Chapter 23 – The Road to Hell is Paved with Good Intentions
By Evilution
Disclaimer: If you recognize it, I don't own it. This chapter may get a little graphic, so if anyone is offended, I'll apologize in advance. Enjoy!
The bathroom door closed with a soft click and Randy Orton's blue eyes flickered briefly over his girlfriend as she stood in the doorway. Once he noticed that she was wearing nothing but a black thong and an Evolution T-shirt, tied at the waist, his gaze became more intense and appreciative. Paris smiled as they locked glances, a fleeting moment of sadness washing over her. In the morning, she was leaving for Louisville, Kentucky to begin her training in Ohio Valley Wrestling to be a WWE diva. It was their last night together for God knows how long and Paris was determined that they would make love before the night was over.
All of her frustration over the last three weeks of him putting her off and pushing her away was about to come to an end. After all this time, she still couldn't understand what the problem was. It wasn't as if there hadn't been a multitude of opportunities because even though Paris, as a female coordinator, was supposed to have her own room or similar arrangements, it was common knowledge that Randy had been sharing her bed for some time. Randy was always sensitive and attentive, always telling her that he loved her and how beautiful she was, but when it came to sex, Paris was starting to lose hope that she would ever lose her virginity.
She noted with pleasure that her presence had caused Randy to become awake and alert, his prior exhaustion seeming to have never existed. His eyes swept over her repeatedly, taking in every inch, lingering in some places longer than others.
"What do you wanna watch, babe?" Randy asked, secretly knowing that TV was probably the last thing on her mind.
"I'm not in the mood for TV," Paris replied, taking the remote control and flipping the TV off.
Before he could protest, Paris climbed on top of Randy, straddling his hips. She smiled, feeling that the mere sight of her already had him aroused. Maybe this actually would be the night. Dipping her head, she kissed him hungrily as his hands roamed her body. After several minutes of hot, intense kissing and touching, Paris decided that she had waited long enough. She no longer had the patience for preliminaries. The anticipation was sufficient foreplay as far as she was concerned. Climbing off of Randy, but continuing to kiss him, she slid her delicate hand into his sweats, gently stroking his erection. Randy closed his eyes and inhaled sharply as her palm swept over the head of his cock and her fingers softly trailed along the length. Unable to take anymore, Randy rolled over on top of Paris, wedging his knee between her legs, forcing her thighs apart. His right hand grasped her left breast where his fingers began toying with her nipple piercing through the thin material of her T-shirt. Paris yelped slightly as he urgently yanked the knot out of her T-shirt and pulled it over her head, exposing her breasts. Randy buried his face in her neck, his lips leaving a trail of kisses down her throat and across her breasts to the flat plain of her stomach where his teeth gently tugged on her silver navel ring. He was just about to slide her thong down over her hips when suddenly, he stopped.
"What's wrong?" Paris asked, looking up.
Randy sighed and let his forehead rest on her stomach. God, she was going to kill him if he used another of his tired excuses, but he had to take the risk. It would all be worth it in the end if he was able to protect her from Paul. She would eventually realize that he had nothing but good intentions toward her and their relationship. He tried to ignore the little voice in his head telling him what usually became of good intentions.
"I don't have any condoms," he told her, trying to sound disappointed. In reality, he really was disappointed.
He expected Paris to explode, but instead, she reached back underneath the pillow and pulled out a box of multi-colored condoms.
"You've used that excuse before," she said, sweetly. "So I came prepared this time. What color do you want? I kinda like purple."
"When did you put those there?" Randy questioned, shocked at her ingenuity.
"Earlier, when you were in the bathroom," Paris explained as she began to unwrap the condom. "Come on now…no more stalling."
Randy watched her, somewhat amused. "Paris, I don't…"
"What? You don't know how to put one on?" she interrupted. "Here, I'll help you." Once again, her hand slid into his sweats.
"Wait!" Randy said, grabbing her hand. "How do you know how to put one on?"
"I've taken sex ed classes and besides, Amy showed me with a banana. She wanted Dave to model for us, but he thought you might get mad. OK…I'm having some problems here, so off with the sweats."
Randy sighed and began to laugh slightly as her hands fumbled around inside of his sweats. He knew that he had to stop their interlude once again, but it was actually kind of funny, watching Paris pretend to know what she was doing, and her hands were tickling him, which wasn't necessarily a bad thing. But he had to maintain his integrity. He refused to take her virginity on a bet, and she was just going to have to understand.
