Unforgettable 3 (Hollywood Love Story #3) (32 page)

The waiting area of his office was for sure a reflection of his penis—I mean, Prius. Small, compact, and energy efficient since it seemed to have the barest amount of air conditioning allowed by human labor laws. An oppressive cheapskate. Except for an unattractive matronly woman on her way out, I was the only patient. No wonder he could fit me in so easily. Business was not as good as Jen made it out to be. I signed in with the buxom redheaded receptionist, who made goo-goo eyes at me, and then took a seat in one of the burnt-orange tweed armchairs that looked straight out of an Office Depot fire sale. Cupping one hand on my stubbled jaw to feign pain, I randomly picked up one of the anally arranged magazines on the coffee table.
Dental Life Today.
Man, he was a dweeb.

I tossed the magazine back onto the table (deliberately making a small mess) and pulled out my iPhone from my shorts pocket to check my messages and texts. Only one warranted my attention. The one from Jennifer.

Blake~I hope your toothache feels better. Bradley is an amazing dentist.
~Jen

I shot her back a smiley face emoticon. Dr. Wick was about to find out that
I
was an amazing patient. When the receptionist called out my name, my secret evil plan sprung into action. Phase One of
Operation Dickwick
was about to begin.

“Mr. Burns, Dr. Wick can see you now. Just go through the door and head down the hallway to Room 3.”

“Thank you,” I moaned with faux-pain. I felt her lustful eyes on me as I headed through the door. Don’t hate me. I couldn’t help that I had that effect on every woman.

The examination room was nothing to write home about. I anchored my body into the leatherette examination chair, stretching my longs legs out in front of me. I had to admit it was quite comfy, and took in my surroundings. A sink, x-ray machine, and the usual array of scary looking dental instruments on a cart next to me. Littering—I mean lining—the walls were numerous awards and diplomas he’d earned throughout his wretched life—from being named “Little Mr. Good Behavior” at nursery school to his honorary degree from USC’s prestigious dental school. Holy Christ. There was an even a Boy Scout award along with a photo of him wearing all his badges.

Another photo grabbed my attention. It was a recent one of him at some dental convention, posing with an ugly plaque.
Los Angeles’s Most
Promising Young Dentist 2013.
He looked even dweebier than I’d imagined. And what was with that fucking smile? Was Dickwick some kind of walking advertisement for his practice? I’d never seen such monstrous teeth on a human being. Well, maybe on a horse.

My eyes shifted to another photo taken at the same event. My skin bristled and my toes curled. Standing next to Dickwick was a beautiful young woman. Jennifer McCoy. About the same height as Bradley in her modest heels, she was wearing a simple ivory sheath and a smile. A small smile but nonetheless a smile.

I wanted to rip the photo off the wall with my teeth. Maybe I could dump it in his toxic wastebasket. There was time. He still wasn’t here. Just as I was about to slide off the dental chair, I heard footsteps at the door. In walked 36-24-36 in a mini-skirted white uniform and shiny white platforms. This must be Bradley’s nurse or dental hygienist, I thought as she bounced my way. And I’m not talking about her gait.

“Hi, I’m Candace, Dr. Wick’s hygienist,” she cooed. Her cartoony voice went with her name—saccharine and seductive. She had all the makings of a porn star. Blond, buxom, beautiful. She clipped one of those blue paper bibs onto the neckline of my T-shirt. Her tits were so big they grazed my chest.

“Dr. Wick will be here shortly,” she breathed against my neck. Her overpowering sugary scent was nauseating.

“Well, hello, hello, hello.” A chirpy, nasal voice sounded on cue.

He was in my face before my head could swivel around. Dr. Bradley Wick, DDS . . . a twenty-six-year-old replica of his former Boy Scout self. But instead of a blue shorts uniform with all his do-gooder badges, he was now wearing a white, monogrammed lab coat over a cheap-looking gray suit and tie—the kind they advertise at the Men’s Wearhouse for ninety-nine dollars—and his hairline was receding. I eyed him up and down. He couldn’t be more than five foot nine. For sure, Jen couldn’t wear stilettos with him without towering over him. His small hands and feet told me something else was small too.
My poor Jen!
My elimination mission had, in an instant, become a rescue mission.

He glanced down at the clipboard anchored in his hands. There was a piece of paper with scribbled notes attached to it. “Hmm . . . so, I understand you have a sudden toothache.”

