Brando (14 page)

“This,”
he says like a low, dangerous
hiss, before forcing his lips on mine.

I
grab the back of his neck, fingers digging into his unyielding, taut
skin, urging his delicious tongue into me. I let another hand venture
around the ripples of his torso, exploring the irresistible curve of
his muscles.

He
continues to film as we fuck each other’s
mouths harder and faster with our ferocious tongues. His other hand
presses against the small of my back on its way down to my ass, where
it grabs and smacks me harder against him. I gasp at the delicious
sting and wrap my arms around his neck, legs around his waist, and he
lifts me up as easily as another part of his body.

I
close my eyes, feeling light-headed from his smell, from the rhythm
of his heartbeat; so hard against my chest it makes my tits move,
pressed up against his pecs. I struggle for breath, his tongue
probing me hungrily, but I can’t
let him go, won’t
let him go.

He
gives my ass another firm slap and I moan, tilting my head back.
“Brando.”

He
carries me to the bedroom, while I concentrate on tasting his
shoulder. He throws me back onto the soft sheets of his bed, his
giant frame towering above me. He tosses the phone aside.

As
he looks down at me, spread out on my back in just my panties, I leap
towards his jeans like a woman possessed, hands tearing at his fly
like it’ll save my
life. He buries his hands in my hair and I look up at him, his face
hard and commanding. I pull his jeans apart, popping a button in the
process, and pull them down.

His
cock looks even bigger and more beautiful than the last time. I stare
at it, half-scared, half-delighted. He puts a hand around my chin,
framing my face, lifting my eyes to meet his.

“You
want that?” he asks.

I
nod.

“Take
it,” he orders.

I
wrap a hand around the shaft, feeling the power and weight, another
hand pressed against the lines of his waist.

I
watch his face twist and relax as I brush my tongue around the head.
He breathes in sharply through his teeth as pleasure shivers through
him. I take it slow as I work my tongue along the hardened curves,
running it down the endless length, taking his balls in my mouth
softly, then working back up the shaft. He groans and pants, and I
feel my own center getting wetter with the thrill of shifting
control. I take the head in my mouth, sucking long and hard as I draw
back, his cock popping out from between my lips. I do it again,
deeper and harder. He grabs fistfuls of my hair, pulling me deeper. I
go again and again, holding his cock in my mouth, sucking and winding
my tongue against his flesh.

“Fuck,”
he grunts, “that’s
so good.”

Brando’s
grunts get more and more primal, his grip on my hair tighter and the
thrust of his hips faster, until he’s
fully face-fucking me. The length of his cock choking me, pulsating
like a battering ram in my throat. I grab his ass cheeks with both
hands, hard as steel, and dig my nails into his skin, telling him to
fuck me like this, telling him that as big as he is, I can handle it.
That yes, I do want it. Bad.

As
if in response, he fucks my mouth even harder, his breaths coming in
shorter, deeper gasps. I drop onto the bed on my back, keeping him
with me, neck craned forward with my mouth still full of him, as he
kneels over my chest, my breasts between the defined muscles of his
thighs, his hand buried in my hair, keeping my tongue steady on his
magnificent, wonderful, God-like dick.

My
head held in his powerful grip, mouth speared by his cock, I have
nothing to do but gaze up at him, a mountain of flexing, machine-like
muscle. His face a picture of determined, unstoppable potency. A
skyscraper of a man, dominating everyone and everything around him.

He
pulls out, rolling quickly off to the side to grab a condom. I take a
second to gasp for breath, feeling like a stranded shipwreck
survivor, before glancing over at him, easing the condom on as he
lays on his back. As soon as he does, I kick my panties off and leap
onto him, straddling his cock.

“My
turn,” I gasp with
wet desire.

I
slide myself over his cock a few times, squeezing it between my lips,
before grabbing it roughly and pushing it slowly inside –
sitting on the head. Brando tries
to push deeper but I shove him down harshly, smiling at the pleasure
of keeping him on the edge. I work my pussy over the head of his cock
slowly, teasing him with what’s
to come. He tries to raise his chest once again but I shove him back
down once more, even more roughly than before. He looks up at me, his
face a mixture of maniacal smiling and the aching desire for more. I
smile back, through gritted teeth, working myself up until I’m
ready.