"Paris, wai…Paris, stop!" Randy exclaimed as he jumped off the bed and made an attempt to straighten his sweats. Running his hands through his hair and then, placing them on his hips, he tried to look at Paris, but found that he couldn't meet her gaze.
"What, Randy!" Paris shouted, sitting up on the bed. "What is it this time? The light isn't quite right or it's too cold in here or that picture on the wall is crooked? What's the excuse this time?"
"And exactly what is the goddamn rush, Paris?" Randy shot back, incredulous that she was being so rude. "Seeing you act like this sure as hell contradicts that whole blushing virgin routine!"
"When have I ever acted like a blushing virgin?" Paris demanded. "I've been all over you for weeks, but now it all makes sense. I knew that's what it was all about!"
"What are you talking about?"
"You started acting weird right after I told you I was a virgin. I should have known it would be a turnoff for a guy like you!" She grabbed her T-shirt and began pulling it on.
"It's not a turnoff!" Randy snapped. "And what the hell is that supposed to mean…a guy like me?"
"You tell me, Mr. Legend Killer!" Paris yelled, jumping off the bed and attempting to walk away.
"Just a goddamn minute!" Randy exclaimed, grabbing her arm. "Look, this bullshit has gone on long enough. There's something I have to tell you, OK? Paul and I…"
"I don't care, OK?" Paris spat. "I don't want to hear anything you have to say! Look, Randy, I understand if you're not into me…that's painfully clear. But hey, it's cool. I mean, there's plenty of other fish in the sea. But thanks so much for leading me on and wasting my time!"
Randy sighed, trying to control his anger. Why wouldn't she listen to him? "Jesus, I am into you! Can't you see that I'm trying to tell you something important here? Do you have to act like such a bitch?"
"Unfortunately for you, that's not your concern anymore," she replied, her voice calm and icy. "Goodbye, Randy…I wish I could say it's been fun, but I guess we'll never know, right?" With that, she turned and headed toward the bathroom.
"Paris, wait!" Randy shouted, grabbing her arm. Paris yanked her arm away and pushed him, causing him to stub his foot on the wall.
"Shit! Goddamn it, Paris…come back!"
But she had already walked into the bathroom and closed the door, locking it behind her. Out of sheer frustration and self-loathing, Randy slammed his fist into the wall twice, feeling as if his knuckles would explode on contact.
"Fuck!" he screamed, grabbing his hand as pain coursed through his arm. "Motherfucker!"
Paris listened to his tirade for several moments, her face pressed against the door, tears flowing freely. She hoped he wasn't totally trashing her room, but she didn't really blame him for being mad. After all, she had just broken up with him, even if he did deserve it. Maybe she should have listened to him. She couldn't imagine what he wanted to tell her that was so important. Probably just more excuses. Finally, she heard him leave through the hallway entrance, slamming the door behind him. Tentatively, she peeked out of the bathroom and sprinted across the room to put the deadbolt on the door. She wasn't afraid—she knew Randy would never hurt her. She just didn't want to talk to him…not now anyway. She needed to go somewhere and relax, clear her head. Maybe she could sneak into one of those football parties inconspicuously and have a couple drinks before going to bed. She quickly slipped on a denim miniskirt and a T-shirt before exiting barefoot through the hall entrance. Just as she was closing the door, the adjoining door to Dave and Paul's room opened and Randy stepped into the room.
"Paris, I…" he began, but looking around the room, he noticed that she was gone. The bathroom door was open so she wasn't still in there. Dejected, Randy took his bags into the other room, figuring it would be best if he just crashed on the couch in Dave's room for the night. Maybe when she came back and had calmed down, then they could talk.
Meanwhile, Paris wandered around to a couple of room parties, doing a shot here and there with some football players. She didn't notice Paul and Dave at one of the parties, but Paul definitely saw her. After about an hour, Paris headed back to her room, crying slightly and drinking a bottle of Cristal that she had stolen from one of the parties. She stopped briefly, catching sight of her reflection in a hallway mirror.
"Fuck him!" she shouted angrily at her image, not really caring if anyone heard her. "If he doesn't want me, I'm sure there's someone who does. Maybe Rob Van Dam's still interested!"
"Do you always yell at yourself?" a voice behind her interrupted.
Paris turned, a bit unsteadily, to see Paul standing there, regarding her with a mixture of amusement and skepticism.
"Paul…what are you doing here?"
"I saw you at the party," he remarked, approaching her. "You looked like you needed a friend." Absently, he reached over and wiped a tear off her cheek.
