Sex Idol

by Shelley Munro

  “Now, now,” he chided, his dark eyes glowing with suppressed humor. “I can take things even slower…if I wanted to.”

  “Don’t you dare!”

  Cloth rustled behind her, a zipper whined downward then a hand cupped her butt again. Sasha let out a hiss. At last. The blunt tip of his cock moved against her hip, before he guided it between her legs. Smooth was so sexy. She could feel every inch of him as he paused at the entrance to her vagina. The heat intensified. Sasha shuddered, wanting him, craving him. She pushed back to force him deeper.

  “Easy,” he murmured. His large hands gripped her hips and held her fast.

  “Now. Now,” she chanted. A throb that was almost pain smarted between her legs.

  Antonio grunted, the masculine shorthand containing a hint of laughter. He intended to take his sweet time and make her suffer.

  Sasha glanced over her shoulder to see a fierce glint in his dark eyes. His cock still rested at her entrance. So close, yet a mile away from satisfaction. She pushed away from the wall, hoping to take him by surprise, but he grinned and ran the blunt tip of his erection the length of her cleft instead.

  “Patience.” No sooner had he uttered the word then he plunged into her, surging deep with a seamless thrust. Antonio froze balls deep. They both groaned at the involuntary contraction of her channel. Antonio withdrew and set up a quick series of thrust and retreat.

  “Harder. Please, more, Antonio.” Sasha danced on the cusp of orgasm, ribbons of sensation spreading outward from her clit. Antonio slammed into her again. Hard with the exact force she craved. Flesh slapped flesh, and the ripples exploded into waves of intense pleasure. Her sex clenched Antonio’s cock.

  “Yes, Sash. Just like that.” He groaned and leaned forward, the heat from his chest seeping through the synsilk of her dress. His warm mouth kissed the side of her neck, his teeth scraping over her pulse before he nipped. The surge of unexpected pain brought a spasm. Antonio made a dark sound, and she felt his shaft throb inside her. Deep shudders shook his large frame, and he clutched her, pulling her back against his chest while his cock spurted seed deep into her womb.

  “Damn,” he whispered as he separated their bodies. “I meant to get to a flat surface at least. You okay?”

  “Mmm.”

  Antonio smoothed her dress down over her bare bottom and grabbed a napkin. He handed it to her to clean up and tidied himself. “Talk to me.”

  The worried bite in his tone raised a grin. Sasha turned to face him, echoes of amusement still on her lips. “Why wouldn’t I be all right? I feel great.” She trailed her hand down his chest and stepped close. “Let’s do it again,” she purred.

  Chapter Nine

  “This isn’t going the way I planned.” Antonio frowned, pulling from her touch to stride across the room and back. He stopped when he realized he was pacing, wearing a hole in his uncle’s tiled floor and waving his agitation like a flag. Hell. This was a date. It was meant to be different. Special.

  Nothing to do with training or work.

  “Oh?” Sasha’s brows rose. “What had you planned?”

  “I didn’t plan to jump you the minute we were alone.”

  “Didn’t you enjoy it?” She winked. “I did.”

  Enjoy it? Hell, yeah. He wanted a repeat, especially since Sasha was keen. But he wanted to do this right. “How about dinner? We need to eat, otherwise, my uncle will want to know what’s wrong with the food.”

  Sasha returned to her seat and grinned up at him. “How come you’ve never brought me here before? I didn’t even know you had an uncle who owned a restaurant.”

  “You didn’t seem interested in anything but training and the competitions. It was you who wanted to keep things professional.” Antonio dropped onto the chair opposite and helped himself to the antipasto from the platter in the middle of the table. He popped a piece of marinated artichoke in his mouth and chewed. “Something changed in Fiji.” He speared an olive and stuck it in his mouth.

  Damn. Damn. This conversation wasn’t an improvement. Perhaps he should keep an olive in his mouth to avert further damage. He hadn’t meant to blurt that, and she hadn’t liked hearing it either, judging by her sour-apple expression.

