𝘏𝘦𝘳 𝘞𝘰𝘳𝘴𝘵 𝘕𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵𝘮𝘢𝘳𝘦 (18+) (𝘨𝘹𝘨)

Ⅰ

Ⅰ:  𝙔𝙤𝙪𝙧 𝙁𝙪𝙘𝙠𝙚𝙙

I leaned in for a second kiss from the stunning dark-skinned bombshell beside me, our bodies sprawled on my king-sized bed, which overlooked the beautiful skyline of Los Angeles. 

Her glossy lips glided against mine as she caressed my leg with her freshly manicured French tips, a reminder of her recent show.

She was an incredibly successful model, and I couldn't help but feel a sense of pride that she chose to spend her night with me. 

A thought crossed my mind—how lucky could I get? 

As she pulled away for a brief moment, I caught her dark brown eyes scanning my face, searching for something.

"Should we be doing this? It feels so wrong," she said softly, her gaze dropping back to my lips as if she longed to reconnect.

I leaned back into her, my hand finding its way to her neck. "What's there to feel bad about? He's not here, is he?" I flashed a sly smile that seemed to draw her in even closer. 

With a recaptured spark of desire, she leaned in again, our lips meeting hungrily, and our hands roamed freely as we continued to kiss.

Her hands glided down my shoulders, slipping off my sports bra and making their way to my abs. I could feel her fingers trail teasingly along the waistband of my shorts. 

She gripped my hand, which was resting on her throat, maintaining an intense eye contact that felt electric.

With a sultry smile, she leaned back from our kiss, as she guided my hand down her sheer shirt, exposing her hardened nipples. "Take it off; I didn't wear a bra for a reason," she replied, her voice dripping with seduction and a hint of mischief, prompting a small, playful smirk from me.

                                                                                          ♛

"Do you not see the fucking video, Leilani?" My manager's voice ripped through the euphoric haze, her tone laced with anger, as moans from the tv played in the background.

 I could see her jaw clenched, rigidity evident in her posture as she rubbed her face in frustration before turning to me. 

"I keep getting you out of one mess after another, and you're back on TV again!" She pointed accusingly at my 98-inch screen, where my leaked sex tape played in glaring detail.

I hummed nonchalantly, leaning back comfortably in my seat. "At least they got my good side," I shrugged, while taking a generous sip of the expensive wine that had been gifted to me.

"That's it! I'm done!" my manager erupted, leaping from my plush couch and storming out of my million-dollar condo. I couldn't help but scoff at her dramatic exit, taking another leisurely sip of my wine as I pulled out my phone.

Turning my head, I noticed Marco seated on my couch, legs crossed as he watched the clock on his wrist.

 "You're fucked, Lei," he said, focusing on me, the gravity of the situation evident in his tone. 

"We have 48 hours to find you a new manager and salvage your brand before social media blows this out of proportion." Marco took a final sip of his whisky and set the glass on the coffee table.

Rising from the couch, he adjusted his suit as he prepared to leave. "I have to go save your career for the second time, and this better be the last time," he reiterated, his voice steady but laced with frustration.