“Oh, my sweet Zoey. You smell and taste divine. And you’re so hot and wet.”
“Oh, Your Highness, My Lord! What you do to me!”
“My beauty, I love that you call me Your Lord.” His hand caresses my fluttering sex, a thumb running over my quivering clit. I moan from the ecstasy he’s giving me.
“I want to own you. Possess you. Treasure you. Rule you.”
“My body is your kingdom,” I whisper.
“Your wish is my command,” he hisses back. “What do you want, Zoey?”
“I want you to ravage me.”
“You want to be my princess?”
“Oh yes, please.”
“Please, what?”
“My Lord! Oh My Lord!” My voice is a breathless, desperate plea.
“Good girl.”
On my next rapid heartbeat, he spreads my legs with his powerful knees.
“Show me what you want, Zoey.”
My hand trembling, I wrap my fingers around his pulsing girth and guide it to my ever-ready entrance. The very touch of him at my door to pleasure sends a ripple of white-hot desire to my core. I let out an audible gasp as he drives his magnificent cock inside me, one glorious inch after another. I groan at the size of him, stretching me apart, filling me beyond measure. I want him all.
“Take me, My Lord,” I cry out with equal pain and pleasure.
“You’re mine,” he growls. “I’m going to fuck you royally.” With a loud grunt, he pushes all the way into me until his shaft hits a spot that makes me wince from the impact.
“Jesus, my love. You’re so fucking tight and wet. You’re pussy fits my cock better than a glove. Like a rare glass slipper…the perfect fit.”
At his words, my muscles clench around his erection like a carnal hug.
“Christ, you’re amazing,” he sighs before pulling away. A heartbeat later, he lunges right back into me, and I groan when he hits my womb.
“Oh, Brandon, My Lord. Fuck me hard.”
“How hard?” he taunts as he withdraws again. “This hard?” He rams into me with savage force.
“Oh yes!”
On my next heated breath, he pummels me with reckless abandon, rubbing along my clit and hitting my magic spot over and over. My body arches into him, and with each thrust, my moans grow louder.
“I’ve never had anyone like you,” he mumbles breathlessly. “You feel so fucking good.”
I’m speechless. I’m too consumed with the most indescribable feeling I’ve ever experienced, his body joined with mine, his cock filling me and taking me to a place where I’ve never been.
He puts his hands under my ass, his firm grasp making me gasp again from the intensity and pure ecstasy of his thrusts. My legs wrap around his hips, wanting to hold on, wanting this to never end as an orgasm begins to crescendo inside me. I rock my hips to meet his thrusts, each breath, each thrust harsher than the one before. A symphony of our breaths, flesh against flesh, fills my ears.
“You’re so damn sexy,” he pants out, picking up his pace and jamming me harder, as if harder is possible. “I can’t fucking get enough of you.”
The pressure inside me is so intense I think I’m going to die. Fisting the satin sheets so tightly, my hands begin to ache. My desperation for a release overtakes me.
“I need to come!” I scream out, ecstasy pulsating inside me.
“Not yet, my love.”
“Please, My Lord, I beg you!” I can no longer hang on.
“No, Zoey. You will come when I say you can. I own you. Your orgasm is under my command.”
I’m so close to coming. I bite down on my lip to keep from screaming. And squeeze my eyes shut.
“Don’t hold back, Zoey. Open your eyes and let me hear you.”
I do as I’m told. But as my eyes open and meet his impassioned gaze, the sound of a gong coming from the clock chimes in my ears. Gah! I’ve lost track of time. It must be going on midnight!
“My Lord, I must go!” I panic as the gong sounds again and again.
“No, Zoey, you can’t leave.” He grips my hips tightly, holding me prisoner. “You’re mine.”
“I must!” I cry out, so close to combusting. I’m silently counting the gongs. Oh no, the clock’s on seven. I have only five seconds to escape. I can’t let him see me for who I really am.
On the next powerful thrust and a pinch of my clit, I come with a cry of his name and a release so thunderous my whole body convulses. Gong! His cock shudders inside me with his own explosive release.
“Fuck!” he roars before he slowly withdraws.
