His Prize Model (A BBW Romance)

by Malcolm Jordan

  I guess I still feel I am in hostile territory…but then, maybe I am.

  Sleep takes a long time to come and when it does, it’s a restless slumber.

  CHAPTER 7

  RILEY

  It’s just after 5 o clock, so I have time to select the perfect outfit. For me, this is always the hardest part of going on a date. I always have to try on at least four outfits before settling on one.

  This time around though, I decide to go with the classic little black dress.

  Ethan Stone has no idea what he bargained for tonight.

  Any time I wear this particular black dress, traffic literally stops around me. It’s just the right length and hugs my figure like a glove, showing off all my assets, especially womanly hips and round ass.

  Jada is as excited as I am, and helps me pick out the accessories. We keep remembering what they had preached to us at the agency… that no matter where we go in public, we always have to dress and look like models.

  You never know who may be looking at you or who you may meet.

  There is never any telling when we could be photographed and I have heard that there is always a hive of paparazzi present in the wings at Le Chalet, waiting to catch a glimpse of anyone famous arriving for dinner.

  I take a long, relaxing shower. The warm water feels so good beating against my tender flesh that I find myself fantasizing about Ethan. It seems as if it’s his fingers brushing against my skin instead of mine.

  It feels so damn good.

  After my way too long shower, Jada takes pains to perfectly apply my makeup. I may have just turned twenty-one, but I am not a typical small town girl, not by a long shot. Coming from a family where money was always an issue had hardened and prepared me for the rigors of New York. It had been the perfect training ground.

  Eight O’ clock could not have come fast enough. I am excited at the thought of going out on the town with someone apart from Alex and the fact that my date is a young, handsome billionaire, makes the prospect even more intriguing. The intercom buzzes exactly one minute before eight. Ethan is indeed a man with a sense of punctuality about him. I guess in his business, time definitely means money.

  “Good luck, honey,” Jada plants a kiss on my cheek.

  I give her a hug. “Thanks, Jada. I won’t lie I am super excited about this date. Jeez, imagine me at Le Chalet with a billionaire. Oh my gosh, girlfriend.”

  A tremor runs down my body as I ride the elevator down to the first floor. It comes to a jarring stop, which hits me like a ton of bricks. I exit and quickly slither through the lobby, finding time, as always, to say a quick hello to the bellman, who politely opens the door and ushers me outside.

  A brand new Jaguar convertible is parked in front of the building, with Ethan standing at the driver’s side, a curious smile plastered across his face. He is dressed in a dark pair of pants and yellow shirt covered up by a dark sports jacket. He makes for a dashing date and looks every bit the successful entrepreneur.

  My goodness, he is so strikingly handsome. The guy oozes confidence.

  Ethan takes my hands and kisses it ever so gently.

  This is a man who obviously is used to getting what he wants.

  “Wow Riley, you look absolutely amazing, just like the supermodel you will become one day soon.” Ethan greets me with a flourish and his mouth curves into a wicked grin. His eyes seem to be roaming my body, staying just a little too long on my curvy ass.

  “Thank you Ethan. You don’t look half bad yourself,” I swallow hard at the sight of my hunky date. He looks even better up close and the tingling sensation in my tummy starts becoming even more pronounced. I am somewhat perturbed by the raw power of my attraction to him and blood throbs in my veins with a scarlet web at desire.

  Ethan skips around to the passenger’s door, opens it and bows gracefully while letting me in. Apparently he enjoys playing the dashing host. The interior of the Jaguar is pure luxury. Now I see why my friends say it is the ultimate panty dropper. There are modern gadgets littering the dashboard and the leather seat is soft and inviting. It’s the first time I am driving in a Jaguar, much less a brand new model.

  I fall in love with the car instantly. I definitely have to own a car like this one day in the not too distant future, when I become a supermodel. You see, I have this passion for sporty, high end cars. They turn me on.