  “You were the one who wanted to win all the time.” Sasha’s quiet words sounded like an accusation. She picked up a fork and transferred cheese and salami to her plate. “You wanted to prove to your family you could make it on your own.”

  And he was still trying to prove himself. “You can talk. You went out on your own.” He dragged his gaze off Sasha and focused on the painting of a gondolier poling through a canal in what looked like New Venice.

  She was treating him like the villain here. Confusion and a sense of being in the wrong unbalanced him. This was the reason he preferred to keep things professional. Stepping into personal territory invariably led to a mess. Hell, he should know. His parents were a prime example. They should never have hooked up. Oh man, listen to him. If this date wasn’t about being personal with Sasha Greenacre, then he was a Jedi knight.

  “I might have gone out on my own but now I teach.”

  Antonio bit back the retort on the tip of his tongue. That sounded final, as if she’d consider nothing but teaching. Fuck, how had a simple date spiraled out of control so quickly? A date. All he’d wanted was to spend time with Sasha.

  “Are you still willing to fill in for Bridget?”

  “I said I would.” Sasha picked up a plate and dumped salad greens on it. Her tense shoulders and stiff features indicated the conversation was over.

  Antonio nodded, hiding the intense relief that swept him. Everything would turn out okay. Once she realized how much she missed the buzz of performing in front of a live audience, she’d change her mind. She had to—he was counting on it.

  * * * * *

  Sasha clasped her hands in her lap. The only sound to break the taut silence that stretched between them was the purr of the hover-cab as they headed for the Main Stadium. It had been that way ever since the date, almost worse than after Fiji. To add to her strain, Sasha’s stomach quaked with pre-contest nerves, the likes of which she’d never experienced before. If they ranked high, it would help Antonio move to the next round of competition and the reputation of her school. They hadn’t practiced or talked since the date, either.

  “Any special instructions for me?” Sasha asked.

  He turned away from the hover window, his eyes softening for an instant when he studied her. “We work well together. We won’t have any problems.”

  Sasha wrinkled her brow. “I know how important winning this competition is to you. I’d hate to be a liability.”

  “Don’t worry. You know the routines. No matter what categories I draw, you won’t have a problem.”

  The hover-cab slowed and Antonio leaned forward to speak to the driver. “Keep going around the block. We need to go to the competitors’ entrance at the rear of the stadium.”

  The driver followed instructions but had to slow because the crowds were dense and spilled onto the hover track. Huge billboards bore the faces of this year’s champions along with advertising for the main sponsor.

  The anxiety dancing in her tummy started a version of the Highland fling. Man, she hoped she didn’t muck things up for Antonio.

  The hover-cab floated down to a drop-off zone outside the rear entrance to the stadium. Antonio climbed from the hover and paid the driver. Sasha grabbed her bag of costumes and makeup and waited for Antonio.

  “Oh, my God! It’s Antonio,” a young girl shrieked from the far end of the street. She sprinted toward them, her shoulder bag flapping against her chest as she ran.

  A burly security guard stood at the door, barring entrance to interlopers. His eyes shifted briefly but soon returned to them, assessing their potential risk. “Names?”

  The fitful sun caught the gold braid trim on the guard’s white dress uniform, highlighting his buff and handsome visage. He could compete instead of guard the door from fa
ns and wannabes.

  “Sasha Greenacre and Antonio Perez.”

  The security guard checked his list, marked off their names and, with a tilt of his head, indicated they should go through the doorway. He turned back to survey the street, gesturing at the driver of a hover trying to stop in a no-parking zone.

  “Move along.” He threw up a halting palm at the approaching fan, his manner terse and no-nonsense.

  “But that’s Antonio,” the girl wailed.

  “Let’s go.” Antonio grabbed her forearm and guided her down a narrow passageway to the registration desk in the small room off the main stage.

  Already, technicians and stagehands were checking the lighting, closed-circuit televisions and cameras to make sure they functioned correctly. Their controlled panic escalated Sasha’s nervousness. She rubbed moist palms across the clingy syncot of her workout trousers. They were wet again almost immediately.

