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

by Nelle L'Amour

  I don’t know how long we stay in this position until his sultry voice awakens me from my state of nirvana. I gaze up at him. His eyes are hooded and a faint smile plays on his lips. With one hand, he brushes away my remaining tears. Thank God, I wore waterproof mascara. One hot wet mess is enough.

  “C’mon, let’s get you back to your party. And let’s forget this ever happened.”

  I nod, knowing I will never forget this moment. This experience. Committing it to memory, I catch my breath.

  Five minutes later, we’re back in his sports car. This time he drives down the twisting, hilly roads slowly, meandering as if he never wants our journey to end. And truthfully, neither do I. “All of Me” plays on the radio. The lyrics fill my head and my heart.

  The painful truth hits me like a rockslide. I turn my head toward him, glimpsing his intensely beautiful profile. A runaway tear trickles down my face. Yes, all of me loves all of him.

  “Go,” he says stoically as he drops me off.

  The elegant dining room of Fig & Olive is still filled and bustling. Adjusting my dress, I stumble back to my table. Jeffrey and his friends are in the middle of eating dinner. Everything looks and smells delicious, but I’m not hungry.

  “Zoester, where’d you go?” asks Jeffrey as I take my seat.

  I fumble for an excuse. “Um, uh, I had to help Brandon with some lines. He had a panic attack.” I blink several times, holding back confused tears. My intuitive brother’s gaze stays on me, and from the look on his face, I can tell he’s concerned. He knows how I feel about Brandon.

  Chaz, who has no clue, looks at me shrewdly. “C’mon, Zoeykins. You really want us to believe that? You have that just-fucked look going on!”

  “Honey, leave her alone,” says Jeffrey to no avail.

  Mortification races through me. My face is flushing. I hastily take a gulp of my still there bubbly. Chaz’s comment elicits a heated reaction from the clearly buzzed group.

  I defend myself. “No way would I sleep with my boss.”

  “That didn’t stop, my tiger,” chimes in Blake before giving his wife an affectionate peck on the cheek.

  “Blake!” shrieks a reddening Jennifer. “Say no more. And that goes for the rest of you too.”

  Chaz snorts with laughter. “Okay, I won’t tell anyone about how you two fucked in Blake’s fuck pad at the Conquest Broadcasting Christmas party.”

  It’s Blake’s turn to look embarrassed while the others roar with laughter.

  “C’mon, Zoey, tell us the truth,” begs a loaded Libby, the ultimate market researcher who’s always asking questions and seeking answers.

  I take another sip of champagne. “It is the truth.” Kind of? Unless zipless fucks count. “And besides, Brandon’s engaged to Katrina Moore.” The taste of her name on my tongue nauseates me.

  “Bratrina!” sneers Chaz.

  In unison, the others mimic him. My brother, however, clasps my free hand under table, giving it a knowing, affectionate squeeze. As much as I love and can confide in him, I’ll never tell him what transpired tonight between Brandon and me.

  Libby cuts into her steak. “Poor Brandon.”

  Poor me. I’m drowning in self-pity.

  Chapter 12

  Brandon

  “Drop to your hands and knees!”

  “But, sir!”

  “Private Hart, you are not to question my orders. Now do it!”

  Clad in a camouflage pattern lace bra that pushes up her voluptuous breasts and a matching G-string, she obediently gets down on all fours, shoving her sweet ass up in the air. Her face is flush from just giving herself an epic orgasm. Her gorgeous, curvaceous body trembles at the perilous possibilities ahead.

  Admiring her sensuous beauty, I loom over her. I’m in a drill sergeant’s uniform, wearing polished, knee-high leather boots and wielding a whip in my hand. Sergeant Taylor, my newest role. I crack the whip against the floor narrowly missing her. The sharp thwack is like music to my ears.

  “At-ten-tion!” She arches her back and looks up at me, her lips quivering with fear and anticipation. The hungry look on her face for the pain I’m about to inflict brings my dick to attention. The power between my legs infiltrates my entire body.

  “Private Hart, you disobeyed me. What happens to naughty little soldiers who don’t listen to their commanders?”

  “They get punished…sir.”

