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“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 passion, 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 associated 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 shirt, and he awkwardly pushed it up to her throat. He flipped her bra up, rather than unsnapping it in the back, and he massaged both of her br**sts between his hands. She tried to feel something, anything for this guy. God, he was caressing her br**sts 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 massage 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 dick, 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 pr**cum dripping from the tip, she decided she was better than this. What the hell 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**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 pr**cum getting near her grossed her out? He had played with her br**sts like a kindergartener?
She wasn’t at all interested in him? He would never live up to an Italian fashion designer? He would never live up to Adam? God, why was he still on her brain?! And, why did he have to be at Alexa’s last weekend? Focus!
“I don’t understand.”
“What don’t you understand?” she asked, standing. Placing a hand on her hip, she leaned into it and stared at him, raising her eyebrow. “This was a mistake, plain and simple.”
“So, we’re not going to f**k?” he asked, standing up from the bed to look at her.
“No,” she said with a shudder, “definitely not.”
“Whatever,” he said as if he wasn’t offended. “I just wanted to say I slept with a supermodel anyway.”
Chyna felt like he had punched her in the face. She kept the shock off her face, but she couldn’t keep her stomach from clenching like a vice grip.
Really? He knew who she had been all along. He had just wanted to f**k her, so he could tell all of his friends that he had slept with the girl in the New York Times advertisement. What an ass**le!
Thank God she had made the right choice!
“I doubt you ever will,” she said, stomping through his house.
“You were easy enough to get home,”
he called from the door of his bedroom.
“It’s too bad you don’t even know how to use your dick,” she called over her shoulder, wrenching the door open.
“Cunt!”
She smiled. Now there was a compliment.
As she walked out of the door, she realized how much she could not wait to meet with Cassandra and get her life back on track. Because she was crumbling in her new existence.
CHAPTER 10
MAY TWO MONTHS EARLIER
Chyna heard the door click closed in the living room, and she jumped up from her closet floor. She had turned the place upside down, debating on what to bring for two months in Milan. She always packed heavy. Well, she had always had someone pack heavy for her. She and Adam had just returned from Alexa’s graduation party in Atlanta, and her two biggest Louis Vuitton bags were still stuffed full of garments she had never worn. How could she possible decide what she was going to wear two months out?
Trying not to think about it anymore, she wandered out of her bedroom and down the hall. “Hey, you,” she said, walking up to Adam and throwing her arms around him. “How was work?”
He bent down and kissed her on the mouth. “I’m glad it’s over, and that my night belongs to you.”
“Me, too,” she said before she deepened the kiss.
“I wish all of my days belonged to you,” he whispered against her lips.
“They do,” she said, threading her fingers through his hair.
“Except for those two months when you go to Italy.”
