Being a model is harder than people think it is. It's not all taking pictures and smiling, you get a lot of shit from a lot of different people about ridiculously miniscule things, and it's difficult. It's stressful and emotionally draining - you're constantly trying to live up to other people's views of you or how they want you to look. Being the best model in New York City is even harder, and that is apparently what I am.
A model's work is a fulltime job. I might not be posing for photos or walking a runway 24/7, but I always have to watch what I eat. I count calories daily, and exercise day and night to make sure that my body is as fit and as trim as possible. As a model I have to be scrupulous about my skin and hair care. I can't put off a haircut or a leg wax. I don't drink; I have to say no to nights out with my friends because I often have shoots extremely early in the morning. You have to not let what people say get to you, and that swings both ways. One person might call me too fat because you can't see every rib I have poking out of my side. But on the other end, I get people telling me how gorgeous I am every day, and I can't let it get to my head. I don't want to be the kind of model who thinks she's better than everyone else just because I'm considered attractive. My face and figure were both something I was born with and something I've had to maintain, but my heart and mind, things that I have worked hard to develop, are what I consider far more important. I wish that people would see past my beauty to what I actually consider worth admiring.
And then there are the perverts; the sleazy photographers who think they have some god-given right to take my photo and try to touch me. Funnily, it stopped once my best friend Felix started escorting me to shoots. He's my bodyguard now, which he thinks is hilarious, but he takes his job extremely seriously. I've never had a real issue with sleazy photographers with him around.
And now that I've told you all of that, you might think that modelling is the worst profession in the world. But it's not; it's just not easy. I love what I do; I'm a creative person who thrives on generating good art. It's usually always fun – if a bit painful sometimes – when I'm arranged into a difficult position that I have to hold for an extended period of time. Modelling also gave me the confidence I was never able to get naturally.
If you knew me before I became a model you might be interested in knowing how I managed to become one. It's true that I've always been considered very pretty, I was noticed throughout high school by all the guys. The girls I went to school with were nice to my face, but petty and jealous behind my back. I know that now of course, but at the time I thought there was something wrong with me. When I was sixteen, I was spotted in a crowd of people by an agent, who immediately swooped in on me and peppered me with questions about any experience I had as a model. At the time I'd had none, but that had been remedied quickly enough. Leah Brandon was tiny and came up to my shoulder in height, but she was a force to be reckoned with. Once Leah had my mother's permission, it only took two weeks for me to have a full portfolio and my first job for a Target catalogue wearing sleepwear.
I managed to finish school; I was smart enough and capable of entering a program where I was able to accelerate my education and graduate six months before the rest of my class. Once I was free from study, Leah took full advantage of me and I was soon thrown into modelling full time at the age of seventeen. I posed for fashion magazines and ad campaigns.
I quickly learned how to walk a runway; as I was tall and slim, my body type was perfect for the catwalk, but I didn't have small breasts, and so once I'd turned eighteen I often modelled bikinis and lingerie. Violeta’s Lingerie was one brand that saw me and wanted to use me as their top model; I signed the lucrative modelling contract and never looked back. I modelled exclusively for them for six months, being their top model until the contract ran out. Once it did, Leah and I had calls with offers from all over the country wanting me to be their model. I no longer worked exclusively, and had my pick of who I wanted to work for. The perks were great too at first, but after a while the free handbags, shoes, panties and bras, the clothes, the haute couture, the makeup and perfume, and countless other gifts from various brands got tedious. I lived in a great penthouse with lots of space, but I didn't have enough of it to keep every item I ever received. So more often than not, I gave the freebies to charities who would auction off the items piece by piece. It felt good to be able to do something, even if it wasn't much, but the money raised from the bits and pieces I gave to the charities was usually around the $100,000 a year mark, so it did feel good to be able to give something.
I'm twenty-two years old now, and my reputation as a fashion model is worldwide thanks to Leah. Like I was saying, anyone in high school who knew me then would find it hard to see how I got to be where I am today. But modelling has given me confidence in myself that I never had. And that's why I love it.
