by Mj Fields
He kisses me from neck to mouth, from mouth to breast. I hold my breath then gasp when he bites down on my nipple while he moves his hand up my neck and a finger caresses my lips. He sucks hard and releases one peak, then kisses across my chest and does the same to my other aching nipple.
When he releases it, he whispers as he kisses down my belly, “Thank you for letting me love you.” He trails his hand down my arm and pushes his hip against my legs, pushing them farther apart.
Kissing down my belly, he stalls and kisses it a dozen more times before he finally comes to rest between my legs and pushes a finger inside me.
“Katy.” His groan is a song against my thigh.
He rubs his palm against me as he moves his finger—now two—in and out of me, deeper with each pass.
“Oh, God, Brand,” I moan.
His pace quickens, and I’m reveling in his touch.
“Lie back.” He kisses across my belly again, then up slowly as he guides me to do so.
When my back is on the cool countertop, I hiss at the connection as he quickly, hungrily kisses back down my body.
I hear what I think is a bar stool move across the floor, and before I give it another thought, his mouth is between my legs, and he devours me.
I moan and lift my hips, closing my legs enough to feel his stubble against my thighs. He pushes them apart and sucks hard on my clit.
“Brand … Oh, Brand. Oh, God.”
I look down as he dips his tongue inside me over and over again.
I cry out his name, and he growls, looking up at me, mouth still on me as I writhe and pant, squirm and cry out his name.
“Please, Brand … God, please. I want you.”
He stands, and I hear the stool move again as he lifts my legs to his shoulders, grips my hips, and then slowly, so damn slowly, pushes into me.
I grip the counter’s edge over my head as he begins to slide in and out of me, over and over again, both of us watching our bodies connection.
“So fucking beautiful.” His jaw clenches, his nostrils flare, and he stalls.
“Don’t stop, Brand,” I beg.
He pulls out slowly then slams into me harder this time.
“More.”
And again.
“Yes.”
And again.
“Oh, God.”
When my body contracts, I know I’m on the verge of an orgasm. I close my eyes and wait for my body to burst with heat and pulsing current, as he moves faster, harder than he ever has before.
“So good, Brand,” I cry. “So, so, so … God!”
When I cry out, he pulls out completely.
He takes my hand and pulls me up. “Come here, Katy.”
When my feet are on the floor, he turns me and bends me over. I grab the counter and look over my shoulder as he squeezes my ass, careful not to touch my fresh ink, and spreads me wider before slowly entering me. Then he moves fast and hard.
I cry out and nearly lose my balance. He grabs my waist and continues pounding into me. I arch my back when he runs one of his hands up the front of me and squeezes my tit as he fucks me.
I come again, harder than ever.
“Fuck yes,” he hisses. “Fuck. Yes.” He leans forward and bends me over the counter. “Hang on, Katy.” He squeezes my ass and slows his pace, but each thrust is deeper, harder.
“Brand,” I cry when I feel him flick my clit and another orgasm rolls through me.
“Katy,” he groans as I feel his liquid heat, his cum, fill me.
“I love you, Katy,” he whispers as he leans over, kissing my back, “so much.”
After a few minutes, he stands, still panting, and I feel his lips on my ass, softly peppering my new ink that looks like a cattle brand that says Forever on the top and Brandon’s below it.
Epilogue
Katherine
Christmas Eve, after we showered, Brandon posted a picture of my ring on my hand on his IG. It simply said, “She Said Yes. #myfirstmylastmyeverything #childhoodsweethearts #brandedsteel.” He wanted to post a picture of us, but I told him there was no way I was going to be all over social media looking like I’d just been bent over a counter for … thirty minutes.
I loved that he owned the whole firsts thing but didn’t shove it down anyone’s throat or make it part of his “Brand.” He didn’t reply to the negative comments, and I loved that he didn’t take anything anyone said to bed with him … or us.
Christmas Day, I woke to a little red wagon, with the words “Woo Wagon” painted on the side. It was filled with my favorite snacks, new books—two copies of each so we could read together wherever he was—all my favorite beauty products, plane tickets for a trip to Bora Bora, a stunning gold evening gown that he bought for me while in Germany, and a pair of gold, red bottom Christian Louboutin, specifically for our first real date—the Grammys. There was a powder blue guitar that had a handwritten tag that said “Play Me.” All the woo in the world right there. But the thing that made me cry happy tears for the first time on Christmas Day was the tiniest pair of cowboy boots I’ve ever seen.
My gift was two leather-bound journals embossed with the logo, “Steel Falcon,” one for each of us to write our songs, together now. I made sure he knew it didn’t mean I was going to commit to ever becoming a songwriter, but it was something I wanted to do with him. The rest of my “gifts” centered around “Brand and Katy time” and spanned the nine days we had before I had to go back to school.
Over those few days, we posted more and more pictures of us together. He didn’t tag me, but people can find anything on the internet. He loved that people were seeing us together, and honestly, so did I … until Truth got an update on the stupid app about Brand and me, and not all the things said were kind. They didn’t bother me, but they did hurt Truth.
