Unforgettable: The Complete Series (A Sexy Cinderella Standalone Love Story)

by Nelle L'Amour

  I glance down at my watch, my other piece of jewelry. It’s a dressy thin-band one that also belonged to Mama. A gift from Papa. It’s seven forty-five. Jeffrey should be here any minute to pick me up. He’s arranged for a group of us to go out to a very expensive, chic restaurant—Fig & Olive. Because of my concussion, he didn’t want me to drive. I told him I would do Lip Service, the latest Uber-like car service, but he was insistent on coming over.

  My cell phone rings. Sure enough, it’s Jeffrey.

  “I’m here.”

  “Great. I’ll open the gate.” I quickly grab my treasured black clutch and head to the front door. Goddamn fucking shoes. I can barely walk in them—or the body hugging dress. Beauty is not just pain; it’s a fucking pain in the ass. Before I leave, I hit a button on a pad by the door to open the electronic gate so Jeffrey can pull in.

  The trek through Brandon’s backyard is no picnic either. These insane heels are so hard to walk in; I’m not used to wearing them. My ankles keep buckling. It’s a shame my klutzy walk doesn’t match my sexy attire. I almost trip three times. Once so close to the pool, I almost fall in. Thank God, I know how to swim now.

  My walk of death to the driveway feels like an eternity. When I finally get there, Jeffrey’s silver Mercedes convertible is parked outside. The top is down. My breath catches. He’s standing next to it…and so is Brandon. Oh, Jeez. I wasn’t expecting this.

  Managing to stroll up to them as gracefully as I can, I immediately throw my arms around Jeffrey and give him a kiss. Wearing a stylish slim suit and his hair slicked back, he looks movie-star handsome. He and Eddy Redmayne could have been separated at birth.

  “Hi, babykins,” I say, breaking away. It’s time to put those acting skills back into play. I mentally pray: Please, Jeffrey, play along. Just to be sure, I clasp his hand and dig a heel into his foot.

  “Ow.”

  I quickly turn to a puzzled Brandon and plaster a big smile on my face. “Brandon, you remember my boyfriend, Jeffrey.” I put special emphasis on the word “boyfriend.”

  Brandon’s face is pinched. Narrowing his eyes, he gives Jeffrey the once over. “Yeah, sure.”

  “Good to see you, again.” Jeffrey extends his hand.

  With reluctance, Brandon shakes it, and I silently sigh with relief. Jeffrey’s gotten the hint. I turn to Brandon and melt at the sight of him. He looks hot as shit—barefoot in a relaxed V-neck T-shirt that shows off his biceps and low-slung gray sweats that subtly enunciate his breathtaking endowment.

  “What are you doing out here?” I don’t know why I’m making conversation with him. The sooner I get out of here the better. I’m heating up.

  “I heard the gate open and then saw a car drive in on my surveillance monitor. I wasn’t expecting company so I stepped outside. Why didn’t you tell me your boyfriend was coming by?”

  An angry tone accompanies his question.

  “I told you I had a date.” Asshole.

  His eyes rake over my body. I swear he’s mentally undressing me.

  “You’re very dressed up.”

  You could say I look nice!

  “Are you going somewhere special?”

  Jeffrey chimes in before I can respond. “Yes, Fig & Olive.”

  Shit. I wish Jeffrey hadn’t told him where we’re going. Too late now.

  Brandon knits his brows. “Hmm. That’s a very expensive restaurant.”

  He can afford it, jerk! Remember, I told you he was rich.

  Smiling his own dazzling smile, Jeffrey replies. “It’s a special occasion.”

  A mixture of curiosity and suspicion sweeps over Brandon. “What are you celebrating?” The tone of his voice is confrontational, as if he has the right to know everything about my personal life.

  Jeffrey’s smile turns mischievous. “It’s a surprise.”

  “Oh.” Brandon’s voice is small, almost deflated.

  I turn to Jeffrey and brush his clean-shaven jaw. “Sweetie, we should get going. We don’t want to lose our reservation.”

  “Agree.” After saying goodnight to a vexed Brandon, he opens the passenger door and I slide into the convertible. I catch Brandon’s eyes on my very exposed thighs before Jeffrey closes the door and hops behind the wheel.

  On my next breath, Jeffrey turns the car around and motors toward the gate. Via the side mirror, I can see Brandon heading back into his house. An unexpected forlornness washes over me. I should be excited about going out for a fun evening with Jeffrey. But the truth is I’d rather be home, curled up on a couch, watching Kurt Kussler episodes with the man of my dreams.

