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

by Nelle L'Amour

  Ping. A light bulb turns on in my dark, muddled mind. Just like I’d seen them pictured in the Sunday funnies when I was a kid. I have a bright idea. For a change, Katrina’s right.

  “Brandon,” she barks again, “let’s go for God’s sake.”

  “Katrina, why don’t you head out? I have to make a few calls. I’ll catch up with you and your mother shortly.”

  Gathering Gucci into her monstrous designer bag, she narrows her eyes and huffs. “Fine. Don’t be too late. Mommy hates tardiness.”

  As soon as she leaves, I text my latest assistant with an assignment. After twenty frustrating minutes, she texts me back saying she’s had no luck.

  Keep trying.

  Can’t.

  WTF?

  I have a date with my girlfriend. See ya.

  Jesus. I thought a gay assistant would be my answer. Someone who would have no interest in me physically and be willing to work 24/7. With rage blazing on my fingertips, I text her back.

  YOU’RE FIRED!

  To add insult to injury, she sends me a happy face emoticon. :)

  Fuck. I’ve got to do things myself. Luck. After just one call, things are looking up.

  Chapter 10

  Zoey

  “That was fucking amazing,” says my client, a paunchy fifty-something Hollywood type named Sheldon. His privates draped by a sheet, he sits up slowly and throws his hairy, veined legs over the edge of the table. Rolls of fat spread across his ungainly torso. The fragrant lavender body oil I’ve rubbed him down with has only minimized the stench of his perspiration. And his fart. Adjusting his tacky comb-over across his sweaty scalp, he leers at me hungrily with his lustful eyes.

  “Sweetheart, did anyone ever tell you, you’re sexy?”

  Only one man ever has ever had told me that. A beautiful man I’m trying hard to forget.

  “No,” I sputter, my heart clenching at the memory of my time in Cannes with him. “I just want to eat you up alive, you sexy little beast,” Brandon said to me, holding me in his loving arms in the warm Mediterranean. Sheldon’s salacious voice cuts the heart-wrenching flashback short.

  “Well, gorgeous, let me tell you, you are. Whatcha doin’ later?”

  The gold wedding band on his ring finger has not been lost on me. Womanizing bastard! I bet he cheats on his wife all the time. She’s probably one of those blond, aging big-boobed types who hang around because of the extravagant lifestyle he offers and looks the other way. He disgusts me. Makes my skin crawl.

  I scoff at him. “Sorry. I’ve got a date with my boyfriend.”

  The sleazeball is hardly affected. He gives me a lecherous smile that I want to rip off his slimy face. “Maybe next time, sweetheart. And by the way, do you do private massages? You know…”

  I do know. He wants me to give him a testicular massage and beat off his cock. I so badly want to tell him to get the hell out of here and never come back, but I bite down on my tongue and cut him off. “Sorry, I don’t do private appointments. If you don’t mind, would you kindly get dressed? I have to get ready for my next client.”

  “Sweetheart, you don’t know what you’re missing out on.” Eyeing me lasciviously, he hoists himself off the table and hands me a five-dollar bill. The fucker. He’s also a cheap bastard! I slip it into a pocket of my clinical white uniform and mumble thank you. While he gets dressed, I step out of the small windowless room and amble to a nearby sink area to wash my hands. Thank goodness, the soap is antibacterial. I squirt a generous amount on my palms and scrub them vigorously under the hottest water I can tolerate. It’s like I’m washing off cooties. If I had the time, I’d take a shower. Wash off every filthy ounce of him.

  When I return to the massage room, he’s gone. Donning a pair of latex gloves, I remove the sheet on the table, throw it into the hamper, and then re-drape the table with a fresh, clean one for my next client. All I know is his name is Dick Long. He’s coming from another appointment—a scrub—so the aesthetician is walking him to me. I hope he’s not like my previous client. But with a name like Dick Long, I wonder. Being a masseuse comes with a few plusses and a whole lot more minuses. It can be both physically and mentally draining—so many clients blabber on about their issues as if I’m their shrink while others like Sheldon come on to me. It’s far from glamorous. Being cooped up in a small massage room all day is not my idea of fun. I don’t know how long I’ll last here, but for now it helps make ends meet and has let me continue with my acting classes, which I adore. In addition to learning so much, I’ve met a nice bunch of aspiring young actors like myself. There’s even one guy who I think is kind of cute in a Jonah Hill kind of way and who seems to have a crush on me. His name is Albert. He even asked me out on a date for tonight. And I said yes. Progress.