We
cry out in unison when I slam myself down on him, taking every last
bit of his cock into my wet pussy. He clutches at my ass mindlessly
as I ride his cock, arching my back, thrusting my hips, squeezing my
lips to make it hit all the spots I want it to. I throw my head back,
pushing myself higher and higher, so good that I don’t
even know I’m coming
until I’m yelling
his name, my face buried in his neck, my pussy aching and satisfied
as the orgasm starts to fade. The heat and sweetness drain out of me.
I slowly catch my breath, my heart still pounding.

I
press my cheek onto Brando’s
chest, my sweat-soaked hair settling against his skin. Limp muscles
melting into his tough, reliable frame. The last thing I remember
before I pass out is his arm coming up to wrap around my shoulders,
holding me tightly to him.

I
wake up in the middle of the night. The faintest glimmer of yellow in
the sky tells me it’s
still a while before sunrise. I stretch out across the bed, eyes
still closed, trying to see where Brando is.

He’s
not there. I open my eyes quickly, throwing off grogginess instantly.
I look across the bed, and sit upright when I realize the fear is
true. He’s not
there.

I
snatch up the thin bedsheet around me and look around. Between the
bed and the rest of the loft there’s
a partition, and around its corner I see brief flashes of light. My
mouth goes dry and I start to feel the coldness of the hour. I slide
out of bed as slowly, and as quietly, as I can, then tiptoe up to the
partition.

“Brando?”
I say, in sleepy confusion, when
I see him sitting at the couch, intently bent over the laptop in
front of him. I step closer and it becomes clear why he doesn’t
answer: he’s wearing
headphones. I walk up behind the couch and look at the screen.

It’s
the footage we filmed.

Suddenly,
Brando somehow notices me and turns around. He flips off the
headphones and tosses them aside.

“I
didn’t know you were
up.”

“Likewise,”
I respond. “What
are you doing?”

“Come
and see for yourself,” he
says, shuffling up on the couch to make space.

I
walk around and settle in beside him, hugging myself against his
bicep as he presses play.

It’s
the music video.

And
it’s great.

As
the scenes play out on the screen, I laugh at the recorded memory of
our day together, gasp at how good we both look, find myself wordless
at how well it goes with the music.

“It’s
amazing!” I say,
laughing at just how surprised I am. “I
had no idea you could do something like this.”

Brando
shrugs modestly. “I
can’t. I just
watched a few online guides, and figured the rest out as I went
along. It was mostly just cutting and splicing, anyway.”

I
look at Brando, astonishment all over my face. “You
were up all night doing this?”

“I
was never much of a sleeper anyway.”

I
kiss him long and slow, before turning back to the video.

“It’s
so good. I don’t
know how you did it.”

This
time it’s Brando who
looks at me with a deepness in his eyes.

“I
just tried to make the world see you the way I do.”

Brando

When
I first started working in the music industry, the big labels were
gatekeepers, standing at the gates of fame and fortune like saints
passing down judgments. With a simple blessing they could induct you
into the long, complicated process of pressing records, distribution,
promotional campaigns, and corporate gigs. Or not.

Those
days are long gone. As soon as the internet came along the gates
shattered, and every wannabe, hack, and debutante rushed through. All
of them scrabbling and fighting to stand out. But in order to make
the jump from being another face in the crowd, another small-time
also-ran, to being a really big star, you need to work every second
of every day, push twice as hard as the next guy. You need to hustle
– and it just so
happens that I’m a
natural.

For
the next few days I go into overdrive. The first song I leaked, the
acoustic track that was the first thing Haley recorded, got people’s
ears immediately, and now the second one, a thrusting, dynamic,
catchy song with a hook any bestselling artist would kill for, is the
main event. The radio stations love it, and I send it to my
connections in New York who embrace it just as eagerly, a
double-pronged attack of airplay that spreads like wildfire from both
coasts.

