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“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.
***** 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.
