Gloria's Forever (Gloria Book 3) (3 page)

“You know, tomorrow’s Valentine’s Day,” I breathed against her neck as I wove her hair. “It’s almost like our anniversary.”

Indeed it was. Last Valentine’s Day I’d surprised her with Rihanna’s diamond-studded bra and thong which I’d won at the Gloria’s Secret after-party charity auction, outbidding Victor Holden, my lascivious stepfather and Gloria’s Secret’s corrupt Chairman. He was now serving time behind bars for manipulating the price of the company stock, which resulted in Gloria almost losing her job. For what he did to Gloria and to me as a child, he should be rotting in hell. Along with Vivien, his equally manipulative psycho bitch daughter.

Banishing my dark thoughts, my mind flashed back to that unforgettable night. I’d surprised Gloria with the sparkly leather garments over dinner in my suite at The Walden Hotel. After I’d coerced her to put them on and took my time admiring the way they graced her gorgeous curvaceous body, I’d yanked them off her and licked her sweet pussy. Fell in love with the taste of her. And the way her delicious pussy responded to my tongue. At the memory of that night, my cock flexed.

Gloria jerked upon feeling my cock jump. I wondered—was she also reminiscing about our first night together? Her words answered my query.

“Darling, I hope you’re not going to bid tonight on Beyoncé’s outfit. Beyoncé was headlining today’s Gloria’s Secret Fashion Show, and the custom-made diamond-studded get-up she was wearing was top secret. Gloria hadn’t shared it even with me.

“Angel, don’t worry. Been there done that.” Gloria should know better. I never did the same thing twice. I tugged at her almost completed braid. “I have something else in mind.”

“Oh, I love surprises, Mr. Zander. Does it involve your cock?” I watched her smile seductively in the mirror.

Actually, what I had in mind for Mrs. Zander was a low-key but very romantic evening—dinner at oceanfront Geoffrey’s in Malibu. I couldn’t wait to give her
my
custom-made gift. Something symbolic—and sparkling—I hoped she’d cherish forever. I was feeling very, very proud of myself. Mr. Creativity had exceeded himself. All I hoped she would give me was a mind-blowing blowjob with that luscious mouth of hers. With that wicked thought, I finished braiding her hair.

“Thank you, baby.” Gloria grinned as she fastened the end of her waist-long braid with an elastic. The platinum rope shimmered like a fine piece of jewelry.

Her morning rituals weren’t over. Now came my favorite part. Her makeup.

Standing behind her, I folded my arms around her swollen belly as she began. First her eyes. A layer of mascara and some blue shadow that drew attention to her two-color eyes, one brown the other blue. Then, a fine dusting of powder and lastly her lips.

God, I loved Gloria’s lips. The shape of them. Their fullness. Their power. Holy balls, what they could do. I watched in the mirror in awe as she applied her red lipstick. It was as if she was painting them, and every time she did, I thought of my father with a red tube of paint in his hand. Red was his favorite color, just like Gloria’s.

Mesmerized by my gorgeous wife, I stared at her reflection. Gloria wore her red lipstick the way a superhero wore his cape. It made her powerful. Invincible. Except I was her Kryptonite. When I kissed her lips and stripped off her red capelet, she became weak. Powerless. And all mine.

I couldn’t resist.

She succumbed.

I fucked her again from behind; truthfully, in her advanced pregnant state with that huge belly, it was just easier this way. But this time my cock had a different destination. Her backdoor. Quickly grabbing one of the many Gloria’s Secret lotions she kept on the counter, I parted my robe, squirted a bountiful amount on my cock, and lubricated it. As I spread it evenly along my shaft, my mind flashed back to the first time I fucked Gloria in the ass in Paris. It was a first for her. Butt-fucking Gloria had since become one of our favorite activities.

Wasting no time, I shoved down her leggings and spread her ripe cheeks.

“Jaime, are you going to fuck me in the ass?” she asked, her voice all breathy. Oh yeah, she wanted it good.

