Delivering the Virgin(31)

CHAPTER FIVE


Rafe




"Jenna, Jenna, Jenna!" the crowd screamed. I'd heard a lot about this  new model but hadn't had a chance to meet her myself. As the chairman of  Levast Corp., I take a personal interest in all the brands my company  owns and that includes going to dozens of fashion shows, meeting  designers, scoping out the crowd.

The audience at Jason Alexander, our newest label, was promising.  Between a mix of hoity-toity editorial staff, celebrity ingénues,  Instagrammers, and serious buyers, we had a good turn-out. I could see  Vanessa A., a hot new rapper, preening in the front row. There were  cameramen all around her but the crowd kept screaming "Jenna!" without  abandon.

Hmmm, Jenna Walsh. Very interesting. She was the newest model to hit the  scene, older than most, probably twenty-four or twenty-five. It wasn't  often we hired from the "mature division" of an agency, but in this case  Jason had felt he had no choice. Jenna had come onto the scene so  suddenly that it took everyone by surprise. The blonde bimbo was the  absolute opposite of what high fashion was about  –  way too curvy, with  boobs and an ass that bounced and jiggled with a life of their own.

I have to admit, I was curious myself. Ms. Walsh had come to prominence  in a roundabout way. Rejected by all the high fashion agencies, she'd  turned to promoting herself via YouTube, Twitter and Instagram. She'd  filmed multiple shorts of herself doing silly things, dancing around her  room, shimmying on the sidewalk, probably even brushing her teeth.

But the thing is that she was captivating. Her video doing the Cat Daddy  in a bikini was riveting, her boobs jouncing out with every squiggle,  the girl laughing as she danced, not at all like the cold, hard faces  models present to the world.

So I was curious myself. I wanted to see what this Jenna had, what had propelled her to ultra-stardom in such a short time.

The lights dimmed and the music began. A fast cha-cha to match the  tropical air, as Jason Alexander was presenting its resort collection.  And Mr. Alexander didn't disappoint. Right in time with the first beat,  Ms. Walsh stepped out.

I felt my body harden reflexively, its reaction to the goddess on the  runway pure male instinct. Because Jenna really was gorgeous. Maybe she  was considered fat by the traditional modeling industry, but to me she  was perfect, with big, beautiful breasts and a sizeable rump. I could  see her jugs bouncing inside the aquamarine bikini top, threatening to  spill out and dazzle us all.

She let out a gleaming smile, waving to the crowds, working the  audience, a glow coming off of that radiant blonde hair, her golden  skin. I wasn't so naïve that I thought it was all natural, but damn, she  was the picture of health, bouncy and flushed, the opposite of the  anorexics the agencies always send over.

The blonde was sassy and fun too. Reaching the end of the runway, she  turned and strutted, rocking her hips, smiling over her shoulder,  throwing a come-hither look at me. At me? I growled at myself. Please. I  was just another man in the crowd, she couldn't even see me from where I  sat in the back. I try to keep a low profile, no need for the world to  know that the boss was present.

But the interplay stayed with me even as Jenna sashayed back down the  runway, throwing one more dazzling smile over her shoulder before  disappearing around the corner. It was as if a camera flash had gone  off, rendering me momentarily blind to the other girls filing out from  behind the wall, showing off their assets. The image of Jenna was  imprinted on my mind, her curvy figure, that golden fall of hair, the  undeniable charisma and sweetness.         

     



 

I had to have her. Uncomfortably crossing my legs, I realized just how  aroused I'd become, my cock semi-stiff, my body gearing up as if for war   …  and dominance.





CHAPTER SIX


Jenna




I'd seen him. A lot of times, the runway is so brightly lit that you  can't see a thing. But in this case, when I got to the end of the runway  a strobe light went off, illuminating everything in its arc.

And that was when I saw the man. Tall, imposing, handsome, in an  impeccably cut suit, seated elegantly with his legs crossed. His eyes  were deep, penetrating, and I felt an immediate flush on my body as he  stared, my chest growing heated as darts of lightning streaked down to  my center, making me feel soft inside.