I
bring in a talented photographer who owes me a favor (possibly for
services rendered in the bedroom) to take some good shots of Haley,
and bring in a couple of eager-to-please college kids to build her a
new website and hook her into every music discovery, streaming, and
social media service around. I post the music video in the morning
and by lunchtime its views are in the six figure range, seven by
dinner time. The ball is rolling, and all I have to do is maintain
it.

I’m
so busy that I barely have enough time to appreciate just how well
it’s going. The only
downside is that I’ve
barely spoken to Haley herself in three days. Unless sending each
other pictures of ourselves in the shower counts, but even there I’m
starting to neglect my duties.

I
have a meeting with a producer who wants to use her song in the
closing credits of a teen drama that just wrapped filming, and when I
get back to my car I pound the wheel and roar with fired-up
enthusiasm. I’m
gonna do this. And it’s
going to be the greatest thing I’ve
ever done.

Then
Jax calls.

“Let
me guess, you’re on
your way,” he says.

It
takes a full three seconds before I realize. “Oh
shit! I’m sorry,
dude.”

Jax
laughs. “It’s
cool. I only surf with you to scare off sharks anyway.”

“No,
it’s not cool. I’m
sorry, bro. I forgot you were back from Paris, and I’ve
just been really busy.”

“Hey,
forget it. There’s
always Thursday.”

I
mentally go over the rigorous schedule of promotions and networking
I’ve got ahead of me
for the next few days, as well as the time I need to carve out to see
Haley again soon. “Yeah…I
don’t know.”

“Still
busy?”

I
put the call onto the Porsche’s
speakerphone and check the calendar on my phone.

“I
don’t know. I have
to see someone in the morning, and then I’ve
got to make some calls. Shit.”

“I
didn’t think you
were that popular. Unless…Haley?”

“Yeah,”
I say with a sigh. Even hearing
her name makes me feel a little better.

Jax’s
laugh is so easy and mild I can barely tell where the waves begin and
his voice ends.

“You’re
in deep with her. Shit. I knew it before you figured it out
yourself.”

I
laugh. He’s right.

“She’s
something special, dude. I don’t
know what it is, and that’s
the weird thing about it. I
always
know what it is with women. She’s
breaking big, and we’re
doing this thing together. I don’t
know… This is the
first time in a long time everything feels like it’s
falling into place.”

I
hear nothing but the crashing waves over the phone.

“Bro?”
I say, after waiting a few
seconds. “You
there?”

“Yeah.
I’m here,”
Jax says, his voice downturned
and low.

“What?”

“Brando.
Buddy…”

“Say
it, dude.”

I
hear him take a deep breath. “I
don’t wanna sound
like the Grim Reaper here. You’re
overdue a good thing.
Way
overdue a girl who can keep you in check. But…she’s
your act, you’re
obviously really into her, she’s
about to make it big… Doesn’t
this feel familiar to you?”

I
know what he’s
talking about. Normally we don’t
talk about my past with Lexi, the deal, the devastation –
it’s
off-limits and he knows it. It’s
our code. I met Jax after the break-up, told him all about it one
night when we decided to get drunk by ourselves rather than go home
and bang chicks. I made him swear the next morning, when we woke up
on the bar, never to mention what I told him ever again. I didn’t
want to think about it. Didn’t
want to go over it again. I wanted to be a new man, someone
different. A man without that in his past. Jax acted like he couldn’t
remember me telling him, did the only thing a decent friend would do.
Until now.

“Familiar?”
I push, daring Jax to break the
code.

“Look,
I don’t know her.
Forget I said it. I’m
just telling you to be careful. Friend to friend.”

“Yeah,”
I say. “I’ll
call you about Thursday.”

I
hang up, drop the phone on the passenger seat, and stare ahead for a
full ten minutes.

He’s
right. It is familiar.

When
I go to meet Haley, her friend Jenna from the coffee shop, and the
stylist I finally convinced Haley to use, I’m
coming with the best news yet. Our biggest chance, guaranteed to make
her song a hit, if it wasn’t
showing all the signs already.