Brando (16 page)

“Lexi’s
back in the fold. And now we’ve
got another superstar to join her. You’ve
just brought in two of the biggest acts this label’s
seen in years. I’m
thinking that’s at
least deserving of a little compensation on my behalf. You can forget
about being fired – I’m
giving you your own label, under the company umbrella of course, and
all the freedom to sign, blow cash, and do whatever you want with it.
How does that sound?”

“Haley’s
not a Majestic artist. She might not even be mine anymore.”

The
words seem to slice me as I say them. I watch her on stage, singing
with a passion that seems to infect the whole audience. The most
talented person I know expressing herself, it used to fill me with
pride seeing her do this – but
that was before the fall.

“No?”
Rowland says, in a way that makes
me look back at him. This time there’s
no mistake, the amused and patronizing look is real for once.

“She
didn’t sign
anything,” I say, an
explanation that only seems to make Rowland smile even more. “Our
agreement was verbal. Not on paper.”

He
looks out at Haley again, who’s
reaching the crescendo of the song, wailing melodically, the audience
moving to her rhythm.

“Who
paid for her studio time?” Rowland
says, smugly. “Who
paid her musicians to play with her, or Josh for producing her songs?
You even used the Majestic account to fast-track her single onto
services online. I’ve
got my fingers all over Haley’s
music. There’s more
than enough for my lawyers to work with.”

I
look at him incredulously, unable to believe what I’m
hearing.

He
chuckles and pats my shoulder. “Signing
artists is the easy part, Brando. Tying them up, forcing them to
depend on you, work in your structure – that’s
what being a record label is all about. Haley’s
perfectly within her rights to try and be independent, but she’ll
have to pay back every penny I spent on her, and fight a long legal
battle over what my fair share is. Of course, she won’t
be making much music while she does that – court
proceedings do tend to drag on and get
awfully
exhausting.”

Haley
finishes the song and as the studio audience goes crazy I stand
there, my body still feeling like it’s
caked in concrete, while Rowland applauds enthusiastically along with
the rest of the crowd. Haley leaves the stage on the other side,
waving at the audience.

“It’s
going to be a hell of a ride,” Rowland
says, leaning in far too closely, “managing
two incredible acts. But I know you’ll
do me proud.”

He
gives me one last smack on the back before walking away. I drop my
head and remember to breathe.

Four
minutes. That’s how
long Haley’s song
is. Four minutes that made me forget Lexi. Four minutes that made me
see Haley was special. Four minutes that connected us.

Four
minutes in which I lost it all.

TO BE CONTINUED...

Does Brando have you hooked? Find out what happens next in
Part Two
,
Coming November 12, 2015
.

When I'm not surfing or being my badass self at my local coffee shop, you can catch me on:

Facebook:
https://www.facebook.com/JD-Hawkins-Author-921757471191852/

Goodreads:
https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/1481119.J_D_Hawkins

Twitter: (
@FuckYeaHawkins
)
https://twitter.com/FuckYeaHawkins

Join my newsletter where all the cool kids hang out: 
http://eepurl.com/bkVjMX

Jax

I walked into the bar.

That might not sound like anything impressive, but that’s where
you’re wrong.

Let me tell you something. I can tell how a woman fucks by the way
she moves; you can tell how a man handles business between the sheets
by the way he walks.

And my walk says one thing very loud, and very clear. I’m the
best fuck there is.

When I lean onto the bar, I don’t need to get the barman’s
attention. The club’s attention is already on me.

“Hey Jax,” he says, sliding a beer towards me. “Brando
coming?”

“Yeah, he is,” I reply, taking off my shades and turning
around to get a feel for the scene.

When you’ve been hitting the clubs as long as I have, you learn
to read the signs as easily as traffic lights.

The girl with too many wrinkles in her tight dress? Her hair not
perfectly straight? She’s been dancing all night. She’s
not a regular – I’d know her if she was. She likes it all
night, likes to be on top, so she can move at her own pace.