"I don't wanna talk about it," Paris replied tipsily.
"Well, that's fine and all, but let me give you some friendly advice." He grabbed the champagne bottle away from her. "First off, this stuff might be 300 a bottle, but it's still sewage coming up. And second, I don't care how pissed at Randy you are, don't be talking about Rob Van Dam. He doesn't deserve you." He smiled a friendly smile.
"Can I have my champagne back? I swear, Paul, I'm not that drunk…I'm just pissed."
"That would be a no," Paul said, moving the bottle out of her reach. "Come on, I'm walking you to your room…no arguments."
Paul put his huge arm around her tiny waist for support, even though she didn't really need it, and escorted her to her room. Paris unlocked the door and entered, followed by Paul, who went into the bathroom and dumped the champagne down the sink. As he crossed the room, he saw Paris standing at the window with her back to him, staring at the falling snowflakes. He quietly locked the door adjoining Paris' room to his and Dave's room. He knew that if he was going to seal the deal, this was probably his last chance and he didn't want to be disturbed. In his mind, Paris was a sure thing and he knew enough about women to know that she wasn't that drunk…it only seemed that way because she was being emotional. Unexpectedly, a floorboard creaked and Paris turned to look at him. He could vaguely make out tears streaming down her cheeks from the dim light of the one lamp she had turned on.
"Thanks for looking out for me…I'm OK, really," she told him, sniffling slightly and wiping her face with her hand. "I was actually looking for you."
"Why?"
"I wanted to give this back." She handed him the ankle bracelet. "I was such a bitch today, I don't deserve such a nice gift…gratuity or not."
Paul shook his head. "Keep it. I was an ass and I'm sorry, OK?"
"OK," Paris replied, confused. Earlier today, he had acted like a total dick and now, he was apologizing, something she knew Paul didn't do very often. She laid the bracelet on the table and sat down on her bed.
"Paris, what the hell is going on?" Paul inquired, sitting next to her. "Why are you so upset?"
Paris sighed. "I can't get laid so I'm trying to get drunk, but I'm not doing a very good job at that either."
Paul chuckled. "What do you mean you can't get laid?"
"Randy!"
"What about Randy?"
"He won't have sex with me."
"I find that hard to believe."
"Yeah, well, it's true. I literally threw myself at him tonight and he still turned me down. Not that it's a big surprise…he's been doing it for weeks."
Paul stroked his chin thoughtfully, intrigued at this recent turn of events. So that's what all the tension was about. Apparently, Randy was refusing to have sex with Paris because he was under some deluded notion that he could wait for just the right moment to tell her about the bet. Paul had suspected for some time that this was The Legend Killer's reasoning for not passing go, but he never had any proof…until now. This was just the opportunity he was waiting for, so he decided to feel out the waters.
"Well, I'm sure if you and Randy talk things out…"
"There is no me and Randy…I broke up with him."
Paul inhaled sharply. This was more serious than he thought.
"Are you sure you did the right thing?"
"Why would I want to be with someone who doesn't want me in the most intimate of ways?" Paris cried, tears in her eyes once again. If Randy's stinging rejection wasn't enough, now she was being forced to talk about it.
"So this is your final decision on the matter?"
"Yes, Regis, that's my final answer."
"Well, if you ask me, Randy's an idiot. He doesn't know what he's missing."
"Paul—stop! You're just saying that because I gave you…"
"I'm not just saying that because you gave me oral pleasure…I mean it. Orton should be down on his knees thanking God to have a girl like you." He paused for dramatic effect. "I know I would be."
"Would you stop?" Paris laughed. "You're Triple H…you can have any woman you want."
"You know that I want you," he replied boldly.
"I know but…"
Before she could finish her sentence, Paul leaned over and kissed her…a burning, lingering kiss, his tongue gently probing her mouth.
Paris was a bit stunned, but not entirely. She knew that Paul wanted her and she was definitely horny. If she wanted sex, it was highly unlikely that Paul would say no. But he didn't know her secret, that she was a virgin. Plus there was the matter of what her sleeping with Paul would do to Randy. He would be devastated…or would he? Maybe Randy didn't care about her as much she thought he did. Otherwise, why hadn't he come looking for her? Before she could contemplate any further, Paul broke the heated kiss.
"I'm sorry about that, Paris," he said, acting apologetic. "I should just go." He rose to leave.
"Paul…wait…" Paris stated, rising to follow him. "Don't go…I mean you can stay if you like. You can even kiss me again if you want." She put her hands on her hips and thrust her chest out, staring boldly at him.