The gong goes on ten. I only have two seconds.
Frantically, I bolt up and shimmy into my gown. Still in my stilettos, I dash out of his chamber. I can hear rapid footsteps behind me. I look over my shoulder. Wrapped in a satin sheet, he’s coming after me. I run like there’s no tomorrow through the ballroom of shocked onlookers until I’m out the palace doors.
“Come back, Zoey!” Prince Brandon’s voice trails behind me.
Thank God, the valets have left my Rolls Royce parked in the driveway in front of the palace. Gooch is in the driver’s seat waiting diligently for me. But as I approach the car, I trip. A glass slipper falls off. In a panic, I pick myself up, leaving it behind.
Gong!
It’s too late! I’m too late! Before my eyes, the Rolls transforms back to my Mini, and Gooch is once again a little fluffy white dog who’s looking out the window and wagging his tail at the sight of me. Back in my baggy sweats, I clamber into the car. I turn on the ignition, but the sedan won’t start up.
Prince Brandon, with my glass slipper in one hand, runs up to me and tugs at the locked door. “Open up, Zoey. Let me in!”
I can’t face him. Touch him. Bear the pain of my desire. Finally, the ignition catches. But Brandon is still clutching the handle of the door and banging on the window.
“Brandon, please let go! Please! My Lord, I beg you!”
“Zoey, if you leave me now, I will fuck every woman in the kingdom until I find my princess. My cock belongs in only one pussy. I’ll find you again. I will know when I slip it inside you. The girl who’s the perfect fit.”
My core on fire and tears scorching my cheeks, I jam down on the gas and peel off the curb.
Another loud bang brings my dream to a screeching halt. Tossing and turning, I’m drenched in a cold sweat. But between my thighs, I feel a hot bed of moisture and relentless throbbing. The banging persists.
“Open the door, Zoey!”
Is he still clinging to the car door? I’m dazed and disoriented. Lost in a gray space between dreamland and the real world.
“Fucking open up!” The pounding grows louder.
My Prince…he’s come for me.
“Zoey, if you don’t open up, I’m going to knock down the door.”
I blink several times while my heartbeat slows down. I glance at my cell phone. It’s midnight. I made it home in time! I’m still treading the fine line between reality and fantasy.
The line fades and reality seeps into my veins. Fully awake, I realize I’m in my house—in the real Lalaland. I roll out of my bed, and after grabbing my robe, I stagger to the front door and unbolt it.
It’s him! Brandon! A disheveled version of the gorgeous man I dressed earlier. His hair is unkempt, his eyes bloodshot, and his bowtie undone. I can smell alcohol on his breath. He may be more than a little drunk.
“What do you want?” I ask, my voice shaky from my dream. Embarrassment mixes with anticipation. There’s a part of me that thinks he’s come here to sweep me off my feet and devour me. My wet dream is as vivid in my head as when I dreamt it.
“You ate all my ice cream?” With each word, his voice rises with rage.
“Yes,” I squeak. “There was only a little bit to begin with.”
“But now, there’s none. And I’m starving. We’re going out to buy some.”
“Now?”
“Now. End of discussion.”
My ego deflates like a balloon that’s been stuck by a pin. Who am I kidding? I’m no princess. I’m his personal assistant. His workhorse and slave.
Ten minutes later, we’re at all-night “Rock ’n Roll” Ralph’s on Sunset, pushing a shopping cart through the packed supermarket’s freezer section. Though I’m dressed in my pajamas and he’s in his tux, no one so much as gives us a glance or a damn who he is. Everyone’s stoned or on some kind of high. Silence prevails. Still shaken from my dream, all I can think about is what would it be like to really fuck Brandon Fucking Taylor.
I’m more and more convinced this man’s gone bi-polar. I mean, how can someone who’s just had the biggest and best moment of his life be in such a bad mood? He hasn’t said a word to me since rudely knocking at my door and waking me up. Seriously, if he doesn’t stop frowning, he’s going to get a permanent frown mark that won’t add anything to his character.
“Are you happy now that you’ve got your ice cream?” I ask him, my voice thick with attitude.
