Palmer: Fashion Week Ch. 06

Roxanne could feel the instant tingle of anticipation running through her body. She knew that getting away from Nikky Volkov was a good idea, and yet she couldn't help but wonder what the future held for when she did. This could be the answer. It was perfect.

"You're absolutely sure?" she asked, just to make certain.

"Of course. I'll have to clear it with the producers, but it won't be a problem. They'll go nuts for the idea. Think of the ratings!"

*

Jack and Isobel were close to finishing their chat. They'd talked about a variety of subjects other than the one he valued most. He'd tried to tease out information on Nikky Volkov, but the Spanish beauty had neatly sidestepped each of his attempts.

She clearly knew more than she was letting on, but was happy to steer a middle course through his subtle and not-so-subtle questioning.

He could only hope that Jenn and Roxie had been more successful at eliciting information tonight. He could see his girlfriend chatting to a woman across the room right now. It was Alicia Stiles, Isobel had told him, one of the most famous supermodels still treading the catwalks.

In truth, he was looking forward to getting back to their hotel. The evening had been a waste of time, as he'd expected, and anyway he still wasn't comfortable in this sort of pretentious environment. Frankly, he'd had enough of the deadly combination of heavy music, incessant smoke and the endless chatter around him.

Although, truthfully, that wasn't the only reason. Isobel was as tactile as she was beautiful and her slender fingers made continual contact with his hand or arm most every time she spoke. His arm had long ago begun to tingle with excited familiarity with each touch—and not just his arm. Maybe it had something to do with his earlier dancing with Faye & Françoise, but h could feel himself stir in his trousers every time Izzy's smouldering dark eyes looked in his direction.

He and Roxie would be making love pretty much as soon as they returned to their hotel room.

"A water please," he said, leaning against the bar.

Perhaps that would ease the heat inside him? Just until they got back to the hotel, at least.

"You've really impressed me, Jack," Isobel said.

She was leaning next to him, with her elbows on the bar, but facing out. He glanced at her, sneaking another peak into her tanned cleavage. Yeah, he was definitely going to make love to his beautiful girlfriend very soon.

"Roxie's very lucky," she continued. "And so are you, of course. If you ask me, you make a perfect combination."

"Thank you, Izzy," he replied, gulping down the water before asking for another.

"Just stay away from Jade," she added, shooting him a look. "I know she's a good friend of Roxie's, but believe me, she's bad news."

He turned towards her so that he could look directly in her eyes as she elaborated. She met the gaze full on, but softly shrugged her pretty shoulders.

"That's all you're getting from me," she said, a soft smile touching her lips. "You're the ex-cop. Work it out. And I'm not just talking about sex."

"Look—" he began, but a frown was creasing her brow as her gaze diverted over his shoulder.

"Talk of the devil," she slowly said. Then she was touching his arm again. "Don't move. Stay where you are..."

He did as he was told, although forcing himself not to look was excruciating. He could see that her gaze was locked onto something.

"What?" he impatiently asked.

"I can't imagine its good news," she softly said, giving him permission to look with a slight incline of her head.

He followed her gaze towards Jade. She and Jenn were about to enter the lift, along with an Arab guy. For a moment Palmer wasn't sure if the three of them were together, but as they stepped inside he could see that the guy's hand was rested on Jenn's ass like it belonged there. What the fuck was she up to?

*

Michelle Park was flying high. Really high. She had no idea how many orgasms she'd had, but who the fuck was counting anymore? Why bother when she had this man's cock filling her. She was exorcising the ghost of Tony Yamamura and establishing a new future for herself.

The King is dead. Long live the King.

She was on her back, her legs bent back and up over Nikky Volkov's strong shoulders as he drilled down inside her. The weight of his body compressed her even more, driving his cock deep into her cunt.

She had to admit, he had incredible stamina. Sucking him off and letting him cum in her mouth had helped. He was able to last so much longer now. Take her so much harder.

"Fuck me, baby. Fuck my hot pussy," she moaned.

God, she loved to talk dirty. She knew what it did for guys. Tony used to love it. So would Nikolay Volkov.

"Harder," she snapped, reaching up and gripping his tussled blonde hair with her slim fingers. "Do me harder, baby."

