by K. A. Linde
She trailed her hand along the grand piano in the living room, her fingers skimming across the white and black–tiled keys. The noise drew Marco’s attention, and she happened to glance in his direction. When their eyes met, he walked over to her. He leaned her backward against the keys, releasing a cacophony from the beautiful instrument.
“Are we going to have a Pretty Woman moment?” she asked, not holding in her giggle.
“Hmm?” he asked against her neck as his knee spread her legs.
“The movie,” she said. When he didn’t acknowledge it, she explained, “I’m your hooker, and you take me across the piano at the hotel?”
“Sounds appealing. I’ve never been with a hooker.”
“Or, against a piano?”
“I wouldn’t go that far,” he said, grasping her jaw firmly in his hand. “If you’re my hooker, do I have to pay you?”
She shrugged her shoulders. “Aren’t you already?”
“Not for sex.”
“You’ll never have to. I’d do whatever you want anyway.”
“Good,” he said, running his hand down between her legs as he pressed against her. “Was the car enough for you?”
She slowly shook her head. She already knew he wasn’t done with her, and she was desperate for more. “No.”
Marco loosened his tie, pulling the knot out, and slipping it from beneath his collar. “That’s right. You’ll have enough when I say you have.”
Adrenaline pumped through her body at the sound of that. She was aching for him already, and they had just finished in the car. In that instant, she was able to forget everything that had happened earlier in the night. She could forget about the other models, about Natasha, who was the old American centerpiece Marco had thrown aside, about the Corsa job offer, about her addiction to powerful men, and she could even forget about missing Adam. All she was thinking about was the easiest way to get him inside of her again.
He placed his tie across her eyes to obscure her vision, submitting her into darkness. She felt him wrap it around her head, tying it into a perfect knot in the back. Her body was working in overdrive from the loss of one of her senses. She slowly reached out and touched the front of his button-up shirt to ground herself.
“I love when you’re blindfolded, star,” he whispered into her ear, causing her to jump at his nearness. He laughed softly, trailing a hand over her exposed collarbone down to the curve of her breasts that peeked out from the sweetheart neck of his gorgeous dress.
Gripping behind her knees, he hoisted her legs around his waist. The piano chorused a new round of music as she pressed down on the keys to steady herself. She never knew what to expect, and the debilitating effects of the blindfold only intensified her anticipation. He placed his hands on her ass, lifting her up into his arms, and she gently wrapped her hands around his neck.
“Where are we going?” she whispered into his ear.
“Now, now, hold your questions until after the movie.”
She tried to judge where they were headed in the massive apartment, but since she wasn’t walking and she couldn’t see a thing, she lost all sense of direction. They could have been anywhere, and she resigned herself to the fact that she would have to wait and see.
Her back landed on a soft comforter, and she immediately wondered if they had reached the master suite. She loved his room with its big dark wooden furniture, including a larger-than-life bed draped in the finest gold silk sheets hidden under an embroidered navy comforter stuffed with the softest goose feathers. She had spent many a nights thrown about in that gorgeous bed, yet something about this one was different. Despite not being able to see, she could still feel the difference. Unless he had replaced the mattress recently, this one was not the master bed.
God, she had so many questions, but she remained tight-lipped, wanting nothing more than to find out what was going on.
“Without disturbing that blindfold, move up until your head hits a pillow,” Marco directed authoritatively.
Chyna did as he commanded, trying to make it up the bed without messing up her million-dollar dress. When her head found purchase, she sighed, falling backward into the pillow. It was comforting and reassuring, and she needed that for whatever Marco had in store.
She heard a soft beep, and then Marco’s footsteps moved from the foot of the bed up to the top. He reached out and stroked her dark hair, back across her breasts, down her stomach that was still thinly covered by the sheer material, across the exposed sensitive skin between her legs, and back again. Her body was pulsing with desire. She wished he would just take her already, but she knew the waiting—him drawing it out like this—would only make it better.
A soft leather cuff encircled her small wrist. When she pulled on it, it didn’t give, and she realized she was trapped. For a second, she felt immobilized and terrified. With this amount of power, he could do whatever he wanted with her. He could terrorize her. He could tease her endlessly. Whatever he was thinking in his twisted mind, he could enact on her body for his own pleasure.
Yet, as she felt the second and third cuffs circle her ankles, the terror began to fade as her desire heightened. She wanted this. She didn’t know exactly what he would do, but that was all the fun. He was in control, and she wanted what he was going to give her. By the time the final cuff wrapped around her left wrist, she was wet and needy.
“And, I thought I liked the blindfold,” he said. His voice came from the end of the bed as if he were standing there, admiring his handiwork. “Now, don’t move.”
He chuckled to himself softly. She heard his footsteps growing fainter, and then she couldn’t hear them at all. What the fuck?! Had he just tied her up here and left her? She wiggled against her bonds in frustration, but as she had felt with the first wrist, they wouldn’t budge. She was trapped somewhere in Marco’s apartment, wearing a goddamn expensive dress, handcuffed and blindfolded to a bed she didn’t recognize…and Marco disappeared.