Except for today. I don't love what I do on days where I model with Oscar Faulton. A fellow model who I've worked with a few times before, he's good looking but he knows it and he's full of it. He also wants me for his own. He thinks that we would make an awesome power couple, but the only thing powerful about Oscar Faulton is the stench of the cologne that he insists on slathering all over himself whenever he knows I'm going to be working with him. And it's powerful in the knock-you-out-cold kind of way, not in the enticing, I-need- you-now kind of way that I'm sure Oscar is trying to go for.
Leah's phone rings and she picks it up, shooting me an apologetic look as she answers the phone. Leah is always on the phone, and usually on my behalf. She does have other models she looks after, but no one as big as I am. That's what she tells me, anyway. I honestly wouldn't mind if Leah left me alone for one day. One hour would even be nice. I love the girl, but honestly, she can be a bit overbearing sometimes, and more often than not I'm wishing to be a normal girl. A girl away from all this chaos, flashing camera lights and makeup artists with their huge powder brushes who hover around me like flies.
At the moment, we are sitting in my trailer waiting for our call to go on set. It's quite hot outside, and I've been told to sit in here in the air conditioning until they're ready for me. I've had my make up all done, and I'm wearing the Calvin Klein cut-off denim shorts that I've been specified to wear. I'm covered in a white, silk robe for the meantime but once I'm on set I'll be asked to remove it and get all intimate and close with Oscar Faulton. Gross.
Leah hangs up the phone and a moment later there's a knock on the door, which is a signal that they're ready for me. I stand up and cross the trailer to exit and walk the few feet it takes to get to the set. A makeup artist descends on me for last-minute primping, and a second assistant comes along to remove my dressing gown for me and to oil my skin. Her hands rub the oil over my torso and breasts and down my shoulders and arms, across my stomach, and then she turns me to do my back. The first time this happened to me it was weird. I mean, having someone running their hands all over me, and I don't even know who they are! But now I barely even blink, and just focus on a spot of in the distance and stand still so that the makeup artist can do her thing.
I'm mentally preparing myself for Oscar. I try to think of the most lewd comments he'd try to attempt make, so that when I'm on set with him, the tamer-but-still-not-so-subtle comments won't bother me so much.
I take a deep breath and turn around; the makeup artist and body oiler have finished working on me, and I'm ready to take my place on set. I haven't yet seen Oscar today, but it's not been that long since I last worked with him, so he can't have changed all that much. I am shocked, however, to see not Oscar Faulton, but the Adonis body of Jordan Carter standing only a few feet from me.
I've known of Jordan for quite a while. He's been in this business longer than I have; I believe he is five years older than I am, and started modelling when he was nineteen. He isn't as well-known as I am, but he is well-known enough that most people in the business would know his work. The first time I laid eyes on him was in Dolce & Gabbana ad for men's underwear. I hadn't been able to take my eyes off him then, and I still couldn't take my eyes off the man in front of me now. I take in his form; he is shirtless as well and slightly oiled too. It's hard not to appreciate how good-looking he is.
But I am confused; I was absolutely positive that Oscar Faulton was meant to be on set with me today. Why is it that the one guy I have yearned to work with in the six years of modelling I've done, but have never managed to for some reason or another, is now standing in front of me, where Oscar Faulton should be standing? I take a step forward and notice his gaze slip down my body. I realize then that I'm naked from the waist up, and the guy I've wanted to meet for the past half-decade is seeing me for the first time in all of my half-naked glory.
For the first time in ages, I feel self-conscious about my body. I wonder if he is seeing the flaws that others have tried so hard to cover up. The tiny mole on my left hip, the freckles that scatter the tops of my breasts, the fact that my top lip is slightly disproportionate to my bottom lip. I wonder if he feels my breasts are too small, or too big, or if he thinks I'm too skinny, or too fat. I wonder if he finds the shade of my skin too pale, or not pale enough. All of the negative things I've ever heard about my body come to the front of my mind in an instant as he stares at me. I've never felt so exposed, and not just because my top half is uncovered.
