by Shel Stone
At least he was honest, Trish thought, softening slightly. And he was doing something within his field, whereas calling what she did marketing was stretching the truth a bit far.
He was certainly not ugly, but with that smile, she was sure girls dropped their knickers for him at an alarming rate. Trish turned her gaze towards Nathan. Obviously, Nathan and Chrissy wouldn’t last long, but he seemed an okay guy. Not bad looking, either.
Chapter 5
RUNNING HER FINGERS DOWN her bikini bottom to ensure it sat right, Cheyenne stepped into the Jacuzzi, balancing her champagne so it didn’t spill. She sank into the warm water opposite Alexi. His hair was slicked back, accentuating his sharp features and broad, angular jaw, making him look powerful and attractive. She felt herself clench with anticipation for the evening, when they would be alone and she would show him exactly why they were so good together. If the blonde waste-of-space, Megan, wasn’t sitting with them, she would do something right now about the tension building in her body, but Cheyenne wasn’t an exhibitionist—unless she had to be.
Shifting her foot across, she ran it up the inside of Alexi’s leg, drawing his attention to her. She smiled wickedly, promising what she’d do for him that night.
“I just adore being out on the ocean,” Megan said with a sigh.
“I think technically this is a sea,” Alexi said, grabbing the bottle of champagne and topping up Megan’s glass.
“Thank you,” Megan said with a smile, looking around to see where her boyfriend was, but he was nowhere in sight and Cheyenne was almost sorry. The Brit had a good body and Cheyenne wasn’t averse to looking. She had no idea how he’d ended up with a zero personality girl like Megan; he could do so much better.
Looking down, she readjusted her greenish gold bikini top so it sat straight over the best breasts money could buy. See it was real talent that could make small, beautiful breasts, acceptable on the catwalk, but also sexy. It really had to be a top-notch surgeon to pull that off. She needed to top up her tan and this weekend was the perfect opportunity. She spent hours in the gym with her trainers, toeing the fine line between having a good body and being skinny enough to work as a model. Megan was naturally skinny, but pushing the line on the other side where it hinted of being gangly.
Cheyenne looked over at the other girl. They both worked the circuit, the fashion-week runways. As opposed to Megan, Cheyenne managed to get some work in New York. Megan was clearly not understood in the American market. Too understated.
Leaning back, she closed her eyes and took a sip of champagne. “It’s too hot in here,” she said and sat up, standing to step out of the Jacuzzi.
“I think it’s nice,” Megan said and smiled—yet again. If Cheyenne didn’t know Megan’s type better, she would suspect that the blonde was trying to countermand her, but Megan didn’t do such subtle things. Megan didn’t do anything—she just spoke the truth according to her. It would be a waste of time and effort getting into it with her.
Grabbing a towel, Cheyenne spread it across one of the sun loungers and lay down, arching her back slightly to give her body the best possible shape. Alexi’s eyes were still on her when she glanced back. Thank God. If they weren’t, she’d be in trouble. But she knew how to play him. Sex was important to Alexi and Cheyenne knew how to delight him. Luckily, he wasn’t weird in the sack—that would make everything more awkward.
What she had to do though, was convince him she was a keeper. Her ultimate goal was marriage, but Alexi was still stubbornly shut down on the topic. Even if it didn’t last, marriage to Alexi would mean she’d be set for life. She would never have to worry about anything ever again. She’d probably even choose not to do the runways anymore with all their stress, insults and compromises. Anyone who thought modelling was glamorous didn’t know the industry. Nothing was ever good enough, and then there were the doyennes with their ever-shifting declaration of what was in. Apparently, Neanderthal eyebrows were the flavour of the week, and designers had dragged out some inbred-looking girls from God-knowns-where to send down the runway. There were always flavour girls each season, ones that wouldn’t be back again, but the staples came back year after year until they were too old and put out to pasture.