  “Antonio Perez and Sasha Greenacre,” Antonio said to the man sitting behind the desk.

  “Identification discs,” the man said.

  Antonio pulled his disc from his pocket and waited while Sasha fumbled in the side pocket of her bag. “It’s here somewhere,” she muttered, heat suffusing her cheeks.

  “No identification means you don’t go out on that stage.”

  “I have it.” If her palms had been moist before, they were positively dripping now. The disc slipped through her fingers. “Damn.” Sasha bent to pick it up at the same time as Antonio. Their knees bumped. Their hands touched, and just like that, her nerves calmed. Antonio was here with her. Her friend, even if it wasn’t the type of friendship she desired. Sasha stood and slapped the disc on the desk in front of the registrar. “Here’s my identification. Number one hundred and sixty-eight.”

  “Choose an envelope.” The registrar indicated to a row of slots, each with a green envelope.

  Sasha glanced at Antonio.

  “Go on,” he said.

  Sasha plucked an envelope from the middle without stopping to analyze.

  “Next,” the registrar said.

  Antonio curled his arm around her waist and guided her deeper into the cavernous area behind the main stage. He checked the nametags on each small dressing room before coming to a halt. “This is us.” He shouldered open the door and stepped inside.

  Sasha entered, shutting off the chatter and noise from the technicians and the rest of the arriving competitors.

  “Open the envelope. Let’s see what categories we’ve got.”

  Sasha’s hands and knees shook when she attempted to rip open the seal of the envelope. Finally, she extracted the sheet of paper inside. “I can’t read it. God, I can’t believe I’m so nervous.” She thrust the envelope and contents at Antonio.

  “Don’t worry. Nerves are good.” He pinched her on the chin. “You’ll be fine.” He unfolded the sheet of paper and frowned.

  Sasha’s skin grew clammy, terror making her hyperventilate. Jeesh, she hoped she didn’t freeze out onstage. She couldn’t remember ever feeling like this before, not even on her first public performance when she was eighteen and old enough to compete. “What have you got?”

  “Self-pleasuring and anal. But there’s more. They’ve decided to use a surprise element and none of the contestants will learn the details until before the start of round. All competitors have to meet backstage five minutes before competition starts.”

  Sasha’s gasp was loud in the small dressing room. “They can’t do that. It’s against the rules.”

  “Actually, it’s not. There was a clause in the competitor agreement. Non-negotiable. You remember Raquel? She refused to sign because she liked to be prepared, and they disqualified her.”

  “Bloody hell.” Sasha paced the small room like a caged animal, the nerves in her tummy taking on a new high in activity. “They’re filming everything too—for that fly-on-the-wall documentary. Reality shows are out of control.”

  “They still have to keep within the Code of Ethics.”

  Sasha strode another circuit of the room before coming to a sudden halt. She whirled to face Antonio. “Self-pleasuring and anal. Okay. Since they’re handing out surprises what do you say we give them one of our own? I have an idea…”

  * * * * *

  “Right,” the registrar said. “Everyone here? Yes. All right. We don’t have a lot of time. I want the contestant entered as the main competitor to follow Alfred here through to the presentation room. He will give you instructions once you’re assembled there.”

  “I don’t like the sound of this,” Sasha said in a low undertone.

  “Don’t worry. Whatever it is, just do the best you can.” A tic jumped in Antonio’s tight jaw. Several of the other experienced competitors wore the same grim expression. He squeezed her in a quick gesture of encouragement before filing from the room with the others. When the last one left the room, a security guard shut the door and turned to face the registrar.

  “Right,” the registrar said. “There should only be partners present. Twenty-six.”

  “That’s correct, sir.” The small officious woman standing at his elbow spoke clearly. “Twenty-six persons are present.”

  “Good. Good. Please line up against the far wall.”

  Jeesh, shades of school and the nuns who’d taught her in the foster system. Sasha pulled a face but followed the instructions.

  Once they stood against the wall, the registrar dipped his head in an abrupt nod. Four security guards worked together to remove the covers off a long row of tables.