My pride and self control stop me from using my arms to cover myself; if I look at all unconfident with my body, then others will see it too. With all the confidence I can muster in myself, I take another step forward and finally reach him. Nobody has bothered to explain to me why Oscar Faulton has been replaced by Jordan Carter for today's shoot. They probably figure that telling the model anything to do with today isn't worth the bother. I glance over at Leah and I can tell that she is surprised as well. As I turn back to Jordan, I see him looking at me curiously. "I take it you didn't get the memo about Faulton? He got food poisoning last night, and the shoot I was scheduled to be on today was cancelled. My agent is also Faulton's, so he was able to arrange the switch. I hope you're not disappointed that Faulton couldn't be here." I hear him, but my eyes are travelling up and down his body, taking in the bare torso and the "v" formation of his hips. His jeans are slung low on his hips, and I can see the trail of hair that disappears past the waistline of his jeans.
"No, not disappointed. Just surprised… pleasantly so." I murmur and offer him my best smile. "I'm Chelsea."
"I know who you are," Jordan says. "I'm Jordan." Jordan finds it hard to tear his eyes away from my body, but does his best to look me in the eye when he's speaking to me. He's polite, I decide. I'm used to people staring at my body, especially when I'm naked, and I'm used to people not bothering to be discreet about it as well. But it's always nice when someone tries to treat me like the woman that I actually am, and not just a body to appreciate. I'm actually feeling excited about today's shoot now that I know that Jordan will be replacing Oscar. I grin shyly up at him.
"I know who you are, too." I smirk and step closer. I'm enjoying the flirting that's happening between the two of us. I'm used to guys giving me special attention, but for some reason the attention from Jordan seems better than anything else.
There's still a considerable gap between us. All of this has only taken a few moments, and barely anyone notices us as we exchange pleasantries. The photographer yells out for us to take our places and explains the first pose he wants us to use.
The set is fairly standard; it is set up as a living room, and there's a lounge by a wall and about five light stands that are pointing in the direction of the lounge. There's also a black backdrop on another wall, with even more lights pointing at that.
First up, we are to stand by a backdrop; it is a simple black backdrop with numerous lights set up to keep the set illuminated. The first position is with my back to Jordan. He is resting his chin on my shoulder and his arms are crossing over my breasts; my own hands are crossed over his, so that it is an intimate embrace. The photographer begins to snap away. He clicks the shutter button and flashes from the lights above us burst forth. I relax my face and jut my bottom lip out just a bit. I've done this pose before and know which expressions to use.
I am aware of Jordan's pelvis pressing against my ass as he holds me. We keep the pose for another few minutes before we're asked to change again. This time, I am asked to hold my arm behind my head and weave my fingers through Jordan's hair, my other arm is to rest on Jordan's hip behind me. Jordan's left arm rests on my pelvic bone; his right hand is placed over my left breast. There is a strange frisson of energy when our skin is in contact with one another. I feel a weird tingling feeling, my skin tightens wherever he places his hands, and right now, with his hands pressed against my breast, I can feel my nipple tighten against my will. I try my best to ignore it though, as I have to focus on what I'm doing, which is looking into the camera and giving my best sultry stare.
The photographer asks Jordan to slide two fingers down the front of my denim shorts and to cup only one breast while I cup the other. I know that all Jordan can feel is smoothness down there; his hand isn't covering me completely, but it is to only suggest that his hand is going down there. He turns his head into my neck and brushes his lips against my neck. The photographer asks me to move back a little, and to lean against Jordan more. I do as he says and shift back against Jordan, and find to my shock and pleasure that he is hard and wanting; his cock is poking me in the ass through his jeans.
Jordan's fingers seem to subconsciously brush back and forth over my bare skin, down there, where hair is supposed to grow, as though he is admiring the soft and smooth skin he finds there. His fingers are doing amazing things to my body and he is barely even touching me. I'm getting warmer and warmer as this shoot progresses, and if things develop even more than they are now, I'm afraid I won't be able to hold back and I'll beg Jordan to fuck me in the studio, on the couch in front of everyone. We're asked to change our positions a few more times, each intimate pose making me become hotter and hotter as we go on.
Soon, we're asked to move to the couch; once again, the photographer tells us what poses he wants us in. I take my spot, carefully lying back against the arm of the chair. Once in place, Jordan positions himself above me, holding himself up by his arms, which he places on either side of my head. He stares down at me, his eyes boring into mine. He slowly lowers himself on top of me, careful not to crush me; his knee comes to rest between my legs. His chest presses gently against mine.