Cheyenne was a staple and she’d been working the runways for four years. In model terms, she was getting on, particularly as she hadn’t started until she was twenty-two, which was basically middle-aged in the industry. Megan was something different, not quite a staple, more of a sales gimmick, but had an enduring value because of her background, because she belonged to the rich mafia, the powerful group with money and influence. They were young and bred to be what they were. Marbella was full of them. More money than sense, most of them. Not as much money as Alexi, mind you. Alexi was the heavyweight in money. Few played on his level and even the ultimate insiders, like Megan and Quentin, jumped when he barked.
Laying her head back, Cheyenne smiled, thinking by extension, she had power being Alexi’s girlfriend. If she was upset, Alexi was upset. In reality, it didn’t work that way, but it was nice to think it did. If they were married, things would be different; she would have real power and people would jump when she told them to.
Quentin walked out onto the deck, taking a seat by the table. His hair was perfectly shaped, but not enough to make it look like he wore hairspray to keep it that way. Gym boy, obviously. Cheyenne wondered if he was any good where it counts, but he couldn’t be too adventurous judging from the company he kept.
“There you are,” Megan’s annoying voice piped up, relief evident that her guy was joining her. Cheyenne closed her eyes so she didn’t blatantly roll them. Instead, she reached for her sunglasses and put them on, relaxing to soak up the sun. She heard Quentin shift over one of the chairs. “Where is that useless girl?” Cheyenne asked. “I’m completely parched.”
“Is there anything you need?” the server girl said and Cheyenne was sure she heard snippiness in that voice.
“A Campari, I think. What do you think, darling? Would you like a Campari?”
“I am fine with champagne,” Alexi stated with no inflection in his voice and Cheyenne wondered if she had done something wrong. She hated that she had to analyse everything, but she had to ensure that Alexi wasn’t losing interest in her, but then really, with who, the Megan-mouse? Hardly likely. For now, she could probably relax.
“I can go with one,” Quentin said.
Cheyenne waved the girl away and settled back, eyeing Quentin from behind her glasses. In twenty years, he might be something to consider, but for now, there was nothing there other than looks. She wasn’t interested in a man living on daddy’s money, and that was what Quentin was, no matter how cool he came across.
“Got any interest in tech start-ups?” Quentin asked, and the question could only be for Alexi.
“Not my interest,” Alexi said.
“The growth potential is astronomical. I’m working with a few. Investing in the most interesting ones.”
“Too many dreamers,” Alexi stated. “And software, the competition moves fast. There is no longevity. Build high then worth nothing. Not like commodity. It last forever.”
“It’s the growth I’m interested in.”
“Then software is the right business for you. Provided you can get out in time. But not consumer software. Consumers, they are fickle. They go this way, then that. Always moving.”
Kind of like fashion, Cheyenne thought. Alexi would never invest in fashion. “You have to keep track of the consumer, follow them if you must, lead them if you know what you’re doing,” she said. Alexi was always impressed when she paid attention and actually added to the conversation. It was as if he didn’t expect it. She wasn’t an idiot; she wouldn’t be here, living like a queen, if she was. Surely, he saw that.
“Too much work,” Alexi said dismissively, but she knew she had scored a point.
A clink of ice drew her attention to the glass being placed on the table by her sun-lounger. The girl moved away a
nd placed a glass by Quentin, as well. She was pretty, not beautiful in the way that a girl could make a living by, but pretty, for an average citizen. Unable to help herself, she wondered why Alexi had hired her. Had he slept with her? Was that how the little whore got her job?
Cheyenne wished she could swat her away, but knew it was completely irrational to get upset about some stupid serving girl. Except Quentin was checking out her legs, which were far from model legs, evenly tanned and curvy. Much too muscular for a model, almost athletic. Cheyenne would have thought athletic was too masculine for men to appreciate, but Quentin’s guarded admiration clearly showed the opposite. But Cheyenne didn’t care about Quentin. The little slut could have Quentin, as long as she kept her mitts off Alexi.
