“Come in,” Marco called in a beautiful Italian accent.
His voice was out of this world.
Chyna’s body warmed at the sound.
She opened the door to the director’s office and found Marco sitting among a collage of tutus, sequins, and fabrics.
Her eyes darted to the massive hardwood desk, and she smirked. A long black costume bag hung against the back wall with a shiny gold imprint marked on the top. She would recognize Marco’s handiwork anywhere, even without being able to read his glossy name from a distance.
Finally, her eyes returned to the man behind the desk. He was staring at her with those deep chocolaty eyes like a predator feasting its gaze upon its prey.
He stood, almost regally, from the desk upon her entrance. His square jaw, those broad shoulders, and cut waistline were perfection. He could have modeled, but he was just as talented in design, business, and behind the camera. He had shaved his ever present five o’clock shadow, and his brown hair was slicked back so it wouldn’t fall into his eyes like she was so accustomed to. It had been cropped much shorter when she had first arrived. He was way past due for a haircut, but she thought the longer look suited him.
“My star,” Marco muttered.
He had begun calling her that after their first late night photo shoot, centered near a large, open window in his apartment. He had told her that she outshined the stars in the background of the photos. As far as he was concerned, she would be his brightest star. He had been calling her his star often enough that it was now her pet name.
“Marco,” Chyna said huskily, closing the door behind her.
As conflicted as she was away from him, when she was in his presence, he was like a heady perfume. The sweetest aroma in the world.
“You’re late,” he said sternly, with a glimmer in his eye.
“Marginally,” she volleyed, walking toward him while he still stood imposingly behind the desk.
Oh God, that desk.
“You haven’t even seen hair and makeup, and you smell like sunscreen,” he chided.
“Can you smell me from all the way over there?” she asked, walking a slow catwalk toward him.
“Don’t think I don’t know all.”
“I’d never entertain the idea,” she murmured. She focused on the lessons he had given her about her runway walk— one foot in front of the other, relax your hands, move your body naturally, smooth out that step, smile through your eyes.
“That one,” he pointed crassly, pointing out the second step on her left foot. “That’s the step you rush every time.”
“After four weeks of detailed scrutiny, don’t you think I know which step I falter?” Chyna snapped instinctively. She chewed on her bottom lip as his eyes hardened perceptively.
“What was that?” he asked sharply.
“Nothing. Never mind,” she said quickly, realizing her f**k up.
She was always so brash with everyone. Having a boss was not something she was used to, especially when it was someone like Marco.
“Get your ass over here,” he demanded, pointing at the desk.
Chyna tried not to smile. It would only set him off more. God, did she enjoy doing that. She trailed her hand along the fine piece of carpentry, wondering how old the desk was and if she could acquire it for her penthouse at home. Frederick would freak over it.
“By all means, take your time,” Marco growled.
As she slowly rounded the desk, he reached out and gripped her arm, lurching her forward into him. She swallowed hard. This was his favorite part—taking control.
“Were you talking back to me?” he asked into her ear, nipping her earlobe.
Chyna melted. She would do anything for a domineering guy. It was so her type.
“Yes,” she whispered into his chest.
She loved that he towered over her, even when she wore heels.
“That’s what I thought. You never learn your lesson. I almost think you like it,” he said, his hand fisting softly into her hair. “Do you like it?”
She was having trouble remembering what she was supposed to say as her body pressed up against him. “Yes.”
“You enjoy infuriating me?” he questioned, pulling harder on her hair.
“Oh no! No, Marco. That’s not what I meant.” She nearly groaned. He was so f**king sexy.
“Bend over the desk,” he told her.
“Marco,” she murmured shaking her head. We have no time for this.
“Bend over the f**king desk,” he repeated slowly.
“The Ball—”
“Do you want me to force you?”
Did she ever!
Chyna couldn’t hold the smirk back, and it set him off like it always did. His left hand tightened in her hair, and he used that as leverage to grab her hip with his right hand, turning her around to bend her face first into the desk. Her breathing was heavy, and her lower half was pulsing.
She felt the walls of her sex tightening in anticipation.
He released her hair and ran his hands down her sides, across her taut ass, and between her inner thighs. His touch was intoxicating as his hands splayed her legs farther and farther apart. She thought about reminding him how little time they really had, but she wanted nothing but his hands on her at the moment.
“Don’t worry,” Marco spoke softly as he returned to a standing position. “I won’t leave marks, not when you’ll be wearing that costume.“ She could hear the need in his voice, and she was sure he could feel her body revving up at his touch. She wanted to ask to feel him, even if only through her jeans, but he wouldn’t want her to just yet. Later, he’d make her beg. He’d make her want to beg.