He was nearly there. She could tell. Could see it in his sparkling blue eyes. His heavy balls slapped harder against her tender sex, forcing a heavy grunt with each thrust. But the bastard was trying to hold back. No-one held back on Michelle Park, not even this man.

"You're close?" she rasped.

"Yesss," he hissed, his face tightening into a cringe.

"Then do it!" she snarled, crossing her ankles behind his head and squeezing her internal muscles around his cock.

He couldn't resist, going off like a depth charge and filling her slick Asian walls with wet, satisfying heat. This was what she wanted. His cum. She purred happily, dirty-talking to him again until he'd finished firing inside her. Then she rolled on her side beside him, panting heavily. Hot sex was the first step towards making a man hers, and she knew how important it was to keep this particular man happy.

She was wondering if he'd be ready for action again soon when he suddenly took her by surprise.

"Who exactly is Bree Jensen?" he asked out of the blue.

She closed her eyes and tried to stay cool, although she knew her lips had pursed tightly. Fuck! He knew about Bree? She could have lied, but she suspected he already knew the answer to the question. Her best course of action was to come clean. How else would he trust her?

"She's a porn star..." she responded nervously.

Volkov laughed. Michelle didn't like the sound. She started to feel hot, and it wasn't due to sexual energy this time.

"I know that," he calmly replied. "What I want to know, my dear, is what the connection between her and Tony was."

"Oh, I see," she said, acting innocently. "I thought you knew. Tony brought her here from Vegas. He said you'd asked him to. Weren't you hoping to use Bree and some of her friends at a couple of parties or something?"

She kept her tone level. And calm. Even she would have believed what she was saying, and she knew she was lying.

"That's what Tony told you?"

"It's true, isn't it?" she asked, keeping a straight face.

"And what did he tell you about the deal he was trying to set up with Sheikh Amir bin Khalid?"

She felt her right leg begin to twitch and forced herself to keep it still.

"Who?"

"Sheikh Amir bin Khalid. He's the reason we're here in Dubai, as I'm sure you know, my dear. Tony was putting together a business deal with him, wasn't he?"

"I've never heard of him," she lied again.

It was a calculated risk, but she couldn't think of anything off the top of her head that could connect her to the Sheikh.

"But if Tony was putting together a deal for you, he never mentioned it. Mind you, the bastard could be secretive when he wanted."

He ignored the jibe.

"But you and Tony were in a relationship, yes? He must have mentioned something."

He knew they were in a relationship? Fuck. She really was entering dangerous territory now.

"You'd be surprised," she began, as casually as she could. "People know I was only trying to get in with Tony because I thought he could help my career. The sex was good but not much else. He was hard work at times, always seeming to have one thing or another on the go, but he'd never tell me anything. I was going to dump him after the Clinique shoot."

Her heart was in her mouth when she finished speaking. She had to make her story sound believable, but had she said too much?

"The Clinique photo shoot, yes," Volkov mused, leaving it at that.

He was clearly pondering on what she'd said. If it had been any other guy she would have flown into a tantrum, but she choked that feeling back. That would never do in the situation. She needed something else to help authenticate her story.

"But there is one thing..." she said.

She twisted around so that she could lie on his chest, her almond-shaped eyes vstaring upwards into his. There wasn't a single thing in his gaze that gave a clue to what he was thinking.

"Yes?"

"Yeah," she muttered, trying to control the beating of her heart. "I asked him if Jenn and I—you know, the girl who did the shoot with me—could do more work together. She's hot, if a bit naïve, and I know you have a couple of clients where we'd fit in really well together. But, the thing is, he said t she wasn't going to sign for you."

"He did?"

That was better. From the tone of his voice, she'd piqued his interest.

"Yeah. I asked him why, because she did a fabulous job at the shoot, but he just said he had other plans for her. I didn't understand. What plans, Nikky?"

She saw his eyelids flicker. It was a good sign. She had him confused. He might have wondered about her and Tony's relationship, but she couldn't help but think she was playing this scenario perfectly.

At first he didn't say anything. He continued to look at her with interest, her eyes thoughtful.

"This girl, Jennifer Finney," he eventually said. "Tell me everything you know about her."