I did the moaning, hand-to-cheek thing again and nodded. God, I was good. My modeling/acting days had really paid off.

“Call me if you need me, Doctor,” Candace said breathily before sashaying to the door. She sure knew how to move that piece of ass.

Dickwick’s eyes fixed on it. Despite being engaged to Jennifer, he looked like he wanted to take a bite. I suppose most men would. Oddly, even though my type, she rang no bells for me. Not even a tiny testicular tingle.

“Thank you, Candace.” As she exited, that big horsy smile spread across Dickwick’s face. A shudder ran through me. Shit. Did he use those teeth on Jennifer? I had the sudden urge to knock them out.

His grating voice hurled me out of my mental—or should I say dental?—ramblings. “Refresh my memory . . . how did you find me?”

“A referral.” I groaned out the words.

“From whom? I’d like to reward whoever it is with a free oral exam.”

The words “oral exam” made me cringe. Is that what he did with Jennifer’s pussy?

I breathed out her name. “Jennifer McCoy.”

His eyes widened. “Really? How do you know her?”

I knitted my brows. That was interesting. He had no clue who I was. Jennifer had obviously never mentioned my name to him. Cautiously I said, “We work together.”
And soon, Dickwick, we’re going to fuck together.

“Ah, so you work for Conquest Broadcasting too. In the children’s programming division?”

Hmm. Is this what Jen had told him? Wondering why she would hide working for SIN-TV, I merely nodded.

“Wonderful. Let’s get started.”

Placing the clipboard on the sink counter, Dickwick prepped for my examination. I watched as he donned a paper mask along with a pair of latex gloves and telescopic glasses. He leaned into me.

“Open wide.”

Is that what he said when he wanted Jen to suck his little dick?

Mentally slapping myself, I parted my lips and opened my mouth as wide as it would go.

Holding a mouth mirror, he peered inside it. “Where exactly is the problem? I don’t see any inflammation.”

A pool of saliva gathered in the base of my mouth as he continued to explore. I grabbed that little spittle vacuum and pressed my lips on the tip to suck up the excess spit. For some crazy reason, I imagined Jen wrapping her lips around my cock and making me come in her mouth.

Poking my gums with the fingers of his free hand, he catapulted me out of my fantasy. I relaxed my jaw.

“It hurts like hell in the back by my molars. Can you feel any swelling?” I asked before opening my mouth wide again. My evil plan was now officially in action.

He reached two fingers—his index and middle ones—into my mouth. I let out a loud, faux moan of pain and then I did it. I chomped down on his fingers as hard as I could. So hard that my cuspids tore through his plastic gloves, and I could taste the copper of his blood on my tongue.

“OWWW!” he screamed out at the top of his lungs. Music to my ears.

Well done, Agent Burns
, I mused as he yanked his hand out of my mouth and stared down at the blood-filled glove with disbelief. Well, at least I had spared him his two fingers. Well, barely.

“Why the hell did you bite me?” Pain and terror filled his eyes as he struggled to pull off the bloody glove.

“I’m sorry. It was an accident. You hit the sore spot. It was just an involuntary reflex.”

“Fuck,” he moaned as he peeled off the glove. Bright red blood was dripping down both fingers, covering the back of his hand and making its way to the edge of his sterile white lab coat sleeve. Panicking, he reached for some gauze and held it tightly to his wounds.

“Man, I mean Doctor, I’m really, really sorry,” I apologized.
That you won’t be sticking those two pathetic fingers up Jennifer McCoy’s pussy anytime soon . . . or anywhere near it,”
I silently added with a wide mental grin.

The blood seeped through the gauze. He looked horrified. “I’m sorry,” he stammered. “You’re going to have to come back or see someone else. I think I need to go to an emergency room. I may need stitches.”

“Want me to drive you? It’s the least I could do. I drive fast.”
Like a maniac.

Pressing the gauze to his fingers, he dashed out of the room before I could say another word.

A cocky smile lit up my face. Did I ever mention I was a biter as a child? My biting skills had only gotten better with age. I couldn’t wait to use them on the warm, silky flesh of the delicious Jennifer McCoy. And make my mark.

Mission accomplished.