  A tap at the door brings me back to the present. My next client is here. My last one for the evening—it was a last-minute appointment. Scurrying over to the door, I swing it open. My heart practically stops and my knees wobble. I’m going to vomit.

  “Zoey, this is your next client…Dick Long. He’s booked for a two-hour deep tissue massage,” says my lovely Asian colleague Esther, who, though blind, possesses renowned, magical hands.

  Padding off with taps of her long white cane that can’t drown out my frantic heartbeat, she leaves me alone with him. I can’t get my mouth to move. I’m in a state of shock. All the air has left my lungs. I could possibly swoon.

  It’s Brandon. All six-feet-two of his manly perfection. We’re face to face, a strangled breath apart.

  “Hi,” he says softly, fidgeting with the belt of his long white spa robe.

  A painful tangle of emotions assaults me. I blink my eyes several times, not sure if I’m going to burst into tears or explode with anger. Finally, I get my mouth to move and I do the latter.

  “What are you doing here?”

  “Zoey, I had to see you.” He attempts to put his hands on my shoulders, but I hastily shove them away.

  “Don’t you dare touch me.”

  His eyes flutter. He looks taken aback. “I need a massage.”

  “How the hell did you find me?”

  “It wasn’t easy. Your father wouldn’t tell me nor would your brother. But I had a hunch. So I had my new assistant call every spa and massage joint in town. And then I found you.”

  “Then she’s doing a good job.” A sickening feeling fills my chest. I’ve been replaced. I was replaceable. Doormats are a dime a dozen.

  “Actually, she didn’t work out.” His violet eyes burn into mine. “Zoey, I want you back.”

  Tears threaten. “So you can use and abuse me again?”

  “Zoey, I didn’t mean to—”

  “Break my heart?” I hurl the words at him.

  “I’ve come to apologize. I never meant to hurt you.”

  “Oh, it was accidental? Maybe with your amnesia, you forgot people have feelings?”

  “I do have feelings toward you.”

  “You could have fooled me. You’re some actor.”

  “I swear to God, Zoey, I wasn’t acting. Everything I said and did with you was real.”

  My eyes begin to sting. Rage is rising. “You and Katrina are two delusional peas in a pod. You belong together.”

  “I can’t leave her.” He pauses for a sharp breath. “It’s complicated.”

  That word again. A sorry excuse for an explanation.

  “I have no choice. If I don’t marry her on Saturday, she’s threatened to say some horrific things about me to the press that could have dire consequences.”

  My blood boils. His words make me sure that all the things he did to me he’s done to her. “Don’t you have all your submissives sign confidentiality agreements?”

  Brandon’s face darkens. “She’s not my sub. Far from it.”

  “Right, she’s your fiancée. Have you forgotten?” My harsh voice is dripping with sarcasm.

  “Zoey, I swear she means nothing to me. I despise her. It’s only you. I think about you every minut
e of the day. You’re in my blood. You’re in my dreams. You have no idea how hard it’s been for me.”

  His voice is cracking with emotion. He sounds sincere. And despair is etched on his gorgeous as ever face. I quickly remind myself he’s an actor. A great actor. Don’t fall for his bullshit, I will myself.

  Rage crescendos inside me. “Brandon, stop feeding me this crap. Did they ever teach you in acting classes that actions speak louder than words?”

  Without warning, he shoves me against a wall, pinning me against it with his hips and gripping my shoulders so tightly I wince. His body is so close to mine I feel the heat of his skin and smell the scent of his sex. My breasts compress against his iron chest, my nipples stiffening as he nuzzles my neck. I’m more aroused than a dog in heat.

  “What are you fucking doing?” I cry out.

  “Zoey, you’ve touched me everywhere, but the place you’ve touched me deepest is here.”

  Still pinning me to the wall, he cinches my right arm by the wrist and slips my hand between us, pressing it hard against his heart. I feel it pound beneath my palm. Perhaps, I should tell him to feel my heart. The shattered chambers. The shards.

  “Let me go, you asshole!” I beg instead.

