“Are you okay with that?” he queries.
I silently nod like an automaton. I more than want him to spank me. And I want him to give it to me hard. My throbbing clit is begging for it.
A wicked smile curls his lips. “Good. Then, please come here and get over my knees.”
As if induced into a trance, I do as asked. His hard muscular thighs press against my abdomen and I can feel his gigantic rock-hard erection against my pulsing sex. My arms are folded on a cushion, my head buried between them.
“Perfect,” he growls as he shoves my tight dress up above my ass, leaving my thong, a mere piece of butt floss, intact. I can feel his eyes on my bottom.
“You have a gorgeous ass, Zoey. It’s a shame you don’t have a real boyfriend to appreciate it.”
I’m too entranced to say a word.
“This is going to hurt. I want you to choose a safe word and use it if it becomes too much for you.”
Shit. I can’t get my mind to work. Or my mouth to move. Think, Zoey, Think.
“Well, Zoey…”
“Please,” I murmur. Mama’s magic word.
“Any word but that.”
“Mama,” I say without overthinking it.
“Excellent. Now, tell me, Zoey, you’ll never lie to me again.”
Before I can I get my mouth to move, a firm hand crashes down on my right cheek. I feel the sting as the sharp sound echoes in my ears. A moan escapes my mouth.
He hits me again, this time harder. “Zoey…”
“I’ll never lie to you again.”
Slap! “Zoey, show a little respect. Say: ‘Sir, I’ll never lie to you again.’”
My voice a tremor, I do what he asks.
“Now, apologize for lying to me.”
Slap! I wince. “I’m sorry.”
“Not good enough.” Another swat of his hand. “You’re missing a word.”
“I’m sorry, sir.”
“Apology accepted. But you need something more as a reminder to NEVER lie to me again.”
Without warning, his large hand crashes down on me again. I scream out. And then again. And again and again. Tears sting my eyes and I whimper. He picks ups his pace and spanks me yet harder, faster. Always in the same spot. Over and over. My ass is on fire. My whimpers morph into sobs. Loud, soulful wails like the cries of an animal in heat. Scorching tears sear my face and forearms. My sobbing intensifies, washing out the harsh crackle of his hand upon contact with my raw burning flesh, deafening me, arousing me, setting every ounce of me ablaze.
“Zoey, no more playing games. No more testing me. Do you understand?”
I nod like a bobblehead doll, unable to get a single word out.
“Zoey, I need words.”
“I understand, sir.” I manage, my voice a mere croak.
And then suddenly, I feel his powerful knees press hard against me. They bounce me into a standing position, but as I rise, my knees buckle beneath my legs. Clasping my waist, he catches me before I collapse onto the floor. Heaving, I let him hold my limp body in his arms.
“Shh, baby.” Still holding me firmly in one arm, he lifts his other hand and smooths my hair. “Why didn’t you use your safe word?”
“I’m sorry,” I sob out from my quivering lips. Hot tears continue to stream from my eyes.
“No, I’m sorry.” His voice is soft and compassionate. “Did I hurt you?”
“A little,” I lie. Yes, it hurt like hell, but I loved every erotically charged minute. My safe word was nowhere near the tip of my tongue.
“Come here.” Wordlessly, he draws me in closer until my breasts graze his chest. My sensitized nipples pucker beneath my dress, sending another rush of wetness to my sex. His rock-hard cock presses against me as he caresses my sore butt. His tender touch is so soothing. The pain mixes with pleasure. Still in stilettos, I rest my head against his pecs. My eyes clamp shut as his heartbeat drums in my ear like a sweet lullaby. My crying subsides.
I don’t know how long we stay in this position until his sultry voice awakens me from my state of nirvana. I gaze up at him. His eyes are hooded and a faint smile plays on his lips. With one hand, he brushes away my remaining tears. Thank God, I wore waterproof mascara. One hot wet mess is enough.
“C’mon, let’s get you back to your party. And let’s forget this ever happened.”
I nod, knowing I will never forget this moment. This experience. Commiting it to memory, I catch my breath.
Five minutes later, we’re back in his sports car. This time he drives down the twisting, hilly roads slowly, meandering as if he never wants our journey to end. And truthfully, neither do I. “All of Me” plays on the radio. The lyrics fill my head and my heart.
