“You’re dripping wet for me,” he growls, applying more pressure and making me squirm beneath him.
The truth is I’ve been wet for him 24/7, both in the sea and on land. And I think he’s had a permanent hard-on. The two of us haven’t been able to get enough of one another. We’ve been inseparable and insatiable. But what he’s doing to me now is incredible.
“I’m going to take you, Mrs. Taylor. I’m going to fuck you so hard you’re going to scare the fish when you come.”
“Oh Brandon,” I moan, cupping his strong, stubble-lined jaw. My clit is lit up like a bundle of dynamite, ready to detonate. “Please!” I beg, quickly remembering my magic word.
On my next heated breath, his enormous erection thrusts inside me, consuming me inch by magnificent inch. The heat of his swelling cock is a shocking but delicious contrast to the ice cube. I’m shivering and melting at the same time.
“Oh, baby, you feel so fucking good,” he groans as he drives into me, pressing the cold cube against my womb.
“Shut up and fuck me,” I plead, on the brink of pain and pleasure.
“You’re going to get it.”
In one swift move, he does something unexpected. He rolls onto his back, taking me with him so I’m on top, his cock still deep inside me. My muscles clench around it like a fist.
“Fuck. That feels so good, my princess.”
I love when he calls me princess. And I love being on top. Somehow, it’s always deeper and more empowering, the orgasm so intense I see stars.
He begins to pound me ruthlessly, so hard the boat rocks. My ass lifts into the air with each forceful thrust. He grips my hips while I hold onto his shoulders as if he’s a life raft. I can feel the ice cube shrinking and cold water trickling down my inner thighs as he bangs into me. A tidal wave of an orgasm unfolds inside me. I’m ready to burst and scream.
“Oh Brandon, I can’t hold on,” I cry out. “I’m going to come.”
“Not yet, baby. Stay with me. You can do it.”
Is he out of his fucking mind? Yes, he is!
On the next powerful thrust, he pulsates inside me and then I hear another magic word. “Now. Come for me, Zoey. You’re all mine.”
I explode. He explodes. A cacophony of grunts and screams. It all happens at once. The ice cube all but vaporizes with the molten liquids we share. I collapse onto Brandon’s chest. Our chests rise and fall in harmony, slowing with each breath. So content, beautiful Brandon runs his hand through my damp hair and hums an unforgettable melody.
I cling to him like the song of love he is. Yes, that’s who he is. Unforgettable in every way. And that’s how he’ll stay.
My heart swells with pure joy. Mama’s words swirl around in my head. We never left you. A truth so powerful it almost hurts.
“Oh, Brandon, tell me you’ll never leave me!” Tears well in my eyes.
“Never, baby. You’ll always be mine.”
My heart is bursting at the seams with those I love. My Brandon. Mama and Papa. Pops, Auntie Jo, Jeffrey, and Chaz. And our little Gooch.
They will live in my heart forever. That’s what makes them unforgettable.
Epilogue
Zoey
One year later
My wedding changed my life. Not only did I become Mrs. Brandon Taylor, but I also became an instant celebrity. An overnight media star. The world’s newest “It Girl.” The newscasts of our wedding went through the roof and the photo of us kissing after we exchanged our vows was splashed all over the Internet and on the cover of every gossip magazine around the world. I have to say that some of the headlines weren’t flattering. Like More Beats Moore…Chubster Scores Kussler…and Chubby Lands Royal Hubby. But I didn’t really mind. And to my amusement, we were instantly dubbed Branzo. Hey, it could have been a lot worse. Like Branzoey, which to my ear sounded like some kind of Italian fish or pasta. Or that machine that resurfaces the ice in the middle of a hockey game. Brandon agreed. In fact, he loved it. It reminded him of his idol, Marlon Brando.
For women around the world, I was more than a celebrity; I was their idol. An overweight Plain Jane who landed Prince Charming—People Magazine’s “Sexiest Man Alive.” America’s newest “Sweethart” as the press playfully called me. Worshippers started fan pages on Facebook and tweeted me left and right. I personally responded to every email, Facebook message, and tweet. I wanted my fans to know that dreams could come true. I’d wished for Brandon to marry me on my twenty-fifth birthday and soon after he did.
