Hung Read Free Page A

gaze, her eyebrow half cocked as though in an unconscious challenge. I needed to know who she was, because the stunning cocoa temptress had my cock stiffening like no woman had managed in the last decade.
    Suddenly, that little strawberry kiss I took on vacation seemed like a pale imitation of a woman. In my mind, she suddenly tasted like cardboard, not chocolate cake.
    And right now, chocolate cake was all I wanted.
    The challenge inherent in the girl's stare got me excited, even if I didn't know why she was having such a visceral reaction against me.
    It didn't bother me. It had been too long since any woman had put up a barrier between me and her bed. Usually, they threw themselves at me, and for me, most of the attraction was the thrill of the chase.
    I needed to show that I was unruffled, even though I was pretty sure the outline of my huge cock was showing through the denim of my jeans, so I took a hefty gulp of my whiskey. Fuck, I liked it when it burned, and the amber liquid burned all the way down to my stomach.
    I didn't need the liquid courage; I had enough of that already, but the warmth now spreading through my stomach wasn't unappealing, and I decided to take matters into my own hands.
    I turned to face the crowd, all of them holding up smart phones and snapping pictures. I knew that my manager would kill me for this; the last thing he would want in the middle of his negotiation was pictures of me all over Instagram. But with me, what you see is what you get.
    "Let's make a deal," I said, my voice full of authority and barely wavering – a miracle, given that I'd sank at least a dozen beers tonight.
    The crowd looked at me quizzically, but – typically – not a single one had the balls to open their mouth and ask me what I meant.
    "I know I've got no way of checking," I said, "but all I'm looking for is a good night."
    Judging by the curious looks on their faces, the line didn't do much to clear up what I meant.
    "So how about we put down the phones, huh?" That little comment was greeted with an audible hiss of disappointment.
    Fucking hell, what a generation. Can't any of these idiots have a good night without posting pictures and messaging their friends all night?
    Don't they realize they have an opportunity to party with me – Clay goddamn Hunt?
    Don't they know they'll have the best night of their lives?
    I powered on regardless. I’d never made it my business to care much about what the little people thought. "When did anyone ever have a good night behind a glowing screen? Do you guys wanna party?"
    That seemed to break through their sad little attachments to their handheld devices, and a half-hearted murmur of approval rippled through the crowd.
    "I said," I repeated, "is there anyone here who wants to party with Clay Hunt?"
    The mere mention of my name got them going. It was like giving a line of coke to a lab rat; they sent themselves wild. Some wit in the corner started clapping and chanting my name, but I found it kind of lame so I shot him a dirty look – that killed it pretty quick.
    "Tell you what," I said, doing my best to maintain eye contact with as many of the people in the room as I could. "Let's make a deal. I want everyone to put their phones away, I don't want to see another one for the rest of the night…"
    A groan of disappointment rang around the room. Tragic.
    I held up my hand and hushed them. "But here's what I'll do in return…"
    I paused for a second to let the anticipation build. No one could ever say that Clay Hunt's wasn’t the consummate showman.
    "Drinks are on me, all night," I said, using my singing voice to project myself across the room. Every single one of them was spellbound, hanging on my every word. It was just like a concert – I felt powerful. I knew that every guy in the room wanted to be me, and I knew that every girl wanted to fuck me.
    Well, almost every girl, anyway…
    "If I see another phone tonight, I'm going to cut you off. Don't be that guy who ruins