  His mouth responds with a crashing, fiery kiss that blazes through me. Oh my God. I want him. No, I don’t. Yes, I do! This cruel game with a burning tightrope has no safety net. It threatens to destroy me. His rigid length singes my flesh right through his robe and my clothes. A ring of fire circles my core, and the white-hot heat radiates from my head to my toes. I succumb to the urgency of his mouth on mine with a moan.

  He bites down on my lower lip, parting it, and then plunges his warm tongue inside my mouth, sweeping across the vessel, deepening the kiss with my submission. His other hand slips beneath the waistband of my uniform and makes its way to my wetness, caressing my slick cleft and aching clit. Flames lick my skin. I wriggle beneath his weight and moan louder. Oh God! What the fuck am I doing? Why am I letting him do these things to me? Unable to resist, I squeeze my eyes shut until I’m seeing stars.

  Finally, he pulls his scorching lips away and releases my right hand. “Oh baby, I want you so fucking badly,” he breathes into my mouth. “More than anything.”

  The words on my tongue waver between “Fuck you” and “Fuck me.” Taking a deep tormented breath, I do something I’ve never done before. I slap him hard across his face, leaving my handprint on his cheek and an echo in my ear. He rubs his stubble-lined jaw while I rub my stinging palm.

  Tears scald the back of my eyes. “That’s all you’re getting from me. Whatever sick, cruel game you’re playing, Brandon, needs to end. I let you take everything. My heart. My soul. My body. My mind. But the one thing you’re not going to take is the last ounce of my dignity.”

  “I’m sorry, Zoey. I couldn’t help myself.”

  Neither could I.

  “Zo, just give me a massage. That’s all. I need to feel your beautiful hands on me.” His voice is thick with desperation. And his eyes glint with despair. “I’ve already paid for your services.”

  My heart clenches so tightly it hurts. “Oh, so, you think I’m some kind of whore?”

  “Jeez, Zoey, no!”

  “Go to hell!” I choke out the words. “I’m no longer at your command. You’re not my boss and I have the right to refuse anyone.”

  “Oh, is that in your contract?” His tone sharpening, he makes air quotes around the word “contract.” With all my willpower, I hold my own.

  “Either you leave or I leave.”

  “Zoey, please.”

  Please. Mama taught me to say that word. “Please, Brandon, I just want to forget you.”

  “Zoey—”

  “Brandon, PLEASE. I never want to see you again.” I’m a titanic mess, yet I so want my heart to go on.

  Brandon’s jaw slackens in near defeat. I need to strike like a snake while I can.

  “And just for your information, I have a real boyfriend now. Someone who’s normal…who treats me with kindness and respect.”

  That sadistic satanic expression sweeps over him. His face darkens. “I’m happy for you, Zoey. But does he fuck you the way I do?”

  “He doesn’t fuck with me the way you do.”

  Silence. His nostrils flare.

  “He loves me,” I lie.

  Tears verging, I grab my bag. I’ve got to escape. The air is suffocating me. He’s suffocating me. Drowning me, pulling me under. I’ll just tell my supervisor I fell sick. It’s way closer to the truth than a lie.

  “No, Zoey! Don’t go,” he growls, clutching my waist so tightly I yelp. I struggle to free myself like a wild animal captured by a poacher.

  “Let me go!” I cry out, writhing and flailing, clawing and gnawing, batting him with my bag. We exchange savage sounds. And expletives. Overpowering me with his strength, he lifts me off my feet and flings me onto the massage table face up. I bolt to a sitting position, but he shoves me flat down on my back and then straddles me. His powerful knees hold me captive while he throws off his robe. Before it hits the floor, his large bruising hands grip my shoulders, holding me down. He leans into me, so close his breath heats my cheeks and I can taste him. His face is just inches away. His jet-black hair, longer and wilder, falls into his smoldering violet eyes. They’re filled with mad lust and desire. My blood pounds in my ears with each beat of my heart as I fight back my dire need for him to possess me.

  “Give yourself to me, Zoey.”

  “Fuck you, bastard.”

  His eyes narrow. “You’re asking for it.”

  I am. I want him to fuck me so badly it hurts.