So much happened after we got back from our whirlwind honeymoon. Pops sucked the shit out of Katrina. Holding hands, Brandon and I watched him in action behind a one-way mirror. Demanding a lawyer, she refused to answer his questions as he wore her down. Her big shot attorney attempted to come to the rescue—along with Mommy—just before Pops showed them the texts she’d sent to Scott. Katrina paled while her attorney cringed. Enid passed out.
Claiming innocence—it was just an accident, yeah right!—Katrina balked when her attorney told her she could be tried for second-degree murder and put away for twenty-five years. A deal was struck for a hit and run felony charge, putting her in a penitentiary for five years. Parole at three, if she behaved. Katrina sobbed. I almost felt sorry for her. But Brandon told me to spare my tears. The psycho bitch deserved what was coming to her.
Someone else should have been put behind bars too. Scott Turner, Brandon’s manager. Or should I say former manager. He survived Donatelli’s gunshot though he has to wear a colostomy bag for the rest of his life. My husband felt bad for him, but I felt he strongly deserved it. A fitting reminder. The asshole needed to see the shit he was.
While convalescing in the hospital, he confessed everything in an attempt to get off scot-free, no pun intended. He and Katrina were just fuck buddies in every sense of the word and never intended to get married. It was all his idea to hook up Katrina with Brandon. He introduced them at the Chateau Marmont and threw out the idea of a stunt marriage to further both of their careers. Brandon thought Scott was out of his mind. What he didn’t know was that both his manager and Katrina were after his money. The plan was that right after they married, Katrina would divorce him and get half his fortune—five hundred million dollars, of which Scott would get thirty percent—one hundred fifty million dollars. They both desperately needed the money—Katrina to support her extravagant lifestyle now that both her parents were broke and Scott to pay off exorbitant gambling debts to the Mob. Katrina furthermore thought the stunt marriage would revive her sagging career. The ratings for her reality show, America’s It Girl, had plummeted and the series was about to be canceled. A live televised wedding to Brandon Taylor, People Magazine’s “Sexiest Man Alive,” could definitely save it and make her a mega-star and the darling of the media. So marrying and divorcing Brandon could bring her both fame and fortune.
The plan sounded perfect—but there was one problem. Brandon, who went on several well-publicized dates with Katrina, discovered he couldn’t stomach her. She was a stuck-up, self-centered bitch. He didn’t want to go along with it. But this didn’t stop desperate Scott or Katrina. Katrina stalked Brandon and tried to cajole him, and with the help of Scott, informed the paparazzi and reporters about their encounters so photos of them together would appear everywhere along with articles about their “heated” romance. She even went as far as kissing Brandon in public against his will, which made the front page of many tabloids. Brandon was furious, but Scott advised him to ignore it. In fact, denying the relationship might have reverse consequences and convince the public it was true—that he and Katrina were an item. Sadly, that’s how Hollywood works.
But fed-up Brandon wasn’t deterred. On the day Katrina’s show was up for renewal, he threatened to call a press conference and set the record straight about his relationship with the reality star once and for all. Plain and simple, there was none. Terrified this revelation would end both her show and her career, Katrina drove up to Brandon’s house to try to convince him
to not to talk to the press. At least not yet. She encountered him while he was jogging down the road to his house. She jumped out of her car and confronted him. He refused to give in. The bitch refused to take no for an answer and went as far as physically attacking him; he warded her off. (That’s how she probably lost the Venetian glass charm). Incensed, she got back into her Mercedes, and after she started it up, she hit Brandon.
This is where things get murky. Knocking Brandon to the ground unconscious, Katrina freaked out. She called Scott in a panic for advice. She was insistent it was an accident. That in her agitated state, she’d accidentally put the car in reverse rather than in drive and hence had rammed into Brandon who was standing behind it. When Pops asked Scott if he thought Katrina had deliberately run down Brandon, he honestly didn’t know. Though he did say it was a possibility—the girl was insane. And with that thought in the back of his mind, he told Katrina to leave the scene of the accident. The last thing they needed was a murder rap. So, Katrina, who had no conscience and used her mother as an alibi, left Brandon bleeding on the street to die. And he would have if I had not discovered him.
