The phone kept ringing. I fumbled for it on my night table with my free hand and eyed the caller ID on the screen: Kevin Riley, my beloved and trusted head of PR. I put the phone to my ear.
“Hi, Kev. Is everything okay?” I panted into the phone. Jaime was not giving up. “Stop!” I mouthed at him. He smirked and circled my clit harder. Forget it! And moreover, Mr. Persistent wasn’t going to let me stop stroking his cock. He placed his hand over mine so I couldn’t. Confession: I didn’t want him to stop nor did I want to stop. We were both so close to coming. Squirming with a roll of my eyes, I tried to focus on Kevin’s call.
“Glorious, there’s a fucking flood in the space where we’re taping the show.” And there’s a fucking flood in the space between my legs where Jaime was about to take all of me. And a fire too! “The dress rehearsal has been postponed until they clean up the mess. We may even have to relocate.”
One word: “Shit.” This was not good news, but Kevin had handled a lot bigger problems and they always got fixed. I loved my Kev as much as I loved Jaime, but differently. A lifelong friend, we had been through thick and thin together, and we had even saved each other’s lives from the pink-eyed monster, Boris Borofsky.
Yet, I was still concerned since this was a new venue, and I didn’t know what to expect. We had always held the much-anticipated Gloria’s Secret Fashion Show in New York at the venerable Lexington Avenue Armory on the day before Valentine’s Day. But due to my late stage pregnant state, Dr. Bernstein had insisted I not fly. I’d protested. Only one word from Jaime had convinced me to follow her orders—turbulence. Something that terrified me. Hence, we were holding it for the first time in Los Angeles at state-of-the-art Smashbox Studios in Culver City, not far from our headquarters. It turned out to be a good thing too. The snowy weather conditions in New York were so bad the show would have likely been canceled.
“I’ll be there soon,” I told Kevin, asking him to phone or text me right away if anything else came up before ending the call.
“Is everything okay?” asked a concerned Jaime, releasing my hand from his cock and his finger from my clit.
I shook my head. “I’ve got a big problem. The studio is flooded. It’s a total mess.”
“That sucks.” Jaime dusted my chin with the tip of my long braid. This was one of his many little affectionate gestures that always affected me.
“I’ve got to get over to Smashbox right away.”
“Let’s finish what we started in the shower.”
“I can’t. I don’t have time,” I countered unconvincingly as he tickled my chin again with my braid.
“C’mon. You know things always turn out okay.” Jaime scrambled off the bed, and before I could say another word, he gathered me in his loving arms.
“What are you doing?” I screamed.
“What does it look like I’m doing? I’m carrying my princess off into the horizon for our next activity.”
“I weigh too much!” I protested, trying hard not to laugh.
“Nah.” He took a step and then without warning, he let out a deep groan and his legs began to buckle. His face scrunched up as if he was in terrible pain.
“Oh my God! Are you okay?” He continued to groan and sway. “Baby, talk to me!” Oh God, we were both going to go down! The babies too!
“Gotcha!” He burst into a clap of laughter.
I pounded his chest. “You cocky beautiful bastard!”
“Shut up!” And with that, my amazing husband smothered me with a fierce kiss that sent another sweeping wave of pleasure through me.
We made beautiful love in the shower. With one arm wrapped around my big belly, the hand of the other back to fingering my still throbbing clit, Jaime pummeled me slowly but purposively from behind. The multiple jets of steaming water pounded upon us, coming at us from different directions as we built toward climax.
“Are you okay, angel?” Jaime breathed against my neck, always so worried about my well-being and that of our babies.
“Yes,” I moaned back, so close to coming. I knew he was too, by his harsh breaths and his pulsing cock that filled me with love.
“Angel,” he cried out as I watched us orgasm together in the wall-to-wall bathroom mirror through the steamed-up glass shower door. I arched my back and cried out his name in sweet relief as I came around his explosive length. Jaime’s name meant “I love” in French. I loved this man and he loved me. My husband, my lover, and the soon-to-be father of my children. Our children. My pulse still in overdrive, I glanced down at the magnificent two-stone diamond ring he’d given me. Two glistening hearts entwined like lovers. An eternal toi et moi. As he nuzzled my neck and whispered sweet words of love in my ear, I knew one thing. Even with a pending fashion show disaster, Jaime Zander was my forever.