  Fig & Olive on nearby La Cienega is a chic, super-popular restaurant, especially with the Hollywood elite. I’ve made numerous dinner reservations at it for Brandon. This, however, is my first time here. I’m awed by the number of expensive cars pulling up to the valet. A parade of Bentleys, Ferraris, Porches and more. Jeffrey’s Mercedes fits right in.

  Inside, the restaurant is pure Hollywood glamour. Sleekly modernist, it’s packed with the most beautiful people I’ve ever seen. They exude power, money, and sex. I even see several stars among them. It makes sense this is a restaurant Brandon and Katrina frequent. The power couple known as Bratrina belongs here.

  The stylish blond hostess, who could be a starlet or supermodel herself, leads us through the bustling restaurant. Following her, I feel self-conscious. I’m definitely the biggest woman here. Jeffrey, on the other hand, is totally comfortable, and along the way, several patrons warmly say hello to him. He’s definitely now on the A-list, being the number one event planner in LA.

  We end up at a round table in the back corner of the restaurant. Enjoying drinks and engaged in lively conversation is Jeffrey’s boyfriend Chaz and a small group of their close friends. I immediately recognize Blake Burns from the Internet and Chaz’s twin sister, Libby, whom I’ve met a few times before. She’s curvy like me except she seems so much more comfortable in her skin.

  “Hi, everyone,” beams Jeffrey. He then introduces to me to Blake and his charming wife Jennifer, who he affectionately calls tiger. Jeffrey and I take the two vacant seats. Chaz is to Jeffrey’s right; I’m to his left. I notice they’re each wearing identical diamond earrings. They look a lot like my cubic zirconias, but I bet they’re real. Both Chaz and Jeffrey make a boatload of money. Their businesses have been very successful.

  A dashing waiter brings by a bottle of expensive Dom Pérignon. Popping the cork, he fills everyone’s flutes until there’s no more champagne to pour.

  The waiter disappears and Jeffrey raises his glass. “We’ve brought all you lovelies together to share some very exciting news…Chaz and I are getting married.”

  Raucous whoo-hoos erupt before we toast them. My heart fills with joy. I’m so happy for both of them, especially my brother. I never thought he’d find the right one. But according to both of them, it was love at first sight when they met at Jeffrey’s former employer—Enid Moore, of all people. Katrina’s mother.

  I take a sip of my bubbly and before it goes down, my stomach lurches. I practically choke it all up. All eyes are on him as he marches my way, taking one long angry step after another. He’s still dressed in his sexy sweats and barefoot. He could wear a garbage bag and he’d still be ungodly gorgeous. Every muscle in my body quivers, and my heart hammers like a jackrabbit’s. Still coughing, I set the glass down before it tumbles out of my hand. Our eyes make contact and I can feel him shooting poison darts at me. Bull’s-eye. One after another, they hit me hard in my chest.

  “Zoester, are you okay?” asks a concerned Jeffrey.

  “I don’t know,” I mumble after a fit of coughing. An explosive mixture of shock, rage, and apprehension courses through me like a Molotov cocktail. The asshole fucking followed me here!

  “Well, hello, Zoey,” he says frostily as he steps up to our table.

  Before I say a word (as if I can even get one past the giant lump in my throat), Blake Burns jumps up and gives Brandon a man hug. “Hey, man
, great to see you here.”

  After another guzzle of her almost all-consumed champagne, chirpy Libby chimes in. “Hi, Brandon. Why don’t you join us? We’re having a celebration.”

  “What are you celebrating?” His voice is as cold as dry ice. His menacing eyes don’t stray from me.

  “My brother Chaz’s engagement.”

  Chaz gives a little wave.

  Oh, no! I’m about to be busted. Quick, Zoey! Change the subject.

  “Don’t you think the weather is—”

  Loose-lips Libby cuts me off and rattles on. “He and his boyfriend Jeffrey are getting married!”

  “That Jeffrey?” Brandon’s bugged-out eyes flick to my brother and then shift back to me. They hold me fierce.

  Oh shit! Kill me now. I want to crawl under the table.

  Tipsy Libby grins. “Yes.”

  Oh dear God, what must he be thinking??!! I leap to my feet. I need to escape. “Brandon, why don’t I find a waiter to bring over a chair?”

