Despite my grave insecurities about Katrina and the future, I’ve decided to experience Brandon Taylor to the fullest. Give him a chance. Love him as if there’s no tomorrow. No risk, no gain. Even if all I end up with is pain. I banish the dark thought as I circle my arms around his taut torso on the Ducati. The poor bike isn’t in great shape after Brandon crashed it in hot pursuit of me. The front fender is dented and there are dings all over the metallic violet framework. But it’s still running. As we cruise down the Croisette, every little bump stimulates my vibrating clit, making me more eager to get to our destination. The hotel? I’m not sure where he’s taking me when we zoom past The Carlton, but am sure when I hop off the bike there’ll be a wet mark on the seat.
From crashing the Ducati, the sound system in the helmets is screwed up. I can’t hear Brandon and he can’t hear me. It’s just as well because I want to be alone with my thoughts. It’s like my head is in a bubble that’s going to burst. I still can’t believe this night’s for real, that my remotest, wildest fantasies are a reality, but the very real throbbing between my legs tells me otherwise. Leaning into him, I can’t stop re-living every minute. Brandon expressed his deep feelings toward me in heartfelt words that made me melt like a candle and gave me the most mind-blowing orgasm I ever had. Yes, I’ve had dozens and dozens of clitoral orgasms, most of which I’ve given myself, but I’ve never experience one from a man inside me, let alone that Big O I’ve read about in Cosmopolitan and my erotic romances. Truthfully, I thought they were some kind of urban myth, but now I know differently. They exist. Brandon Taylor set me off and sent me orbiting in space. I came and I came and I came. The euphoric waves must have lasted at least five minutes and I’m still feeling the aftermath. If I wasn’t wedged against that rough stucco wall which chafed my back and kept me conscious, I would have likely fainted. Somewhere in those five minutes, my infatuation with Brandon Taylor morphed into extreme love. An intense primal need to be totally possessed by him.
Yes, I’m in love with him. Unabashedly, indisputably in love with him. While my head’s in a thick cloud, a hormonal tsunami is still raging inside me. About ten minutes into our ride, he lifts my left hand off his waist and lowers it to his crotch. I feel the pulse and heat of his enormous package beneath my palm. Something about having my hand there makes me feel so calm, so connected, protected, and loved. Arousal pulses through me, revving me up like an engine. Unexpectedly, after we fly over a bump in the road, the helmets’ sound system starts up again, and a soft, pitch-perfect hum fills my ears. The melody of “Unforgettable”…it’s coming from Brandon. The emotion that sweeps over me can’t be put into words. Our hearts, our bodies, our minds are so powerfully connected. We’re one. In every way, this incredible night and incredible man have been unforgettable. I don’t let him know I can hear him except I give a little squeeze to his irresistible manhood. Closing my eyes, I sink waist-deep into blissful ecstasy.
Fifteen dreamy minutes later, we arrive at a magnificent waterfront villa located about five miles outside the center of Cannes. While the expansive palm tree-filled garden looks perfectly maintained, the windows of the imposing pink stucco mansion are boarded up.
“Who does this house belong to?” I ask Brandon as he helps me off with my helmet.
A hint of melancholy flickers in his eyes. “A great woman who doesn’t use it anymore. My mentor, Bella Stadler.”
At the mention of her name, my heart skips a beat. My mind flashes back to that life-changing encounter with the beautiful woman at the Joshua Tree spa. Lead your dreams and land them. Her memorable words float through my head as if carried by the wings of angels. I debate whether to tell Brandon about this uncanny encounter, but his sultry voice cuts my decision-making short.
“C’mon, let’s go down to the beach,” he says, taking my hand.
A few minutes later after descending a steep terraced path, we’re walking barefoot on a deserted, breathtaking stretch of beach along the Mediterranean. The sparkling white sand is a ribbon of moonlight against the dark sea. In the distance, I can see the lit up Palais des Festivals and the myriad yachts surrounding it.
Brandon wraps his brawny arm around my shoulders while soft, lapping waves sound in my ears. He holds me close to him.
“Don’t run away from me again tonight, Zoey. I’ve done enough sprinting to last me a lifetime.”
I laugh. “I’ll try to behave.”
He squeezes me. “Don’t test me.”
“Don’t count on it.” With a burst of laughter, I break away and make a mad dash toward the water.
“Screw you, Zoey. You’re going to pay for this.”
“Try and catch me!” I shout out, running backward.
“You’re going to get it, you very naughty girl!”
I’m ready. Come and get me! On my next fired up breath, he chases after me, and in no time, he catches me. This time I don’t resist and my giddy laughter fills the warm, damp air.
He cinches my waist and then flips me around so we’re facing each other. Quieting, I gaze at his gorgeous face. It’s lit by the moonlight—the perfect contours, his strong jaw, straight manly nose, and those beautiful eyes. The orbs are like two dark purple stars that have fallen from the sky. Then, that Satanic look that I’ve seen before washes over him. Every nerve in my body is on edge.