I Remember You (An Erotic Romance) - Isis Cole Read Online Free PDF Page A

cocks.   
      “Come here, girl,” Andre said, and she turned her face to him.  A powerful spray of cum burst from his cock, and splattered her breasts, her neck, her chin.  It was hot.  She was glazed with it.  Then she turned to Clyde.  He was ready and did the same.  
      She lay there, half asleep, her body and her face painted in their spume.  She had never done this with Michael.  He had never even mentioned it as a possibility.  Innocent Michael.  
      These two animals insisted on it.  They would cum on her practically every time.  Then they would laugh.   
      “Got you good that time, girl.”  
      Rachel didn’t know if she liked that part.  But she didn’t seem to have a choice.  Clyde and Andre did what they wanted.  They had somehow taken ownership of her.  She wasn’t even sure how it had happened, and she felt bad about it sometimes, like they were using her.  But she had to admit that when she was home alone, she would often lay in her bed and masturbate.  And the thing that turned her on the most was the image in her mind’s eye of these two massive black cocks cumming on her.   
      After she left Paris, she never saw them again.  When she returned to the United States, she moved around a lot the first few years.  Once in a while, a letter would turn up from Andre, forwarded by the post office from an old address.  She opened the first one.  He had financial trouble - could he borrow some money?  She threw the letter out, and after that, never opened another one.  Eventually, they stopped coming.   
      Years later, it occurred to her that she had used Andre and Clyde as much as they had used her.  
       

  Five          
         
      “This could be a good thing for you, Michael,” the voice on the speaker phone said.  “It’ll get you back into the mix a little bit.  You’ve been gone a long time.”  
      Michael stood in the living room of his house outside Portland, Maine, gazing through the huge bay window at the raging ocean, his bare feet on a plush white rug, a can of club soda in his hand.  It was a dark, overcast October day, two months after his lunch with Rachel.  A storm at sea was sending monster waves crashing against Michael’s private beach.  He loved to watch the sheer power of it, the waves exploding against the rocks.      
      The voice on the phone belonged to Sid Diamond, Michael’s manager.  Sid was a born salesman, always selling, selling, selling.  He never stopped, even when he was talking to Michael.  If Sid had a product, he wasn’t going to stop until you bought it.  If he had an idea, he wasn’t going to stop until he convinced you it was the right idea, the perfect idea.  
      “Don’t sell me,” Michael sometimes wanted to say.  “You got me already.  I’m your client.  Sell the record companies.  Sell the producers.”  
      All the same, Sid was one of the good guys, an honest man in a nasty, dirty business, and he had helped make Michael rich.        
      “Sid…”  
      “People are going to want you again,” Sid said.  “It’s just that they need to know you’re working before anybody does anything.  It’s the chicken and the egg.  If Michael’s not working, then we don’t want him.  If he is working, we’ll pay top dollar to get him.  Do this one gig and I promise you, Michael, people are going to say you’re back.”  
      A movie producer wanted Michael to write the score to a new movie, some kind of cowboy love story.  It sounded cheesy as hell.  The money was good, but Michael didn’t need money.  He could live out the rest of his days and never work again.  His songs made him money all day long.  While he slept at night, he was making money.       
      But he did need to work.  For himself, for his peace of mind, what he needed more than anything was to work.  It wasn’t that easy to break in again after you were away a few years.