I calmed myself, acting like nothing had happened, that I hadn't just  felt the clouds open. "Stop it," I reminded myself. "You're imagining  things, your life's been so crazy lately."

And it's true. It's been a short and surprising rollercoaster ever since  I took those nudie pics. I'd done it for the money, nothing more,  figuring that once I was paid it'd become a thing of my past. But  Deborah had ideas for me.

"Jenna honey," she purred, sorting through some photos, "have you  thought about modeling? I mean, real modeling, not this import car  stuff."

I was stumped. Even though I'm beautiful, I know I don't have a model's  body. Those girls are two inches taller and twenty pounds less, plus I  was already twenty-four, too old to be competition for the sixteen  year-old ingénues gracing the Paris catwalks.

"I'm not sure I qualify," I said slowly. "But what are you thinking?  Some Sears catalogues? Maybe J. Crew?" I'd noticed that commercial  models tended to be more normal looking, not the skeletal remains  parading about in magazines. Plus, I could use the money.

And Deborah was savvy.

"I have an idea," she said. "I've got a friend at MGC Models, they want  someone to appear at a Giants game just to generate some heat, you know?  They want someone real because it's supposed to be candid, on the fly,  but you know how these things are, they're totally staged."

No, in fact I didn't know that. But it was an idea and I wanted the free  tickets to the Giants game. If I had to pimp myself in some way or  other, that was fine, so long as it wasn't too embarrassing.

It's terrible I know, but the money from the nudie shoots had already  run out, I'd spent it on random things and I was penniless again.  Dammit! I knew I shouldn't have bought that new purple dress, but I'd  felt so beaten down studying at 2 a.m. that I'd allowed myself to  splurge and purchased the Versace dress on-line, my eyesight practically  blurring, I was so tired.

And maybe I could use those free tickets to my advantage somehow  …  I  dunno, get some guy to buy me dinner at the game, I heard they'd amped  up the catering at these fancy new stadiums, there was actually steak  and oysters now, not just fries and hot dogs.

So I agreed. It was easy enough -- I was supposed to go to the game and  do a dance when my section cheered. The lensman would "accidentally"  catch me on the Jumbotron and it'd provide the crowd with a glimpse of a  pretty girl grooving out, relieving the boredom during a slow inning or  whatever. Easy-peasy, no problem.

I'd invited Courtney to come along. Although she'd disappointed me when  she'd refused to take me out after the cancelled bridal shower, there  weren't many other people I could ask frankly. I didn't have many real  friends and hadn't had much time to develop true friendships after my  engagement blew up, that kind of shit takes years.

So Courtney and I had gotten ready together, brushing out our blonde  hair, making sure our baseball caps were angled just so, pulling on the  fitted Giants jerseys Deborah had provided.

"Where you'd get this gear?" she'd asked, curious. Courtney was pretty,  almost competition even, but she never found the right guys. The guys  who liked her were cute, sure, but they were just like us  –  graduate  students, impoverished, studying for their PhDs or whatever. I liked my  men a little more developed, imposing, commanding, and further along  their career paths.         

     



 

"Oh I have a friend who couldn't make the game so he gave me his  tickets," I said nonchalantly, making sure my hair was brushed to a  glossy sheen. I adjusted the baseball jersey so that my girls pressed  against the cheap nylon fabric, highlighting my deep cleavage, turning  in the mirror to make sure my ass was juicy and perky in the tight  jeans. As usual, I looked flawless and made a face at myself in the  mirror.

"Come on, you ready?" I asked. "You promised to drive."

Courtney finished brushing out her own long blonde hair. "I did, didn't  I?" she said slowly. "But don't go crazy with the drinking okay? I'm  borrowing Henry's car and I don't want to clean up puke like last time."

I waved my hand nonchalantly. "Don't worry about me, that was Renata," I  said dismissively. "I can't help it if she can't handle her alcohol."  Of course, I'd been the one pouring the drinks that night and had done  nothing to stop Renata from downing far more than her petite 5'1" frame  could handle. But we're all big girls, she should have known better.