  The effect of sitting in the magnificent Jaguar has my mind playing tricks on me…I picture my legs on the dashboard with Ethan in between, licking me until I am panting with desire then plowing into me like a man possessed. Tightness invades my sex, so I quickly halt my fantasy and turn my attention to what’s happening on the streets outside.

  Now sitting in the car beside Ethan, I finally get a good, close up look at him.

  He has quite a manly physique, yet dainty, well-manicured fingers. His small beard gives him a certain bad boy appeal and jaws so chiseled, it almost seems false. Ethan’s eyes are piercing, as if they are trying to peek into your soul and he has white, perfect teeth. It’s almost as if someone has programed a computer to come up with a model of the ultimate modern man.

  What I had figured earlier is now even more magnified. I’m in big trouble with this man. I definitely will have problems handling this god of a man.

  Ethan guns the Jag to life and it roars off into the night. Just feeling the raw power beneath the hood causes my heart to start galloping a million miles an hour. My nipples tighten like screws and goosebumps envelop my skin causing me to clench my back teeth. Pulsations are rippling in places they never have before

  I feel so freaking horny, it’s just not funny.

  And the night hasn’t even started.

  The Jaguar cruises down the streets of Manhattan looking every bit the class of the field, drawing stares from pedestrians and other motorists who seem to turn green with envy. For a city used to fancy cars, there is still something to be said about the appeal of a brand new Jaguar.

  We pull up at the entrance to Le Chalet and glancing outside the window I notice a beehive of activities. The building has an old world, yet elegant charm and there is even a small throng of paparazzi lurking around the corner. A bright-eyed parking attendant quickly opens the door for me, salutes Ethan with a knowing glance and rushes to receive the key from him.

  Ethan folds my arms into his as we ascend the aged steps leading towards the restaurant. Someone must have recognized him, because flashbulbs start popping; my date, however, nonchalantly peers ahead, totally ignoring the scene around us.

  This man has ice water in his veins. I can’t wait to hear more about his background during dinner.

  As we reach the top of the stairs, a well-dressed doorman, as if on cue, smartly opens the entrance door. “Welcome, Mr. Stone and you too, Miss Hamilton,” he greets with a curtsy and ushers us inside.

  The weather is good, so we have no coats to check.

  As we enter the corridor, the maître‘d quickly rushes over, acknowledges Ethan and gives me a firm, yet welcoming handshake. “Your table is waiting, Mr. Stone.” I am impressed. Ethan is obviously a very important customer and regular here, judging by all the fuss everyone is making over him.

  We walk pass a well-stocked bar, where a bartender in fancy uniform is in the process of pouring top shelf liquors. All the high-back stools at the bar are taken up by customers patiently waiting on their tables to be ready. Ethan and I endure none of that though, as the maître’d marches us straight inside. Heads turn instantly in our direction as we glide across the restaurant floor. Sure, I am used to the stares wherever I go, but with Ethan by my side the eyes have been magnified ten-fold.

  I soak up the lavish attention and why not, it’s not every day a girl has the Sexiest Man Alive on her arms.

  No matter where I go, I have to look and act like a model.

  My handlers at Svelte Modeling Agency have drilled that line into my head and I have no problem in carrying out their instructions. So I strut through the restaurant in
such a spectacular manner that the world and his wife could tell that I am a model. Even as we stroll toward our table, I glance around, taking time to admire the splendor of the surroundings. The interior of the restaurant resembles that of a French Chalet, hence the name. I adore the way it is tastefully decorated with authentic ancient French relics and magnificent works of art.

  The maitre’d seats us at a corner table, which affords us a bit of privacy, but at the same time commands a panoramic view of the room. “Bernard will be your waiter for the evening. He will be with you momentarily to take your order. Please do have a wonderful night and I know you will enjoy your dinner,” he says, bowing before taking his leave.

  I am so freaking happy that I finally turned twenty-one. Now I can actually drink alcohol in public since I sure as hell don’t want to act like a little girl around Ethan.