  “On the tables in front of you, there are fifty-two items. Each of you will choose two and only two items. Once you have all chosen, the table will be empty. You must use the items during your time onstage in one of your allocated routines. If the items are not used, points will be deducted from your final score.”

  Shocked silence fell. This was the twist? Sasha glanced left and right to gauge reactions. Each competitor seemed as stunned as her. It had never been done before. The original twist would amuse jaded audiences, but it sure pressured the contestants. Silence gave way to grumbling complaints as everyone studied the items on the table. Some were weird. Whips. Chains. Floggers. Costumes of various varieties. And then there was a pile of vegetables. Sasha’s jaw dropped in pure disbelief.

  Carrots? Really?

  The registrar ignored complaints and questions. “On your marks. Ready. Set. Go!”

  For an instant no one moved, then everyone rushed at once. An elbow hit her in the ribs. Someone pushed her. Another shoved in the middle of her back. A hand yanked at her hair, pulling her head back cruelly. With the serious money involved, the contestants had left their manners behind in the lunge to grab the best props.

  When Sasha received another elbow in the ribs, she stomped on feet with her spiky heels and elbowed back, giving as good as she received. Talk about unsporting. It was a case of snooze and end up with a carrot, although she supposed a contestant could always eat it instead of doing the obvious. A feminine screech rent the air and fists flew.

  “It’s mine, dammit.” A female shrieked, grabbing a man by his long hair and tugging hard. “Give it back. I had it first.”

  “Make me.” The smug man dislodged her with a casual flick of his brawny hands.

  Sasha shoved, wriggling through gaps until she made the table. A flogger. It was a pale blue and appeared decorative rather than functional. Sasha seized it, letting gut instinct guide her on her quest. She glanced down the table. Shit. Not a lot left here apart from the pile of carrots. No way. No how. She’d never been big on carrots despite the rumor they were good for eyesight. There was more stuff down the far end because the contestants had grabbed the things closest in their panic. Ooh. Was that body paint? Sasha ducked underneath the table and crawled to the other end. Another competitor had the same idea. Heads clashed in the race.

  “Ow.” Sasha held her head to stop the throb. At this rate, she wouldn’t need body paint. Just color me purple with bruises. />
  “After you, sweetheart,” the man said. His gaze strayed down the gaping neckline of her syncot shirt.

  Sasha’s eyes narrowed. She didn’t trust his smirk, but she couldn’t stay here and miss out on a good prop. She grabbed the opportunity. “Thanks.” She squeezed past. An impudent hand squeezed her breast and pinched her butt.

  “Piss off,” she snarled over her shoulder. When the lechery intensified, she whirled about and let rip with a fist. It grazed his cheekbone.

  “Tsk-tsk,” he chided, flashing a grin in an attempt at charm. “Don’t hurt the merchandize.”

  She’d do more than hurt the merchandize. She’d tie it in a damned knot if he wasn’t careful. With a burst of speed that took the man by surprise, she crawled out from under the table. Yes. There it was. She grabbed for the body paint kit. Another hand seized it, too, but Sasha was truly pissed by this time. No one was stealing the kit from her and landing them with a carrot.

  Sasha kicked out with a foot and wrenched the kit from the daring male interloper. He groaned, obviously startled by her ferocity. Cradling her flogger and body paint, she made her way to safety. Leaning against the wall, she frowned at her hard-won props. Surely, they could do something with these two things?

  A shrill whistle cut through the pandemonium. “Okay. Time’s up. Those who have their two props stand against the wall. Those who haven’t, please step forward and choose an item. Next, form two lines and report to the desk. They will record what props you have and your entry number. This will ensure there is no cheating.”

  Five minutes later, they could leave the room with their precious props. Sasha hurried back to their dressing room to prepare. She tapped on the door and it flew open.

  “Hey, you okay?” His hair stood on end and his shirt bore a rip.

  “A bit of violence during your selection process, too?”

  “Yeah. One woman got clocked over the nose. She bled all over the floor and that’s when things got ugly. They had to take Marty Chambers off on a stretcher with a suspected broken leg.”