minute of it, wanted to gobble it all up and remember every single second, just in case the contract didn't get signed, just in case I never made it as a star – because if I remembered this, then no one could ever take it away from me.

My line.
"…I brush my cheek against his stubble…"
I sang.

A couple more lines, and the bars floated away, leaving both Clay and I panting with exertion. He looked alive, and five years younger than I'd seen him just a couple of nights before. It was like the performance he'd just given had transformed him, showing him what it was like to
create
again.

"Oh my God," I said, adrenaline flooding through my body like a drug. "Clay, that was incredible – you were incredible."

He sat down, as though all the energy was flooding out of his body after our marathon recording session, as though he'd given everything he could for it to be a success, as though he'd given everything he could for
me
.

I loved him for it.

"You say you've never done this before?" he crowed hoarsely. "Alicia – you're a fucking natural!"

I loved him for that, too.

And then I did something I would never have dreamt of doing this morning.

I walked over to Clay.

I straddled him.

And I kissed him.

W
hen Alicia kissed me
, I was so surprised I almost said something. But I'd played this game long enough to know one thing – if a girl's coming onto you, your only job is not to screw it up. And I knew myself. My fatal flaw was usually my big mouth – I could be a loose cannon.

And the only cannon she needed to be worried about was the one between my legs…

My cock stiffened into action in seconds as she settled on top of me, kissing me hungrily like an explorer that hadn't seen food for days. I almost didn't touch her, didn't want to break the spell, but she looked so damn good, and I was so goddamn horny after two days of thinking about Alicia
fucking
Hudson in my bed, I couldn't help it. I grabbed her big, juicy ass and almost passed out with excitement.

"Oh my God, Alicia," I muttered – breaking my cardinal rule of shutting up and letting the girl do the talking, but I couldn't help it – she had some kind of spell over me. "You’re incredible. Your ass is incredible, your tits are—"

She looked down at me, cutting me off. "Incredible?" she asked, a cheeky glint in her eye.

"And you're a mind reader too," I joked, filling my hands with her firm ass and squeezing hard. "Is anything you can't do?"

"Apparently, it's keep my hands off you," she said, looking almost disappointed with herself.

"Trust me, you won't regret it," I said fervently – and I meant it. Anything this girl wanted, she'd get. I knew I'd give her everything.

"I think I will…" She sighed, breaking my heart. "But I can't stop myself."

That was good enough for me. I'd always been the guy who turned the good girls bad, but I didn't think either of us knew yet that that wasn't what was happening. No, if anything, Alicia was turning me good.

I growled, and it seemed to make her mind up for her. She put her face down towards mine and kissed me, biting my lip fiercely. I groaned, my cock rigid between my legs and pressing against her thighs as she sat on top of me. She felt real, whole, and I wanted every part of her.

The time for talking was over.

I ripped the floral top off her, not caring whether it survived or not. If she needed another, I'd buy it for her. Hell, if she needed another – I'd buy her the store. Her big, cocoa tits spilled out, and I almost came right then and there. I bit down on my lip hard. That was the last thing I wanted. I needed to show Alicia what I could do. If I couldn't change her mind about what kind of guy I was, then I knew at least I could show her a good time.

After all, if there was one thing Clay Hunt did well, it was show girls a good time. They didn't call me
Hung
for nothing. With most girls, I didn't care if they got off, as long as I did.

For Alicia, I wanted to last forever. I released her bra, letting her juicy breasts hang free, and couldn't stop myself from enveloping one of her puffy pink nipples in my mouth. I sucked and swirled, and she moaned into my ear, thrusting her hips forward. I knew I had her. I kept one hand stroking her lower back and sent the other one from her firm ass – it hurt me to let go – down between her thighs.

I didn't want her to have a moment's rest. I wanted her overwhelmed by the sensations: her nipples, her back, the wet slit between her thighs – I wanted every neuron firing, I wanted her writhing beneath me. I pulled the shirt off my back, picked her up like she didn't weigh a pound, kicked the chair away and laid her gently on my shirt. Throughout it all, her nipple barely left my mouth, nor my hand from between her legs.

I could feel the warmth from her slit pulsating through the thin material of her sexy black jeans, I was conducting it like the master of an orchestra, pushing the palm of my hand hard against her mound, then stroking upwards with my fingers until she writhed in ecstatic agony.

"Clay…" she whispered. "I need you in me."

No other man could have refused that offer, but I wasn't just any man. I wasn't ready – but more importantly, nor was she. I wanted her so wet and so turned on that she'd climax just by my huge cock pushing past the wet pink lips of her pussy, I wanted her clawing against my thick, muscular back.

I wanted her hornier than she'd ever been, and I was going to make sure she got there.