The day before we were all supposed to head to Toronto for Brand’s show, he woke up with a temperature. We guessed he’d caught whatever cold Momma Joe came down with that had Thomas taking her back to their place, worried Mom or I would catch it. Xavier rescheduled the shows leading up to the Grammys so he could get better.
He refused to let me near him until he felt better. It was nine days of hell.
During that time, we returned to school. The whispers and gossip that I’d ignored before break intensified. I knew I only had six months of jealous twats and arrogant jocks to deal with, and for our crew, I kept my anger at bay.
Brand was more concerned than I was and, once he was well, he did things like show up at school at the end of the day in his big, old pickup truck and hung out with me while I waited for the girls to get out of rehearsal when our parents worked late or Truth rode with me.
Brand admitted the first time that Truth had told him people were saying we were a fake couple, not a real couple, he was livid. I reminded him that we didn’t need to give it gas, and he said he wasn’t doing shit but hanging out with his girl. After that, I didn’t care. I kind of loved him more for caring about my crew.
Brandon
Walking the red carpet in LA with my girl on my arm, dressed in gold, was pretty damn amazing. It did garnish a hell of a lot of attention and questions. Some of the reporters simply asked about the dress, while others went for the jugular and asked how we felt about people being up in arms about me not only dating a high school girl but getting her pregnant.
I did what I do, and answered honestly. “Wasn’t aware people had a problem with me being engaged to an eighteen-year-old woman I’ve been in love with for most of my life. As far as how I feel about it?” I scratched my head as if I was trying to figure out how to answer, and Katy squeezed my hand. “Apparently, I don’t.”
The show was awesome, and Katy and I enjoyed it more than I assume most did. We sang along to songs we knew, made up our own words to those we didn’t, and hung with my bandmates and their wives. Every one of them were older than me and married.
While backstage before our performance, I sent her a text.
- It�
��s reveal day, Katy girl.
Then I shut off my phone.
We sang our new release, “Oceans Away,” and I sang it for her, and only her.
When the song ended, my guitarists stepped off stage during the applause then came back on with confetti cannons.
“Katy, you ready?” I ask her over the sound system.
She covers her face and nods, peeking out through her fingers.
I look at the crowd. “Probably never gonna get invited back to this thing, but my girl and I have been waiting for the perfect time to do this thing they call a gender reveal. Thinking right now’s a pretty good time, don’t you?”
The crowd roars.
“Y’all wanna count down with me from 3 … 2 … 1!”
I look at Katy as the cannons go off. She raises her hands in the air, laughing, clapping, and watching it all rain down on her.
“Looks like we got ourselves a Johnny.”
We didn’t win the Grammy, but I walked out that night with my trophy, and we headed to the hotel for the after party.
Katy didn’t know what to think when she saw her family and mine there. I did. I planned it.
I point to the band’s drummer. “Jessie is ordained, Katy, and that dress looks amazing. How about we skip the party and say I do?”
So, we did just that.
#ForeverSteel
Title Page
A million thanks to my girl Mel, for dragging me out that night to listen to Nicholas Stark and his band Small Town Shade.
As many of you know music is my first love. There’s nothing I love more than watching someone perform and actually feeling their energy, their passion for their art.
The lyrics to Gasoline and Just Enough are used with written permission by the copyright holder @Nicholas Stark 2016, in this novel.
Please make sure to follow Nicholas on Spotify and check out all his other songs there.
Thank you so much Nick.
Small Town Shade on Spotify
The song Wrong Girl was written by Alyssa Marie, for this book.
Thanks Ally.
Thank you
To the readers of this book,
Who would have thought we’d need ‘Steel’ more than ever with all that is going on in our world? I must admit, that this book took a turn on the ‘COVID Lane’, but I did a 180 and brought it back… full Steel ahead.
We’re in for one hell of a ride with the CREW, and I can’t wait till you see all that’s to come.
Forever Steel !
<3
MJ
To Julianna, for the beautiful cover and your friendship.
To Kris, for sticking with me, understanding my crazy… and pointing out ‘we work well this way.’
To Julie, for dealing with my delay, and your love for prettying up words.
To Diane, for always jumping on crazy train, even when it’s being driven by … me.
To Bobbie, for the constant help given, and your huge heart, and encouragement.
To Nick for making beautiful music and allowing me to use your words.
To Autumn, for everything you do to support and push me to focus. You always go above and beyond for me, and I am truly blessed to have you in my life.
To Suzanne, for believing in me so fucking much that when I waiver, you steady me. Sisters by blood and choice.
To Ally, for your words, your hugs, your love. Beyond blessed and thankful every second to God for giving me you.
Love you more.
Synopsis
I traded my plaid skirt for a navy blazer, my religion for a red Solo cup, and finally my Bible for a bong, just to fit in.
He helped me jeté from outcast to the “it girl.”
In becoming this new, improved version of myself, my truths became laced with lies.