Chapter 6
THE MUSIC WAS PUMPING and lights flashing, and all Cory could see was the girl’s arse. Jeans only showed off how perfectly toned her arse was. It was mesmerising. If there was something Cory appreciated, it was a good body and this girl, Trish, had an awesome body. This was a girl from back home and she made him feel exhilarated and homesick.
Cory had dabbled with every possible type of girl under the sun, but there was nothing quite like the girls he’d grown up with, lusted over and had his first fumbling throes of passion. And Trish embodied the breed perfectly. She was a dancer at one of the clubs and she knew how to dance. Watching her grind almost undid him, finding him between the thin line of being socially acceptable and crushing on her, hard-on included.
The heat in here was unbearable, but as long as she could bear it, he could, too. He seemed to have managed drawing her attention and her dancing was now exclusively for him. He could easily go in for the kill now, but he was enjoying himself too much. This was exhilaration and nostalgia all in one. This was the kind of girl he would end up with when he finally went back home.
The girl was waving her hands in front of her face, trying to dissipate the heat. “I really shouldn’t have worn jeans.”
“You’re welcome to take them off,” he said, smiling, knowing full well that his smile was one of his assets. Girls found it irresistible and he could get pretty much anything he wanted with that smile. She rolled her eyes and shook her head, but was too amused to be annoyed. “Come, let’s get some air.”
Taking her by the hand, he led her out of the club into the street which was filled with merrymakers. Drunk girls in micro skirts, dudes hitting on them and the ever-pervasive giggles.
“I’m getting you an ice-cream,” he said, letting go of her hand. It wouldn’t do to come off too strong now. The trick with pulling was to know when to let the girl approach. Coming on too strong just smacked of desperation. It was the girl who had to do the chasing, in the end.
“And what if I don’t want an ice-cream?” she said, her high heels clicking on the stones of the sidewalk. They walked down the road to the shoreline. The warm breeze off the sea was perfect and the lights made everything sparkle, including the skin of her bare shoulders. She almost seemed golden. He couldn’t wait to tap that tight body.
“You probably shouldn’t. Not sure I could manage to watch you lick something into submission. Just torturous.” He stepped close to her and gently knocked into her, making her laugh. She was his, there was no doubt about it. She’d be spreading her legs for him that night and he’d be sinking into heaven within her thighs. He couldn’t wait, savouring the anticipation. Moving closer, he placed his arm around her, drawing her body in line with his. They walked in unison and her arm came around his waist. It still wasn’t time to make a move. “Seriously, do you want an ice-cream?”
“In the mood for a bit of torture, are you?”
“I’ll behave; I promise.”
A smile spread across her lips and he felt himself tighten. He wanted her so badly. There was still a chance she’d back out if he pushed her now, and he would not accept any alternatives tonight. He wanted her. And the fact that she was an Aussie just made this all seem more real.
He bought her a scoop from one of the street vendors and they crossed the road, finding a bench facing the sea. Holding her ice-cream, she sat down facing him, her knee up on the bench with her ankle under her other leg. He could see the shape of her inner thigh and the seam in her jeans making a little cross right over heaven.
“So how come you ended up in Marbella?” he asked, lightly running his finger down her lower arm. She didn’t pull away.
“By accident, really. We were backpacking and this job was offered, and we just ended up staying.”
“Pretty much how I ended up here, too.”
“It’s funny how that happens. You don’t intend on it, but fate just has this plan for you, and you had no idea.”
“And here we meet.”
There was interest in her pretty eyes, which really were perfect. Long lashes framed them, but it was too dark to make out the colour. Lights sparkled over their glassy surfaces. Jesus, she was pretty. Like a doll.
“How long are you staying?” he asked.
She shrugged. “Until it’s time to move on, I guess. But I have to say, we have it pretty good here. We’ve got a house and everything. It would be nice to go to London for a while. It was, after all, the intention, but I’m starting to wonder if we’d have it as good there as we do here. But it is London, you know? You can’t come to Europe and not do London. You know what I mean?”