The first blow was always the worst.
He didn’t like to warm her up to it, and he never told her when it was coming. The smack across her ass wasn’t the hardest she had ever received, but she still released a small yelp as her body went forward onto the desk. Marco was already making it better, rubbing the site of his hand mark, easing her discomfort. She would be feeling that one later.
The second and third came together nearly equal in force to the first, and they were just as unexpected. She clenched her jaw to keep from yelling out again.
That hurt like a bitch, but she was so turned on.
He was attentive to her pain, rubbing the area again, while his right hand traveled between her legs. She moaned at the blending of pleasure and pain from his experienced touch.
He slapped her ass again, harder than before. She whimpered, never knowing if she wanted him to stop or continue.
“You’re my little star.”
She nodded her head. She was seeing stars.
“Just the way I f**king like her—that nice piece of ass high in the air and p**sy screaming my name,” he said, stroking her more demandingly before landing another blow. “Star?”
“Uh huh?” she all but moaned in anticipation as his hand came down another time. God, yes!
“You were a bad girl. You like me f**king punishing you? Do you like this?”
he asked, his hand coming down hard and quick.
Chyna wondered if it really would leave a mark, but at this point, she couldn’t care less. She had other things on her mind.
His hand fisted in her hair, tugging on it hard enough to pull her head back, her back arching. He teased her, smacked her lightly, as he pressed against her just like she had wanted. She felt his erection against her ass, and she gyrated her hips.
“You like when I show you how bad you are?”
She responded by grinding her ass harder against him.
“Star?” he cooed, slapping her ass until she stopped moving. “You clearly like me punishing you. Do you like being punished or teased?”
She bit her lip hard and waited for the spanking she knew she deserved when she didn’t answer. It was an exhilarating feeling, knowing how much he was enjoying himself while he aroused her growing cli**x.
Marco’s hand returned to play between her legs, and she gasped as her head was released back to the desk.
Another smack hit her ass hard. “Answer me. Do you like to be punished or teased?”
“Both,” she managed to get out. God, he did things to her that were unbelievable. Her body was on fire. She would have pleaded for release if he would give it to her.
“That’s right. You like both, and I like both,” he said, rubbing her ass between both of his hands. He moved them to her h*ps and forced her back against his dick.
“Please,” she sputtered out, losing control and begging.
He ran himself up and down the crease of her jeans and across her covered opening. “I love to hear you beg. You want me to f**k you?”
“God, yes, please! Marco,” Chyna moaned, “fuck me.”
“I’m not sure you want me enough,” he said, pressing harder and hitting her ass again.
“Marco, please, make me come.
Please, God!” she cried as he massaged the area.
He sighed, almost resigned to giving her what she wanted, as he knelt behind her. He trailed kisses across her butt and down between her legs. Breathing hot between her legs, he made her tremble with desire, and she fought desperately to not take control of the situation. Slowly, painfully slow, Marco backed away from Chyna, who was still lying out across the desk. A shiver ran up her spine from his absence. He landed one more blow before walking away.
“See how good you’re being. I wish I could finish you. I f**king want you on this desk, but I have a show to run,” he said in a low guttural tone. “Now, don’t move that tight ass until I leave. I like to see it up in the air. However, you do need to get dressed. I’d prefer you wear nothing and show off your real beauty, but there’s something to be said for a little mystery.
Don’t you think, my gorgeous star?”
She whimpered. “Yes.”
“You better not get yourself off when I leave.” Leaning down over her from the other side of the desk, he growled into her ear, “I’m coming for you after the show.”
Chyna waited a few seconds after the door clicked shut before righting herself.
The bastard! Leaving her there all alone and desperate for an orgasm. She wanted to go find the first guy she could and f**k him senseless, just for payback. No one left her wanting. No one!
She made it halfway across the room before she changed her mind. Yes, she wanted to kill him, but now wasn’t the time. As much as she wanted to forget her obligations, she was still the centerpiece of the Glam Ball. If she ever wanted to keep modeling, she needed the Ball, and she needed Marco. She turned around angrily and stomped back to the big f**king desk. What a big f**king a**hole!
Chyna opened her clutch and fished out her international cell phone while she waited for help. No way could she get into that outfit alone.
“Chyna?” Lexi asked, yawning into the phone. “What time is it over there?”
“Hey, chica.” Chyna breathed. See, she’s a good friend . “Not sure, like ten or eleven.”
“Jesus.” She yawned again. “And, you’re not drunk?” Lexi giggled.
“Bitch.”
“You love me.”
“I miss you.”
“I won’t miss seven-thirty wake-up calls,” Lexi said, yawning big again.