The rest of the evening is a heady blur of laughter and randomness. We go to a sushi place and we film each other acting goofy with our chopsticks. Brando gets sake on his shirt and we go to a clothes store to buy a new one. I force him to change in the middle of the store, on camera, making sure I catch the looks of the female onlookers, eyes wide as they bite their lips. Brando gets someone to film him surprising me by picking me up on his shoulders and running down the boardwalk. I do cartwheels on the beach, Brando takes off his clothes and emerges from the water, we film ourselves kissing against the changing colors of the sky as the sun sets.
“This…could actually turn out pretty awesome!” I say, checking the footage as we enter Brando’s apartment. “It’s no blockbuster, but it’s real. It kinda makes sense. Intimate, kinda silly, genuine. It’s perfect for the song.”
Brando walks up to me and pulls the phone from my hand. “I agree.”
“Do you think we got enough?” I say, looking up at him. “For the whole song?”
“No."
Brando’s face is sultry as he raises the camera and points it at me.
I look sideways at him, confused, but still playfully curious. “What are you doing?”
“Filming you.”
“I can see that,” I say, laughing gently. “But is this for the song? Or for yourself?”
“That depends,” he says, voice thick and full, “on how hot it gets.”
“Hot?” I say, the wetness of my lips audible in my voice. “You mean, like this?”
I ease off my denim jacket, body sideways, looking over my shoulder at the camera – at Brando. I drop the jacket to the floor and press myself back up against the wall. “Like this?” I say, arching my back, breasts pushing out against the white tank, skirt swishing from the curve my ass. Brando stalks around me with the camera like an animal, moving the lens the way his eye would across my body, lips parted like he can already taste me.
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.