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-f*ck
ed 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 f*ck
ed in Blake’s f*ck
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 f*ck
s 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 quivering 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 f*ck
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!”
f*ck