Fuck!
She didn’t know how long he was gone. She couldn’t judge time very well when she was tied to a bed and blindfolded, but sitting there, each excruciatingly painful minute ticked by like an hour. After a couple of minutes or hours, whichever, his footsteps returned, and she had never been more thankful. He had tied her up before but never in a strange place, and he had never left her. It made her feel unsettled, and it was amazing how soothing it was to have him return after she had been so terrified of his presence.
What she did recognize was a very familiar click, flash, and whir. “Are you photographing me?” she demanded, shaking her body and pulling against her bonds.
“I said to leave the questions until later,” he said, his voice turning to ice. “I also thought I told you not to move.”
Chyna stilled her body reluctantly. “I must look fucking perfect if you’re photographing me like this.”
“I’ve never seen anything more perfect,” he said, snapping another round of pictures. “Plant your feet on the bed and lift your ass into the air.”
She was used to taking orders from him when he had a camera in his hands, and she found her body listening to him without complaint. Even though she was all but nude from the waist down, leaving her completely exposed, she still reveled in the fact that he found her perfect. Who was the twisted one?
The familiar sounds of a photo shoot filled the room, and she wondered what exactly he was taking a picture of. Was it a good shot? God, she couldn’t believe these were the thoughts crossing her mind right now. And, somehow, she was still incredibly turned on, maybe even more so than before.
She felt his weight shift the bed as he crawled on top of her. His skin brushed up against her, and she realized he had removed his pants. His hand softly rested on her stomach, pressing it back into the mattress. He straddled her and took a series of pictures from his new vantage point. His thumb flickered over her breast, causing her to arch her back. She pulled against her bonds, wanting nothing more than to take control, but he woul
dn’t allow it. Her mouth opened with desire as he pinched the other nipple between his fingers. He took the opportunity to trail his thumb across her body to her lip. He slipped his thumb into her mouth. She closed her lips around it, swirling her tongue and sucking on it greedily. The camera went off again as she teased his thumb the way she wanted to tease his dick.
He groaned and pulled it out of her mouth. He then reached behind himself and placed his now wet thumb directly on her clit. She moaned at the feel of him touching her, extracting heightened pleasure from her. The camera went off again, and this time she didn’t even care. Two of his fingers had expertly inserted themselves into her, and they were working her pussy as his thumb swirled in circles on her clit. She could already feel her impending climax approaching, and she tightened and released around his fingers as she sought that release.
But, he would have none of it. As she lay there breathless and close to spent, he removed his fingers and hopped off the bed. Her body was humming. She had never wanted release more than in this moment.
“Panting is so damn sexy,” he mused, his hand trailing up her calf, over her knee, and around her inner thighs.
She jumped at the first touch and prayed he would continue farther south.
“I’d like that to continue. Would you?” he asked.
“Touching me? Yes!”
“Panting,” he said, running his fingers back up her thighs.
She groaned. Her body demanded more and more, but he wasn’t giving it to her.
“I’ll pant all night long if you get over here and fuck me,” she said into the darkness.
“Oh yeah?” he asked, grabbing her thighs and pulling her down farther on the bed.
She yanked against her chains, causing a soft yelp to escape her lips as the cuffs chaffed against her wrists. Her shoulders were stretched as far as they could go.
“Is this how you want me?”
“Yes,” she whispered, her voice hoarse as the pain in her shoulders and wrists eased.
“I didn’t hear you,” he said, pulling on her legs once more.
“Yes!” she yelled out. “God, yes!”
“Good. This is exactly how I want you, my little star, all tied up and helpless, begging for me,” he said, He was careful with the dress, bunching the train up. He pushed it off to the side of the bed, so her body was laying more exposed to him. “Now, spread your legs,” he commanded her.
She moved her legs apart hesitantly, testing the bonds with her movements.
“Farther!”
Without thinking, she moved her legs as far apart as she could manage, looking like a spread eagle with her legs bent at the knees.
“That’s better,” he murmured, dipping his fingers back into her unexpectedly. “God, you’re so ready for me. It would be a shame to waste this.”
Chyna whimpered as he stroked her wetness lovingly, riling her up further. It wouldn’t take much more, and she prayed he wouldn’t notice her heavy breathing or body tightening at his command. All she wanted at this point was to release…to finally release.
As if he could tell she was at a breaking point, she felt his weight at the foot of the bed again. Then, without warning, he pushed forward inside of her. She shook against her restraints, wanting nothing more than to push her hands up into his thick black hair, wrap her legs around his torso, and let her body fall in time with his. But, given the circumstances, she was just glad he had relented to being inside of her.
