Guilty as Gorgeous | Chapter 3
The hand that swung to strike him for the third time was caught mid-air by a larger one. He gripped it so tightly her face contorted in pain. She braced herself, expecting him to lose his temper and strike her back, but the young man instead eased his pressure with a furrowed brow. He pulled her white hand up and kissed it deeply.
At the same time, his eyes—burning with heat—ravished her curves until her smooth face flushed a deep crimson. She struggled to wrench herself away, but it was futile.
"I didn't mean to hurt you, sweetheart."
"Let go!"
Instead of complying, he pulled her small hand and pressed it against his broad chest. A surge of heat rushed to her cheeks as she felt the hard, tensed muscle beneath her palm. "For someone so small, you've got quite the strength."
But it doesn't even scratch that thick skin of yours... The actress, who regularly practiced hot yoga and swimming to maintain her physique, breathed heavily in rage. She never expected to encounter such a degenerate 'bad boy' who was also so incredibly strong. Judging by the rigid muscles beneath the fabric where her hand rested, she could guess that this man had a body as searingly hot as his sharp, handsome features.
He smirked as if reading her thoughts, then lowered his hand to caress her bare side. Her wide, almond-shaped eyes flew open as she twisted away. "Don't!"
"I thought you said you only took 'big-shot' clients who were big spenders?" With heavy-lidded, sharp eyes, he straightened up and began unbuttoning his shirt. Her breath hitched; her survival instincts were screaming, but there was no escape.
"I meant men who are 'sportsmanlike'—men who don't look down on women and know how to show respect."
"I'm very sportsmanlike. And I don't look down on women."
"Then what do you call insulting me by saying I came here to sell myself to your friend?"
"I call it 'blocking the competition'—because I want you for myself."
"A man of your stature..." Phutphitchaya's mind raced, searching for an exit. It was clear he wasn't going to back down easily as he gazed at her with a look of pure intoxication, all while calmly stripping off his clothes. "A friend of Mr. Wasawat Siwaratchaphakdee shouldn't be some nobody. Finding a woman shouldn't be difficult for you."
"Not at all," he admitted bluntly with an arrogant smile, not wasting a second on false modesty.
"Exactly. So isn't it beneath you to force someone who's unwilling? Doesn't that hurt your pride?"
"You have a point." He arched an eyebrow in agreement as he tossed his shirt aside. Her pupils dilated as his massive frame lowered, his muscular arms caging her in on both sides. His long fingers traced her delicate face, marveled by its incredible silkiness, while she froze against the searing heat of his body as he pressed closer. "And tell me, what's so undignified about being the kept woman of a man at my level?"
"The part where someone like me doesn't become anyone's mistress."
"Not even Sia Bancha's?"
"Don't you dare mention him again!"
"You love him that much, do you?"
"That is none of your business!"
Phanthakant never thought he was capable of being jealous of any male—especially one old enough to be her father. But the dark mood that took hold of him when he saw her defensive, almost reverent attitude toward Sia Bancha made him flare with irritation. He had to suppress it with strict discipline; he had never lost control like this before.
"Your name is Shanya, isn't it?"
She glared at him instead of answering and barked an order. "Get off me!"
"I haven't even gotten 'in' yet."
"Ugh! You disgusting man!"
She could only glare at his lewdness for a moment before she had to catch her breath and turn away as his large hand locked around her neck. He seized the opportunity to lower his face, kissing her cheek and the smooth curve of her throat amidst the actress's curses and screams.
But her voice was silenced a moment later when he moved his mouth to cover hers for the second time. He slid his fingers to lock her small jaw just as she prepared to bite his tongue off, humming with pure delight at the taste he craved to savor.
Phutphitchaya tried to push him away, but every move was blocked. She felt as though she were strapped into a roller coaster during a critical moment with no way down—terrified, panicked, yet burdened with a rising, unexpected arousal that flared up against her will.
The actress tried to regain her composure—a crucial skill for any performer—to shake off his influence. When her mouth was finally freed, no scream emerged, only a faint, airy moan that sounded like it belonged to a stranger. She jolted as she felt his rough hand cup her full, rounded breast. His searingly hot mouth clamped down on one of her nipples, causing her graceful body to arch high.