"But you and Randy…"
"Like I said, there is no me and Randy."
Smirking, Paul grabbed Paris around the waist and pulled her against him, his lips meeting hers once again. Paris linked her arms around his neck and thrust her body upward against his, shivering slightly as his hands ran along her bare thighs, pushing her skirt up higher. Paul turned and without releasing Paris or her lips, lowered himself onto the bed, pulling her on top of him. Paris straddled his waist, her skirt riding even higher as they continued to kiss. His hands trailed over her ass and gripped the bottom of her T-shirt, which he pulled over her head and tossed it on the floor. Paris broke the kiss and tugging at Paul's T-shirt, she pulled it out of his waistband and pushed it over his head, her nails lightly raking his chest. Paul sat up, balancing her on his lap as he gripped her back with one hand and popped her bra open with the other. Paris shrugged her bra off of her shoulders, pressing her breasts into his face and gripping his shoulders, as he grasped her breasts, placing kisses across her chest and lightly tracing his tongue around her nipples. He paused slightly, his teeth tugging at the silver barbell in her left nipple. Paris yelped, pain mixing with pleasure, and slapped his arm playfully as he kissed her once again, his hands erotically massaging her sensitive breasts.
"Did that hurt?" he murmured, his lips trailing along her neck.
"A little, but I liked it," she whispered.
"What else do you like?" he urged, his hand sliding under her skirt.
"I think you know me well enough to know what I like, Paul," Paris teased, trying to mask her inexperience. She'd never done this before so she didn't really know what she liked.
Paul smirked as he reclined onto the bed and rolled Paris onto her back in one swift motion. Kneeling next to her, he unbuttoned her skirt and pulled it off, his hands brushing over her silky legs as he removed the garment. Then, he maneuvered one of her legs around him so that he was positioned between her thighs. With a quick snap, he jerked her black lace thong off and threw the torn piece of material across the room. Paris sighed with exasperation.
"That's two pairs of my underwear you've ruined now! And those were Victoria's Secret!"
"I'll buy you more," Paul said as he placed fiery kisses all along her legs and on the insides of her thighs.
"That's not the point," she teased.
"Then, just don't wear any," Paul advised, grinning wickedly.
Paris was about to continue arguing jovially with him when suddenly, he pulled her legs over his shoulders and began teasing her in the most torturous of ways. Paris arched her back and grabbed the headboard, trying to keep her mind from spinning out of control with pleasure. There were tiny little explosions going off in her brain and she could have swore if Paul touched her one more time, she was going to faint. God, he was good at that…too good actually. She could have stayed there for hours just letting him pleasure her, but Paul had other plans.
Rising up, he climbed off the bed and quickly shed his pants and his underwear. Paris watched the whole scene, silently admiring his attributes and admitting to herself that he was quite the impressive male specimen in more ways than one. Paul noticed her staring and smirking arrogantly, lowered himself on top of her once again. Paris locked one of her legs around his waist, pulling him closer to her as he hungrily kissed her neck, tracing his tongue over her damp skin, his teeth biting gently, leaving small but obvious marks of ownership. Paul smiled against Paris' neck…if Orton didn't believe that he had sealed the deal, here were the marks to prove it.
Paris ran her hands through his silky hair and trailed her nails down his muscular back, scratching him gently at first, and then, more aggressively. Paul growled in his throat each time her nails sank in and responded by biting her neck just a little harder, marking her more vividly. On the surface, Paul was the epitome of cold, calculated self-control, but underneath it all, he felt like he was going to explode if he had to go one more minute without being inside of her. The blood was hammering so loudly in his brain that he almost thought he was going to pass out and the tightening in his groin was practically unbearable. He gasped audibly, feeling Paris' soft fingertips graze lightly along the length of his cock. If she continued to do that, there was no way he could hold it together. He had wanted this for so long, it almost seemed anti-climactic that it was actually happening.