*

Jenn allowed herself to be led back up to the bedroom area. She felt like she was a cloud in the middle of a windstorm. She floated, but was unable to control her direction or her movement. It was just as well that Jade was helping her. Her body still tingled from the opium hit, and she wasn't quite sure who this guy was.

And yet the curious thing was that, although she knew she needed a clear to obtain the information she needed on Nikky Volkov, her body wanted to feel that opium rush again. She saw how it could be so addictive. She felt warm inside, like she could do anything.

The other thing was that, whoever this guy was, he thought she was a famous model. It was quite a compliment. So why shouldn't she act like one? He was hard to control, though. He'd kept staring at her tits and pawing her ass whenever he'd got the chance.

"I'll leave you and Habib to get acquainted," she heard Jade say.

It took a moment to realise they'd stopped outside one of the bedrooms, at the other end of the hall this time. She was unlocking the door as she spoke.

"I need you to show him a good time. Then I'll make sure you get to meet Nikky tomorrow, yes?"

Yes, that's what she wanted. To meet Nikky Volkov. All she had to do was show this man a good time. She just had to work out a way of doing that without compromising herself. What was his name again? Habib. But Habib what?

She thought they'd start with a drink and chat. That would give her a chance to clear her head and compose herself. But instead he was pulling her through the tidy living room and into the bedroom, practically slamming the door behind them in his urgency.

"Someone's eager," she quipped, trying to keep it light. "How about we have a drink first?"

"Habib doesn't drink alcohol," he snapped, and then he was pulling her into his arms.

The movement took her by surprise and when she felt him press against her, she realised that her skin tingled. In her mind's eye, she could still see and hear Nikky and Michelle fucking. She looked up at Habib, blinking to try and clear her head. He was quite good-looking, with his swarthy complexion and dark eyes that danced with need.

"You are so hot," he whispered in her ear, nibbling along her jaw, down the side of her neck.

Geez, that felt good. But she had to find a way of slowing him down.

"Wait," she tried to tell him, but then his lips had found hers.

She was trying to resist, wasn't she, but their tongues were entwining as her fingers began to unbutton his shirt.

She caught her reflection in a full length mirror over his shoulder. It was like watching two strangers going at it. His shirt came off, floating to the floor. God, he was like an Adonis: a perfect, male upper body. And to make matters worse, his hard cock was pressing against her through his trousers. It throbbed.

She moaned, feeling his fingers draw open her halter. The top of her dress fell to her waist, exposing her breasts. Then his hands were on her, taking each of her breasts in his dark palms, sampling their shape and firmness as if he was handling two pieces of fruit.

Part of her knew that she should have done something to stop him. But instead she felt his touch run all the way down to her wet sex. When his thumbs flicked over her erect nipples, she choked back a moan, and when he dipped his head to take one in his mouth, she was all but lost. She clung to his full head of back hair, drawing him closer even as she fought to get away. Control was slipping away somehow. If she didn't stop this now, she'd never get away.

Not until she felt his cock inside her...

You can't... the voice of her conscious sounded feeble. Illogical. Why couldn't she? She was here pretending to be a model. This was what models did. And it was taking her closer to Nikky Volkov...

Her knees buckled against the edge of the bed behind her. Suddenly, she was sitting. Even more suddenly, her fingers were opening Habib's trousers, feeling his pulsing excitement beneath her hands.

She looked up along his swarthy, muscled body, the toned contours of dark flesh. Her left hand traced his six-pack just to see if this visage was true. It was. His abs were as real as the thick cock he was pulling from his boxer-briefs and offering to her.

She bit her lower lip. Sandra Wilson would be appalled if she knew she was doing this. She shouldn't. She wasn't going to. And yet her right hand was stroking him even as her mind warred. God, he was thick.

When a bead of pre-cum dribbled out across the swollen head of his beautiful member, he placed a hand on the back of her head and pulled her forward. Her heart skipped a beat. Could she get her mouth around him? She had to try.

She kept her aroused brown eyes on his face as she sucked him. She was making him grunt. She was causing those muscles to flex. Such power. All hers. This is what models did. She was a model now.

And yet, even as the thoughts went through her mind, she caught sight of herself in the mirror again. Oh God. Reality hit her. She couldn't do this, she really couldn't. It was the drug inside her that had led to her lack of self control. This was wrong, so wrong...