CHAPTER 2
Jaime
There’s something so damn sexy about watching a woman get ready in the morning. Especially a woman as sexy as Gloria.
After our delicious shower, we both donned matching terrycloth robes and headed back to our bedroom. I had the luxury of starting my day a little later so I stretched myself on the chaise lounge in the corner and watched Gloria go through her rituals.
Usually, Gloria dressed for success. Conveying the image of the high-powered businesswoman she was. Chanel was her favorite designer. Despite LA’s casual dress code, Gloria always dressed up. A power suit and stilettos. A uniform that said, “Don’t fuck with me.” But to me, everything she wore said, “Fuck me now.”
Today, however, was a little different. Being on the set of the annual Gloria’s Secret Fashion Show, she preferred to be comfortable. I watched as she laid out her outfit on the bed—a pair of black leggings and ballet flats, an oversized white shirt (mine), and a lacy white bra. Hmm. No panties. My cock twitched.
My eyes stayed on her as she shrugged off her robe, sat on the edge of the bed, and began with the leggings. My blood heated as she slowly slid them up her legs. Even pregnant, Gloria had the most incredible legs. Toned and mile high. Like they emanated from her rib cage. Little about her had changed during her pregnancy. Just her tits and her tummy. I fucking loved them big.
Once the leggings with their built-in pregnancy panel were above her hips, she reached for her bra. It was an underwire, lacy concoction that supported her spectacular tits. With its back closing, she struggled with the hook.
“Come here, you,” I said seductively with a wag of my finger. “Let me help you with the clasp.”
“Thanks.” Grabbing the shirt, she ambled my way. The bra hung loosely on her body.
Standing up behind her, I blew a breath of hot air onto the nape of her neck and watched her shoulders lift as goosebumps popped along her arms. I always had that effect on her. It drove her fucking crazy. And me too.
As I hooked the bra, I began to flutter kiss her upper back. Her breathing grew shallow.
“Jaime, stop. I can’t. I have to get ready. You know how important this show is.”
What she said was true. The success of this show could make or break her company earnings.
“Okay, just this once.” Reluctantly, I pulled away. “But you’re going to pay tonight.” We were going to the Gloria’s Secret after-party at Greystone Manor. Every A-list celebrity in Tinseltown would be there along with all the Gloria’s Secret supermodels. Little did my wife know that club member, Blake Burns, had arranged the use of a private fuck pad for the two of us. If I had my way (and I usually did), we weren’t going to be doing a lot of socializing as the party progressed. More like one-on-one time.
“I can’t wait,” she replied with a sultry laugh. Once the bra was in place, she shrugged on my button-down shirt. She had taken a predilection to wearing my shirts and tees while she was pregnant. They fit her perfectly, and I found it sexy as hell. It was as if she and our babies were cocooned inside me.
Before she could button it, I flipped her around wrapped my arms around her and began to buttoned it for her, starting with the third one
down. Her full breasts caressed my forearms and my cock grew harder with each button. I could feel her heat.
“Darling, please!” she moaned as I slid one hand between her thighs. I just couldn’t resist, but then I caved in and behaved.
“Okay, okay. But you’re making it so fucking hard.”
“Very funny.”
She glanced down. Eyeing the sizeable tent just below the knotted belt of my robe, she laughed yet again at my unintended double entendre and then sauntered back toward the bathroom. Man, I loved the way she walked. Even so pregnant, she exuded effortless elegance and sexiness. Her perfect heart-shaped ass shimmied beneath my shirt, her loose wet hair grazing it. Following my cock’s orders, I trailed her.
Gloria had many beauty rituals. But morning hair and makeup were my favorite. Because I got to participate. Standing behind her, our reflections facing us in the expansive wall-to-wall mirror, I ran a comb through her long, damp platinum tresses and then began to braid them. While she’d had her right arm immobilized in a cast for six weeks after the Boris nightmare, I’d become an expert. I could do every kind of braid—from French to fishtail. I chuckled to myself. I was so good I could do a video tutorial on YouTube. Hell, I could probably open a braiding salon and make a fucking fortune turning it into a franchise.