"That's great, Jordan," someone yells. "Move a little to your right…" Jordan shifts his body, his chest brushes against my already hard nipples. "Perfect," the photographer mumbles before ducking behind his camera to take some pictures. He's silent for a few moments before his head pops up again. "I need you guys to be hot and heavy with each other without exposing parts, remember we're trying to shock the world with this ad campaign. I need you to be scandalous."
I've turned my head to look at the photographer, but after he's finished speaking I turn back to look at Jordan. He's looking at me strangely, smirking almost. "I don't think that's going to be too hard," Jordan mumbles to me.
He shifts above me and grasps my hips tightly; I am shocked again when I feel his hardness against me there. Let me start by saying I'm not a virgin; it's hard to stay a virgin in a world like this. I've fooled around with some guys, but I'm definitely not a slut, either. Let's just say that I'm not naïve enough to not know what was rubbing against me so intimately, but I definitely have never felt anything of that size rub against me, if you know what I mean.
Jordan's hands begin to trail suggestively over the skin of my outer thighs; his breath is hot on my neck as he leans in to trail a string of kisses across my collarbone. The photographer's praises come enthusiastically across the few yards between the him and us. "Your nipples look so sexy all puckered up like that," Jordan says. I hear myself whimper at his words, my body arches subconsciously into and, I feel him shift against me, his cock connects with my clit.
I turn my head slightly, allowing Jordan access, and I can see the room has cleared of most of the crew. Leah is gone and so is Jordan's agent. Felix remains as is customary, but he's talking to an attractive blonde who is in charge of the styling for the shoot. He's leaning up against the far wall way at the back of the room. The only other people in the space are Jordan, the photographer, and me. I run my hands over Jordan's arms, his lips trail up my neck and to the outline of my jaw. I want to feel his mouth on mine; I feel the desire to have his lips possess me so powerfully that I can't help but whisper into his ear. "Kiss me," I beg. He doesn't even hesitate, his mouth moves from my jaw line to my lips immediately, and captures them between his in a passionate, heart-wrenching kiss. The photographer moves in to get a few close-ups, but I soon forget about him and my own thoughts are for the sex god on top of me.
My legs have a mind of their own and wrap themselves around Jordan's, effectively pulling him closer to my body. His body shifts against mine and I feel him rubbing against my clit. His movements are only minute and would be hard to detect from any distance, but I feel him shifting, my whole body can feel him. Pleasure is spreading to every part of my body as we move together. God, I want him so bad. My body is not the only one begging for him, my mind is too.
"Fuck, Chelsea," Jordan swears into my ear. He murmurs my name as though he is in pain. "I want you so much." A thought briefly flickers in my mind that if it were anyone other than the man who is with me right now, I would feel repulsed. Hadn't I been dreading Oscar Faulton for the very same thing? But I can't help but feel anything other than incredibly turned on by this man. He smells good, he doesn't reek of anything; he might have the barest splash of cologne on him, but he smells sweet and hot and like nothing I've ever smelled before. And he tastes good too; his mouth on mine is like molten chocolate.
I'm not wearing any panties beneath the denim shorts, and I'm getting pretty wet, the evidence of which is starting to leak from me, pooling between my thighs. I respond to his statement by kissing him hard as I seek friction with my hips and arch my body into Jordan's. His hands trail over my body and over the sides of my breasts.
Things are definitely starting to heat up between us, our hands and arms are moving frantically over each other and the photographer asks us to slow our movements down, which distracts me for a moment, but then I feel Jordan's arm, the one that is closest to the back of the chair, sneak around me and down my side, hidden from the camera. His fingers slip easily under the denim of my shorts; they are loose enough and lie low on my hips, so that it is easy for Jordan to slip his fingers under the material to feel me. I try to contain my gasp of surprise as his fingers brush over my sex. My pelvis thrusts against him, encouraging him to touch me more, his other hand covers my breast closest to the camera and his lips attack my lips, my neck and throat.
My head rolls back against the arm rest; his fingers have found my swollen flesh and he is flicking at my clit, rolling it between two fingers as he strokes the wetness around.
All this time, the photographer is snapping photos; he seems to know better, to keep at a distance and to not give instruction. He knows that if he speaks, the chemistry between us might disappear, and he'll lose the magic that he's capturing on camera.
