Unforgettable 2 (Hollywood Love Story #2)

by Nelle L'Amour

  His words eat away at me. I’m fraught with emotion. He cares about me. This is not the first time he’s said that, and I flashback to the time he told me this while I was convalescing from my concussion. Somehow, those words directed at me tonight strike an especially deep chord. A traitor tear escapes.

  He kisses it away. “Zoey, please don’t do this to me. Stop crying. And that’s an order.”

  “Okay,” I whisper.

  A grateful sexy smile lights up his face. “C’mon, let’s go for a swim before we head back. There’s nothing like swimming in the sea at night. I’ll stay close to you.”

  Knowing he’ll be there for me, all my inhibitions and fears melt away. A renewed sense of security and strength washes over me. On my next breath, I’m under the water with Brandon by my side. Other than the shadow of his chiseled body and the bubbles we make, all I see is blackness. The blackness envelops me and is magical, instilling me with peacefulness and a passion for survival. Making me brave the precarious unknown that awaits me. Lead your dreams and land them…then live them. Right now, Brandon Taylor is mine and I’m his. The swim is sublime. And so is his kiss under the water.

  I love you, I love you, I love you, I say to myself silently. For as long as my breath allows. I may be swimming in the sea, but I’m drowning in love.

  Zoey

  Brandon insists on me wearing his linen shirt over my dress after our swim to keep warm as well as on carrying me back to the Ducati. And when we get to The Carlton after leaving the banged up bike and our helmets with the valet, he insists on carrying me through the lobby to the elevator. Not only doesn’t he want me to walk because of my fragile condition, I’m shoeless. I tossed my heels into a trash can in The Old City when I ran away from him. Barefoot, I could step on something nasty and get hurt. He’s so overprotective, but I give in to him. And besides, it’s fun. I’m riding him piggyback-style—something I used to love doing with Pops when I was a little girl. I haven’t done it in years.

  “Hold on,” he says as he bounces me toward the elevator.

  “I am.” I start giggling at the double meaning of my words. My legs are wrapped around him, his arms hooked under my knees, and my arms draped over his broad shoulders. The ride is stimulating my nipples, the friction of his bare skin against them arousing me. I swear there must be a power cord that plugs into my pussy. And it’s sparking. I could easily come again.

  The Carlton is buzzing. International movers and shakers occupy the bar, already making strategic partnerships and distribution deals for the year ahead. I spot Blake Burns in an animated conversation with two Japanese broadcasters. I hope he doesn’t see me. And then again, I don’t care. Thanks to tight security, paparazzi are nowhere in sight.

  When we get to the elevator, Brandon punches the UP button. To my relief, a car comes quickly and the doors part instantly. Mortification races through me. Standing before us is Blake Burns’s lovely wife, Jennifer, wearing a sexy red cocktail dress I recognize from Chaz’s collection. Gah! What is she going to think? Brandon’s bare-chested; I’m wearing his shirt and have a tangle of wet hair, and we’re both sprinkled with a fine layer of sand. I smile sheepishly and squeak, “Hi.”

  She steps out of the car and the doors close behind her before we can get in.

  She gives us the once over and then flashes a big smile. “Looks like you guys had fun.”

  “We went for a swim,” Brandon says without reservation.

  And that’s not all we did. It’s hard to tell if Jennifer knows we fucked our brains out. No fan of Katrina’s, she’s not passing judgment.

  “After you wash up, why don’t you both join Blake and me for drinks?”

  Unwavering, Brandon replies, “Thanks, but we’re going to pass with MIP starting tomorrow and the big Kurt Kussler event in the evening. Plus, I have some work to do with Zoey.”

  “Totally understand. Don’t work her too hard.” Jennifer winks at him. Oh yeah, she so knows. “I’ll see you both tomorrow at The Palais. Enjoy the rest of your evening.”

  “You too,” says Brandon before she heads toward the bar area. He slaps the UP button again and the elevator doors immediately re-open. With me still riding his back, we step inside the elegantly appointed lift.

  “Do you think she suspects something?” I ask Brandon as the doors close.

  “Frankly, my dear, I don’t give a damn.”

  Drunk with love, I burst into laughter. “That’s so not original.”

