I spin around and walk away from the camera toward the couch. “What about this?” I move the skirt slowly down over my ass before letting it drop. I look back over my shoulder and see Brando on his knees, camera in one hand, pulling his shirt off with another, breathing so heavy it’s as if it doesn’t fit, the lens and his eyes worshipping my ass.
Facing the window, Brando behind me, I take my tank top off, slowly teasing it up over my belly and over my head before tossing it aside. Then I do the same with my bra, folding my arms, hands over my breasts, before turning around. Brando’s shirt is off, and though he’s still holding the camera up to face me, he’s not looking at the screen anymore. “This?” I say, lips pouting.
Brando steps toward me slowly, shoulders rolling like a jungle cat. My heart beats faster with every inch of space that disappears between us. I drop my hands from my breasts and push my palms against the phone screen. He’s close enough that I can see the tension in his neck muscles, taste the testosterone on his skin. He stretches his arm out, camera pointing back at both of us.
“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.”
15
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.
And yet the memory of what Jax said earlier hangs over me like a dark mist I can’t shake off. This situation is familiar. I’m starting to see signs everywhere, in everything I do. The feeling of being almost there, the simple and strong trust I have in Haley, the adrenaline rush I get from seeing my work actually getting results – it’s word-for-word, motion-for-motion what I felt just before Lexi tore me apart. As soon as I set the ball in motion, it feels like it’s getting away from me. What seemed perfect before is now a little too perfect to trust.
Jenna sees me in the long, clean mirror of the hair salon as I walk up to her.
“We were waiting for you,” Jenna says, bringing Haley’s attention to me.
“Heeeey!” she says, smiling wide and bright with her face, but keeping her head in place as the bald guy in a tight shirt snips and chops at it.
“Hey you. Good to see you, Jenna,” I say. I should step through and kiss her, make the bald guy stop so that I can plant a long, slow kiss on those lips. But I don’t, and Haley notices, even though she barely shows it.
“Thank you so much for letting me in on this, Brando,” Jenna says. “I’ve needed a makeover, like, forever.”
“Hardly,” I scoff. “You’re already flawless, both of you. But I’m glad you’re enjoying.” I glance at Haley. “You need strength to get to the top. But you need strong friends to stay there.”
“I got more clothes today than I have in the past two years,” Haley says, before winking. “I’ll show you if you’re free tonight.”
I smile just enough not to set off her alarm bells, but it takes a lot of effort.
“Actually I’m not.”
Haley pouts.
“And n
either are you,” I continue.
“What do you mean?” Haley says, frowning for a second before the bald guy adjusts her head slightly. “I thought the next studio session was tomorrow afternoon?”
“It’s not a studio session.”
“Well, what, then? Quit teasing this out!”
“Yeah, Brando!” Jenna adds for good measure.
I pause a little before answering.
“You’re on Conan.”
Their jaws drop at the same time, and they turn to look at each other slowly at the same time, mirror images.
Then they scream.
The bald guy leaps back, palms out like Haley just combusted in front of him, before turning to me with a glare as if I caused it. I shrug, and the next thing I know Haley’s pressing up against me, hair-filled bib still wrapped around her shoulders, insatiable tongue between my lips.
I try to be cold. Try to be smart. Try to keep myself from putting my arms around her and pressing my lips back on hers. But it doesn’t work. I can’t. Haley’s nothing like Lexi. This is nothing like before. I’ve never felt so good. This time it’s real, and I’m gonna do it the only way I know how – by putting everything I have on the line.
16
Haley
A SORE THROAT. That’s why I’m here in the green room of one of the biggest late night talk shows in the world. The lead singer of the band that was supposed to play got a sore throat. That’s all it took.
That, and Brando.
“How you feeling?” he says, and I spin around to see him standing there, always big and strong, always supporting me. I press a hand against his cheek and kiss him gently.
“My teeth are chattering, my knees feel like they’re made out of silly string, and I’m not sure if this new haircut makes me look incredibly hot, or like a preteen who found her mother’s hair product,” I say. “But I don’t think I’ve ever felt this good in my life.”
The Bet Page 11