  Listen, I am no prude. I have stolen liquor from my parents’ stash and drank at parties in that period before dropping out of college to try my hand at modeling. Still, it’s a special feeling for me to be able to legally order any drink I want.

  Seated across from the handsome and charismatic Ethan Stone, in one of the trendiest restaurants in the greatest city on Earth, I ponder for a moment how much my life has changed in a few short months. A year ago I was in college cramming for exams and having a simple, yet unfulfilled life. Now, here I am on the grandest stage, on the cusp of what I hope is a ride to stardom.

  How funny this thing called life?

  “I hope you like the place, Riley,” Ethan’s sexy voice brings me back to reality. There is nowhere to hide from his hypnotic stare. Those piercing eyes and kissable lips are making me swoon. I can’t halt the tremor erupting in the pit of my tummy.

  “It’s amazing, Ethan. Thank you so much for taking me here. You rescued my day.” I swallow hard and give him my patented Riley Hamilton smile…the one where my eyes light up and I bat my eyelashes in wild, playful abandonment.

  Ethan wiggles his brows and a sexy smile erupts on his handsome face. He has a curious look about him, as if he is trying to figure me out.

  Maybe he is wondering if I am an innocent flower or a she-devil ready to pounce.

  I grin at the thought. With me, you never know which Riley Hamilton will show up. I can’t even figure out myself sometimes. “So tell me all about you, Riley?” he asks, playing with a fork at the table.

  Where should I start?

  I find myself telling Ethan about my life growing up in a small town. He is intrigued by details about my chance meeting with Alex that eventually led to New York and me here dining with him. Ethan laps it all up like a sponge, never once taking his eyes off my face as I speak. I find myself at ease in his company. He is a good listener, unlike most men who like the sound of their own voices more than anything else. “That’s a fascinating story, Riley. You should write a book one day about your life,” he finally interjects.

  “Well, let’s put it this way, Ethan,” I reply cheekily. “That would fill just a few chapters. I have much more living to do, so maybe I will write it in a few years. I’m sure at that time there will be lots and lots of juicier stories to tell.”

  I am flirting with him with my eyes and his stare grows even more piercing.

  There is a magnetism about this man which I have never encountered with anyone before. He is almost unreal.

  The waiter arrives at our table and interrupts our little verbal sparring. He is a middle-aged man who speaks with a delightful French accent which I adore. I just think French is simply the most romantic language in the world. To me, it’s the language of love.

  I have to visit Paris one day.

  “May I suggest the Romantee Conti, Monsieur,” our waiter chimes, a radiant smile on his face, yet sounding ever so professional.

  “I think I rather agree with your recommendation,” Ethan nods.

  The waiter bows and head off, smiling at what must be the thought of a fat commission off what I consider to be an expensive bottle of wine. I look forward to sharing a glass with Ethan.

  Unlike most men who would try and order for me to show off their knowledge and masculinity, Ethan proceeds to guide me through the French menu, offering insights into the dishes he has already eaten. With my limited palate, I eventually settle on a French onion soup, a salad and lobster entrée. Ethan opts for a dish that I don’t even dare try and pronounce, lest I embarrass myself.

  Our waiter quickly returns with the bottle of wine and gently pours a few drops into Ethan’s glass. He takes a sip, slips it under his tongue and finally nods, signaling the waiter to pour into my glass. The man takes our orders in an experienced manner, before retreating once again. The orders placed, I launch a probe into Ethan’s background. “So what should I know about you?” I inquire fascinated by the way he creases his forehead when he is thinking.

  “What do you want to know? All you have to do is ask, my dear.”

  “Well, for example, where are you from and how did you get to where you are at such a young age?”

  Ethan looks at me in a thoughtful manner.

  “I grew up dirt poor in Philadelphia. My mom was a hooker and my dad, well I never knew my dad.” He pauses to see what effect his words are having on me. “Still my mom loved me in her own way and tried her best to provide for me. That was when she wasn’t busy with her Johns in the other room. I couldn’t sleep most night with all the grunts and groans coming from her room. But, you know what she had to pay the bills, right?”