  I crack a wicked smile, pleased she’s addressed me properly. “That’s right. You must pay the price of coming before I said you could. Did you forget I’m in charge and your orgasms are under my command?”

  “I’m sorry, sir.”

  I smack my lips and shake my head. “When will you ever learn? Do I have to send you back to Boot Camp for more basic training?”

  “Please, no!”

  “No, who?”

  “S-sir.”

  Gulping, she bows her head in submission and doesn’t see it coming. With an iron fist, I swipe the leather whip against her ripe ass. She winces and arches. I stand back and admire my handiwork. A pink streak welts along her exposed tender flesh.

  “Now give me fifty.”

  She looks up at me again with those imploring big brown eyes in search of forgiveness. Mercy’s not part of my vocabulary. I give her another sharp lash. Whoosh! Then another and another. She whimpers, then weeps. Tears fall at my feet, a few clustering like dew drops on my shiny boots. The rhythmic thwacks of the whip clash with her hitched, harsh sobs, creating an erotic symphonic cacophony. I can feel the heat rise from her burning cheeks. A canvas of intersecting bas-relief lines in fifty shades of pink has turned her ass into a priceless masterpiece. My cock is raging. It may burst through my khakis. I have to have her, but I exert control.

  “Now, move it!”

  Wordlessly, she begins to do push-ups. Those pathetic, wimpy, girly kind. But I love the way her big tits graze the ground and the way her scrumptious ass moves up and down with each successive pump. I badly want to fuck it…good and hard.

  “Let me hear you count, soldier. Start from one.”

  “One…two…three…” By twenty, she’s breathless and trembling with fatigue. Sweat clustered on her chest, she gazes up at me with urgency.

  “Private Hart requests permission to stop.”

  “What’s the magic word?”

  “Please, sir, please!”

  Fuck. I love when she begs. “At ease. Get up on your knees.”

  With a breath of relief, she kneels before me. Her flushed chest rises and falls, her plump tits stirring with lust. Oh, what a beautiful sight! I dangle my whip and dust the tip across each nipple, one after the other. She moans. As they harden into two mini torpedoes that want to shoot through the lace fabric of her bra, my cock strains.

  On my next breath, I yank down my fly. My big gun springs free. A weapon of mass destruction, it’s level with her impassioned face. I splay my big hand on the top of her head and urge her to take it. I hiss as her warm mouth wraps around the crown.

  “Take it all,” I bark.

  Obediently, my good little soldier goes down on it, trailing her tongue along the thick rigid shaft. Oh, yeah. I’ve trained her well. I clench my fists by my sides and groan each time it hits the back of her throat. I could easily detonate at the base and coat it with a full load, but I’ve got other plans. My cock’s wet and ready. I withdraw and circle behind her before getting down on my knees. My big, glistening erection brushes against the two adorable dimples centered above her red-checkered cheeks. Pursing my lips, I bend over and blow a cool breath on her raw, rosy flesh.

  “Does that feel good, Private?” I breathe against her fiery backside.

  “Oh yes, sir!” she gasps.

  “What about this?” One hand slides between her splayed thighs and makes its way to her pussy. Fuck. She’s so hot and wet. I’ve aroused her as much as she’s aroused me. Pressing my thumb on her throbbing clit, I plunge two fingers into her slick slit, shoving them deep inside until my fingertips
touch the warm flesh of her womb. She lets out a soft moan.

  I slap her sore ass. “Answer me, soldier. How does it feel?”

  I jab a little harder. She gasps.

  “I need words.”

  “Oh, so, so good, sir!”

  A smirk curls on my lips. “That’s better.”

  I run circles around her clit with my thumb, turning it into a hard nub. More moans and groans escape her throat.

  “Oh, please, Sergeant Taylor, fuck me.”

  I yank back her head by her ponytail and meet her heated gaze. She yelps.

  “Careful. I give the orders.” I tug again at her mane. “Is that what you want? For me to fuck you hard?”

  “Yes, sir.” Her voice is a desperate rasp.