Wordlessly, he sits at the island in the kitchen and rips off the lid.
“I’ll get you a bowl and spoon,” I say, heading toward the cabinets, “and then I’m going back to bed.”
“Forget the bowl,” he growls. “Just get two spoons. We’ll eat the ice cream straight from the carton.”
We’ll? I don’t think so.
I fetch him a spoon and say goodnight as I pad toward the back door.
“Where do you think you’re going?”
“To sleep.”
“No, you’re not. Get your ass over here.”
It’s one o’clock in the fucking morning. It’s now Monday. So contractually, I’m on duty, back to officially being his majesty’s lowly personal assistant at his beck and call. With resignation, I join him at the island and hop onto a stool cattycorner to his. Glimpsing the shiny Golden Globe statuette on one of the kitchen counters, I falter trying to make conversation.
“Congratulations on winning. I guess your lucky cufflinks really worked.”
No response. Silently, he picks up the spoon and digs into the ice cream. One heaping teaspoon after another. My elbows are anchored on the counter, my head sunk between my palms. I glumly watch him devour the container of Häagen-Dazs, my eyes riveted on his sensuous hands and mouth. You’d think I’d be drooling over the caloric ice cream, but I’m too consumed by my erotic dream. And the way he licks the melting dessert off his spoon.
“Why aren’t you having some?”
“I’m not hungry.” I squirm on my stool to quell the throbbing between my legs.
“Eat.” He scoops up a heaping teaspoon of the ice cream and puts it to my mouth. “Open.”
I part my lips and clamp my mouth over the cold spoon. His eyes stay on me while I gulp down the creamy dessert and lick off the remains.
“Have some more.”
“Why aren’t you at one of those awards parties?” I ask, ignoring his order.
He looks up from the ice cream. “I had a big fight with Katrina.”
My ears perk up. And so does my mood. “Oh. What did you fight about?”
“I fucking forgot to thank her in my speech. The press is already all over it. Tomorrow’s going to be a living nightmare.”
“How could you forget to thank her?” Easy!
“I don’t know. I was nervous. Plus, I had to wing it. To be honest, I can’t remember what the hell I said.”
Should I remind him? Forget it.
His words meant nothing. My heart sinks to my stomach. Prince Charming could never forget Cinderella. But I hold no candle in Brandon Taylor’s heart. Svelte Cinderella was blond and beautiful like Katrina. I’m fat and mousy. I’ve got to stop dreaming. A fairy tale ending is not going to be mine.
Brandon
I begin my morning after the Golden Globes the same way I always do—with a swim. Except instead of my normal twenty laps, I only do ten. Booze and a quart of Häagen-Dazs don’t mix well. Hoisting myself out of the pool, I spot my manager Scott. He’s heading my way at breakneck speed. Already smoking, he looks agitated. I throw a towel over my shoulders and meet him halfway.
“Brandon, the shit’s hit the fan. Your speech last night is the talk of the Internet. It’s worse than I anticipated. Every fucking gossip columnist online is wondering why you didn’t thank Katrina. He hands me his phone. He’s googled me. While Scott puffs on his cigarette, I read one headline after another:
Perez Hilton: “Brandon Taylor Wins Big at the Golden Globes. But Will He Lose Katrina?”
TMZ: “After the Golden Globes, Is It Splitsville for Bratrina?”
Celebuzz: “Katrina Cusses Kussler at Awards Party!”
E! Online: “Thanks but No Thanks. Is That It for Brandon and His It Girl?”
I scroll down until I’ve had enough. Scott follows me as I stride to a table. He takes the chair opposite mine. I hand him back his phone.
“I fucked up.”
Scott blows out a cloud of smoke. “Big time. Katrina is fuming. She hasn’t spoken to the press, but she’s demanding a public apology.”
“Shit.”
I haven’t seen or spoken to Katrina since last night. The scene she created at the Conquest Broadcasting after-party was beyond embarrassing. The shrieking and expletives were just the tip of the iceberg. She went ballistic and yanked my award out of my hand. She seriously would have either struck me with it or hurled it across the room had not security reined her in. Mobbed by reporters, I was lucky Blake Burns used his clout and got me out the back door and arranged for one of his company limos to take me back home. But nonetheless, the damage was done. And I’m sure today I’m going to pay the price. I have people who deal with these kinds of things, but Katrina’s a loose cannon.