  A million thoughts are flashing through my head, but I try and play it cool.

  “So how then did you get to become the CEO of a billion dollar conglomerate?”

  “I was always a bright boy, so I stayed up at nights studying while my mom was in the next room with her customers. I fended for myself… hustling on the streets to send myself through high school and as soon as I reached eighteen I went off and joined the army.”

  His voice is almost eerie as he continues. “In the army I met Captain Braddock, who is a finance wiz. He ignited my passion for business and taught me everything I know,” Ethan settles back in his chair. “After leaving the Seal team, I joined a group of mercenaries fighting our enemies abroad. I made a truck load of money and eventually took over the running of the group.”

  Ethan’s eyes stray toward some unseen area of the restaurant, as if reminiscing on those days in the arms. “I then sold arms to warring factions in Africa, earning many more millions of dollars. Eventually I got tired of all the killing and joined Braddock in his family conglomerate.”

  Ethan pauses for a while, eyeing me in that peculiar manner of his. “I learned as much as I could from Braddock before I coaxed him into leaving the family business and help me set up my own company. The captain, like me, is an adventurer, risk-taker and maverick. The rest, as they say, is history. Of course I had a little luck along the way and now I own a major company.”

  He makes it all sound so simple and easy, but I am smart enough to know that was not the case. Building the sort of company he owns is far from being a cakewalk

  Ethan takes a sip of his wine and stares into the distance as if searching for some unseen ghost. “The wine is really quite good, Miss Fashion Model, you should try some more.” Just like that he is back to his charming, smiling self. I reach for my glass and take a few sips. I like the texture and the body of the wine. I’m not a connoisseur by any means, but I enjoy the feel of the liquid on my palate. I proceed to quickly drain the entire glass and the waiter briskly appears and refills my glass. The ever pleasant smile is plastered on his face.

  Talk about service

  “I find all this fascinating, Ethan. Tell me about life in the army? Must have been tough for a teenage boy?”

  “Are you sure you want me to bore you with such talk?”

  “I am far from bored, Ethan. Please continue.”

  “I loved the army. I always used to fight, whether at school or in the streets, so it gave me the perfect legal battleground,” h
e says, a twinkle in her eyes and that pronounced crease of the forehead ever present. “I quickly realized I enjoyed the thrill of combat, facing death and surviving. I got a high from plunging a knife into a man’s heart or blowing his brains out.”

  He pauses again and stares deeply into my eyes, as if searching for fear or a sign that I am grossed out by his morbid admission. “Does that shock you, Riley? Do you think less of me because I enjoy killing.”

  “I …I guess you had to kill to defend your country,” I stammer, somewhat taken aback by his rather strange confession.

  I should run for the hills.

  “They drafted me into the Navy Seals and I did some really bad things to defend my country. Things you would scoff at, but which I deem necessary,” Ethan continues.

  I take another sip of my wine. Our eyes lock for a moment, as if in combat…daring each other to blink first. “So let’s talk about business. I hear you are a ruthless businessman?” My eyes slink away from his, unable to match their intensity.

  “All great businessmen are ruthless, Miss Hamilton. Similar to a war, the business world is all about kill or be killed. The big sharks always devour the small fish.”

  “But Ethan, don’t you want to build something that will leave a lasting, positive legacy, rather than just raid and destroy companies?”

  He laughs out loud for the first time. “I will leave that to the philosophers and humanitarians among us. I am in business to make money, which gives me power. That is all I crave.”

  Ethan glances up as the waiter arrives with our entrée. There is an unmistakable calmness about the man. He does everything with ease. “But enough about me and business, let’s enjoy our meal,” Ethan says.

  I swear he just winked at me.

  I dive into the lobster. It is absolutely delicious and since I’m always watching my weight, trying not to pack on any more pounds, it’s the perfect dish for me. I take sly glances at Ethan as I eat. His eyes are watching me like a hawk, as if studying every change in my facial expression.