The room is dead silent except for my almost-silent sighs and Jordan's occasional grunts of pleasure and the clicking of the camera. Jordan is careful not to expose my nipples to the camera, his chest or hands keep them covered from view. It is fine if the swell of my breast is shown, advertising permits such things, but if a nipple, just a glimpse of one, is shown, it's game over. I am glad of this rule as Jordan makes sure that my nipples are covered at all times. His palm rubs over them while the fingers on his other hand play between my folds. I have to admit, it is a little difficult to manoeuvre in this way. Jordan's hand needs to cross over my backside to reach to my flesh. I can't imagine that his arm is feeling good right now.
But I'm so close, I murmur into his ear that I'm nearly there, pleading with him not to stop. But then the photographer steps closer and Jordan's hand freezes, withdrawing from underneath me.
"I think that's enough of that position, let's try with Chelsea on top now." Jordan sits up and I follow. I am pouting a little with disappointment, but when the photographer describes the image he wants us to portray I almost shout with glee. I am to remove my shorts for this shot; Jordan is to sit facing the camera. His jeans are going to be around his knees. I watch as he lowers his jeans; he is commando underneath, which isn't unexpected as I am also going commando. His length is hard and large. My eyes bulge slightly. I knew he was big, I've seen photos of him in underwear that left little to the imagination and I felt him just before rubbing against me. But the size of him makes me want to see if he can fit inside of me and to also feel him fill me completely.
He takes a seat, his eyes never leaving mine. I am supposed to straddle him and to sit in his lap; we are to look as though we are having sex on the lounge. Of course, I never would dare to actually have sex with someone while there are photos of me being taken. As tempting as it is…
"Jordan, bring your face to her shoulder… Rest your jaw against the side of her neck… Look in this general direction… But don't look at the camera... Chelsea, shift a little closer to him, don't be shy… place your head on his shoulder… that's it…" The photographer returns to his job and Jordan and I are naked, my wetness is seeping all over his cock as it is flush against me. I shift a little, my body begging me to just feel what it's like to have him inside me… just a little wouldn't hurt.
My mouth is right by his ear as is his, right by mine. "What I wouldn't give to be inside you right now…" he whispers hotly into my ear. I give a whimper at the idea. If only this photographer wasn't here right now snapping away. He seems to be thinking the same thing. "If this guy wasn't here taking photos of us right now, I would have you fuck me on this chair. Shit. Do you know how hard it is not to slip inside of you to feel how tight you are?" His dirty words are not helping matters.
"Jordan, I want you too. I love the way you feel against me," I say, breathlessly.
I know that the position we are in will hide Jordan's cock from the view of the camera. But I'm aware that once he's inside of me it will be so hard to resist moving on top of him, and then it'll definitely be obvious to anyone watching that we're having sex. Especially the photographer. But it's getting harder and harder to resist, the idea of having him inside of me is too delicious to even consider.
"Hold your poses guys, I just need to adjust this lighting." The photographer has taken his eyes off of us for a moment, and even though I'd already decided that we shouldn't do this, I can't help myself. I shift my body a fraction higher and situate myself so that Jordan's cock is right at my entrance. He has slipped inside only the tiniest bit, my body is begging me to slide forward so that he can fill me completely. Jordan's groan is soft, but as his mouth is right by my ear I hear his low curse. "Fuuuuuck." He groans. My whole body is throbbing in need. My clit is sensitive from the friction he created before.
It has only taken the photographer a few moments to get his lighting sorted, and he is back in position now taking photos. "I want you both to look each other in the eyes now… Jordan grasp both sides of her head in your hands... Chelsea I need you to shift your body closer to Jordan's…"
My eyes widen a little as I realize what the photographer has asked us to do. If I shift my body closer to Jordan's than he'll fill me completely, doing effectively everything that my body has been pleading with me to do. I bite my lip and shift my hips forward; Jordan's mouth opens slightly as he gasps. I am making a quiet whimpering noise; at least I hope I'm being quiet. "You feel so good," Jordan mutters. "We can't move," I tell him desperately; even though I want to so very much.
"Jordan, I can't see your face, tilt your head a little, bring it closer to Chelsea's face." Jordan does as he's told and brings his lips closer to my ear. "You're so tight and wet; you're dripping all over me, Chelsea."