There’s a saying—some people fall up. That’s exactly what happened to Katrina and Scott. They used Brandon’s coma to their advantage. After Scott forced me out of the picture by sending me to that remote Joshua Tree spa, “poor grieving” drama queen Katrina sat by Brandon’s bedside 24/7 and fed the hungry press her tears and fears of losing the love of her life. Her fiancé. Cunningly, Scott used Brandon’s Tiffany’s credit card to purchase her ten-carat diamond ring just before he was admitted to the hospital and then spun a story that they’d gotten engaged the night before Brandon’s horrific hit and run accident at his Hollywood Hills home over a romantic candlelit dinner. In addition to inviting the press to the hospital suite for exclusive interviews by Brandon’s deathbed, Scott encouraged Katrina to film segments of her reality series at the hospital. Overnight, Katrina went from being the girl everyone loved to hate to America’s sweetheart. And her ratings began to skyrocket.
The doctors didn’t think Brandon would make it, and if he did, he might be permanently impaired with significant brain damage as he’d suffered severe head trauma from his skull fracture. Scott and Katrina played right into this. Taking a chance, they believed they could convince Brandon and his doctors that he had lost his memory if he awoke from his coma. Sure enough he did—with a real full-blown case of amnesia. Much to the luck of both Scott and Katrina. How perfect! Since Brandon couldn’t remember a thing, it was easy to convince him that he was engaged to Katrina and had agreed to marry her in a live televised event. While he was in his coma, the two of them even forged his signature on sappy Hallmark cards and mushy love letters like the one Katrina shared on The Letterman Show to prove he loved her. The only thing they didn’t anticipate was that Brandon would start remembering things and start questioning his feelings toward Katrina. That he had none for her. His heart belonged to someone else. Yours truly.
When Pops shared this backstory over dinner with Brandon and me, we were totally blown away. It was so sick and twisted. Even the most brilliant writer couldn’t come up with a plot line so unpredictably complex and dramatic. I wouldn’t be surprised if some big shot movie producer optioned the rights. It made me angry. It made Brandon angry too. But it also made him sad. Scott had discovered him and been his longtime manager. His trustworthy manager and friend, so he had thought. Scott should have come forward with his gambling addiction. Brandon would have gotten him help and lent him as much money as he needed to get him off the hook.
“Why did Donatelli shoot him?” asked Brandon. Despite recovering his memory, he still had no recollection of the accident except for subconsciously remembering me coming to his rescue. His doctors told him he might never. It’s probably a blessing. Some things are better forgotten.
“Simple,” said Pops. “He missed his final deadline to make a payment to his loan shark. The Mob doesn’t tolerate excuses. A promise is sacred. Don’t deliver and die.”
The same fate must have awaited Conrad Kremins, the sleazy, in-debt sex shop operator who was shot along with Mama. Poor Mama just happened to be at the wrong place at the right time. The same with Brandon’s parents who met their untimely demise when Donatelli blew through a red light and rammed into their car.
After confessing everything, Scott escaped jail time. But after further investigation, Pops discovered that over the years, he’d scammed Brandon out of over five million dollars. Brandon didn’t give a shit about the money, but the trust he’d put into his longtime manager, who’d discovered him, ate a big hole in his heart. I told him to press charges. Embezzlement could result in a minimum of three years behind bars. But Brandon didn’t want to. He felt the colostomy bag and the fact that the scumbag would never work in this town again was a big enough price to pay. Though not totally on board with Brandon’s lenient decision, I told him he needed to move on and find a new manager. Through Blake Burns, he did. Someone who worked fervently and honestly for many of Conquest’s stars.
I almost thought Blake would recommend me. Except he had other, bigger plans in store for me. Soon after Brandon and I came back from our honeymoon, he invited me for lunch at the Conquest executive dining room. Without Brandon. At his wife Jennifer’s urging, he wanted to know if I had any ideas for a TV show starring me. I was after all a celebrity now.