The painful truth hits me like a rockslide. I turn my head toward him, glimpsing his intensely beautiful profile. A runaway tear trickles down my face. Yes, all of me loves all of him.
“Go,” he says stoically as he drops me off.
The elegant dining room of Fig & Olive is still filled and bustling. Adjusting my dress, I stumble back to my table. Jeffrey and his friends are in the middle of eating dinner. Everything looks and smells delicious, but I’m not hungry.
“Zoester, where’d you go?” asks Jeffrey as I take my seat.
I fumble for an excuse. “Um, uh, I had to help Brandon with some lines. He had a panic attack.” I blink several times, holding back confused tears. My intuitive brother’s gaze stays on me, and from the look on his face, I can tell he’s concerned. He knows how I feel about Brandon.
Chaz, who has no clue, looks at me shrewdly. “C’mon, Zoeykins. You really want us to believe that? You have that just-fucked look going on!”
“Honey, leave her alone,” says Jeffrey to no avail.
Mortification races through me. My face is flushing. I hastily take a gulp of my still there bubbly. Chaz’s comment elicits a heated reaction from the clearly buzzed group.
I defend myself. “No way would I sleep with my boss.”
“That didn’t stop, my tiger,” chimes in Blake before giving his wife an affectionate peck on the cheek.
“Blake!” shrieks a reddening Jennifer. “Say no more. And that goes for the rest of you too.”
Chaz snorts with laugher. “Okay, I won’t tell anyone about how you two fucked in Blake’s fuck pad at the Conquest Broadcasting Christmas party.”
It’s Blake’s turn to look embarrassed while the others roar with laughter.
“C’mon, Zoey, tell us the truth,” begs a loaded Libby, the penultimate market researcher who’s always asking questions and seeking answers.
I take another sip of champagne. “It is the truth.” Kind of? Unless zipless fucks count. “And besides, Brandon’s engaged to Katrina Moore.” The taste of her name on my tongue nauseates me.
“Bratrina!” sneers Chaz.
In unison, the others mimic him. My brother, however, clasps my free hand under table, giving it a knowing, affectionate squeeze. As much as I love and can confide in him, I’ll never tell him what transpired tonight between Brandon and me.
Libby cuts into her steak. “Poor Brandon.”
Poor me. I’m drowning in self-pity.
Brandon
“Drop to your hands and knees!”
“But, sir!”
“Private Hart, you are not to question my orders. Now do it!”
Clad in a camouflage pattern lace bra that pushes up her voluptuous breasts and a matching G-string, she obediently gets down on all fours, shoving her sweet ass up in the air. Her face is flush from just giving herself an epic orgasm. Her gorgeous, curvaceous body trembles at the perilous possibilities ahead.
Admiring her sensuous beauty, I loom over her. I’m in a drill sergeant’s uniform, wearing polished, knee-high leather boots and wielding a whip in my hand. Sergeant Taylor, my newest role. I crack the whip against the floor narrowly missing her. The sharp thwack is like music to my ears.
“At-ten-tion!” She arches her back and looks up at me, her lips q
uivering with fear and anticipation. The hungry look on her face for the pain I’m about to inflict brings my dick to attention. The power between my legs infiltrates my entire body.
“Private Hart, you disobeyed me. What happens to naughty little soldiers who don’t listen to their commanders?”
“They get punished…sir.”
I crack a wicked smile, pleased she’s addressed me properly. “That’s right. You must pay the price of coming before I said you could. Did you forget I’m in charge and your orgasms are under my command?”
“I’m sorry, sir.”
I smack my lips and shake my head. “When will you ever learn? Do I have to send you back to Boot Camp for more basic training?”
“Please, no!”
“No, who?”
“S-sir.”
Gulping, she bows her head in submission and doesn’t see it coming. With an iron fist, I swipe the leather whip against her ripe ass. She winces and arches. I stand back and admire my handiwork. A pink streak welts up on her exposed tender flesh.
“Now give me fifty.”
