Part 16 (1/2)
”Great,” Chyna said, barely glancing at their rings.
”And, you...” Layla said wide-eyed. ”You're all over New York. Following in mommy's footsteps, I see.”
G.o.d, she remembered why she hadn't been friends with these b.i.t.c.hes in high school. The bite of jealousy in Layla's voice was so unbecoming.
”How did you get to model for Marco's anyway? I'm still trying to get him to return my calls. I heard he designs wedding dresses, and hubby said I could get whatever I wanted,” Amy crooned.
Chyna clutched the armrest at the mention of his name. She couldn't escape him. She just couldn't get away from any of it. She put her gla.s.s down on the table and stood. She hadn't even noticed that she hadn't taken a single sip from the drink. ”I have to go.”
”Wait!” Layla called. ”Where are you going?”
”Away.”
”What's wrong?” Amy cried, standing as well.
”Nothing. I just...you know what? It doesn't matter,” Chyna said, turning away from them.
”Rude much?” She said heard Layla call at her as she walked away from their table.
She didn't stop or turn around. She made it to the center of the dance s.p.a.ce and began grinding her body to the beat. She wasn't drunk enough to forget what had just happened, but she tried to fill her mind with the music, the dance, the grip of someone's hands on her hips. Still Marco weaseled his way into her thoughts even then.
She wasn't supposed to care about what she had done. It was no more than he deserved. He might have been about to surprise her with the cover spread of his new advertis.e.m.e.nt, but that didn't mean anything. How many other women had been cover models for him? How many others had he photographed in his studio? How many other models had he tossed aside for the next thing? And how many had left him?
She was sure that she was the only one.
The only one dumb enough.
”Hey, baby, what's your name?” the guy whispered into her ear while she pushed her a.s.s against him.
”Doesn't matter,” Chyna said, pus.h.i.+ng her hands up around his neck and rolling her body back against his. Her name was too recognizable at the moment. Maybe he hadn't seen the advertis.e.m.e.nt. Maybe he hadn't seen her name written in s.h.i.+ny gold font at the bottom. But, she wasn't taking chances. Tonight, she was just some anonymous girl in the VIP lounge.
”I like that,” he breathed into her ear. They danced for the next three songs before he leaned forward and spoke to her again. ”You want to get out of here?”
She debated. He was cute and a good dancer. He definitely fell into the high school jock category as far as looks went. He was kind of built like a baseball player with shortish blonde hair and a c.o.c.ky smile. She could dig that c.o.c.ky smile. It usually meant good things in the bedroom...or it meant terrible things. Taking a second look at him, she guessed the former.
But, did she want to leave with some guy that she just thought was cute, even if he had a smile that she knew held promise? ”I don't think so,” she finally responded.
He didn't acknowledge her refusal as he continued to dance with her, his movements getting impa.s.sioned. His hands ran up her sides, and as she began to pull her hands down from around his neck, he reached up and locked them back in place. She obliged his forceful behavior and kept on dancing with him. That was good enough for now. He was a good enough distraction.
He took this as encouragement and moved his hands back down her arms. His hands got adventurous, rounding the curves of her b.r.e.a.s.t.s and then trailing down her flat stomach to the waistline of her black shorts. His fingers dipped under the material and fluttered lightly across the inside of the seam. She dropped her head backward onto his shoulder as his touch heated her body. Maybe this was the easiest way to forget.
They were pressed in on every side by a ma.s.s of bodies dancing in the darkness. She couldn't tell one person from the next, and it was giving him courage he likely wouldn't have had otherwise. His lips found the side of her neck, kissing up to her ear. She tilted her head sideways, giving him easier access, as she enjoyed the taste of pursuit.
She laughed at his boldness, but she didn't stop him as his hand moved farther into her shorts. His finger stroked her silk underwear in time with the music. She rolled her a.s.s in circles against his hardening c.o.c.k, teasing him despite her refusal.
”Tease,” he growled into her ear. He pinched her c.l.i.t through her panties. Her body arched backward into him, surprised by his forcefulness. She had clearly been right about her a.s.sessment of that smile. ”Come home with me.”
When she nodded, he released her and pulled his hand out of her shorts. She let him take her hand, and she followed him out of the club. See, back to normal.