  It’s time to get down to business. I’m so fucking turned on. Releasing her silky hair and withdrawing my soaked hand from her slickness, I rub my hard as nails dick with her pussy juices, lubing it further. Using both hands, I spread her rosy cheeks wide and aim it at her opening. My hand wraps around my enormous pulsing shaft, and inch by thick inch, I barrel into her tight puckered hole. She winces. I hiss. So fucking good. Oh, yeah, she’s going to get it hard. So hard she’ll be begging me to stop. But I’m going to fuck her brains out. Fuck her to oblivion before she can cry out her safe word. Clutching her hips, I begin to pummel her…

  CUT! Fade to black.

  My alarm goes off. The end of another kinky wet dream. To be continued. My eyes snap open and I shakily sit up. The covers are torn off me. I have a raging boner. And I know why. I can’t get my assistant, Zoey Hart, out of my head. She’s literally and figuratively under my skin. I dreamt about her. Relived last night’s spanking in a crazy, cinematic fantasy. Jesus. Sergeant Fucking Taylor. Wielding a whip. Fucking her ass. How far will I take my sexual proclivities? My need for dominance? My need to possess her?

  Last night should have never happened. But it did. It was all about control, but I’m the one who lost it. Jealousy fueled my rage and rage fueled my dominance which fueled my need to punish her. Sure, I told her to forget about the spanking, but that’s not going to be easy. It’s going to be next to impossible. The same for me. I wish I could blank it out. Bury it in the vortex of my amnesia. I dread facing her and can’t fathom how we’ll continue to work together. Now what? Maybe we need to talk about it.

  Rolling out of bed stark naked, I stagger to the bathroom. Usually by the time I get to the toilet, my morning wood has started to go down. Not today. I stare at my monstrous boner and swear it’s laughing at me: “Ha, ha, ha, I’m not going anywhere.” No way can I pee in the toilet with it. My huge erection shoots out of me like a torpedo, perpendicular to the floor. Desperate for relief, I hop into the shower, turn on the water, and take a whizz, shooting my stream straight at a glass wall. Then, I jerk off, fantasizing her beautiful fingers curled around my dick. For sure, they’re long enough to circle all the way around it. With a loud grunt, I come.

  Towel-drying myself, I think more about last night. Part of it felt so wrong, yet everything felt so right. Why can’t I stop thinking about her? Hopefully, a swim will help me chill out. Clear my mind. And make it easier to face her.

  Zoey is setting my Starbucks on a table when I finish my last lap. All the tension I eliminated with my swim dives right back into me at the sight of her. Dressed in a tight T-shirt and jeans, she looks fresh and sexy. My cock stirs. She’s still affecting me, and I can’t make the feelings and sensations she arouses go away. It’s hopeless. Damn her. Hoisting myself out of the pool, I grab my towel and throw it over my shoulders. Heading her way, I have no clue what to say. And my arousal isn’t helping. It’s only making things worse.

  “Here’s your coffee.” Her voice is devoid of emotion, and she’s deliberately avoiding eye contact with me.

  “About last night—”

  She meets my gaze. “There’s nothing to talk about. What I did and what you did was wrong, but two wrongs don’t make a right. You were right, however, about one thing. I need a boyfriend.”

  I feel totally deflated. It’s as if she has no feelings toward me. Her tone is very businesslike, bordering on icy.

  “Zoey, I have feel—”

  She cuts me off again. “Please, Brandon, let’s not talk about it. Like you said, let’s forget about it and move on. Your schedule is on the table. You’re shooting the entire day. It may go into overtime.”

  I notice there’s no coffee for her. Usually, she sits with me and reviews my schedule, but obviously, she’s not going to do that today. Guess what? She is affected. She’s just not letting on. She’s a damn good actress. I feel a glimmer of hope.

  “Yo, Brand-man. How’s it going?”

  A familiar nasal voice interrupts my thoughts. An unexpected visit from my manager, Scott. Wearing a navy blazer over cream pants and an open shirt, he ambles our way. His leathery skin looks tanner than ever. For sure, he’s gone to one of those tanning salons.

