Black Butterfly (7 page)

“Sydney.”

“No!” Sydney yelled, pulling on her favorite jeans. “You don’t get off that easy. I didn’t deserve you attacking me like that, and I’m not stupid. That man didn’t want to help me dance or you model or Trish paint.

He wanted to screw my brains out, toss me a trinket, and go on with his shallow life. Forgive me if I don’t find that exciting.”

“Where are you going?” Portia asked.

“Uptown. I wanna hear Ricky play,” Sydney said, yanking her shirt over her head.

“Can I come?” Portia asked weakly.

“Suit yourself.”

Portia smiled. “I’ll tell Trish. We got some birthday celebrating to do!” she said, rushing out.

Sydney grinned up at the three-hundred-pound bouncer with a shaven head in front of Club Nirvana.

She wanted to dance until her feet gave out. He ran his security wand across her before allowing her passage.

Ricky’s band was playing an urban tune, and the singer, a young blonde she hadn’t seen before, belted out the blues with a smoky voice that had the whole place grooving. Ricky, once again, proved that there was soul in just about anyone. He picked up the saxophone and began to blow. Sydney smiled. There was a freedom in his music that only she and he understood.

“Ricky’s getting off!” Portia said, having made it past security.

“He sure is!” Trish shouted over the loud music.

Sydney nodded. She headed through the crowded club toward the few tables opposite the dance floor, trying to find a spot for them. “Over there, Sydney,” Portia yelled above the blaring music.

Sydney looked up to see Syl, a part owner of the club, waving to them. She grinned and walked toward him.

“’Bout time you ladies dragged your sexy asses down here. Ricky has a spot for you,” he said, picking up the reserved sign on a table next to the stage. Syl reminded the girls of Sylvester Stallone, and he did the best rendition of Rocky’s “Yo, Adrienne” that they’d ever seen.

Sydney’s eyes grew wide. “Thanks, Silvio!”

“Yo, it’s your birthday. Gotta do it up right! Enjoy the night,” he yelled back.

The three sat down, and Sydney caught Ricky’s eye. He grinned at her from the stage. She blew him a kiss as her friends ordered drinks.

When the waitress said that the drinks were on the house for Sydney’s birthday, Portia and Trish gave each other high fives.

“Hell yeah!” Portia exclaimed. She laughed. “I’ve only got enough for cab fare home.” Trish chuckled. “Ha! You’ve got more than me!”

Sydney swayed from side to side, watching the performance. A couple of men came over, asking the girls to dance. Portia quickly jumped up to “shake her thang,” but Sydney and Trish hung back.

Trish looked at Sydney, now sipping a martini. “You know Portia doesn’t mean any harm.”

“Yeah, I know,” Sydney said over the music.

“Was it really that bad?”

Sydney put down the drink. “No, just weird. It was as if he expected me to be flattered. He wasn’t trying to force me. He just acted like it was something I wanted. I don’t know. I can’t understand what his deal is.”

“Did you like him? Were you attracted to him?”

Sydney blushed. “Attracted to him, yes. Like him? The jury’s still out on that one.”

“Well, I must say, you’ve had one interesting twenty-third birthday,” Trish said, as she raised her glass in a mock toast.

Sydney raised her martini and clinked glasses with her friend. “That I have.” The singer ended the song, and everyone clapped. Sydney grinned at the stage, watching the woman speak to Ricky and then come back to the mic.

“Tonight’s a special lady’s birthday! Sydney, stand up and let everyone see you,” she said.

Sydney blushed as everyone cheered, and Trish pushed her arm to make her stand. Portia came back to the table, grinning.

“Get your ass up, girl. They cheering for ya!”

Sydney rose and waved to the club crowd, then sat down. The singer announced that her next number was dedicated to Sydney from Ricky. As the woman started singing, Sydney shook her head, and both her friends leaned in to kiss her cheek.

“Happy birthday, girl!” Portia grinned.

“Happy birthday, Sydney,” Trish sang.

Sydney raised her glass of club soda. “Happy birthday to me!” Ricky winked as he gave her his saxophone solo. Sydney smiled, knowing that the night was the best one she could have planned for her birthday, although the strangeness of Nolen Adams had not yet been forgotten.

