by K. A. Linde
The only time she had ever felt completely and singularly special was with Adam. Look at what she had done with that! Stupid Adam! Why was she even thinking about him today? That was the second time.
“I think I should get back to the party,” Chyna said, her strength returning. “I have an Italian designer I need to speak with.”
“Just one thing,” Ravenna said, grabbing her arm before she passed through the door, “was there kink?”
Chyna smiled at her like she was a child. “If you think tying me to a chair is the kinkiest thing Marco is interested in, you should think again.”
With that, she brushed past Ravenna and walked back into the ballroom. The room had started to clear out, but there were still plenty of stranglers binging on the free booze. Her radar went off as soon as she entered, and she spotted Marco with the same reporter from earlier. He was blatantly flirting with her at this point. Guess he wasn’t coming for her after all.
She passed a drunk couple who started discussing her dress behind their hands. When she looked over at them, they straightened as best they could and turned away. Apparently, whatever they had been saying wasn’t pleasant. Even better.
She just wanted to go home—not back to her penthouse but back to New York. Her Italian tour was basically over, and she wanted out before she was completely jaded to everything that had happened. She preferred to look back on what had happened here with a smile, knowing it was her first real modeling gig.
A passing waiter offered her a drink, and she graciously took it. She was being melodramatic about the whole affair. She had gotten nothing out of it she hadn’t asked for herself. Who was she to think that Marco wouldn’t discard her with a passing fancy?
The champagne swirled around in her glass as she stared down at it, contemplating her predicament. Maybe she should just leave with someone else. She smiled up at the cute waiter who had given her the drink, and he smiled back. His cheeks turned crimson as her heated gaze landed on him. He would do just fine, if she had any interest at all, but she didn’t. She hated knowing she could do better, and she let that small fact dictate who she took home. It never had before, but she had gotten even pickier since Adam. God, that man was stuck in her thoughts! They had broken up! Who cared what he was doing now or that Alexa had said he was hurting? It had been mutual, and he had delivered the final blow anyway.
“Whatever,” she mumbled, breaking eye contact with the cute waiter. She didn’t even bother to acknowledge happiness that his face fell when he realized she wasn’t going to approach him.
Chyna took another sip off of the expensive imported champagne and turned her attention back to Marco. He better fuck her right tonight. If she was being discarded, she damn well wanted a consolation prize. But, she didn’t see him. Had he left with the reporter already? No, she zeroed in on the reporter who now looked sullen in his absence. That bitch had been trying for some Italian ass all night, and it was kind of comical that he had likely turned her down. What a tease. Guess Ms. Cupcake didn’t cut it.
But then, where was Marco? Her eyes darted around the room for her man. Usually, she could spot him in an instant, but he wasn’t there. If he wasn’t’ at Glam Ball, where was he and why had he left her?
Not finding him, Chyna’s frustration got the best of her, and she left the main ballroom. The party was basically over. If Marco had, in fact, left the building, then it was officially over. Everyone else in that room didn’t matter to her. If she wanted, she could get another job with any one of them without the proper introduction. But, she wanted the best, and she was going to fucking get it.
She stomped back to the director’s office where her clothes had been discarded. When she walked in and saw that big fucking desk sitting in the middle of the room, her body warmed all over, and her body clenched up at the dirty thoughts running through her mind. He should have fucked her on that desk. That way she wouldn’t be so horny and desperate for him to be inside of her now.
“Asshole,” she grumbled, coming around the backside of the desk. She reached out for her pile of neatly folded clothing, and on top of her clothes, she found a small envelope with her name scribbled on the front. She would recognize that handwriting anywhere. Her lower half pulsed as her imagination took off, but her heart also constricted in fear that this was the end. Would he leave her with just a note?
She opened the crisp white envelope and pulled out the gold-trimmed card stamped with Marco’s logo on the front. Her shaky hands flipped it over and read the short message on the back.
Backstage entrance. Blue Bugatti. Don’t think about taking off that dress.
Chyna wasn’t sure she had ever moved that fast. She left her clothes, sitting discarded on the desk, and rushed out of the director’s office. She turned away from the party and down the empty hallway, following the signs to the stage. A stray janitor gave her a suspicious look as she bolted past him, but he didn’t do anything to stop her. Soon enough, she found the stage and the big sign indicating the exit. Without a backward glance, she pushed the heavy door open and walked into the back alley of the theatre.
As promised, a shiny blue Bugatti revved in the narrow street. The car was fucking gorgeous. Panty-dropping hot car! She licked her lips and cautiously approached the passenger side. The windows were tinted so dark that she couldn’t make out an outline of the driver, but she could hazard a guess.
Slowly, the passenger door lifted upward, rather than out, as it turned a hundred-and-eighty degrees vertically, displaying the cream leather interior. Chyna picked up the train of her dress and slid into the car without a second thought. The door closed behind her automatically, and she turned to face the man sitting in the driver’s seat.
“About fucking time,” Marco said, shifting into gear and pressing on the acceleration.