Jennifer

I
spent Saturday afternoon with Libby at Chaz’s downtown studio—a large, high-ceiling, exposed beam loft located in the heart of the Fashion District. Chaz had invited us to pick out dresses from his All That Chaz line for the exclusive art gallery gala he’d invited us to later in the evening. It was an opening for a painter who went by one name that rhymed with his—PAZ. He’d scored the invitation through the co-owner of the gallery, who was one of his major clients. After much leg-pulling, I’d convinced Bradley to come along. He hated these kinds of things, so I promised him we wouldn’t have to stay long. His idea of an exciting night out was a boring night in—ordering takeout from his favorite vegan restaurant, watching reruns of nineties shows on Netflix, and going to sleep early with a quick fuck thrown in. We were barely engaged but acted more like an old married couple.

Sunlight beamed through the floor-to-ceiling windows. As I plowed through the racks of dresses, each one more dazzling than the one before, my mind was distracted. I couldn’t stop thinking about my boss. I could barely eat my breakfast this morning. I was too roused up from his sensual massage that affected him as much as me, and when he told me my lips were kissable, I almost jumped out of my skin. The drive home was painful. I couldn’t wait to get out of the car. The whole way, I had to keep my legs crossed to quell the throbbing between them, and my eyes anywhere else but on him. Oh, that heart-stopping, gorgeous face with that cocky dimpled smile and those piercing ocean-blue eyes that burnt holes through me. If it wasn’t for the seat belt, I might have jumped him and gotten us into a major accident.

Visions of him naked danced in my head. Those long muscled legs and chiseled arms. His broad shoulders. I hadn’t actually seen his chest or ass, but in my mind’s eye, they were sculpted male perfection just like the rest of him. And then there was his cock. That magnificent tower of sexual power. Fuck. I couldn’t get him out of my mind. My pulse was in overdrive, and the lingering ache between my legs wouldn’t go away.

When he’d texted me earlier to thank me for the referral to Bradley, my whole body lit up. Not just my eyes. I’d longed to hear his voice, that sultry, manly voice. How badly I’d wanted to call him back. I’d fought back the urge by convincing myself he might still be in a pain and not be able to talk. Despite his cockiness, I’d found myself caring about him as much as I wanted him in forbidden places. There was something seriously wrong with me. Here I was engaged to be married to the man I’d been with for over five years, and I was melting over another I’d known for less than a week. A deep pang of guilt knotted my stomach and sent a shiver down my back. Was fantasizing a form of cheating? I couldn’t focus on picking out a dress.

“Darling, let me help you find something,” offered Chaz, coming to my rescue. “You seem distracted.”

That was a fact.

I continued to listlessly scour through the dozens of dresses. “They’re all so short, Chaz.”

He rolled his eyes at me. “That’s the point, Jenny-Poo. They’re fuck-me dresses. You know, you seriously need to change your look. Sometimes you dress like someone’s mother.”

I cringed. He was right. I was not very adventurous when it came to fashion. And I definitely didn’t dress with sex appeal in mind. I lifted a sparkly pink number off the rack. My size—four. “What about this one?”

“One of my faves, but not right for tonight. An art gallery opening requires an LBD.”

I arched my brows. “An LBD?”

He shook his head with amused disbelief. “A little black dress, honey.”

I watched as he shuffled through the dresses until he landed on one to his liking; he yanked it off the rack. A smile lit up his face. “Perfection. This one is calling your name.”

He held it up in front of me. It was itsy bitsy and strapless. Folding it over his arm, he pivoted on his heel and told me he’d be right back. In a flash, he returned with a pair of sparkly black stilettos with spiky six-inch heels that looked like they could stab someone. “They’re your size. Try these on with the dress.”

“Where’s the try-on room?”

Chaz grinned sheepishly. “Darling, this is not a department store; it’s a friggin’ studio. The try-on room is right here. Off with your clothes.” A sweeping hand gesture accompanied his command.

Hesitantly, I stripped off my sneakers, jeans, and crew neck sweater. Clad in just my cotton bra and panties, I was practically naked. A wave of embarrassment swept over me, but then I reminded myself Chaz was gay and more like a brother. And he probably saw a lot more flesh with his daily slew of fitting models.

I slipped on the dress and the shoes.

“Oh my God. That’s so amazeballs on you!” It was Libby, with a handful of little black dresses strewn over her arm.

“Really?”

“Girlfriend, take a look at the new you.”

Libby led me to a nearby full-length mirror. Unsteady in the killer heels, I held on to her shoulder. Chaz pranced behind us, belting out “I’m Too Sexy.”