She looks up at me again with those imploring big brown eyes in search of forgiveness. Mercy’s not part of my vocabulary. I give her another sharp lash. Whoosh! Then another and another. She whimpers, then weeps. Tears fall at my feet, a few clustering like dew drops on my shiny boots. The rhythmic thwacks of the whip clash with her hitched, harsh sobs, creating an erotic symphonic cacophony. I can feel the heat rise from her burning cheeks. A canvas of intersecting bas-relief lines in fifty shades of pink has turned her ass into a priceless masterpiece. My cock is raging. It may burst through my khakis. I have to have her, but I exert control.
“Now, move it!”
Wordlessly, she begins to do push-ups. Those pathetic, wimpy, girly kind. But I love the way her big tits graze the ground and the way her scrumptious ass moves up and down with each successive pump. I badly want to fuck it…good and hard.
“Let me hear you count, soldier. Start from one.”
“One…two…three…” By twenty, she’s breathless and trembling with fatigue. Sweat clustered on her chest, she gazes up at me with urgency.
“Private Hart requests permission to stop.”
“What’s the magic word?”
“Please, sir, please!”
Fuck. I love when she begs. “At ease. Get up on your knees.”
With a breath of relief, she kneels before me. Her flushed chest rises and falls, her plump tits stirring with lust. Oh, what a beautiful sight! I dangle my whip and dust the tip across each nipple, one after the other. She moans. As they harden into two mini torpedoes that want to shoot through the lace fabric of her bra, my cock strains.
On my next breath, I yank down my fly. My big gun springs free. A weapon of mass destruction, it’s level with her impassioned face. I splay my big hand on the top of her head and urge her to take it. I hiss as her warm mouth wraps around the crown.
“Take it all,” I bark.
Obediently, my good little soldier goes down on it, trailing her tongue along the thick rigid shaft. Oh, yeah. I’ve trained her well. I clench my fists by my sides and groan each time it hits the back of her throat. I could easily detonate at the base and coat it with a full load, but I’ve got other plans. My cock’s wet and ready. I withdraw and circle behind her before getting down on my knees. My big, glistening erection brushes against the two adorable dimples centered above her red-checkered cheeks. Pursing my lips, I bend over and blow a cool breath on her raw, rosy flesh.
“Does that feel good, Private?” I breathe against her fiery backside.
“Oh yes, sir!” she gasps.
“What about this?” One hand slides between her splayed thighs and makes its way to her pussy. Fuck. She’s so hot and wet. I’ve aroused her as much as she’s aroused me. Pressing my thumb on her throbbing clit, I plunge two fingers into her slick slit, shoving them deep inside until my fingertips touch the warm flesh of her womb. She lets out a soft moan.
I slap her sore ass. “Answer me, soldier. How does it feel?”
I jab a little harder. She gasps.
“I need words.”
“Oh, so, so good, sir!”
A smirk curls on my lips. “That’s better.”
I run circles around her clit with my thumb, turning it into a hard nub. More moans and groans escape her throat.
“Oh, please, Sergeant Taylor, fuck me.”
I yank back her head by her ponytail and meet her heated gaze. She yelps.
“Careful. I give the orders.” I tug again at her mane. “Is that what you want? For me to fuck you hard?”
“Yes, sir.” Her voice is a desperate rasp.
It’s time to get down to business. I’m so fucking turned on. Releasing her silky hair and withdrawing my soaked hand from her slickness, I rub my hard as nails dick with her pussy juices, lubing it further. Using both hands, I spread her rosy cheeks wide and aim it at her opening. My hand wraps around my enormous pulsing shaft, and inch by thick inch, I barrel into her tight puckered hole. She winces. I hiss. So fucking good. Oh, yeah, she’s going to get it hard. So hard she’ll be begging me to stop. But I’m going to fuck her brains out. Fuck her to oblivion before she can cry out her safe word. Clutching her hips, I begin to pummel her…
CUT! Fade to black.
My alarm goes off. The end of another kinky wet dream. To be continued. My eyes snap open and I shakily sit up. The covers are torn off me. I have a raging boner. And I know why. I can’t get my assistant, Zoey Hart, out of my head. She’s literally and figuratively under my skin. I dreamt about her. Relived last night’s spanking in a crazy, cinematic fantasy. Jesus. Sergeant Fucking Taylor. Wielding a whip. Fucking her ass. How far will I take my sexual proclivities? My need for dominance? My need to possess her?