  “Shut. Up. Or I’ll have to fuck your mouth into silence.”

  Not knowing if I’m going to laugh my head off or suck him off, I reach for my floor button. But Brandon grabs my wrist and stops me midway.

  “What do you think you’re doing?” I ask as he forces my hand down.

  He answers my question with a question. “Where do you think you’re going?”

  “To my room.”

  “Nothing doing. You’re sleeping with me.”

  My breath hitches. I kiss him everywhere I can as he waves his key card over the button marked PH—the exclusive penthouse floor. The elevator smoothly ascends with no stops. I can’t stop loving him.

  Brandon’s Sean Connery suite is almost as big as his house. It’s got to be close to five thousand square feet. Stunning black and white photos of the debonair actor in his James Bond finery line the walls and meet my eyes first. The rest of the décor is classical, the rooms tastefully filled with plush furnishings in muted tones of brown, beige, and tan. Complementary textured rugs cover the dark hardwood floors while creamy silk curtains accent the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking a terrace and the city. The panoramic view of the Croisette and the Mediterranean is breathtaking.

  Brandon takes me directly to the ginormous bathroom. What makes it really spectacular is that it’s circular—the sexy, curvy shape dictated by its position directly beneath one of the hotel’s Belle Époque arched domes. All creamy marble and shiny chrome with pale blue accents, it’s a suite within a suite, with separate bathing and toilet areas. The lights are dim. He sets me down on a marble vanity and then reaches for the wall phone. He holds the receiver to his ear and speaks into it. My eyes fix on his flexed bicep and the rigid muscles of his sculpted back. His skin is bronzed velvet. Christ, he’s gorgeous. A fucking sex god. Even his sultry voice excites me.

  “Oui, this is Monsieur Taylor in the Sean Connery suite. I’d like to order two hot chocolates, two shots of crème de cacao, and a plate of praline truffles if you don’t have M&Ms.” He pauses and then smiles. “Oui, beaucoup de whipped cream.”

  He hangs up the phone and faces me. “Are you okay with that? I thought maybe we’d get hungry later.”

  “Oui, Monsieur Taylor.” I put on my best French accent and make my voice as breathy as possible. Truthfully, the only thing I’m hungering for is his cock.

  A saucy smile tugs at his lips. “I like it when you call me that. It turns me on. I want you to call me ‘monsieur’ for the rest of the evening. Deal?”

  “Oui, monsieur.” My sexy, throaty voice is deeper and breathier. I’m channeling Simone Signoret. “What’s our next activity?”

  He eyes me sheepishly. “I want to watch you use the bidet.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “The bidet.” He lifts me off the vanity and leads me to a white porcelain basin that’s right next to the toilet. About the same height, it resembles an oblong sink with a pair of faucets.

  “What’s this for?” I ask suspiciously.

  “It’s going to clean the sand out of your ass and make your pussy feel better.”

  “My pussy’s just fine,” I lie. It’s still sore as hell, but I don’t want him to think I’m unfuckable. Then again, maybe that’s what he has in mind. Restoration. Then fucking me senseless again until I cry. My heart skips a beat with another thought. Or maybe fucking me hard in the butt?

  He flicks my nose. “Trust me.”

  “Aren’t you going to turn the water on?”

  “Sit,” he orde
rs with a playful slap on my sore ass…that turns me on.

  My skin prickles. I do as I’m told. I plop down on the edge of the basin, scrunching up my chiffon dress and pulling my panties down to my knees. Much the same as I would do if I were taking a pee. The rim of the porcelain basin is a cool contrast to my heated ass.

  Brandon rolls his eyes at me. “Baby, it’s not a toilet. You need to take off your panties and straddle it.”

  “Oh.” I feel totally stupid, but the amused smile on his face saves me from humiliation.

  I slide off my panties. The cotton crotch is soaked and laced with a few granules of sand. Brandon snatches them from me while I reposition myself. My legs are spread-eagled over the basin. My exposed pussy is in full view. Brandon examines it.

  “Fuck. Your pussy’s really red. And swollen.”

  I glance down. Gah! It is.

  Not wasting a second, Brandon turns the water on full force.