That woman who isn’t laughing as loudly as her friends? Both
hands tight around her glass ‘cause she doesn’t know what
to do with them? She’s been dragged out for the night. She’s
shuffling awkwardly, like she’s cold. Like she’s not
feeling the heat of the club. She wants to take it slow. My breath on
her neck, our flesh barely touching, every move a surprise. Probably
shivers when she’s ready for it.

The tall blonde bombshell – in the tiny black dress half her
length - dancing to her own rhythm, slap bang in the middle of the
bar? She’s looking for the highest high there is. Right now
that’s the idea of having the whole club look at her. When she
stops dancing, she’ll size the club up herself, and pick out
the guy who’ll be prom king to her queen. That’ll be me –
if I’m still here.

I turn back to my beer, take down half the bottle, and feel a tap on
my shoulder.

“Hey,” the tall sensuous woman with amazing curves says.
“Do I know you?”

I let her watch me rake my eyes over her, from the stiletto heels all
the way up to the cockteasing shine in her eyes. I smirk. “Do
you want to?”

She laughs with the kind of full-bodied voice that most women reserve
for the bedroom. I check her out again. She’s got the kind of
ass that I would let sit on my face for hours, cleavage big enough to
lose your mind in and then spend the rest of the night trying to find
it again.

“You look like Ryan Gosling,” she flirts.

“Maybe I am.”

She moves closer. “Are you?”

“No. I don’t wear make-up, and my lines are my own.”

I’m debating whether or not to buy her a drink when I see
Brando enter over her shoulder. He takes a few steps into the bar,
spends a couple of seconds dancing up against a drunk girl, then
makes his way over to me. He’s shouting his order to the barman
from across the room.

That’s Brando’s style. Loud, full of life, and always
attracting attention.

“Hey, Jax,” he says, locking hands, “you feelin’
good tonight?” He shoots an appreciative glance at the woman
beside me and she returns it.

Brando’s from Brooklyn. He’s got dark hair, dark eyes,
tan skin, and he plays up his Italian roots every chance he gets. He
likes to say he speaks French and Italian, but I think his knowledge
begins and ends with the lyrics to old disco songs.

“Depends which girl I’m feeling,” I say.

Me; I’m more about finesse. I like well-made suits that fit
right, places that look as good as I do, and women with an appetite.
When my clothes are on, I’m the sharpest guy in the room, and
once they’re off, I’m the kind of man who will make you
feel like you’ve only fucked boys before. The kind of man who
makes the pale imitations that follow feel like a compromise. The
kind of man your mind will wander to when you’re naked in the
bath…

“Who’s this pretty young thing?” Brando says,
turning to face the curvy girl.

“I didn’t get her name yet,” I say, giving Brando
the in. “But I was just about to.”

“It’s Sophie,” she purrs.

I rub my left eyebrow – it’s the sign me and Brando have
for ‘she’s all yours’ - and turn towards the club.

Dancing bodies writhe around me as I slice my way through the club. I
let my eyes wander from toned legs to swerving hips. I run my hand
across a girl’s waist as I pass and she licks her lips at me.
Another throws her arms around my neck and leads me to a corner,
where she rolls her body up against mine like she’s auditioning
for a strip joint. She puts her lips on my neck, then pulls back and
smiles. I smile back, wink, and pull away – too easy.

I’m toying with the idea of a threesome, between the blonde
bombshell who’s towering over her friends in the middle of the
dancefloor, and the slim chick with an ankle tattoo.

And then it happens.

The entire club disappears. The girls, the bar, the music. All that’s
left is a woman with a body that’s
perfect.
She’s
wearing clothes, but her ass is so tight in that skirt, the arch of
her back so sexual, that looking at her feels pornographic. It’s
like a hit of LSD to the eyes, and I’m seeing a vision of the
future. Wavy brown hair flying back in ecstasy, teardrop breasts
bouncing in rhythm, my hands tight around that slim waist, guiding it
like a loaded missile.

Remember when I said my clothes fit well? Well I could do with a few
extra inches in my boxers right about now.

I get close enough to her to see her lips, and I’m already
thinking of all the ways she could worship me with them.