“Yeah,” he said, but he was getting too distracted watching her to fully pay attention. He couldn’t stand this anymore. Reaching over, he kissed her. Her lips were cold from the ice-cream and he tasted the vanilla. He placed his hand on her neck and deepened the kiss, letting his tongue explore in her warm, sweet mouth. “I’m sorry,” he said when he pulled back. “Just couldn’t stop myself.”
Her lips were swollen and he just wanted to reach back and devour her. Easy, he told himself. No rush. Pressing her lips together as if she was savouring the taste, she looked back at him. He so badly wanted to feel her breasts, but knew not to be vulgar. Vulgar didn’t get girls. He knew full well that what guys said to one another about how they treated girls was not how girls wanted to be treated. They wanted something unattainable. He was failing slightly on that account.
Straightening up, he faced out to sea, placing his other arm along the backrest. He was a bit drunk and so was she. “That awkwardness over with,” he said.
She gasped. “Awkward?”
“First kisses are always awkward. Over and done with now.” Looking over at her, he smiled again. Thousand-watt smile. She nudged him with her wrist. He so had her. “Come,” he said and urged her to scoot over, under his arm and she complied. “Come home with me,” he said quietly, close to her ear so no one else could hear. There wasn’t anyone else around, but it still sounded naughtier being whispered.
She didn’t say anything, but leaned her head onto his shoulder. It was time to invite. Turning his head towards her, he waited. Her gaze was on his chest and was slowly coming up. There was that moment of stillness, as if the future was hanging on a knife’s edge. On her decision.
She bit her lip as though she was trying to decide, but he knew she’d made her mind up hours ago to give him a chance after a slow and reticent start to the evening. He could tell she hadn’t really liked him at first and he’d worked hard. Now, this was just the dance, the show. If she was waiting, she wasn’t getting what she wanted. She had to come to him. A soft hand ran up his side and he groaned, which was apparently her breaking point. With a rush, she came to him, her lips ready and eager. Her knee was on his thigh and he finally placed his hand on the back of her thigh, drawing her across him. They had to go or they would be arrested.
Placing his arm around her, he stood up, still kissing. “Come,” he said and moved them back towards the road. He waved a taxi down that was cruising the district, looking for people just like them.
“Via Concerta,” he said as he opened the door and let her get in first. The cab took off and they sat quietly in the dark, her knee over his la
p. Slowly, he ran his hand up the inside of her thigh, both keeping deathly silent, like a game, seeing how much they could torture each other while refusing to make a sound. Her hand snuck over his cock and he almost lost it. Instead, he gave her a filthy look as if she was cheating, but she refused to relent, increasing pressure as she pressed her hand to him, finding the contours of his package.
After paying the taxi, he walked her to his door. The whole house was dark and he thanked his lucky stars that none of his flatmates were back yet. Her perfect body was pressed to his as he fumbled for the key, finally getting them into the private space he’d been yearning for all evening.
Neither of them spoke, but he went down on his knees, letting his hands roam over her body, under her shirt. Her skin was smooth and taut, and it contracted with his touch, perfect for kisses as her hands worked their way into his hair. He was going to skip her breasts and go straight for a score. Undoing the button of her jeans, he pulled them down her thighs. She wore boy shorts, which looked hot on her tight, firm hips. She had a piercing in her navel and the diamond glittered in the darkness of the room.
Pulling her black boy-shorts down, he nuzzled into her heat. She was already wet and she tasted divine, bucking when he found her clit. Urging her thigh onto his shoulder, he gave himself better access, working his tongue over her little nub, hearing her breath get wilder.
He pressed a finger into her warm wetness, then two, pumping up and down as his lips closed around her nub, sucking with just enough pressure. Her breathing turned to pants and moans and he felt her contracting around his fingers, loving that it was taking him all of two seconds to get her to come. Her moans turned to cries as she pressed herself to him, her thighs quivering with need.