Contemplating what I’m going to say to the press and how I’m going to handle Katrina, I catch sight of Zoey coming toward us. She’s carrying a folder and a Starbucks bag. At the sight of her, my mood brightens. And my cock flexes. She always has that effect on me. I’m glad she was around when I came home last night even if she seemed a little down. Eating ice cream with her more than cheered me up. It aroused me. There was something about the way she wrapped her lips around my spoon that made them so kissable. I, of course, refrained, but it wasn’t easy with my raging boner. If she only knew.
Meeting my gaze, my assistant shows no emotion. If anything, an expression that borders on coldness is etched on her face. Once at our table, she silently sets down the bag. With not as much as a good morning, she hands me my regular iced Caffè Americano. Scott eyes it.
“Whatcha got for me, sweetheart?” he asks my assistant before I can thank her.
“Nothing. Not even a smile. And by the way, my name is Zoey.”
Do I detect some animosity? I wonder if she’s still pissed at him for sending her away while I was in the hospital.
Her voice stays icy cold. “Brandon, here’s your schedule.” She places the folder in front of me. I flip it open and peruse the printout. It’s a fairly light day. I just need to go to the recording studio at noon to do some pickup lines.
Avoiding eye contact, she continues. “I’m outta here. I’ve got a lot of things to take care of.”
As she pivots, Scott grabs her by the elbow. She tries to shake herself free. “Let go of me, Scott.”
“Sweetheart, you’ve got your work cut out for you today. I need you to draft an apology statement for Brandon. You know, something along the lines of him being so excited last night, he totally forgot to mention Katrina in his acceptance speech.”
Zoey’s face grows seething mad. “Since when do I take orders from you?”
Scott sneers at her. “And don’t forget to mention how much he loves her and is looking forward to their wedding.”
With dark, questioning eyes, Zoey looks at me for a go-ahead. I nod.
“Zoey, that would be very helpful.”
“Fine. Now, let go of me, Scott.”
“Scott, let her go.” My voice is firm
and authoritative.
Ignoring my order, my manager leers at her “That’s not all. You need to respond to all the tweets and Facebook posts that are questioning the future of Bratrina. And I want you to work with their publicists and try to get the two of them booked on one of those talk shows. Jimmy Kimmel or Letterman would be perfect.”
“Okay, now let me get to work.” She tries again to jerk her arm free of my salacious manager.
“Scott, did you hear me? Let go of her. Now!”
A smirk crosses Scott’s lips. Rage crescendos inside me. My hands ball into fists. I’m so close to punching him I can feel the pain of the impact on my knuckles. Just in time, he releases her and blows a cloud of smoke in her face.
Zoey’s eye narrow and her bowed lips press thin. “You know, you shouldn’t be smoking. It’s actually not allowed in the Hollywood Hills. It causes fires.”
“Aren’t we a Miss Know-It-All?” Scott deliberately blows another puff of smoke at her.
This time she waves it away and glowers at him. “Maybe you’d feel differently if your father died putting out a wildfire.”
My brows lift. That’s news to me. I swear the other day after she witnessed Katrina sucking me off, she told me she was going to see her father. Maybe in my mortified state, I heard her wrong. Or my fucked-up mind was playing tricks on me.
“Brandon, text me if you need anything.” She stalks off before I can say another word.
Scott takes yet another drag of the cigarette. The repulsive smell of the smoke and tobacco is getting to me. I’m done with being Mr. Nice Guy. I’m going to tell him to put the damn thing out. Before I have a chance, he blows out another puff, flicks the ashes on the deck, and throws me another curve ball.
“You know, today’s Katrina’s birthday.”
“It is?” Shit! I had no clue. My mind’s so screwed up I’m lucky I remember my name or what day of the week it is.
“I’m taking her out for lunch at The Ivy. You should join us. It might help smooth things over and being seen in public with her might help quell rumors of your breakup.”
Unforgettable Page 20