She sees me, and I lock on to a pair of brown eyes that could kill a
lesser man from ten yards away. She has a couple of friends nearby,
but I don’t give a shit about them, and soon, neither will she.

She’s drinking a gin and tonic with lemon, and I’m
jealous of the glass between her lips. I lightly grip her elbow, and
she tilts her head up towards me.

“I saw you an hour ago, and since then, I’ve been unable
to focus on any other woman in this bar,” I say.

She smirks. “That’s a lie.”

“You’re right, that’s a lie. I just set eyes on
you, and I already know you’re the most attractive woman I’ll
see all night.”

“Well there are always other nights.” She absently
tongues the lemon peel on the rim of her glass and my pulse rockets
to Mach 3.

I smile. She’s sassy, but she can’t break her eyes away
from me. New tactic: cut the bullshit and go direct.

“You owe it to that amazing body of yours to give it to someone
who knows how to make the most of it.” I cock an eyebrow. I’ve
been told this is sexy as fuck by women who’d know, and I
rarely feel the need to fight fair.

She opens her mouth in mock-shock.

“I’m serious,” I continue, “I don’t
think you know what you have here.”

“Maybe not,” she says, “but my boyfriend sure
does.”

I reel back, comically, “Oh! A boyfriend? Now that’s a
real sin. Putting all of that,” I look her up and down, “in
the hands of just one man. Especially when that man isn’t me.”

The girl looks to her friends, whose eyes are still on me. Waiting
for me to switch my attention to them. Not going to happen.

“Thanks for the advice,” she says, shoving her friends
away, “I’ll let my boyfriend know he’s not good
enough for me.”

“Oh he knows,” I say, as she walks away.

She turns, about to say something, but instead just looks at me,
gives me a funny sideways smile, and walks off with her friends. Game
Over. For now.

I watch her ass slink away and it gets me so hard that I’m
about ready to ravage the first woman I see on the dancefloor.

I turn around, and lock eyes with the blonde bombshell. She’s
still dancing, arms in the air, curving her body like a snake, but
her eyes are on me. I watch her a while, and she continues to move,
spinning her body around so I can get a good look at the curves every
other guy in the club has been salivating over for the past hour.

I start to move towards the door – the side exit – and
she moves along with me. We’re on opposite sides of the room,
but it’s like we’re connected. She can see what’s
in my eyes, and I can see what’s in hers. Desire. Power. Sex.
We move through the club like predator sharks after the same prey,
still looking at each other, until we draw close at the exit.

She’s nearly as tall as me – and I’m no shrimp in
any department. She’s wearing a little black dress that sets
off her long blonde hair and sparkling blue eyes perfectly. It also
allows her to show off a pair of long, slim, powerful legs that I
wanna get between.

The exit leads to a side alley that I happen to know well at this
hour: it’ll be dark, discreet, and more than safe. I open the
door for her, and it’s the last gentlemanly thing I do. As soon
as it shuts behind us we’re grabbing each other and grinding
our bodies together like we hate each other as much as we want to
fuck each other.

She puts her hands on the back of my head and pulls me towards her,
thrusting her tongue down my throat, tongue-fucking me as I bite and
suck at her cherry-flavored mouth. I run my hands aggressively down
her back, tracing the curve that leads to her ass, and grab it
hungrily, pulling her leg up against my hip, and running my other
hand down her thigh, then back up inside her skirt.

Ms. Long Legs can’t even catch her breath quick enough to moan
properly. Shaking her ass on the dancefloor was foreplay enough, now
she’s wet and ready. I press her up against the wall, and slip
my hand under her thigh to find a sweet wetness below. She just
shudders a little and pulls me closer aggressively.

I roll my fingers around her barely-there underwear, feeling the
inviting softness of her pussy. She pulls her head back, looks up at
the sky, and exhales deeply, her chest sinking beautifully.

I get a good grip on her panties and tear them off her in a single,
powerful stroke.

It turns her on even more.

She lets out a little panting growl and wraps the toned elegance of
her long legs around my waist. “Give it to me.”