My heart leapt into my throat. I did! During our honeymoon, an idea had popped into my head. I hadn’t even shared it with Brandon because I was still fleshing it out and I thought he might think it absurd. It was called Perfect 10.
“Tell me about it,” coaxed Blake over our cold poached salmon.
After taking a deep breath, the words spewed out. “It’s about this overweight career girl named Cindy who pines for her boss and pines to be a Size 6. Little does she know her gorgeous boss thinks she’s a perfect Size 10.”
“I fucking love it!” exclaimed Blake.
My blood raced through my veins. “And there’s one other element. Her grandmother, a former top model whom she adores, is always telling her to lose weight and putting her on wacky diets. I envision her played by Bo Derek.”
“Fuck. I love it even more. Ms. Ten herself.”
There was one other major character—an overweight co-worker who had a crush on my heroine and was her best friend and confidant. I envisioned the part being played by Fat Albert, and if the show ever happened, I vowed to fight for him to co-star in it.
Five minutes later, I had a development deal. And six months later, I was on the air with my dream cast. The number one sitcom on all of television. My acting lessons had paid off. And all my dreams had come true.
I’m no longer a Size 8 nor will I likely ever be one again. Swallowing Brandon’s cum on a daily basis has not been slimming. However, it’s my cocktail of choice. Besides my husband loves me just the way I am. And he’s made me love myself with all my flaws. When it comes to my career, I’m my own person, but when it comes to the bedroom, I belong completely to him.
Wet kisses awaken me. I pry my eyes open and smile. It’s little Gucci, on my chest, wagging his tail, his big brown eyes in my face.
“Good morning, baby boy!” The pillow next to mine is vacant. “Where’s Daddy?”
On cue, a sultry voice filters into my ears.
My gorgeous husband…holding a tray with a silver-lidded domed platter and a vase of fragrant flowers. Gucci scampers off the bed as I sit up. A pair of glistening violet eyes meets mine.
“Happy Anniversary, baby!”
A big smile spreads across my face. I wish him the same. It’s hard to believe we’ve been married for a year. So much has happened in the last twelve months. And there are a lot more life-changing surprises in store.
Wearing sexy drawstring pajamas that hang low on his hips and bare-chested, he crawls onto the bed and sets down the tray.
“Breakfast in bed?” I purr, tracing his curved lips and admiring his pecs. I nev
er get tired of looking at the sexy beast I married.
Placing the flowers on a nightstand, he smiles deviously. “You could say that.”
“What is it?”
With a tilt of his chin, he says, “Remove the lid.”
My heart beating fast with anticipation, I do as bid. Beneath the silver dome is a purple satin pouch.
“Breakfast? Should I assume there’s an egg inside?”
“Well, to be honest, that’s what I was going to get you for breakfast. But I ran into Blake’s grandma and she highly recommended I get this instead.”
Over the past year, Brandon and Blake have grown very close. And I’ve become dear friends with his wife Jennifer, who was largely responsible for my new career. They’ve invited us over to Blake’s parents’ house for Shabbat dinner several times, and I’ve had the pleasure to meet Grandma and her adorable husband Luigi. To my shock and delight, she’s the crazy octogenarian I met at the Pleasure Chest when I went there to pick up Brandon’s secretive purchases. She recognized me immediately, and wouldn’t you know it, the first thing out of her mouth, even before I got to light the Shabbat candles, was: “Bubala, so did you get the vibrator I recommended?” While Brandon burst into laughter, mortification raced through me. Needless to say, lighting the Shabbat candles with my shaking hands wasn’t easy. At least Brandon and I can both laugh about that night now, and we’ve grown accustomed to outspoken Grandma (who has her own talk show on Jennifer’s women’s erotica channel) and her outrageous sexy shmexy quips.
I meet my husband’s tantalizing gaze. “So what did she recommend?”
“Look for yourself.”
I loosen the string of the pouch and reach inside. The contents feel like some form of jewelry. A necklace? My eyes grow wide as I remove it. It’s a thick ten-inch long platinum chain with two diamond and amethyst-studded clasps at the end.
Unforgettable: The Complete Series (A Sexy Cinderella Standalone Love Story) Page 55