“You know, tomorrow’s Valentine’s Day,” I breathed against her neck as I wove her hair. “It’s almost like our anniversary.”
Indeed it was. Last Valentine’s Day I’d surprised her with Rihanna’s diamond-studded bra and thong which I’d won at the Gloria’s Secret after-party charity auction, outbidding Victor Holden, my lascivious stepfather and Gloria’s Secret’s corrupt Chairman. He was now serving time behind bars for manipulating the price of the company stock, which resulted in Gloria almost losing her job. For what he did to Gloria and to me as a child, he should be rotting in hell. Along with Vivien, his equally manipulative psycho bitch daughter.
Banishing my dark thoughts, my mind flashed back to that unforgettable night. I’d surprised Gloria with the sparkly leather garments over dinner in my suite at The Walden Hotel. After I’d coerced her to put them on and took my time admiring the way they graced her gorgeous curvaceous body, I’d yanked them off her and licked her sweet pussy. Fell in love with the taste of her. And the way her delicious pussy responded to my tongue. At the memory of that night, my cock flexed.
Gloria jerked up on feeling my cock jump. I wondered—was she also reminiscing about our first night together? As usual, she read my mind.
“Darling, I hope you’re not going to bid tonight on Beyoncé’s outfit. Beyoncé was headlining this year’s Gloria’s Secret Fashion Show, and the custom-made diamond-studded get-up she was wearing was top secret. Gloria hadn’t shared it even with me.
“Angel, don’t worry. Been there done that.” Gloria should know better. I never did the same thing twice. I tugged at her almost completed braid. “I have something else in mind.”
“Oh, I love surprises, Mr. Zander. Does it involve your cock?” I watched her smile seductively in the mirror.
Actually, what I had in mind for Mrs. Zander was a low-key but very romantic evening—dinner at oceanfront Geoffrey’s in Malibu. I couldn’t wait to give her my custom-made gift. Something symbolic—and sparkling—I hoped she’d cherish forever. I was feeling very, very proud of myself. Mr. Creativity had exceeded himself. All I hoped for in return was a mind-blowing blowjob with that luscious mouth of hers. With that wicked thought, I finished braiding her hair.
“Thank you, baby.” Gloria grinned as she fastened the end of her waist-long braid with an elastic. The platinum rope shimmered like a fine piece of jewelry.
Her morning rituals weren’t over. Now came my favorite part. Her makeup.
Standing behind her, I folded my arms around her swollen belly as she began. First her eyes. A layer of mascara and some blue shadow that drew attention to her two-color eyes, one brown the other blue. Then, a fine dusting of face powder and lastly her lips.
God, I loved Gloria’s lips. The shape of them. Their fullness. Their power. Holy balls, what they could do. I watched in the mirror in awe as she applied her red lipstick. It was as if she was painting them, and every time she did, I thought of my father with a red tube of paint in his hand. Red was his favorite color, just like Gloria’s.
Mesmerized by my gorgeous wife, I stared at her reflection. Gloria wore her red lipstick the way a superhero wore his cape. It made her powerful. Invincible. Except I was her Kryptonite. When I kissed her lips and stripped off her red capelet, she became weak. Powerless. And all mine.
I couldn’t resist.
She succumbed.
This time my cock had a different destination. Her backdoor. Quickly grabbing one of the many moisturizing lotions she kept on the counter, I parted my robe, squirted a bountiful amount on my hard as rock cock, and lubricated it. As I spread it evenly along my shaft, my mind flashed back to the first time I fucked Gloria in the ass in Paris. It was a first for her. Butt-fucking Gloria had since become one of our favorite activities. And with her big pregnant belly, one of the easiest.
Wasting no time, I shoved down her leggings and spread her ripe cheeks.
“Jaime, are you going to fuck me in the ass?” she asked, her voice all breathy. Oh yeah, she wanted it bad.
“That’s what it seems like,” I replied as I plunged my serpent into her puckered, just washed hole. Christ. She felt so tight! So hot! So good!