  “Aah!” I squeal. The basin doesn’t begin to fill. Instead, to my utter surprise and delight, powerful jets of warm water shoot upward, hitting my inflamed genitals.

  I sigh loudly again. It feels amazing. Yes, the water is soothing, but it’s also stimulating my über-sensitive clit and sending jets of pleasure through my core.

  Brandon breaks into a wide smile. “That feels good, n’est-ce pas?”

  “Oui, oui, monsieur.” Holy cow! I’m totally getting off on it. I rock my hips to maximize the delicious sensation. My breathing grows erratic and little oohs and aahs clog my throat. Brandon’s eyes stay on me, his voyeuristic expression one of a man totally entertained.

  “Jesus, Zoey. You’re fucking unbelievable.”

  I flash a little smile at what I think is a compliment. My arousal is consuming me.

  “My beauty, I’m going to watch you make yourself come. Hands behind your head.”

  “I can’t use my fingers?”

  He smirks. “Trust me, you won’t have to. Now, do it before I tie up those talented hands of yours.” With a wicked glint, he twists my skimpy panties into a rope. Holy shit! The kinky bastard definitely means business.

  I do as I’m told, the sweet sensation of an orgasm already on the brink. The pressure’s building fast and furiously. My head rolls around like a rag doll’s as I get closer to the edge. The hem of my layered dress is getting soaked by the spray as is Brandon’s linen shirt, but I don’t give a damn. The relentless pressure between my legs mounts and my breathing grows more ragged, the moans and groans more vocal. More desperate until I can’t take it anymore and I’m crying, “Oh my God,” over and over. All hell breaks loose, and as waves of ecstasy crash through me, I sob out my orgasm. I think I’ve lost consciousness. My head hangs loosely between my legs with my arms limply beside them.

  “Bravo!” A single word brings me back to the land of the living. I look up. Brandon’s hovering over me, grinning broadly.

  “That was the most beautiful performance I’ve ever seen.”

  I suppose I should get up and curtsey, but I don’t have the strength to stand. And even if I could, my legs would likely buckle. I don’t even have it in me to say thank you. Breathless, I simply twitch a small smile.

  Brandon brushes back my hair, still damp from our swim, and then bends down to kiss my scalp. “How does your pussy feel?”

  I still can’t get my brain to communicate with my mouth.

  “Answer me, Zoey.” That bossy voice again!

  “Um, uh, excellent,” I finally manage. It really does feel less sore, but it’s still throbbing from my latest outrageous orgasm.

  “Let me see.” Brandon takes a few steps back and casts his eyes on my cleft. A small but fiendish smile plays on his lips. “Much better. It’s still a little red but not as swollen. I’m tempted to take you right over the bidet.”

  From behind? I gulp. I thought he wasn’t going to fuck me again. Every nerve ending buzzes. I can’t tell if it’s fear or excitement that’s making my heart pound. Climaxing from the bidet was mind-blowing, but climaxing with him is like falling off the edge of a cliff.

  Brandon tugs at his lower lip with his thumb…that insanely sexy thing he does when he’s deep in thought. I wonder—what is he thinking?

  “On second thought, sit. Relax. I’m going to draw us a bath.”

  Catching my breath, I watch as he leaves me and rounds a blue mosaic partition. I notice for the first time he’s missing his belt. Guess he must have left it behind at the beach. I bet I’ll miss it more than he does. I close my eyes. The intense memory of that erotic experience unwinds in my head like a scene from a surreal movie, my still fiery ass a vivid reminder. Oh God, it hurt! As I relive it, every nerve ending along my flesh sparks as if there’s a live electrical wire running through the connective tissue of my body, especially the super-charged bundle of nerves between my legs. I hiss. To say I didn’t love it would be a lie. In my massage classes, I learned that pain can equal pleasure. What I experienced with Brandon was exquisite pleasure. There’s pain in love. And love in pain.

  Brandon disappears from sight, but from where I sit, I can hear him turn on the water. It pours out full blast. While the water continues to gush, he returns to me. At the sound and scent of him, I snap open my eyes. He helps me off the bidet. Coming from that spread-legged position and my trance-like state, I’m hardly what you’d call graceful getting to my feet. He holds me steady, his hands on my waist. I fix my dress, remembering I’m pantiless, and then tug at his belt loops.