Gently removing her hands from below his waist, he positioned her arms above her head, one of his hands pinning both of her wrists while his other hand teased and probed between her legs. It was obvious that she was ready for him and any further foreplay at this point was inconsequential. Suddenly, he was distracted by a tiny voice in the back of his mind, niggling him with guilt. That was ridiculous…he never felt guilty about anything. He pushed the thoughts away, but they kept coming back as he imagined how Randy Orton was going to feel when he found out about this. Paul had delivered a lot of sledgehammer shots and even more Pedigrees in his career, but nothing could compare to the pain Randy was going to feel. And then, there was Paris. He didn't really have anything against her, other than when she had gotten uppity with him on her first night when this whole thing had started. She was a nice enough girl, maybe a little dumb, but nice, and undoubtedly sexy. This is stupid, Paul told himself, closing his eyes against the annoying voice of his conscience—you are The Game, you are The Cerebral Assassin, you are that damn good, not to mention that damn smart. This was a competition and he was damned if he was going to lose to Randy Orton or Batista. Paris was just in the wrong place at the wrong time. If it hadn't been her, it would have been some other girl. But would Paul have tried this hard if it had been some other girl? What was it about Paris? He didn't love her…that was for sure, but there was something…something intangible, distant, unattainable. He had to admit, jaded as he was that she had been somewhat of an obsession, and now, it was all going to pay off in more ways than one.
"Paris, are you sure about this?" Paul whispered, kicking himself for hesitating.
Paris nodded, her eyes closed, her head slightly turned to the side.
"Look at me," Paul commanded, gripping her chin.
Paris blinked, her eyelids fluttering, her stormy violet eyes meeting his. Paul smiled and staring down at her, he snapped his hips, thrusting his entire length into her. Paris' eyes got wide and she sank her nails into his back as Paul clamped his mouth down on hers, drowning out the scream that he could tell was coming. Paris arched her back, meeting his thrust, trying to alleviate the pain. She felt as if she were being torn in half. Paul released her lips as she gasped for air, tears springing to her eyes. He was still for a moment, allowing her to adjust, her body starting to relax as it accommodated his size.
"Are you OK?" he murmured quietly.
"Paul, it hurts," she gasped. "It really hurts…"
"Ssh, only for a minute," he assured her. He was confused. Why was she in so much pain? He had been with many women and none had ever reacted like this. Of course, she was young. Maybe she was just inexperienced and he had shocked her by doing it so suddenly and roughly. "We'll take it slow, OK?" he promised as he began to gently move inside of her.
Paris nodded, relaxing slightly as she felt Paul begin to thrust slowly in and out of her. It still hurt at first, but then, to her surprise, it started to feel really good. It didn't take long before she had fallen into rhythm with him, meeting his thrusts so that he touched her in just the right place. Paul was amazed at how quickly she got into sync with him. Even more amazing was how good it felt being inside of her. She was so tight and she felt like velvet, he had to fight hard to maintain control over the situation. If he had his way, this wasn't going to be over quickly. He intended on giving her a proper and thorough shagging, maybe all night long if that's what it took.
Gripping her tightly, Paul rolled onto his back, pulling her on top of him, staying inside of her the entire time. Running his hands through her soft blond hair, he smiled, kissing her gently, biting her lower lip. Paris wiggled her hips slightly, resting her knees on the bed. What was she supposed to do now?
"Why did you stop?" she asked quietly.
Paul chuckled. "Oh, we're not done yet…not by a long shot. I just thought you could be on top for a while."
Paris flushed. How could she tell him that she didn't have the slightest idea of what to do?
"Paul, I…I…"
"Yes?"
"What do I do?"
Paul blinked. What did she mean by that? His original theory that she might not be as experienced as he thought came wandering back into his mind. Maybe she only knew missionary position and everything else was a novelty.
"Just do what feels good," he told her, pushing her shoulders upward so that she was sitting up, straddling him.
Paris moved her hips in a small circle, still not knowing what to do. Paul sighed with amusement and gripping her thighs, he began to guide her body up and down, thrusting his hips as she came down, causing her to yelp slightly. Before long, Paris caught on, riding him like a pro, much to his delight. He reached up and played with her breasts, pulling gently on her nipple piercing as she continued working him over. He watched with pleasure as she pushed herself to the limit, leaning as far back as she felt comfortable, making sure she wasn't hurting him, allowing him to touch her where obviously no one had been able to reach before. He smirked as her body twitched and quivered, her skin glowing with a thin sheen of sweat as he felt her tighten around him before she collapsed on his chest, breathing heavily.
Paul stroked her hair and back, listening to her breathing return to normal. She seemed so utterly spent that he didn't have the heart to tell her that it was far from over. Twining his hand in her hair, he gently pulled her head up off of his chest to capture her swollen lips in a torrid kiss. Rolling her off of him, Paul knelt between her legs and gripping her thighs, thrust inside of her once again. Paris gasped, her body still recovering from the previous exertions. Paul smirked down at her as she locked her ankles around his waist and arched her hips towards him. He was beginning to think maybe he created a monster. She was so passionate, so uninhibited—he could hardly wait to take her to the edge once again.