How can he say those things? I wonder as my eyes drift closed and a sigh escapes my lips. He's so thick and long, he fills me completely. I shift my body just a little, trying to get a bit of friction. I try to pull it off as though my body is getting tired, even though I can usually stay in the same position for ten to twenty minutes at a time.
"That's great guys," the photographer says. "I think I have everything I need." I look over my shoulder at the photographer, who is scanning through the photos on his camera; he's not looking at us. The clock on the back wall says that we've been at this for about two hours. I see that Felix and the tall blonde have disappeared. Jordan's hands grip at my waist begging me not to get off of him, the photographer is enraptured in looking at his photos and seems to absentmindedly leave the studio to go and check out the photos he's already captured.
We're left alone. I turn my head back to look at Jordan. "Any moment now people are going to be coming along to check on us now that the photographer is gone…" Jordan nods and helps me off of him, he slips out of me and immediately I feel the loss of his cock inside of me. I want nothing more than to slide back onto him but somehow my head reasons with me.
"Meet me in an hour, if you can, my apartment is a block from here…" I'm nodding my head before he can even finish his sentence. I'm so desperate to be able to finish what we've started.
He rests his head against mine. "I've wanted to meet you properly since the first time I saw you at a party three years ago. I want to know you." He tells me. I'm surprised to hear that he was at a party I attended. I so very rarely go to such events that are thrown around town, and only go if Leah forces me to. It's good publicity, she says.
He kisses me fully and deeply on the mouth, I am aware that we are still standing naked in front of one another. He bends down and pulls up his Calvin Klein jeans, and I look around for the white robe I came in with. It's folded over a chair; I walk toward it, feeling Jordan's eyes on mine, but as I slip into it Leah bursts through the doors looking for me.
"Wow, that was quick. Usually we're stuck here for ages for the perfect shot. You must have done really well today. Good job, Chelsea." She's got a secretive smile on her face, as if she knows exactly how well the shoot went. I shoot a sideways glance at Jordan that Leah doesn't miss; she turns to look at him and appraises the model standing nearby. Jordan takes that as a cue to leave, which I don't blame him for. Leah, while small, can be quite scary.
"The shoot was good, really good actually, I think the photographer got his perfect shots," I say. "He ran out of here as soon as he was done."
"I bet he did," Leah arches an eyebrow at me and places a hand on each hip. I arch an eyebrow right back at her; she obviously wants dirt, which she isn't going to get.
"Soo… I have to go and get ready to leave. I have somewhere I have to be in an hour."
Leah furrows her brow and looks at me quizzically. "No you don't, you don't have to be anywhere for the rest of the day. You were supposed to be here for most of the day, I'm telling you, it's not often a photographer leaves so quickly. Normally it takes them ages to get the right shot."
I smile secretly a little as Leah says all this; it is true that it sometimes takes a while for a model and a photographer to warm up, especially when there is more than one model involved. I can only put it down to the powerful connection Jordan and I shared. Call it what you'd like: chemistry, pheromones, lust, or just being horny. Whatever. I can't help and think about him and how intense the session was. My body is still reacting to the way he felt against me. Which must have been why it didn't take all that long. Still, I am happy to hear that the rest of my day is free. It isn't often that I have free time. I'd break any promise or commitment to be with Jordan right now, but it's nice to know that I don't have to.
Leah doesn't say anything; she doesn't need to. Her expression says it all for her as things click into place. "Well, have fun…"
I don't need any more than that. I rush from the studio and to my trailer to remove the make up from my face and the oil from my body, and put my normal clothes back on.
Thirty minutes later, I am clean and fresh. I jump in my waiting limo and ask the driver to take me to Jordan's apartment. He'd left his address for me on a slip of paper that he'd slid under my trailer door.
My hair is was still wet from my shower, but I am not so concerned about that and more anxious to see Jordan again. I arrive at his apartment twenty minutes early, the doorman greets me and tells me to head on up as Jordan is expecting me. Once I reach his door, I knock and wait. There's a long pause and I am about to knock again when I hear the shuffling from behind the door that tells me someone is there, and Jordan opens the door.
He is standing before me wet, and in nothing but a towel. He has obviously only just gotten out of the shower. His hair is still dripping just like mine, and by god does he look hot. I take in his form as though I hadn't been staring at him just half an hour ago. The guy is definitely good-looking.