"Ah! Mmm... Stop it!"
"Mmm..." he only groaned in response as his hand moved in coordination with his hungry, desperate suckling.
If she had been on a dangerously high ride a moment ago, there was now a massive bonfire burning below, consuming her. She twisted her body back and forth, gasping in panic, struggling to escape this sweltering trap of lust like a blind person who could see nothing, surrounded by a thick, suffocating smoke of desire.
Phutphitchaya didn't realize how far she would have let things go with this man if he hadn't boldly caressed higher and higher up her smooth, soft legs. He then drove his fingers deep, causing her soft frame to shudder violently.
"God! Shh..."
Phanthakant pulled his hand away to pin her down as the girl in his arms thrashed wildly, pushing him away manically and striking him painfully and aimlessly. He had to lock her down. The narrow sofa became a heated battlefield until both their bodies tumbled onto the soft carpeted floor, sweeping the items off the table along with them at the exact moment the door burst open.
"Good heavens! What on earth is this, Paan? Where has the decency gone!?"
The shrill voice of a man attempting to sound feminine made the young man—who was swearing under his breath beneath Phutphitchaya, with her straddling him to attack him—quickly tighten his grip on her soft body. He pressed her head against his broad shoulder, using his massive frame to completely shield her half-naked body, which was much smaller than his. He ignored the feisty woman who still wouldn't stop struggling.
Phanthakant twisted his head toward the door with a monstrous glare.
"Who the hell told you to open this door!"
"Uh... er... well..."
"Wa... Wan Hom." The breathless voice from the girl in his arms, mixed with immense relief and joy, indicated she knew the intruder well.
"Let me go!"
"Who is this guy, honey?"
"Miss Shanya's manager," a smooth, masculine voice cut in. "Mr. Wikrant is here to take his actress home."
The elegant figure of Wasawat Siwaratchaphakdee stood with his hands in his pockets behind the 'manager' he had just introduced. The manager turned back to the young man with a thankful, albeit somewhat dainty and bashful, gesture.
"Ah, you can call me Wan or Wan Hom. It sounds more friendly."
The fresh-faced twenty-eight-year-old, dressed impeccably in metrosexual style from head to toe, spoke in a voice so soft it seemed he might swoon as he looked up with sweet, adoring eyes at the mixed-race man. His features were leaning towards Western, and he was still a head taller than Wan Hom, despite the manager being nearly six feet tall.
"Understood, Mr. Wan," Wasawat replied with a smirk.
He cast his gaze across the room to his best friend, who was currently acting like a 'King Cobra guarding its eggs.'
More importantly, his 'eggs' were exceptionally smooth with a full-throttle aura—the curves were heart-stoppingly beautiful, with rounded, heart-shaped hips and a tiny, cinched waist, even though only her back was visible, nearly covered by Phanthakant's tanned arms and hands.
"You should have enough manners to wait outside."
Phanthakant spoke in a low tone that resembled a growl.
"Of course, buddy. I forgot. My apologies, Miss Shanya." The host shrugged with a provocative look and leaned down to tell his guest, "I'll go wait downstairs, Mr. Wan."
"And I'll bring Paan—er, Shanya—down right away."
"I didn't know Miss Shanya's nickname was Paan too." The man, about to leave, paused and arched an eyebrow.
"A monk gave it to her. He said the name was auspicious, rhyming with her real name, Phutphitchaya, to boost her career. Actually, Paan didn't want to change it because it didn't rhyme with her siblings' names. Everyone in this house has such cute names."
"What are their names?"
The listener stifled a smile, masking it with a look of intense interest.
"Paan, Prae, Mai. Their nicknames are all fabrics, while their real names are flowers. Phutphitchaya, U..."
"Wan Hom!" The actress cut in, unable to take any more of the immense embarrassment. Her manager seemed more interested in sharing her personal details than worrying about the safety of the actress he cared for.
If the host hadn't invited him downstairs, Wan Hom would likely have left her here to be ravished by this man!
"Er, my apologies," Wikrant cleared his throat and quickly turned to look at her apologetically, nodding for Wasawat to leave first. He then closed the door behind them, though a lingering curiosity remained in his eyes as he stole one last glance back at the young couple in question.