Chapter 4

The Price of Fame

“Hello, Portia.”

His voice held a smooth yet distinct flavor common amongst high-end photographers. Todd Ellison stood almost equal to her five-foot ten height at about six-foot tall. She took in his attractive physique. He had thick tawny gold hair and tanned skin that made him more like a California surfer than the man with the magical lens. Portia was no fool. The real turn on is the fact he’s made every unknown he’s worked with a star. To add to his sexy, he had the most captivating liquid eyes, a firm but sensual mouth and a ruggedly handsome face in need of a shave. And his attire was simple but rich, dark slacks and a loose fitted dark grey button up shirt.

Instinctively she straightened her back and pushed her breasts upward. When his gaze swept over her, she remained confident his appraisal would make him hers. From the appreciative expression on his face as they continued to travel over her curves, she knew she was right.

Portia had come prepared, for this visit. After Sydney tossed away her opportunity last week with Nolen Adams, Portia vowed not to make the same mistake. Everything was in place. Her hair, an chestnut brown shake of curls that stopped to the center of her back with golden highlights, was pinned back from her face with a rhinestone headband. She wore a jade-green wrap dress. The folds crossed over her c-cup breasts and tied around her tiny waist accentuating her shapely hips. In the winter she became pale, her naturally tawny brown skin wasn’t as vibrant. So she did a little tanning to heighten her Latin features. As far as Portia was concerned, the games could begin. He would make her the centerfold in one of the exclusive magazines for which he shot.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Ellison. I’m a big fan of your work.” Todd accepted her hand, kissing three knuckles lightly. “Portia, you’re even tastier than I remember.

Come with me,” he said, and accepted her portfolio.

Portia followed him through the airy photo studio with its contemporary decor. The walls and furniture were a gleaming white, and the floors black marble with swirls that made it appear as if she was walking on glass. Four-foot-tall photos of once coveted models ranging from Christy Turlington, Kate Moss, Naomi Campbell, and Tyra Banks adorned the hall.

Her stiletto heels clicked hollowly across the floor, pronouncing her movements step for step. She could already see herself as the fifth person on the wall, and before the day was over, Todd would share that vision.

Todd glanced over his shoulder at her and winked, as if he heard her thoughts.

When they stepped into his office, she grew even more impressed. The room cast an impression of opulence. A striking fifteen-foot high window was behind his glass desk displaying a full view of New York’s skyline. His office was so spacious it appeared to be designed for someone with claustrophobia. Decorated in a similar fashion to the rest of the house, it conveyed an air of masculinity that affirmed his bachelorhood.

“Have a seat,” he pointed to the chair. Portia wondered how many hopefuls before her had faced him in the same chair. Sitting down, she crossed her legs and put her jacket in her lap.

Todd thumbed through the photographs in her portfolio, expressionless. “You were part of Fashion Week two years in a row, huh?”

“Yes, I modeled for several of the top designers as you can see.” Her quick response came off prideful, and rightfully so. Fashion Week happened to be the only good gig her agent had secured for her. She and the girls had drank and partied the night away, blowing through her commission, but making them all feel like stars.

Todd looked up at her, smiling. “Impressive.”

She blushed. “Thank you.”

Closing the leather-bound folder, he leaned back in his chair, his fingers made a tent before his face. “So tell me, what can I do for you, Portia?”

Unable to suppress her excitement she heaved her chest upward and moistened her lips. When she’d met him at the photo shoot, they’d flirted constantly, with him praising her eyes and long, slim legs. She’d asked for a chance to show him her work, and he barely acknowledged the request. An hour later, though, his assistant had come to her with his card, detailing the date and time for a private interview. Now she needed to make a convincing pitch.

“I think I’d like to do more print work. I read that you were doing a spring shoot for Bella magazine,” she began.

“Aren’t you represented by an agency?”

Portia re-crossed her legs so that her soft rayon skirt rose up her thigh to give him a better view.

“Actually, I have an agent. I’ve been unable to get an agency.” Todd smirked. “The models for the Bella spread are from Ford this year.”

“Oh. I was hoping that maybe I could get a referral from you, maybe some headshots that I could use to market myself.”

“Now why would I do that?” Todd asked.