It's pretty hard not to pounce on him, so I do. The door clicks shut behind me as I launch myself into his arms. I reach for his face and pull him down so his lips can meet me. His hungrily capture mine and I feel the material of the towel he's been holding around his waist drop to the floor.
"I've wanted you for so long," Jordan admits to me. His lips begin to trail down my neck and find a pulse point.
"Really?" I ask, amazed, because ever since I'd first seen his photo I've wanted to meet him. Perhaps at the time I didn't know what I wanted to do when I did meet him, but I wanted to see him. I'm disappointed that he was at a party I attended and I was never introduced.
"Yeah, everyone always told me how you were different from all the other models, that you were more down to earth. I heard about all the stuff you gave to charities and…" he breaks off to capture my lips again. Wait, my brain is trying to catch up with what he's saying. It seems to me that while Jordan is warm for my form, he also seems to like what he's heard about my personality. I feel warm inside knowing that there's more than just a physical attraction shared between us.
"What do you mean?" I press him, wanting to know how he feels about me. Up until this point, I was under the impression that he was hot for me because of how I looked.
Jordan pulls back again to look at me. He frames my face with his large hands, holding me so that he can look me in the eyes. "Chelsea," he says. "You have to be the most beautiful woman I know. Outside and in. You're smart and you're nice. You're confident and sexy as hell. How could I not want to be with you? Ever since I saw you give that speech about animal protection about a year back and you were taking about the welfare of endangered species, I knew there was more to you than just a hot body and a pretty face."
I feel something inside of me melt. I've always wanted to meet a guy who saw more of me than what was on the outside.
I've been told that I'm "different" to other models. Like most models, I have anything I could ever want: an overflowing bank account, an attractive body, and I often receive compliments about how pretty I am or how I make a top/dress/handbag look 'absolutely amazing"...still, there's a brain under this hair, and a heart under my breasts, and it's so much nicer to be recognized as someone who has those things. It's even better that the person recognising this is Jordan Carter.
I place both hands around his face and press my lips to his again, fiercely.
His hands find my shoulders and he steers me backward until I am resting against the door that has only just closed behind me. He's pushing me a little roughly against the wood, but I like it. I kiss Jordan back roughly, my fingers play at his skin, and they make their way down the side of his body and to his waist. He flinches a little and pulls back. "What?" I ask, feeling alarmed that I've done something wrong.
"Nothing," he mumbles. "Just tickles." He grins and pulls at my top a little, trying to get me out of my clothes. I'm more than happy to help him out with that, and we quickly make work of the barrier of material working against us and soon I am as naked as he is.
I'm standing before him in nothing now; my body is aching for his touch. I haven't felt this turned on in my entire life. . I take in his naked body before me. We are without the presence of a third person in the room like before, when the photographer had been taking our pictures. Now that I am alone with Jordan, I am greedy to drink up the sight before me. I reach out my hand to touch him; he is remarkably big. I'm not so experienced with sex to know the average length of a penis, but I can guess that Jordan's is larger than normal. He's hard in my hand as I stroke him. His cock swells in my hand, getting even larger, if it were at all possible.
"Fuck… if you keep doing that…" Jordan murmurs, he is shuddering and I feel a pulse of pleasure knowing that I am turning him on so much. I stretch upward to kiss him again. His tongue invades my mouth hungrily.
"I want you," I tell him. I'm suddenly pressed against the hardness of the wall, his lips are attacking me again. I'm between a rock and a very hard place. I moan in pleasure as I feel him rubbing against me, his cock is in line with my sex.
"Fuck, I can feel you ready against me, Chelsea. It's so hot," he's telling me. I love that he speaks so dirty. I love that he finds me so hot, that how he makes me feel is turning him on… I moan again. His fingers are creeping lower down my body, I arch my back into him and press my pelvis against his cock.
"Please," I beg him.
"What do you want?" he asks.
"Please, touch me."
"Do you want me to make you come, Chelsea?"
"Yes. God yes."
His fingers find my centre and he slides the tip of one digit inside of me, while his thumb presses against me.
"Fuck!" I gasp.
"You like that, don't you, Chelsea?" he says. I grit my teeth, biting down on the screams that want to burst out of me.