  With an angry grunt, he forcefully spreads my legs and yanks down my pants, taking my panties with them. He grabs my soaked crotch and squeezes a fistful of pussy. His eyes hold me fierce. I’m a willing prisoner of his beauty, his supreme masculinity. I drink in his broad shoulders, sculpted pecs, rippled abs, muscled limbs, and the taut bronzed flesh aglow from the scrub that ties all the parts together. My hands want to touch him everywhere.

  He squeezes my cleft harder, rolling his thumb around my throbbing nub. Moaning, I feel myself getting hotter, wetter with each powerful stroke. Pulsing electrical heat spirals through every ounce of my being until I’m burning with desire, every cell on fire. My mind fights for control, but my feverish body betrays me, craving him deep between my thighs.

  “Oh, my beautiful Zoey, you’re so fucking hot and wet for me. I have to have you.” His voice has grown demanding. The warmth of his breath against my flesh takes my breath away. My breathing grows shallow as he continues to arouse me.

  “Tell me you want me as much I want you.”

  His irresistible magnetic energy draws me to him, making it impossible to say no. Biting down on my lips to stifle a scream, I nod, wanting him as much as he wants me. Maybe more.

  “Zoey, I need to hear words.”

  “Oh, God!” It’s all I can manage.

  “You’re mine. Do you hear me? You’re mine!” With his other hand, he fists the base of his enormous cock. A bead of pre-cum dots the crown like a shimmering pearl. His rock-hard monument to mankind is as beautiful as I remember. Magnificent. A vision of incomparable virile perfection.

  “Say you want me,” he repeats, “and that you’re mine. Do it…please.”

  That very word is on the tip of my tongue, but my mouth won’t release it. Please… fuck me. Fuck me hard. Fuck me now. My chest heaves. I tremble with all the love and hate I feel for this man. The tremors ransack my melting body. I hate myself for wanting him when having him is not a reality.

  Not waiting for my response, his massive cock presses against my entrance like a hot rock massage. At the touch of it, I arch, wanting him to fill me, to take me completely with all of his sublimity. With one long, forceful thrust, he rams into me, taking me to the hilt. Oh God, yes!! I moan with the burst of exquisite pain that equals in measure to my anguish at the sensation of his raging erection inside
me. Anchoring his hands on either side of me, he begins to pummel me without mercy, cursing under his ragged breaths. Meeting his thrusts with my hips, I sob for all I remember and for all I want to forget. The agony and the ecstasy. The love and the hate. As I ready to climax, a voice inside my head rises above my wails.

  STOP! No, Zoey, No. I can’t let him do this to me. Make me fall apart. Shatter an already shattered heart. I call upon all the willpower I can muster. Zoey, be strong. Mind over matter, I find my voice.

  One word. My voice so soft, it’s almost a prayer. “Mama.”

  It happens so fast. On my next heartbeat, he releases me, withdrawing without a word. His violet eyes are glazed and forlorn, like an addict who can’t get his fix. He dismounts the table. With his darkening orbs on me, I sit up and pull up both my pants and panties. My eyes stay steady on his tortured face.

  Sliding off the table, I walk away. And then run.

  Chapter 11

  Brandon

  I kissed her like it was our last kiss. And likely it was. And fucked her like a madman as if there was no tomorrow. What the fuck was I thinking? With a red-hot mixture of rage and regret, I bang the roof of my Lamborghini so hard I’ve likely left a dent both in it and my wrist. I wince. Fuck. Shit. Fuck. She’s over me. She gave me a slap instead of her heart. And to add insult to injury, spit out her safe word. She’s moved on. Fallen in love with someone else. She must be happy. She looked so beautiful, her complexion radiant, her body fit though a little too thin.

  As if the first bang isn’t bad enough. I bang the roof again. God dammit, I totally fucked up. I couldn’t help it. The second I laid my eyes on her I grew as hard as nails and had the burning need to bury my cock deep inside her…completely possess her. Then, when she told me about her boyfriend, I went crazy with jealousy and totally lost control. With my cock raging like a bull, I tried to fuck her into submission when I should have told her what really happened in Cannes. And then told her I loved her. Never an ad-libber, I suck at love unscripted. My deflated, aching cock berates me. Stupid idiot. She was right. I’m a bastard. A fucking bastard. Actually, I’m worse than that. I’m a coward. A spineless coward who’s afraid to speak his mind and fight for what he wants, no matter what the consequences of his words and actions will be.