Portia rose from her seat, tossing her jacket back on the chair. Her walk around his desk was slow and seductive. Portia stopped and sat, crossing her long legs once more. “I know a man like you must be quite selective.”

“I am.”

“Good. This is your opportunity to get first dibs at raw, natural, eager yet undiscovered talent.” She smirked. “If you could spare the time to let me demonstrate some of my talents, you could then decide if a man of your vast experience could see, let’s say, my potential?” Raising her leg, she used the pointed toe of her high-heeled boot to push the arm of his chair, and turn him toward her.

Todd responded through his touch. His hand ran up her thigh. It disappeared under her skirt.

Portia lowered her leg, and parted her thighs, to ensure her message remained clear. Apparently he favored the invite, because he pulled her across the desk so she sat directly in front of him. Portia took in deep hard breaths; she swallowed her nerves, and put on her best smile for him to proceed. He didn’t. He studied her for a torturous moment. If he rejected her now, her plan had failed. She considered forcing things along, her mouth on his cock would be a good start. But Todd Ellison belonged to an elite circle of photographers. These men would not reward a model from a single blowjob. She had heard tales from others who came up with lockjaw and nothing to show for it. The bait would need to be much more satisfying to achieve her ultimate goal. She had plans to turn him out before the day ended. A spread, shot by Todd Ellison’s lens would secure her a place with Ford Agency and a gig in this year’s Fashion Week.

Todd slid his hand between her knees, parting her long legs wider. His touch seared and burned. The seat of her panty moistened and heat spread through her channel making her ache for him. Todd grabbed her hips, pulling her to the edge of the desk. Portia parted her legs. She rested her heels on either side of the armrests of his chair. He looked up at her, flashed a wicked smile. She reclined against the cool glass surface of his desk, her inner thighs trembled and her chest felt as if a swarm of butterflies were trapped behind her ribcage. Once he buried his head between her legs, tongue first, all tension eased.

The idea to slip off her panty came to her in the elevator. After the soft groan rumbling in his throat rose she knew her naughty act was a good one. At some point during the interview it would be inevitable for them to end up here. And the pleasure was as swift and sweet as she hoped. The man knew how to use his tongue. It glided over her slit, and then circled her clitoris. Portia’s lids drifted shut. She threw her legs over his shoulders.

A soft, submissive moan escaped her as his mouth covered her vagina, and his tongue delved into depths that sent shards of pleasure ripping through her pelvis. Portia slammed her thighs shut on his face and Todd’s tongue plunged deeper.

The drawer opened. Portia heard it over her passionate moans of submission. Behind closed lids she sensed his actions. He would reach inside his desk for a possible condom; pull his wonderful mouth from below to rip into the package. Eventually he’d roll the rubber down his dick and the games would begin.

Panting and squirming on the table with her dress pulled up and part of her breasts exposed, Portia opened her eyes and cried out through a warm wave of orgasmic pleasure from sheer anticipation. Todd loomed over her, unbuckling his belt and then slipping on the condom. She thought over what Sydney had said about her methods of securing a gig, and her shame warmed her already feverish face. This time it would be different.

She could see it on his flushed face. He wanted her, and that type of hunger she knew how to stoke to get what she needed.

Todd, with his slacks at his knees and the condom on, hooked her long legs over the bends of his arm and eased his hands under her butt cheeks to cup them firmly. Swift, penetration went deep, she lifted her hips to receive more and he complied. Thrusting harder and harder, he dropped on her and forced her legs up to a V.

Todd forced her breasts free of the front of her dress and sucked a nipple through the lace overlay of her bra.

Portia moaned and tried to withstand the pump action of his jerking cock and rolling hips.

Sydney and Trish were wrong. She knew what she was doing. She’d show them both.

Nolen arrived at the diner. It had been a week and three days since his butterfly escaped his net. He’d been distracted by issues with Hollister, things should have progressed further by now. However, he was pleased that Annemarie had scheduled Ms. Allen’s next audition into his itinerary. The thought of her today had peaked his curiosity once more. From what he was told on their way to the diner, she would be leaving work soon to go to her audition.

“Sir, Mr. Ellison sent this over by courier this morning,” Annemarie said, passing Nolen the folder. “You should look at them.”