Unforgettable: Book Three (A Hollywood Love Story #3)(24)
“Shit. That hurts.”
A small smile lifts her lips. “You, better than anyone, know that pain comes with healing.”
And then pleasure.
“Press this against the wound,” she commands after cleaning up my blood-caked cheeks.
She lifts my hand to my face, and nursing my open cut, I watch as she soaks another ball with the antiseptic liquid. One more dab, this one not as stingy, and then she lightly kisses the wound. Not so much as a lover, but rather as a mother kissing a child’s scraped knee. I close my eyes and let out a grateful moan. Reopening them, my gaze stays on her as she struggles to open the box of Band-Aids with her trembling fingers. I have the burning urge to help her but know that small gesture will humiliate her. Despite being my sub, she relished her independence. After a few tries, she opens the lid and then fishes for the right size bandage with her long slender fingers, still so elegant though now withered and quivering. They remind me so much of Zoey’s.
“Don’t move,” she tells me. She peels off the wrapping and places the bandage over my wound. She admires her handiwork.
“Well, Brandon, I must say you look a lot like a battered Marlon Brando in On the Waterfront—although a hell of a lot more handsome.” She pauses to smile. “Now put the ice pack to your face.”
I reach for the ice pack and press it against my forehead. Ahh! Pain followed by pleasure. The coldness of the compress soothes my raw skin. With my free hand, I reach for the Advil and flush a couple tablets down my throat with a few sips of water.
Divya returns with another silver tray, this one holding a floral tea service. Setting the tray down on the glass coffee table, she pours two cups of tea. One for Bella, one for me. I stand and then sit on the edge of the couch, close to her wheelchair.
“Divya dear, please put two lumps of sugar into Mr. Taylor’s tea and one into mine.” She remembers how I like it. I put the hot, fragrant brew to my mouth with my free hand, and as I take a small sip, memories flood my mind. It was fittingly over the play, Tea and Sympathy, the story of a forbidden teacher-student romance, that our relationship transcended the normal teacher-student bond. It turned sexual. She, the older, wiser, more experienced teacher of a lifestyle that transformed my life. We couldn’t get enough of each other.
Once, ice packs and hot tea bags brought us to orgasmic heights, the dual sensations of each playing off one another until she could no longer bear it and I couldn’t wait for her to come. While memories abound of our outrageous sexcapades, my eyes stay fixed on her as she slowly lifts her porcelain cup to her lips with her shaky hand. Still always pinky out. Erect as a cock. She blows on the steamy greenish liquid before taking a sip. Her still sensuous pursed lips remind me of how many times they kissed me everywhere, lighting the fire and desires of a f*cked-up eighteen-year-old kid who almost overdosed on heroin. I owe her my career. I owe her my life.
“Thank you for the tea,” I say after taking another soothing sip.
She smiles at me warmly again. “It’s a special Ayurvedic blend from India composed of magical herbs that help balance one’s doshas and hence keep the body and mind in harmony. It restores your body’s natural ability to heal itself.”
The tea is exactly what I need, but I doubt it can heal the hole in my heart. Nothing can, except one unattainable human being.
After another sip, she sets the cup down on its saucer. She strokes my face. “You know, I watch your show every week.”
“You do?” I never knew that. “What do you think?”
“Of the show? Or of you?”
I quirk a nervous smile, knowing she never holds back. “Both.”
“You deserved to win the Golden Globe. And so did the series.”
“You watched?”
“Of course. Thank you for acknowledging me.”
Silently grateful that Zoey reminded me to include her in my acceptance speech, I smile a genuine smile—the first since she ran away from me in Cannes. “Bella, you made me both the actor and man I am.”
“That was my job. You’re the best student I ever had.” She pauses to take another sip of tea. “And the best lover.”
Never married, Bella had many. But to the best of my knowledge, she never took on another after me. She eyes me warmly.
“And thank you for the generous donation to my school. It allowed me to give a scholarship to a lovely young woman whose talent rivals yours. I have high hopes for her.”
While she now only occasionally shows up for auditions or a guest lecture because of her debilitating degenerative disease, she still runs the academy with an iron fist. Over the years, I’ve contributed several million dollars that’s enabled her to open other branches around the country, maintain the facilities, and offer scholarships to talented kids, like the girl she mentioned, who can’t afford the tuition.
“The money comes from my heart.”
“It means a lot to me.” She changes the subject. “So, I hear you’re getting married to that awful woman who thinks she’s America’s It Girl.”
My brows arch. It hurts to lift them. “You’ve met her?”
“Yes. I had the misfortune of meeting her at the hospital when I came to visit you after your horrible hit and run back in January. She and that despicable manager of yours forbid me from seeing you.”