He turned around the corner and onto the main street. He looked over at her and smirked. That was all the warning she was given before he punched the accelerator, going zero to sixty in just over two seconds, throwing Chyna backward into the seat.
“Holy shit,” she muttered, quickly buckling her seat belt. This thing was fast!
He merged into traffic, out pacing every other car by a long shot. Other cars mercifully got out of his way as he flew past them. The images blurred in her vision and made her stomach twist. She looked up at the sky to ground her. How fast were they going anyway? She turned her head to the speedometer and saw the top speed written as four-hundred-thirty kilometers. They were sitting at just over half that. Her head spun. How fast was that? She couldn’t do conversions in her head.
“How fast can this thing go?” she asked as he veered around another car.
God, we were so close to that thing. One wrong move…
But, Marco hadn’t made a single wrong move. He was a natural behind the wheel, handling the beautiful car with the ease of a race car driver. Why had they never gone driving before if he had this thing?
“Four-hundred-thirty kilometers,” he responded, not taking his eyes off the road.
She was thankful for that. “In miles?” she prompted.
He chuckled softly, darting his eyes toward hers briefly. “Two-hundred-sixty-seven miles per hour.”
“Fuck. We’re going one-thirty to one-forty?” she asked as she pressed herself back against the seat, trying not to think about it.
“Is that too slow for you? I know you like it fast,” he said, hitting the gas harder.
Chyna gripped the left handle to steady herself as they went shooting down the highway. Normally, it didn’t take long to get back to his place. It would have been even shorter, punching it at one-hundred and sixty miles per hour, but it seemed that Marco just wanted to show off. He made a sweep of the city before circling back in the direction of his apartment. If she didn’t know Milan so well, she probably would have missed the majority of what they were driving by. She had never driven it before, of course, but she had ridden around the city enough for various shoots.
. She c
ould tell immediately that the ride in his Bugatti had sent a rush of adrenaline through him, and she would be lying if she said that she didn’t feel it, too.
A few blocks from his place, he pulled up fast and turned sharply into an alleyway.
“What are you doing?” Chyna asked, sitting up a little straighter.
“I want to show you something first,” he said with a sly smile.
“Will I like it?”
“You’ll love it.”
Chyna chose to trust him because really she had no other choice. As he took a few more sharp turns around the winding street, Chyna stopped keeping track. She was totally lost, and even if they were spit out on a street she knew, she wouldn’t be able to tell you which one or on what end.
At long last, Marco came to a stop overlooking the Naviglio Grande canal, which joined the Ticino River to the Darsena dock. The canal used to be part of a series of navigational waterways connecting the entire city, but over time, it had been destroyed or covered up. Along the gorgeous flat waterway, much of the area had been converted into shops, bars, and tourist traps.
Tonight, however, the area seemed tame. It was late, but that hardly stopped the youth of the city from traversing the paths and bars hidden around the water. From their vantage point, they could see down the long stretch of water, but were blocked them from view.
Marco cut the ignition, removing even the hum of the powerful engine. She swallowed and looked out across the expansive display before her. Her heart was thumping a sharp tattoo in her chest as her anticipation grew. The tension was practically palpable between them, and Marco’s hands twitched on the steering wheel.
“Well, do you like it?” he asked, turning to examine her face.
She continued staring out toward the city view, but she felt his eyes travel up and down her very visible body under the nude gown. “You can see the stars,” she mused. She hadn’t been able to see them from the windows of La Scala Theatre.
“I’m looking at mine.”
With that, she turned her face back to Marco’s and found herself examining him as well. He was so fucking powerful in every aspect of his face. He had a strong jaw, chiseled cheekbones, and ever-aware keen eyes. His entire physique just screamed at her. He had warmed her up with a glance. Before she knew it, her body was on fire all over again. As if she hadn’t gone hours without his hand on her backside, she felt like she was transported back to that room, bent over that big fucking desk with his cock pressed against her ass. . This time he wasn’t getting off the hook.
His hand reached across the car, grasping the back of her head and pulling her toward him as he deftly unbuckled her seat belt. Their lips crashed together, igniting the spark that had been burning low all night. God, she wanted him desperately. She wanted him for every handprint on her ass, for every time he left her in the dark, for every fondling of Ms. Cupcake the reporter, for every dirty and nasty thought he’d had about her, for every mention of the word star. She wanted to fuck his brains out. She wanted him to really feel her anger, passion, and frustration, and she wanted to take it out on him in the best way they knew how.
Chyna fumbled for his belt. She made quick work on pulling it open before unbuttoning his pants and yanking the zipper down. He untucked his shirt and slid his pants and boxer briefs off in one fluid motion. She had already kicked off her shoes and was soon throwing her underwear onto the spotless carpeted floor.
“Get back over here,” he said, reaching for her lips again.
He grabbed her left leg, pulling it across the seat, and across his body. She ducked her head to avoid hitting the low ceiling, so she could straddle him. His dick was hot and hard in her hand when she reached for him, and his head dropped back when she worked her way up and down the shaft. She hadn’t even needed to touch him really. He was already so turned on. At least she wasn’t the only one who had been left wanting earlier.