"Don't hold back on me," he tells me, and I groan loudly as his fingers find the sensitive spot within me.
His other hand is kneading at my breast, grasping the soft flesh and pinching my stiffened nipple between two fingers.
He lowers his body until he's kneeling before me. I look down at him and see him staring at his hands, at my pussy. He's massaging my bare lips with his other hand now, inspecting the pink flesh and rubbing at my sensitive clit.
"Oh, God." Watching him look at me is making it so hard to keep standing. "That's so hot."
He presses a hot kiss to my clit, his fingers moving out of the way to make room for his mouth. He licks and teases, circling and lapping.
"You're so fucking wet, Chelsea," he mumbles.
He slowly moves his fingers in and out of me in time to his tongue flicking gradually against my hardened clit. I can feel myself clenching hard around his fingers, my hips are moving in perfect rhythm against his hand.
"Please what?" he asks me, his hands continuing to torture me.
"Please, make me come."
It doesn't take him very long to get me off. I'm falling apart in his arms, my knees are weak and he has one arm around my ass and legs holding me up for support. "Jordan," I moan his name and pant breathlessly. He continues to lick up and down my slit from top to bottom and back down again, he circles my clit and repeats; his tongue dives into my entrance and then sucks my folds between his lips, flicking against the flesh. I am delirious, screaming and moaning his name. I want to feel him inside of me again, the brief moments we had before where I felt him fill me completely are at the front of my mind and I want it again.
He's moving back and away from me now and standing. Suddenly he has me in his arms, he's carrying me across his apartment and to what I assume is his bedroom. He lays me down on his bed gently, and then his lips are on mine again, kissing me softly. His fingers feather across my cheek as he holds my face in his hands. "You are so beautiful. You're the sexiest thing I've ever seen," he tells me languidly. I blush hard. This Jordan is such a stark contrast to the one I saw before that it makes my head spin. His hands move down my body, slowly, bringing heat to the surface at his touch. My back arches toward him.
"I want to feel you inside of me," I whisper. My hands reach for his face to hold him above me, so that I can look into his eyes. I see hunger and desire there, lust and craving. But I also see gentleness and tenderness. And a soft, quiet, calmness that moves over him and me both until it's surrounding me and consuming me all at once. He moves back and I'm scared for a second that he's not going to give me what I want, what I need. I feel rejected and humiliated almost immediately as he pulls away. He must see my look because he reassures me quickly.
"I'm just going to grab a condom…" Relief calms me.
"You don't have to… I'm on the pill… Unless you… I mean, I'm safe…" My sentences are fragmented and disjointed. I'm nervous and I'm sure it's showing.
He moves back to me, and his touch instantly soothes me. "All right," he says. He positions himself above me. He's gazing into my eyes, and suddenly I feel him right at my entrance and he's pushing against me. I gasp as he enters me; it's everything it was before when I felt him, but it's also so much more.
"Ahhh!" I groan loudly, raising my hips up slightly to feel him deeper. He moves inside of me slowly, pulling back and then thrusting forward and I can feel him rubbing up against my spot, that spot. It's sending delicious shivers throughout my body. We quickly and easily set a rhythm, and I can feel the intense pleasure build more and more as our movements become more and more erratic and desperate.
"GOD! JORDAN, FUCK!" I shout, I am so close to climaxing, and suddenly, I am. My whole body convulses with pleasure and I arch into him again, my orgasm is so intense it overpowers me and my body goes limp. He continues to fuck me though, forcing me to ride out my orgasm. He groans and I watch his face, I can tell that he's so close. I can't wait to see him come, to see his expression. "Come for me, Jordan," I beg. He groans again and thrusts three more times when his face contorts, and another moan of pleasure escapes him before he collapses on top of me. My arms fold around him, holding him to me. He rolls off so that he's not suffocating me, and I feel his arms snake around my waist.
"That was amazing," he murmurs. His face is buried into my neck and hair, so I can't see his face, but I can hear the grin in his voice and he hugs me close to him.
"Hey," I say to him. "I know this is kind of backward, but do you want to grab a coffee with me, later?" I'm hoping he'll say yes. I've never felt anything close to this with anyone before, and I really want to get to know him better.
Jordan grins widely at me and pulls me tighter against him. "Yeah, I really do."