They took a cab to his place, and she told Carl to tail them. She already knew she wasn't going to stay the night with this guy.
They reached his apartment building fifteen minutes later, and he practically dragged her up to the second floor. She followed, trying to get into the haste and enthusiasm that was radiating off of him. By this point, she was wis.h.i.+ng that she had finished her martini earlier. Another drink would do her some good. He had clearly had a few more than her.
He jiggled the door open and pushed it with his hip. He grabbed her by the waist and pulled her into his apartment. Their lips crashed together before he even got the door closed behind him. He tasted like whiskey and cigarettes. He stumbled backward, trying to guide them to the bedroom in the dark, but he ran into an armchair and fell over the edge. He stood up laughing awkwardly.
”Sorry. Guess my roommate trashed the place,” he said apologetically.
Chyna had no doubt that his roommate did not trash the place, or at least, he had something to do with the disaster she could see even in the dark. Men!
Once they finally made it into his bedroom, he scooted a pile of clothes off the bed. Chyna tried not to judge her surroundings, but she was really wondering how he had made it into the VIP section at all. This was why she had always brought people back to her place. It was really easier. But, under her present condition and the fact that her face was everywhere, she thought it best not to draw any more attention to herself.
His lips found hers again, and she tried to push energy into the kiss. He was demanding pa.s.sion, and she wasn't feeling it. Normally, she didn't care as long as she got something out of it, but tonight just sucked.
She tried to push Marco and everything a.s.sociated with him out of her head as she forced herself to concentrate on his kisses. His arms wrapped around her hips, pulling her into his body. She eased into him; she wanted this.
They fell backward against his bed, which creaked with their added body weight to the poor frame. His hands found the end of her s.h.i.+rt, and he awkwardly pushed it up to her throat. He flipped her bra up, rather than unsnapping it in the back, and he ma.s.saged both of her b.r.e.a.s.t.s between his hands. She tried to feel something, anything for this guy. G.o.d, he was caressing her b.r.e.a.s.t.s like he was surprised she had them rather than adoring their beauty!
He kissed around her right nipple before sucking it up between his lips. He pinched it gently between his teeth until it became a small peak. He worked on the other one until it matched, continuing to ma.s.sage the right breast like he was playing with Play-Doh. Chyna closed her eyes and let her head fall back, wanting nothing more than to let herself feel the heat that had traveled through her body in the club.
One of his hands found her wrist lying limp on the bed. He grabbed it and placed her hand on his erection that was throbbing through his dress pants.
”Play with him,” he told her, pressing her hand down harder.
Her eyes flew open, and she stared up at the ceiling. Had he just said him?
”Come on, baby. Play with him,” he repeated. He helped her by unzipping his pants, shoving his boxers down over his d.i.c.k, and showing him to her.
It was nicely sized but nothing to write home about.
In the split second she stared at it, hanging over the edge of his boxers with pre-c.u.m dripping from the tip, she decided she was better than this. What the h.e.l.l had she been thinking? How had she ever gotten to this point?
She went through life accepting the short end of the stick, thinking she deserved nothing more than what was handed to her. She f.u.c.ked millionaires and busboys alike because she was gorgeous and rich and could get away with it. She could get away with not caring what anyone else thought, thinking she wasn't worth much more. It was easier not to get attached, not to allow anyone else to see that she wasn't worth their time.
But, this guy was clearly not worth her time.
”Sorry, I can't believe I'm doing this, but I can't sleep with you,” Chyna said, sitting up and adjusting her top so it was no longer strangling her.
”What?” he asked, sitting up next to her.
”This just isn't working for me.”
He hid him back in his boxers, and then he zipped up his pants. ”You're joking?” he asked, glancing away from her.
”Yeah, I just...” she began, shrugging. What could she tell him? The thought of his pre-c.u.m getting near her grossed her out? He had played with her b.r.e.a.s.t.s like a kindergartener? She wasn't at all interested in him? He would never live up to an Italian fas.h.i.+on designer? He would never live up to Adam? G.o.d, why was he still on her brain?! And, why did he have to be at Alexa's last weekend? Focus!
”I don't understand.”