Last night should have never happened. But it did. It was all about control, but I’m the one who lost it. Jealousy fueled my rage and rage fueled my dominance which fueled my need to punish her. Sure, I told her to forget about the spanking, but that’s not going to be easy. It’s going to be next to impossible. The same for me. I wish I could blank it out. Bury it in the vortex of my amnesia. I dread facing her and can’t fathom how we’ll continue to work together. Now what? Maybe we need to talk about it.
Rolling out of bed stark naked, I stagger to the bathroom. Usually by the time I get to the toilet, my morning wood has started to go down. Not today. I stare at my monstrous boner and swear it’s laughing at me: “Ha, ha, ha, I’m not going anywhere.” No way can I pee in the toilet with it. My huge erection shoots out of me like a torpedo, perpendicular to the floor. Desperate for relief, I hop into the shower, turn on the water, and take a whizz, shooting my stream straight at a glass wall. Then, I jerk off, fantasizing her beautiful fingers curled around my dick. For sure, they’re long enough to circle all the way around it. With a loud grunt, I come.
Towel-drying myself, I think more about last night. Part of it felt so wrong, yet everything felt so right. Why can’t I stop thinking about her? Hopefully, a swim will help me chill out. Clear my mind. And make it easier to face her.
Zoey is setting my Starbucks on a table when I finish my last lap. All the tension I eliminated with my swim dives right back into me at the sight of her. Dressed in a tight T-shirt and jeans, she looks fresh and sexy. My cock stirs. She’s still affecting me, and I can’t make the feelings and sensations she arouses go away. It’s hopeless. Damn her. Hoisting myself out of the pool, I grab my towel and throw it over my shoulders. Heading her way, I have no clue what to say. And my arousal isn’t helping. It’s only making things worse.
“Here’s your coffee.” Her voice is devoid of emotion, and she’s deliberately avoiding eye contact with me.
“About last night—”
She meets my gaze. “There’s nothing to talk about. What I did and what you did was wrong, but two wrongs don’t make a right. You were right, however, about one thing. I need a boyfriend.”
I feel totally
deflated. It’s as if she has no feelings toward me. Her tone is very business like, bordering on icy.
“Zoey, I have feel—”
She cuts me off again. “Please, Brandon, let’s not talk about it. Like you said, let’s forget about it and move on. Your schedule is on the table. You’re shooting the entire day. It may go into overtime.”
I notice there’s no coffee for her. Usually, she sits with me and reviews my schedule, but obviously, she’s not going to do that today. Guess what? She is affected. She’s just not letting on. She’s a damn good actress. I feel a glimmer of hope.
“Yo, Brand-man. How’s it going?”
A familiar nasal voice interrupts my thoughts. An unexpected visit from my manager, Scott. Wearing a navy blazer over cream pants and an open shirt, he ambles our way. His leathery skin looks tanner than ever. For sure, he’s gone to one of those tanning salons.
Zoey’s expression hardens at the sight of him. Her father’s been working day and night to uncover the connection between him and Donatelli, the motherfucker who murdered her mother and also did in my parents. But so far, no leads. Scott still denies ever having lunch with him. Plus he has an alibi: After having lunch with Katrina at The Ivy, he accompanied her to a bridal gown fitting at nearby Monique Hervé’s eponymous boutique. The designer backed him up as did Enid, Katrina’s wedding planner mother, who was also there.
Zoey and Scott exchange scathing looks. Their mutual disdain is palpable.
Zoey: “Excuse me. I have a lot of things to take care of.”
“Nice seeing you too, sweetheart,” Scott snickers as my assistant pivots on her heel. My eyes stay on her as she traipses back to the guesthouse. My X-ray vision penetrates her jeans. I can see that gorgeous ass. And that delicious cheek is still red. My cock flexes. It’s as if it’s telling me there’s no such thing as mind over matter. Damn it. She’s fucking with my brain.
Scott takes a seat. “Mind if I have a smoke?”
I do mind, but I let him. He reaches into the breast pocket of his blazer and pulls out a pack of Camels and his gold lighter. Scott really seems to like gold. He’s wearing a thick gold chain that hangs low on his hairy chest and a pinky ring with a substantial diamond. He lights up a cigarette and inhales. I’m relieved he blows the smoke away from me.
Unforgettable 2 (Hollywood Love Story #2) Page 9