“That’s what it seems like,” I replied as I plunged my serpent into her puckered, just washed hole. Christ. She felt so tight! So hot! So good!

She groaned my name. Wrapping one arm back around her extended belly, I began to thrust in and out of her. Her beautiful moans morphed into beautiful groans. I’d only just begun. Once I got into a rhythm and she rocked into me, I moved my other hand to her pussy, and inserted two fingers into her entrance while my thumb rubbed her clit. I knew what she loved. Still banging her from behind, I watched in the mirror as she arched back to meet my thrusts, her face contorting with pure ecstasy, her chest rising and falling. Shrieks escaped her lush lips and her eyes squeezed close.

“Eyes, angel.” I wanted her to watch herself come with me. At my command, she blinked them open and met my smoldering gaze in the mirror.

“Oh God,” she whimpered as I pumped in and out of her, bringing both of us to the edge. Her clit was throbbing, ready to explode. And I knew I was hitting her G-for-Gloria spot again and again.

The desperate sound of her. The impassioned sight of her. It was so fucking erotic.

“Fall apart for me, angel,” I whispered in her ear, my blood rushing to my pulsing cock, my own orgasm coiling between my thighs. I could almost hear her fiery clit crying out for relief.

“Now, baby.” On the next deep thrust, she roared my name and shattered around me. As she lost control, so did I, my powerful eruption meeting hers head-on.

I hissed. Jesus. The power of a kiss.

Gloria

M
y clit still buzzing, I let out a loud sigh of relief upon showing up at Smashbox. Damage control was in effect, with the last of the water being mopped up by a crew of attendants. The show would go on.

While this stark, loft-like space had a whole different vibe than New York’s venerable Lexington Avenue Armory where we’d always held our annual shows, the pre-show atmosphere was just as frenetic. Once again insanity. Utter insanity. Production personnel were, as usual, running around like banshees, talking into headsets and cell phones, and scribbling notes on clipboards and in notebooks. And models in bathrobes and curlers were roaming around, most talking on their phones, a few smoking cigarettes, anxiously awaiting their call time. My eyes darted left and right in search of Kevin; he was nowhere to be found, and I guessed he might be backstage sorting out details. Workmen were still installing lighting and set pieces and working at a furious pace.

I was especially excited about our theme this year. It was something close to my heart. Motherhood. Maternal angels. We were featuring a group of Gloria’s Secret supermodels, who all had young children; their babies and toddlers would be joining them on stage in the finale. What’s more, a group of very pregnant supermodels would be flaunting their full bodies, clad in our brand new line of provocative maternity wear. Who said pregnancy couldn’t be sexy?

Amidst the hustle and bustle, I spotted my new redheaded assistant, Claudia. She had previously been our corporate headquarters’ receptionist, but once my former iniquitous assistant Vivien was gone, she’d begged me for the opportunity to work with me. A graduate of my Girls Like Us mentoring program that gave leadership opportunities to abused and impoverished young women, twenty-two-year-old Claudia couldn’t have been a better choice. Aiming for a career in fashion and design, she worked long hours, tended to my every need, and sometimes even read my mind.

“Are you looking for Kevin?” she asked, scurrying up to me. See what I mean?

I nodded. “Have you seen him?”

“Yeah. He’s in the Green Room holding court with Beyoncé. I got to meet her!” Claudia added giddily, her face lighting up.

I was sure Ms. Beyoncé was quite the princess; I had yet to meet her. Royalty or not, she was headlining our halftime show, singing her new song, with her two-year-old daughter, Blue Ivy, in her arms. An ode to motherhood. Someone who cherished motherhood and family, she had readily, to Kevin’s shock and my own, accepted our invitation. And she couldn’t have been more accommodating when it came time to fitting her for the ritual diamond-studded undergarments we planned to auction off later tonight at our star-studded after-party at the Los Angeles hot spot, Greystone Manor. The proceeds, as usual, were going to my charity, Girls Like Us. At last year’s after-party at Touch in New York, Jaime had bid fiercely against our former Chairman of the Board, Victor Holden, and won Rihanna’s diamond-studded leather brassiere and thong…for his personal enjoyment. And mine. That erotic dinner at The Walden flashed again into my head and brought a smile to my face that I couldn’t suppress. I told Jaime that he’d better not buy me Beyoncé’s diamond-studded garments…or I’d divorce him. He promised he wouldn’t—Boy Scout’s honor—but I knew he’d never been a Boy Scout. And I knew I’d never, no never, divorce this man, no matter what he did.