  “No need. I won’t be staying and neither will you.” In a quick heartbeat, he grabs me forcibly by the elbow and wrenches me away.

  “Wait! I have to go to the ladies’ room!” And stay there for the rest of my life.

  “Excuse us,” he says calmly to my dinner mates, ignoring my excuse. “I have a crisis and need to borrow my assistant.”

  “What the fuck are you doing?” I yell, no longer in earshot of my friends.

  “Your fucking boyfriend?” he barks back at me. Squeezing my upper arm, he herds me through the restaurant at breakneck speed. Every eye is on us. Every step is a stumble.

  “Slow down! You’re going to break my ankle!”

  “Then I’ll carry you out of here.”

  He squeezes my arm tighter and picks up his pace. If he weren’t holding on to me so hard, I’d be on my ass.

  “You’re hurting me!” I protest at the top of my lungs.

  “Oh, you’re such an expert on hurting people,” he growls.

  We’re outside before I can respond. His fancy Lamborghini is parked in front of the restaurant. He probably tipped the valet extra to leave it there.

  With two clicks of a remote control that he’s holding in his other hand, the Lambo doors fly open like beetle wings.

  “Get. In. The. Car.” He shoves me inside it and then hops into the driver’s seat. He slams a button on the dashboard. The vertical doors fold down and automatically lock. I’m trapped.

  “Jesus, Brandon!” I fumble for my seatbelt. Before I can fasten it, he grips my hands so tightly I yelp.

  “Let go of me!”

  “Turn around and face me, Zoey.”

  “No!”

  “Do it, Zoey, or I’ll do it for you.”

  Slowly, I turn to face him. His violet eyes are still blazing with fury.

  “Who the hell is that guy?”

  “M-my brother.”

  “Pete’s kid?”

  I nod. While I mentioned Pops and Auntie Jo had a son when I told him about my family, I deliberately never revealed his name.

  “Why did you lie to me?” He fires the words at me.

  “I-I don’t know.” My voice wavers.

  “To make me jealous?”

  My silence is his answer. Shaking, I’m so close to bursting out in tears I can taste them.

  His gaze burns a hole in me like acid. And then his face softens just a little. “You know what, Zoey? You’re smart. You’re funny. You’re cute. You should have a boyfriend.”

  Me? Smart? Funny? Cute? My body clutters with flutters.

  “Um, uh,” I stutter until he shuts me up without warning.

  His luscious mouth crashes onto mine like a meteor. My body is sparking; my heart’s on fire. Swirling colors explode behind my eyes. The kiss is open-mouth, savage, and all-consuming. He cradles my face in his palms, heating my cheeks and deepening the raw, hot kiss with his deft tongue. Anchored in place, I melt into it, losing myself to him with each potent stroke. Moans fill my ears as I tear at his T-shirt, and he gnaws at my lips. Arrows of arousal shoot to my sex. I can barely breathe. There’s no other word for it. Possession. He’s taken complete and utter possession of not only my mouth but also of every cell in my submissive body. And then as fast and unexpectedly as he initiated the fierce kiss, he breaks it, leaving me bereft and confounded.

  “Why did you do that?” I pant out, my heart pounding, my pussy pulsing with need.

  “To show you what you’re missing out on.”

  “Oh.” As I squeak out the little word, my eyes lower and then grow as round as marbles. Holy shit! He’s got a beast of a boner. It may even burst through the fabric of his sweats.

  He tilts my chin up with his thumb, pressing hard against my tender skin. His eyes burn into mine, glinting with mad lust. “I’m not done with you.”

  My just-kissed lips quiver. My body shakes. My throbbing clit aches. Oh my God! Is he going to fuck my brains out? Right here in the car?

  “Zoey, you need to be punished.” His voice deepens and a Satanic look sweeps over his face. “And I’m going to be the one to do it.”

  He jams a key into the ignition, and on my next heated breath, we peel away from the curb with a roar.

  A short ten minutes later, we’re almost back at his house. A tense silence prevails as he zooms up the narrow winding streets, expertly navigating them. Entering the gate, we pass the patrol car on duty. Brandon zips into the garage and parks next to the Jag. Apprehension and anticipation are still whipping through my veins as he clicks open the Lambo’s switchblade doors and undoes our seatbelts. Rounding the vehicle, he grips my upper arm and drags me into his house. It’s pitch black, lit only by the glitter of the city below. The dark silence is mesmerizing, almost haunting.