  Zoey’s expression hardens at the sight of him. Her father’s been working day and night to uncover the connection between him and Donatelli, the motherfucker who murdered her mother and also did in my parents. But so far, no leads. Scott still denies ever having lunch with him. Plus he has an alibi: After having lunch with Katrina at The Ivy, he accompanied her to a bridal gown fitting at nearby Monique Hervé’s eponymous boutique. The designer backed him up as did Enid, Katrina’s wedding planner mother, who was also there.

  Zoey and Scott exchange scathing looks. Their mutual disdain is palpable.

  Zoey: “Excuse me. I have a lot of things to take care of.”

  “Nice seeing you too, sweetheart,” Scott snickers as my assistant pivots on her heel. My eyes stay on her as she traipses back to the guesthouse. My X-ray vision penetrates her jeans. I can see that gorgeous ass. And that delicious cheek is still red. My cock flexes. It’s as if it’s telling me there’s no such thing as mind over matter. Damn it. She’s fucking with my brain.

  Scott takes a seat. “Mind if I have a smoke?”

  I do mind, but I let him. He reaches into the breast pocket of his blazer and pulls out a pack of Camels and his gold lighter. Scott really seems to like gold. He’s wearing a thick gold chain that hangs low on his hairy chest and a pinky ring with a substantial diamond. He lights up a cigarette and inhales. I’m relieved he blows the smoke away from me.

  “Scott, why are you here?” Though he’s been my long-time manager, my relationship with him since I awoke from my coma has been on shaky ground. I don’t like the fact he’s shown up here uninvited.

  He takes another drag of his cigarette. “I have something to ask you.”

  “I want to ask you something first.”

  His face tenses. “I thought we were done with that Farmer’s Market incident. And I’m going to level with you. I don’t like the smell of that cop on my trail. What’s his fucking problem?”

  You. But I keep my mouth shut. Pete’s instructed both Zoey and me to not talk about it with him or make any mention of the fact that we know he lied when he told me he called in my accident. I tell him I don’t know why he’s being investigated and assure him my query has nothing to do with the incident. I brave my question.

  “Did I ever share anything about my sex life with Katrina before my accident?”

  “You told me it was off the charts hot. And Katrina told me the same thing. You two were going at it like bunnies.”

  I don’t know whether to believe him. Since discovering he lied to me about my accident, I can’t trust him. All is not what it seems.

  “Have I always been honest with you?”

  “You’ve never held back.” He takes another puff and then flicks the ashes on the patio. Fucking slob. I should get him an ashtray, but by the time I get back, there’ll be a mountain of ashes. No point.

  “Was there anything else she or I told you? Anything unusual?”

  He puffs again on his cigarette. “Other than she likes to be on top?”

  I’m gettin
g nowhere with him. It’s strange he knows what she likes but has no clue about my kinkiness. I’m definitely not going to tell him about it. Or that I’ve been having wild sex dreams about my assistant. Even when I’m not dreaming about her, I fantasize about spreading her legs and bending her over. Making her come a thousand different ways and hearing her scream out my name. Oh, that pretty mouth. So beautiful when it opens wide. Wide enough for me. In my mind’s eye, I picture it wrapped around my massive shaft, sucking, licking, and sending me over the edge. I feel my cock swell beneath the table.

  “How did it go in New York?” asks Scott, bringing my focus back to him. “It’s too bad you couldn’t go with Katrina to Paris.”

  I squirm in my chair, painfully aware of the ache between my legs. I’m going to tell him the truth and gauge his reaction.

  “Katrina and I still aren’t getting it on. And I still don’t have any feelings toward her.”

  Scott’s jaw tightens. “Well, you sure could have fooled me on Letterman. The two of you rocked it. It was one of his highest rated shows ever. The public can’t get enough of Bratrina. Fan mail has been pouring in everywhere—CBS, Conquest, and at Celebrity-TV. The world can’t wait for you and Katrina to tie the knot.”

  My stomach twists. The words spew out.

  “I’m having second thoughts.”

  Scott’s cigarette practically falls out of his mouth. “What the hell are you talking about?”

  “Maybe we should postpone the wedding until my memory comes back.”

  Scott’s left eye twitches while his face darkens. “You’re out of your fucking mind. You’re talking career suicide. Listen, Brandon, just get the hell married and everything will come back to you.”