“I’m going to fuck you now,” she whispered into his ear.
She sat up a little higher so that she could adjust his dick underneath her. When the tip touched her wetness, she shivered all over at the feel of him. This was what she wanted. This was exactly what she wanted. Nothing else mattered but this, this moment.
Her sex slowly licked across the head, swirling teasingly against him. Marco growled deep in his throat at her taunting behavior, reaching out to grip her hips forcefully between his hands. He shoved her down on top of him, and she gave out a short yelp as her walls expanded to fit him. When he filled her completely, she dropped her head forward onto his shoulder, a moan of pleasure escaping her lips.
“God, you feel good,” she whispered.
“I’ve been waiting for this for far too long.”
“You and me both.”
She slowly lifted herself up, feeling his hands tighten on her hips again. She eased back down on him before straightening up to look into his handsome face. Resting her hands on his shoulders, she began a quick bouncing movement—up and down, up and down. His hands kept the rhythm smooth, giving her some added force. When she rocked backward, he pushed up inside of her.
Her climax was already fast approaching. She had been impressively turned on from the spanking earlier, and now, finally having him inside of her was more than exhilarating. It was euphoric. She didn’t know if she could think of a better place to be than inside a multimillion-dollar car with her designer forcing her down on top of him over and over again.
“Marco,” she groaned. “Oh fuck!”
“My star,” he murmured, pressing his lips to her collarbone. “You’re going to come for me.”
“Make me,” she demanded, moving their bodies together faster. All she wanted was to hit climax. Her body was quivering on top of him with the impending release.
“When you do, I’m going to make you do it again,” he growled, pushing himself as deep as he could go. “You’re going to come until I tell you to stop.”
“Please, God, yes!” she cried, her body clenching demandingly around him as an orgasm ripped through her body.
He slammed her down twice more on top of him as her body shook uncontrollably, and then he grunted, reaching climax with her. He shuddered underneath her before they both went still, the only movement coming from her trembling legs. He kissed a light trail across her shoulder and up her neck.
“You’re magnificent,” he whispered softly against the light beading of sweat at the nape of her neck.
Chyna just sighed into his embrace.
“I’m going to keep my promise to you.”
“What’s that?” she whispered. Her stomach constricted, wondering which one he could be referring to.
He chuckled against her shoulder, nibbling softly on the soft skin. “I’m not done with you yet tonight.”
MARCH—FOUR MONTHS EARLIER
“Are you sure this is the place?” Adam asked, looking up at the black building with a large overhang and patio.
Under warmer conditions, it would probably be full of black café tables and chairs. A large purple neon sign displayed the name, Sulgaana Hookah Lounge, in big swirly letters. Otherwise, the only decoration outside came from fake candles lighting the way to the entrance.
“Yeah. It’s new,” she said, pushing him forward. “A friend told me about it. Used to be a club or something, but it’s been renovated.”
He poked her playfully in the side. “It doesn’t have a line out the door. Are you sure you’re actually interested?”
“I’m not stuffy,” she said, dodging his attempts to tickle her.
He stopped and raised his eyebrows. “Really?”
“Hey, you! Shut the fuck up!” She wrapped her arms around his waist and pulled him close to her.
He smiled and slung his arm across her shoulders.
“There she is!” he said, kissing her temple as he reached out for the door.
She jabbed him the ribs twice as he swung the door open. “You’re gonna get it tonight,” she said.
“You got me,�
�� he said, doubling over like she had actually wounded him.
Strutting forward purposefully into the hookah bar, she said, “And, stay down.”
She could feel his eyes on her ass as she walked a catwalk to the host’s station.
She felt better and more confident tonight. Last night had shaken her a little, and she had called it an early night. Well, early for her. She had even pulled out some of Alexa’s double chocolate, chocolate chip ice cream from her freezer to see if that helped. It hadn’t. She had just felt fat on top of everything else.
No, she couldn’t think about last night—not about the pool, not about the bar, not about the club, not about leaving.
She refused to think about his body soaking wet in nothing but swim shorts. Her mind wouldn’t even let her think about being at the bar with him afterward when he had bought all the right drinks and said all the right things. No way was she going to consider his charming personality, the way his hand found the small of her back when he leaned in to ask her a question, or those too smart hazel eyes that always focused on her face. If she wasn’t thinking about those things, she certainly wouldn’t go back to the feel of his body pressed tight against hers as they danced in the center of the nightclub. Nope, she wouldn’t think about any of those things.
All she would let herself think about was that she had ended it. They’d had a nice time, and then she had ended it.
Yep, that was the only important part.
Adam was out with her tonight, and John had plans until later. Frederick was hanging out boyfriendless at some gay bar in Manhattan, and she was considering going to hang out with him later in the evening. If Alexa were in town, she would have already been with her.
The woman behind the desk was dressed in a traditional Indian sari in deep purple and orange silk. Her long dark hair was pulled back off of her face, showing the bright red bindi at the center of her forehead. “How many?” the woman asked, smiling with eyes veiled by thick black lashes.