“Cum for me, baby,” I said, digging my fingers into her hips and arching my back to fuck her deeper and harder, as if I could push the memory of Zoe out of my body by shooting a hot load inside Bree. But it seemed the harder I fucked Bree, the more I thought about Zoe. It was a never-ending battle between my heart and my mind and my cock. It was a painful battle.
It was a pain that I wanted to heal, but wanted to keep as a reminder of a time in my life when everything felt simply perfect.
It was a time I never wanted to forget, couldn’t if I tried.
Maybe I was afraid that someday I’d wake up and no longer think of Zoe. I didn’t want that day to ever come. Even though she had moved on and was living her life without so much as a thought of me, I was not ready to let go of what we had, even after all these years.
The pain was all I had left of Zoe.
I would never let it go.
Never.
I’d never tell a soul because it was a very unmacho thing to say, but I missed Zoe every fucking day and every fucking night, even after all these years. Zoe Maxwell was mine for just a short time and I let her slip away. Fuck, who am I kidding… I pushed her way. She left because I was a controlling asshole with too much pride to swallow. If I had it to do over again, I would have dropped to my knees and begged her to say.
Right then, at that moment, with Bree moaning and groaning on top of me, I would have given anything to go back to that time with Zoe.
Even if it was just for an hour, just to feel the old feelings again. Maybe I just needed to say goodbye to her once and for all; have one last conversation that would help me close the Zoe chapter of my life.
Maybe then my heart wouldn’t feel so numb.
Maybe that was exactly what I needed to forget Zoe Maxwell once and for all.
I curled my toes and filled Bree with the hot load that erupted from my cock and balls with the force of a firehose. I closed my eyes tight and tried not to scream Zoe’s name.
* * *
I rolled Bree off my cock and rolled myself off the bed, going into the bathroom without saying a word. I took a good long piss, then washed off my cock with a warm rag at the sink, then went back to the bedroom door and tossed the towel at Bree.
“What the fuck Chad!” Bree said with a disgusted look on her face. She plucked the rag out of the air and shoved it to her cooch to stop the flow of my cum and her juices. “Where the fuck are you going?”
“I have something I forgot to do,” I said, jabbing a thumb over my shoulder toward the shower behind me. “Gotta grab a quick shower and run. Let yourself out. I’ll call you later.”
“Seriously?” Her mouth hung open and her eyes went wide. Her big tits bounced on her chest. “You just remembered right now in the middle of having sex with me that you had something you forgot to do?”
“I know, my brain turns to mush when you’re around, baby. Okay. Later.” I closed and locked the bathroom door, ignoring her protests that she needed to pee and shower, too.
After a minute, I heard her yell, “FUCK YOU!” and then the bedroom door slammed and then, thankfully, silence.
I hated to be rude, seriously, but I knew that if I didn’t give Bree the bum’s rush she would have hung around all day long. Bree was a great fuck, but she’d never win a contest at being a conversationalist. She was too young for me. I could never see myself getting serious with her even though she was drop dead gorgeous.
Tall, brunette, the aforementioned big tits, and an ass that would make the Kardashians jealous. But that’s where it ended. I’d known Bree for a few months now, and had yet to hold a serious conversation with her about anything. Just having a casual conversation was like trying to explain quantum physics to a first grader.
I was reaching for the shower faucet when I heard my cellphone ringing in the bedroom. I cracked open the door just to make sure Bree was gone, then found my phone on the nightstand and sat on the edge of the bed to answer it.
“Go for Chad,” I said.
“Hey, Chad. It’s Martin. How’s it hanging, buddy?”
“A little low and to the right at the moment,” I said, glancing down at my flaccid cock with a smile. “How’s it hanging for you?”
Martin Friese was my business manager and publicist. I had hired him five years ago when my fitness company, Body By Chad , first started to take off. I had worked forever to build my brand as a personal trainer and fitness coach and now, after years of busting my hump twenty-hours a day, seven days a week, the business was taking off with celebrity clients swarming around like hungry bees in a field of wild flowers.
Martin was responsible for much of that success. Body by Chad wouldn’t be where it was today if it wasn’t for his expert public relations skills and celebrity connections—connections that landed me in front of the most prestigious clients thanks to the likes of TMZ , People Magazine , and Radar Online . I was constantly amazed what one photo standing behind Katy Perry at Starbuck’s will do for your brand, even though Katy didn’t know me from Adam back then. I even landed a contract to train the blonde bombshells at the Playboy Mansion. And things didn’t stop there.
As the opportunities and income grew, I knew my brand had to grow with it. Martin told me time and time again, “It’s all smoke and mirrors… You are only as successful as the public deems you to be… Live large… Always be seen… Do whatever it takes to stay in the public’s eye… There is no such thing as bad PR… Fake it till you make it, brother… Fucking fake it till you make it.”
As soon as I could swing it financially (thanks to good credit and Martin’s co-signature), I bought a Brentwood Estate just outside of Hollywood. $6.5 million bucks, baby… A luxury mansion in a gated community, with 10 bedrooms and more bathrooms than one person could ever use. Six-car garage, tennis court, Olympic size pool, theater room, gourmet kitchen, master bedroom larger than my first apartment, and a toilet that shoots water up your ass.