"I can't," she cried, tearing her mouth from his erection. "I'm sorry."

The back of his hand hit her across the face the instant the words left her lips. Then his hand was in her hair, dragging her head back.

"No..." she cried out, even as he tried to force his cock back between her lips.

It was at that moment that the door to the bedroom flung open.

*

"Get off her," Palmer boomed, as he took in the scene.

Jenn was on her knees, wiping some blood from the corner of her mouth. Her assailant stood over her, a virile-looking Arab with his erect cock thrusting from between his thighs.

"Who the hell are you?" the man said, glancing at him in annoyance. With his clipped beard, his sneer fit his face perfectly.

Palmer didn't bother answering. Jenn's dress was practically hanging off her and she had her hands across her naked breasts, protecting them. He stepped between them and helped her pull the dress back in place and then for good measure pulled off his jacket and threw it over her shoulders to cover her.

"Hey!" the guy shouted, grabbing Palmer's shoulder and swinging him around.

When he swung a wild punch, Palmer ducked and then turned to face him full on. He could feel the rage rising in him. This man had struck Jenn, and this woman was his responsibility. Sandra Wilson had asked him to babysit her and he hadn't. Not well enough. She was inexperienced and it was his fault that he'd allowed her to get herself in this compromising position.

"Back off, buddy," he snapped, but the guy threw another punch, catching him on the side of the head.

Palmer swayed with the blow to lessen the effect and then put all the furious aggression he was feeling into a punch of his own. His hard right connected with the guy's jaw, stunning him as he fell back on the bed.

"Stay away from her!" Palmer barked at him, finding Jenn's shaking hand and pulling her toward the door.

Another guy was standing there, a smoothly dressed young Arab with shaggy, bedraggled hair. He was built like a wrestler, easily two hundred and fifty pounds of muscle, and he looked menacing. Palmer had no idea where he'd come from, or how he'd got there so quickly. But he could tell they were in trouble.

"Don't," he warned the guy, holding up the palm of his hand.

The guy gave a smug smile as he held up his fists.

"Then just leave the woman and go—"

Jack threw a punch but the bear of a man barely flinched at it. It caught him flush on the chin, but didn't even stagger. Snapping his head back to look at Palmer, he smiled again.

"You're going to pay for that..."

He stepped forward threateningly and reached for Jenn, but Palmer pulled her out of his reach. The guy reacted by throwing a punch that caught him the ex-cop off balance and then landed a couple solid blows to his face before he could react.

But despite his size and power, he was picking on the wrong man.

Jack went for his knees, knocking him down. They rolled together and then somehow Palmer was on top, returning the favour. Clamping his knees around the guy's broad chest, he let his fists drum down against the man's smug face, leaving him with a split lip and a bruise that would turn his eye black in the next day or two.

"Let's get out of here," he snapped to Jenn.

If this guy had a go at him again, his sheer strength could win the day.

Rising to his feet, he heard a string of Arabic behind him. The first guy, the brave bastard that had hit Jenn, had recovered and was back on his feet, back in the action. This time he had a knife in his hand. But the smile on his face as he pointed it at Palmer disappeared when the vase cracked against the back of his head.

He slumped to the floor, unconscious.

Palmer looked towards Jenn, who stood pigeon-toed in the middle of the room, shocked at what she'd just done.

"Good shot," he told her, wringing his hand. It was swollen. "Now, let's get out of here before anyone else shows."

The wrestler with the shaggy, bedraggled hair made a feeble attempt to grab her leg as they stepped over him, but she quickly moved to one side. When he tried it again, she swung around and kicked him in the stomach.

"Easy, tiger," Palmer told her, smiling at her resilience. "I think we've both had enough for one night."

Then they were out of the room and into the hallway in seconds, to find a worried Roxie hurrying towards them. They quickly made their way towards the lift before any of them spoke.

"Are you okay?" Palmer asked Jenn on the downward journey, touching her red cheek.

"Look at yourself in the mirror, Jack, then ask me again," she giggled.

He smiled sideways at Roxie. The brunette hadn't lost her sense of humour, despite her experience.

Stepping into the warmer night air at street level cleared his head a little, although he still felt the adrenalin running through him. He hailed a taxi as Roxie checked on Jenn, and then turned towards him again.