Unforgettable: Book Three (A Hollywood Love Story #3)(22)

That very word is on the tip of my tongue, but my mouth won’t release it. Please… f*ck 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.





Brandon


I kissed her like it was our last kiss. And likely it was. And f*cked her like a mad man as if there was no tomorrow. What the f*ck 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 f*cked 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 f*ck 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 f*cking 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.

With my hand throbbing almost as much as my cock, I tear out of the underground parking garage and zoom down Crescent Heights. My engine roaring, I run every red light, not knowing where the f*ck I’m heading. Horns blast at me from every direction, and I’m surprised a cop doesn’t pull me over. I turn on the radio as loud as it gets, and a remix of Nick Jonas’s “Jealous” booms in my ears. Yes, Zoey’s too sexy, beautiful and I’m never going to get another taste of her. If the car’s speeding at eighty miles an hour, my heart’s racing at eight hundred. My life is so f*cking out of control.

Running yet another red light, I impulsively make a sharp turn onto Wilshire, still not knowing where the hell I’m going. Screech! I lose control of the wheel and the car swerves to the right, skidding off the road. I hold my foot tight on the brake as the screeching car careens into one of those modernist condo complexes that are popping up all over town. CRASH! My head bangs against the steering wheel before the monstrous airbag detonates in my face with the explosive sound of a gunshot. The smell of smoke and gunpowder infiltrates my dazed, aching head.


“Dude, are you okay?” An unfamiliar adolescent voice drifts into my ears.

I can’t get my voice box to respond. I think I’ve lost consciousness. Or I’m in shock.

“Want me to call for an ambulance?”

With a moan, I slowly lift my head from the deflated airbag. It’s spread out like a parachute, the edges frayed and singed, the middle bloodied. My eyes half-shut, I painfully twist my neck and peer out the open window. A scruffy kid, clutching a skateboard, meets my gaze. His eyes widen and his jaw drops. He recognizes me.

“Shit, man. Aren’t you—”

I cut him off. “No.”

Not convinced, the kid knits his brows. “Whoever you are, you’re bleeding. You sure you don’t want me to call 911?”

“Please don’t,” I mumble.

“Want me to help you out?”

“No. Stand back.” Praying that the fancy switchblade doors haven’t jammed, I hit a button on my dashboard. To my relief, they lift up as the wide-eyed kid watches in awe. A loud “wow” flies out of his mouth.

Using all the strength I have, I slide out of the car and stagger to my feet. My head is killing me so badly I’m dizzy. I feel warm blood trickle down my cheek.

Holding on to the roof for balance, I survey the damage. The hood’s crushed like an accordion and the engine’s smoking like a chimney. My precious one hundred thousand dollar Lambo may be totaled. But you know what? I don’t care.