  “You know, you left your belt at the beach.”

  He glances down and then winks at me. “Don’t worry. I have plenty of them. Behave.”

  Drawing me in tighter, he nuzzles that hypersensitive part of my neck. I squirm with pleasure. It sends a rush of tingles to my already over-sensitized sex. The throbbing won’t calm down.

  “You sure you’re okay?”

  “Yeah.”

  “How does your pussy feel now?”

  “Fuckable.”

  He chortles. “You’re a natural stand-up comic.”

  “That’s not funny.”

  “C’mon. The bath is probably ready.”

  Piece by piece, he undresses me, beginning with his shirt. He then unzips the dress and lifts it over my head. After tossing both garments to the marble floor on top of my panties, he unhooks my bra, and once again, I’m totally naked. Bared to him. With lust dancing in his eyes, he reverently kisses each of my breasts. And then twists the nipples, just enough to inflict the perfect measure of pain. I let out a light gasp.

  He squeezes the buds harder between his fingers. “Jesus. You so fucking turn me on.”

  “Does that mean we’re going to fuck again?” I breathe out, my arousal taunting me. I search his hooded eyes for the promise of more.

  “Maybe. But you’re not going to know until you take off my jeans.”

  That’s all that separates me from his cock. The strain of his erection against his fly is so palpable I can practically hear it crying out to be set free. A pool of wet heat gathers between my inner thighs. I’m still so fucking sore, but I want him again in the worst way. While he continues to tweak my sensitive, hardening nipples, I hastily unbutton his jeans, unzip the fly, and shove them down his taut legs. His gigantic cock as I imagined is ready for action. While the tub continues to fill, he kicks off his shoes, steps out of his jeans, and then draws me close to him.

  “I so fucking want you, Zoey.” He rubs his dick against my slick pussy before smacking a hot kiss on my forehead. “C’mon let’s get into the bath before I bury my cock inside you and have you overflowing with my cum.”

  He lifts me into his arms and carries me to the tub. My eyes practically pop out of my sockets. Holy cow! I’ve never seen a tub like this before. Circular, massive, and at least four-feet deep, it dominates the expansive space. He sets me down gently and turns off the water. The tub is almost filled to the brim, and a thick layer of bubbly white foam coats the water’s surface. The intoxicating scent of lavende
r drifts to my nose. His words replay in my head. I so fucking want you, Zoey. Again! I’m delirious with desire. This fairy tale better never end.

  Brandon steps into the tub first, one long muscular leg after the other. He gracefully lowers himself to a sitting position, until his body all but disappears beneath the foamy bubbles. Leaning back against the basin, he lets out a loud contented “Aah.” I wonder—is that the sexy sound he makes when he gets a blowjob?

  “Get your sweet ass in here,” he orders, curtailing my ruminations.

  I carefully get into the enormous round tub. Brandon grips my hand while I lower myself and sink my hips between his steepled legs. He slides me tight against him so we’re flesh to flesh. His thighs press against me and I can feel his hard length along my backside. The bubbles come up almost to my chin, covering all of me including my breasts. I feel awkward.

  “Brandon, I’ve never taken a bath with a man.” Let alone, a man like you, I add silently. The truth, with my fear of drowning, I never took baths. Not until Brandon taught me how to swim did I indulge in one and since then, very few.

  “So this is a first?”

  “Yes,” I say timidly. Everything on this dreamy trip has been a first with him, with the the earth-shattering orgasms he’s given me topping the list.

  Drawing me closer to him, he nuzzles the back of my neck. “Then, I’m going to have to make it unforgettable.”

  Another yes! This one silent but punctuated with an exclamation point. My head folds forward. I’m so ready for him.

  With one hand, he grabs a large sponge, and then with the other, he lifts up my long wet hair. He begins to run circles along my upper back and shoulders, and as gentle as they are, I flinch.

  “What’s the matter baby? Am I hurting you?”

  “No, no, I’m okay.”

  He sponges me again, and again, despite his light touch, I can’t help jerking.

  I hear him splash aside the bubble-coated water.