  Letting go of me, he sinks into his sofa. His gorgeous face is shrouded in shadows. His violet eyes glow. I stand there motionless like a statue, too scared to move a muscle or say a word.

  “Zoey, have you ever been spanked?” His voice is pitched low, almost melodic.

  “No,” I mumble. Mama and Papa didn’t believe in that kind of corporal punishment. Nor did Pops or Auntie Jo.

  “For taunting me, you need to suffer the consequences. A good spanking is what you need.”

  My heart is in my throat. I gulp it down. A curious blend of tingly erotic sensations swarms me. Fear gives way to desire. I want him to spank me. Badly.

  “Are you okay with that?” he queries.

  I silently nod like an automaton. I more than want him to spank me. And I want him to give it to me hard. My throbbing clit is begging for it.

  A wicked smile curls his lips. “Good. Then, please come here and get over my knees.”

  As if induced into a trance, I do as asked. His hard muscular thighs press against my abdomen and I can feel his gigantic rock-hard erection against my pulsing sex. My arms are folded on a cushion, my head buried between them.

  “Perfect,” he growls as he shoves my tight dress up above my ass, leaving my thong, a mere piece of butt floss, intact. I can feel his eyes on my bottom.

  “You have a gorgeous ass, Zoey. It’s a shame you don’t have a real boyfriend to appreciate it.”

  I’m too entranced to say a word.

  “This is going to hurt. I want you to choose a safe word and use it if it becomes too much for you.”

  Shit. I can’t get my mind to work. Or my mouth to move. Think, Zoey, Think.

  “Well, Zoey…”

  “Please,” I murmur. Mama’s magic word.

  “Any word but that.”

  “Mama,” I say without overthinking it.

  “Excellent. Now, tell me, Zoey, you’ll never lie to me again.”

  Before I can I get my mouth to move, a firm hand crashes down on my right cheek. I feel the sting as the sharp sound echoes in my ears. A moan escapes my mouth.

  He hits me again, this time harder. “Zoey…”

  “I’ll never lie to you again.”

  Slap! “Zoey, sh
ow a little respect. Say: ‘Sir, I’ll never lie to you again.’”

  My voice a tremor, I do what he asks.

  “Now, apologize for lying to me.”

  Slap! I wince. “I’m sorry.”

  “Not good enough.” Another swat of his hand. “You’re missing a word.”

  “I’m sorry, sir.”

  “Apology accepted. But you need something more as a reminder to NEVER lie to me again.”

  Without warning, his large hand crashes down on me again. I scream out. And then again. And again and again. Tears sting my eyes and I whimper. He picks ups his pace and spanks me yet harder, faster. Always in the same spot. Over and over. My ass is on fire. My whimpers morph into sobs. Loud, soulful wails like the cries of an animal in heat. Scorching tears sear my face and forearms. My sobbing intensifies, washing out the harsh crackle of his hand upon contact with my raw burning flesh, deafening me, arousing me, setting every ounce of me ablaze.

  “Zoey, no more playing games. No more testing me. Do you understand?”

  I nod like a bobblehead doll, unable to get a single word out.

  “Zoey, I need words.”

  “I understand, sir.” I manage, my voice a mere croak.

  And then suddenly, I feel his powerful knees press hard against me. They bounce me into a standing position, but as I rise, my knees buckle beneath my legs. Clasping my waist, he catches me before I collapse onto the floor. Heaving, I let him hold my limp body in his arms.

  “Shh, baby.” Still holding me firmly in one arm, he lifts his other hand and smooths my hair. “Why didn’t you use your safe word?”

  “I’m sorry,” I sob out from my quivering lips. Hot tears continue to stream from my eyes.

  “No, I’m sorry.” His voice is soft and compassionate. “Did I hurt you?”

  “A little,” I lie. Yes, it hurt like hell, but I loved every erotically charged minute. My safe word was nowhere near the tip of my tongue.

  “Come here.” Wordlessly, he draws me in closer until my breasts graze his chest. My sensitized nipples pucker beneath my dress, sending another rush of wetness to my sex. His rock-hard cock presses against me as he caresses my sore butt. His tender touch is so soothing. The pain mixes with pleasure. Still in stilettos, I rest my head against his pecs. My eyes clamp shut as his heartbeat drums in my ear like a sweet lullaby. My crying subsides.