He grabbed her hips, raising her ass off the bed again so that he could rest on his knees. Then, he slowly eased out of her inch by inch. She whined at the feel of the head pulling out of her, and then he slammed back into her forcefully. Her body pushed back toward her shoulders, and she cried out in pleasure and pain. He repeated the movement—slow, slow, slow, followed by one fast shove into her—two or three times more. If she had thought that she was close before, the agonizing torture of this movement holding her just before the precipice of release was far, far worse. Her skin was tingling, her toes were curling, and her fingers were clawing up the bedspread. Stomach tightening, her body demanded with every fiber of her being to let her come.
And, when she did, earth shattering were the only words that came to mind.
Finally, releasing all control, Marco pushed into her as hard and fast as he could manage with three quick thrusts, and then he followed her. Chyna screamed at the top of her lungs as the orgasm cut through her body, bursting open like a firework. Her body was a volcano, and as her screams subsided, the stillness doused the burning running rampant throughout her body.
His breathing heavy, Marco collapsed on top of her with an air of satisfaction and victory. Her eyes closed beneath the blindfold, and she felt exhaustion turn into a desperate slumber.
*****
When she awoke next, her wrists and ankles had been released, and her blindfold was discarded along with her dress. She was lying completely naked on the same bed she had been tied to, and as she felt along the sheet that covered her, she discovered a figure lying next to her. No clocks were in the room, so she had no way of knowing what time it was. As the room had one window, she only knew that it was still dark outside.
She eased out of the bed, careful not to wake Marco, and she padded out of the room. Her stomach clenched painfully at what she had just done and what she was about to do.
Finding Marco’s bedroom, she changed into a pair of jeans and a T-shirt that she had left behind from one of their shoots. She located a piece of paper and a pen, and after scribbling a short passage on the card, she tucked it into her pocket.
She swallowed hard as she quietly tiptoed back into Marco’s photography studio where he still lay peacefully slumbering. The camera he had used sat undisturbed on a chair, looking harmless. She popped the memory card out of the back and placed it into her other pocket. When she turned back around, she almost cursed out loud. That son of a bitch!
A medium-size video camera on a tripod was set up in the corner of the room. That must have been what the beep was. He hadn’t even told her he was going to be filming her. Why was she even surprised? Not wanting to take any chances, she figured out how to open the gadget. She slipped the tiny recording disc out of its slot and placed it in her jeans next to the memory card. No stone left unturned.
Glancing around the room, she bit her lip as she stared at the immobile man beneath the sheets. She blew him a kiss, wishing she could taste his lips one last time. As she turned to leave the room, something sparkled in her peripheral vision. She glanced at the distraction and saw her priceless dress hanging perfectly unharmed on a clothing rack. She couldn’t help herself. She smirked, grabbing the dress off of the hanger, and then she slinked back out of the room. She would have giggled if she hadn’t been trying to be silent. Walking back through the apartment and into the living room, she pulled the card out of her pocket and stared at it.
You thought I was the star, shining so bright, but you were wrong. You were the star, but you’ve burned out. Now, all I see when I look up into the sky are all my other options.
She took a deep breath and left the card on the piano. Then, she quickly darted out of the apartment.
She left without a kiss, without a good-bye—just with a million dollar dress, a sex tape, and nude photography from one of the best fashion designers in the world.
The sun was just peeking over the horizon when she made it to street level. She had managed to phone a taxi service when she had snuck into Marco’s bedroom, and thankfully, she only had to wait a minute or two before it arrived. She gave the man her apartment address in Italian and was quickly whisked away from Marco’s. Without knowing why, she swiveled in her seat and took one more forlorn look over her shoulder at the place of the man she had been with for the past month and a half. She wished she could have said that she saw the door open as he came running out after her, but no such thing happened. She turned back around, and with a deep sigh, she hugged her dress.
*****
&n
bsp; Her roommates were still sleeping when she returned. She wandered through her closet, wondering how the hell she was going to get all of this home. Coming here, she had traveled with nothing more than a carry-on suitcase, and she would leave for home with nothing more. The company was supposed to ship all of her stuff for her when she finished, but she wasn’t sure if that would still happen under the circumstances. Grabbing only her most favorite clothing items, she stuffed them into her Louis Vuitton carry-on along with her star dress, Marco’s sheer purple button-up shirt, her Christian Louboutin red lacquer–soled pumps, and three five-by-five black and white–framed photographs Marco had taken of Milan.
At her insistence, the taxi had waited for her to transport her to the airport. It wasn’t a short drive nor would it be a cheap fair, but she really couldn’t care less in the moment. She was waiting for her phone to blow up, for someone to notice she was gone, for Marco to pitch a fit about her disappearance. But, the hour-long drive out of the city produced nothing, just silence.
Her flight home was atrociously priced, but then again, so was her cab fare. Money hardly mattered at this point. She was just ready to be home.
She boarded her flight without any problems, and she checked her international cell phone one last time to see if anyone was going to contact her. She had expected at least some kind of snide remark from Marco, something to know that he had read her note. All she wanted to do was leave him before he had the chance to leave her.
It was easier that way.