She groaned my name. Wrapping one arm back around her extended belly, I began to thrust in and out of her. Her beautiful moans morphed into beautiful groans. I’d only just begun. Once I got into a rhythm and she rocked into me, I moved my other hand to her pussy and inserted two fingers into her entrance while my thumb rubbed her clit. I knew what she loved. Still banging her from behind, I watched in the mirror as she arched back to meet my thrusts, her face contorting with pure ecstasy, her chest rising and falling. Shrieks escaped her lush lips and her eyes squeezed close.
“Eyes, angel.” I wanted her to watch herself come with me. At my command, she blinked them open and met my smoldering reflection.
“Oh God,” she whimpered as I pumped in and out of her, bringing both of us to the edge. Her clit was throbbing, ready to explode. And I knew I was hitting her G-for-Gloria spot again and again.
The desperate sound of her. The impassioned sight of her. It was so fucking erotic.
“Fall apart for me, angel,” I whispered in her ear, my blood rushing to my pulsing cock, my own orgasm coiling between my thighs. I could almost hear her fiery clit crying out for relief.
“Now, baby.” On the next deep thrust, she roared my name and shattered around me. As she lost control, so did I, my powerful eruption meeting hers head-on.
I hissed. Jesus. The power of a kiss.
CHAPTER 3
Gloria
My clit still buzzing, I let out a loud sigh of relief upon showing up at Smashbox. Damage control was in effect, with the last of the water being mopped up by a crew of attendants. The show would go on.
While this stark, loft-like space had a whole different vibe than New York’s venerable Lexington Avenue Armory where we’d always held our annual shows, the pre-show atmosphere was just as frenetic. Once again insanity. Utter insanity. Production personnel were, as usual, running around like banshees, talking into headsets and cell phones, and scribbling notes on clipboards and in notebooks. And models in bathrobes and curlers were roaming around, most talking on their phones, a few smoking cigarettes, anxiously awaiting their call time. My eyes darted left and right in search of Kevin; he was nowhere to be found, and I guessed he might be backstage sorting out details. Workmen were still installing lighting and set pieces and working at a furious pace.
I was especially excited about our theme this year. It was something close to my heart. Motherhood. Maternal angels. We were featuring a group of Gloria’s Secret supermodels, who all had young children; their babies and toddlers would be j
oining them on stage in the finale. What’s more, a group of very pregnant supermodels would be flaunting their full bodies, clad in our brand new line of provocative maternity wear. Who said pregnancy couldn’t be sexy?
Amidst the hustle and bustle, I spotted my new redheaded assistant, Claudia. She had previously been our corporate headquarters’ receptionist, but once my former traitorous assistant Vivien was gone, she’d begged me for the opportunity to work with me. A graduate of my Girls Like Us mentoring program that gave leadership opportunities to abused and impoverished young women, twenty-two-year-old Claudia couldn’t have been a better choice. Aiming for a career in fashion and design, she worked long hours, tended to my every need, and sometimes even read my mind.
“Are you looking for Kevin?” she asked, scurrying up to me. See what I mean?
I nodded. “Have you seen him?”
“Yeah. He’s in the Green Room holding court with Beyoncé. I got to meet her!” Claudia added giddily, her face lighting up.
I was sure Ms. Beyoncé was quite the princess; I had yet to meet her. Royalty or not, she was headlining our halftime show, singing her new song, with her young daughter, Blue Ivy. An ode to motherhood. Someone who cherished motherhood and family, she had readily, to Kevin’s shock and my own, accepted our invitation. And she couldn’t have been more accommodating when it came time to fitting her for the ritual diamond-studded undergarments we planned to auction off later tonight at our star-studded after-party at the Los Angeles hot spot, Greystone Manor. The proceeds, as usual, were going to my charity, Girls Like Us. At last year’s after-party at Touch in New York, Jaime had bid fiercely against our former Chairman of the Board, Victor Holden, and won Rihanna’s diamond-studded leather brassiere and thong…for his personal enjoyment. And mine. That erotic dinner at The Walden flashed again into my head and brought a smile to my face that I couldn’t hold back. I told Jaime that he’d better not buy me Beyoncé’s diamond-studded garments…or I’d divorce him. He promised he wouldn’t—Boy Scout’s honor—but I knew he’d never been a Boy Scout. And I knew I’d never, no never, divorce this man, no matter what he did.
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