I thought he was my savior, but it turns out that he was really the devil in designer.
Seashore Academy
Chapter One
Idiom
The grass is always greener
on the other side of the fence.
Truth
The grass is greener
where there is rain and sun.
From where I sit now, there is nothing but sand, and sand sucks when it’s too cold to wash it off your body in the ocean. It’s March on the Jersey Shore, so that’s not gonna happen, unless I were to get drunk, something I’ve yet to do in all my seventeen years, like the rest of these fools.
Sure, I’ve drank, but never to the point that I would take a near polar bear plunge like they’re doing. And, okay, not all of them are fools, just the ones stripping down to their skivvies and jumping in the Atlantic in the dark … in March.
I’m surrounded by my fellow ensemble members of Seashore Academy’s spring musical, Newsies. Yep, us lowly members of the ensemble were not invited, via the school’s unofficial app, The Seashore Sound, to attend the also nonofficial cast party, so we created our own.
Right before my family, and my extended family, moved to Mantoloking and we all started school here at Seashore, I discovered the app.
The face of the app had major appeal. It showcased the student government. All four of the officers could also have been on covers of magazines.
Harrison Reeves, vice president of the student body, junior, and captain of the crew team, is absolutely delicious. His bio includes information, such as his SAT scores being 1550. Tall, dark-ish, and extremely handsome. One click on his picture brought me to his IG page, where I saw picture after picture that could land him on the cover of GQ. And if that didn’t solidify him as my future crush, the fact that his family owns the largest collection of Broadway houses certainly did.
Once upon a time, my dream was the ballet, but after last year, I realized I would never fit into the mold of a ballerina, so I turned my passion and focused on the possibility of Broadway.
Why did I change focus? Because my body changed, and I had no choice.
Unlike my twin brother’s, Justice, six-inch vertical spurt that had doctors concerned about his accelerated growth, my shit went horizontal. A year ago, my ass was on a road trip heading to Kardashian-ville. No ass injections here. Just a lovely growth spurt that started at my once B cups—now a large C—and moved to my ass.
My cousins, Brisa and Tris, are practically holding their breath, hoping they’ll be as “blessed” as I am in those two departments. Because their mom, my aunt Bekah, is “thick” in all the right places. But that wasn’t the case for me. So now, knowing I didn’t trait after my mom, except in height, they’re worried.
It wouldn’t be so bad if it wasn’t for the fact that I’m a dancer, and not to toot my own horn, but I’m really good. Until my growth spurt, I was always a featured dancer or soloist, and I never had to wear a bra under my dance leotard.
Dad was livid after my end of the year recital that I didn’t tell them that things had drastically changed for me. He was even more angry at the fact that the girls who seemingly took my place were truthfully less talented, less trained, and less disciplined as I always had been than me failing to tell him about the changes.
Cursed by the name I was given, I always spoke my truth. And the truth was that my body didn’t fit the mold anymore. I held back the fact that I would have been blind to it, if not for the snickers and overheard corner conversations of those I thought were my friends at the studio. Even the most honest, loyal, and truthful people want to bury their insecurities.
When—unbeknownst to me—Dad called out Madame Gloria on it, she denied it had anything to do with my body’s changes. She told him that I wasn’t training as hard as I had been, that because of it, I’d lost the confidence it took to fill the roles that she needed me for in the past.
When I began eating less and less, in hopes that my body would change, my parents, who had already nearly begged me to quit the dance school, decided to end my enrollment without my knowledge. I was pissed at first. But then, in staying truthful with myself, I had to eventually admit that it
was causing me mental harm, and if it continued, it could cause physical harm, as well.
I was still training, just not at a school. I had a private instructor, Julie, who I met with three days a week for three hours before the move.
Justice was the only person, other than our parents, who knew my ugly truth.
But that’s all in the past, until moments like this when insecurity rears its ugly head again.
Back to The Seashore Sound …
The president of the student body, Tobias Easton, also HAF, but his scowl, even on a screen, was anything but inviting. He’s a senior, plays no sports, and when you click on the picture to get to his IG, you’ll see that it’s private. His profile picture was of him and a girl. I would have assumed it was his girlfriend, if they didn’t look similar.
Treasurer, Miles Jameson, good-looking. Dark brown hair and eyes, perfectly proportioned facial features—almost too perfect—and extremely preppy. He’s the debate and STEM team captain. His pictures were of family, travel, and food.
The last picture was the student government secretary, Kai Hatt. Tall, dark, handsome and, just like the others, hot. His IG pictures were all with the other boys that make up the student body government.
After getting past the face of the app, and having done enough swiping, I quickly realized that The Seashore Sound … was basically the equivalent of a gossip magazine or column. Nearly all the junior and seniors had a profile that, after reading, could not possibly have been of their own creation. Some were rude, so fucking rude it hurt my heart for the victims of the hate without even knowing them. It was a high-tech news rag. I’m assuming it’s mostly fake news used as the biggest bullying tool at Seashore.