Wearing my standard, no-nonsense uniform of black leggings (okay, our new prototype tummy-pleasing maternity ones), ballet flats, and Jaime’s crisp oversized white shirt that minimized my substantial baby bump, I ambled over to the Green Room. My pulse sped up with every step. Confession: As powerful a woman as I was, I was actually intimidated to meet the reigning queen of pop. I totally loved her music and felt like an infatuated fan girl meeting her idol backstage.

As soon as Kevin saw me walk into the Green Room, he sprinted up to me. True to fashion, Mr. Outrageous was clad in designer shorts, red high tops, and a vintage varsity sweater. His magenta-streaked ebony hair was fashionably spiked, and he was sporting a new accessory—horn-rimmed eyeglasses—though I don’t think he really needed them. Everything Kevin wore was for show, except the diamond stud in his left ear. A birthday present from me.

After hugging me, he breathed, “Come, Glorious. I want to introduce you to Beyoncé.”

My gaze shifted to the pillow-filled couch where she was seated, very lady-like with one long shapely leg crossed over the other. She was dressed casually in tight jeans, a low-cut tank top, and mile-high stilettos. Catching sight of me, she stood up as I headed over to her to shake her hand.

Up close and in person, she was even more stunning than imaginable. Her highlighted caramel hair hung in loose waves over her shoulders and her lightly made-up face with its flawless honey-brown complexion glowed with warmth and confidence. She broke into a wide smile that revealed her perfect set of pearly white teeth. Although we were probably the same height, she towered over me in her strappy six-inch heels.

“It is such an honor to meet you,” she began before I could get my mouth to move. “I’ve read so much about you and so admire your success story and the way you’ve given back to underprivileged girls through your Girls Like Us mentoring program. I’m a big supporter. Thank you for asking me to perform at your show this year. It’s a privilege and honor.” She clasped my hands in hers.

My mouth was paralyzed; I couldn’t get my brain to communicate with my voice box. I was at once humbled and honored. I should be the one thanking her, not the other way around. After several long seconds, I finally managed a small thank you.

She smiled again, her wide-set, almond-shaped eyes twinkling at the sight of my extended belly. My babies. “When are you due?”

“Next month.”

“Boy or girl?”

“Twins.” I beamed. “One of each.”

“I’m their godfather,” Kevin chimed in.

Beyoncé gave me a huge, unexpected hug. “Congratulations, girl! That’s wonderful. I can’t wait to have another.”

It was no secret in the media that Beyoncé loved being a mother to Blue Ivy, the daughter she’d borne with her rapper husband, Jay-Z. From what I’d read, she was a caring, hands-on one too. And she took her everywhere she traveled. Despite her stardom, she seemed as down-to-earth as they come.

“Either before you give birth or right afterward, you and your husband must come over to our house and spend some time with us. My Jay-Z would love to meet your Jay-Z. He’s been working on a big project he wants to talk to him about.”

Jaime’s advertising agency, ZAP!, which stood for
Z
ander
a
nd
P
eople, had quickly risen to being one of the most prominent and sought-after agencies in Southern California. Actually, make that the world. I couldn’t wait to tell him about our invitation. Like me, he was a big fan of both superstars.

I smiled back at her brightly. “We’d love to.” And after that, I excused myself to attend to a million details. With a hug, I wished Beyoncé luck with the performance and waltzed out of the Green Room on a star-struck high. There was no doubt in my mind. This show was going to rock!

*