Feeling as if he couldn't last much longer, Paul pulled out of her and reaching back, he gripped her ankles and flipped her onto her stomach. He grabbed a pillow and pushed it under her hips before thrusting into her once again. Paris shrieked slightly before propping herself up on her elbows and meeting Paul's every thrust. She couldn't believe the things he was doing to her and the way he was making her body respond. She hated to admit that she never wanted this to end and she couldn't wait to do it with him again. Too bad she was leaving in the morning.
Her thoughts were interrupted as Paul wound his hand in her hair and gently but insistently pulled her upward even more. She rose up to her knees as his hands grasped her breasts from behind. After what seemed like forever, he released her breasts and gripped her hips as he continued to slam relentlessly into her. Paul knew that it wasn't going to take much more for him to come. He noted with regret that he hadn't even thought about protection. As he contemplated how to handle the situation, he was distracted by a movement at the window. He remembered that Paris had been standing there earlier, looking at the snow, and in their haste, they hadn't bothered to shut the drapes. Since the lamp was on in the room and it was dark outside, Paul couldn't see anything, but he knew that he had sensed some sort of motion. Just his luck, a passing car illuminated the window, allowing Paul to make out the huge frame of his partner, Dave Batista. Briefly, the two men's eyes met and Paul smirked evilly before Dave turned and walked away. Not exactly who he was hoping would see them, but just about as good, Paul thought, his mind going back to the task at hand.
"Paul, don't stop!" Paris ordered, causing him to realize that he had slowed his thrusts to practically nothing.
"Sorry," he breathed, resuming the tempo once again.
"Oh God, Paul!" Paris cried as he gripped her shoulders and pulled her even harder against him.
"Paris," Paul whispered, leaning forward and cupping her breasts. "Baby, are you using any protection?"
"No," she gasped. Honestly, she hadn't even thought about it. Now, it was a glaring reality. What if she got pregnant? Or worse?
"Don't worry…I'll take care of it," he told her, quickening his pace for several minutes until Paris felt as if she were going to explode. Suddenly, he pulled out of her and crushing her against him, he tensed and shuddered violently, coming on her back.
Paris gasped as they both collapsed on the bed, breathing heavily. Paul rolled onto his back, his chest rising and falling as he tried to get his breathing to return to normal. Paris laid her face against the bed, trying to stop her head from spinning. Her body was reeling with pleasure and although the climax had been a little disappointing for her, it was actually the only way he could have solved their predicament of no protection. Paris wasn't too put out. He had pleasured her numerous times before that, so it wasn't as if she didn't get anything out of it. She was baffled that he hadn't realized that she had been a virgin, but remembering what Amanda had told her, she wasn't all that surprised. She wasn't kidding herself that Paul loved her…she knew better. It had just been sex…no strings attached for either of them. Still, she couldn't help but feel that her first time should have been a little more meaningful.
Feeling the bed move, she turned her head to see Paul walking into the bathroom. She heard the toilet flush and he emerged with a towel, which he handed to her before pulling on his underwear and pants. As she cleaned herself up, Paris noticed that the mood had become a little tense. Paul seemed distracted and suddenly, as thoughts of Randy popped into her head, she started to feel not so good about herself and what she had just done.
"Are you leaving?" Paris asked as Paul pulled his T-shirt over his head and tucked it into his pants.
"Yeah, I've got about a million things to do tonight." One of those things would be finding Randy and collecting his money.
"Oh."
"That was just what I needed to relax…thanks, Paris."
Paris snorted derisively at his lack of emotion. She didn't expect outpourings of love and affection, but this was ridiculous. "That's it? Just like that?"
Paul could tell from her tone that she was hurt. Although he didn't really care, he tried to act empathetic. "Come on, baby…I thought you understood how it was, how I am. Besides, you're in love with Randy, not me."
"I…I just thought…" She stopped, trying to fight the tears over the realization that she had just been used.
"Look, Paris, I'm really not the commitment type. That's what you have Randy for. I don't love you, any more than you love me."
"But everyone's going to think that I…that you…that Vince…the whole diva thing…
Paul laughed softly. "What? That you got made a diva because you slept with Triple H?" He continued chuckling. "You actually think that people care about such trivial nonsense?"
"If it's about me, Sarah will find some way to twist it around."
"Forget about Sarah. Vince made you a diva because you're hot and you have talent. I can attest to that." He smirked lasciviously.
Paris glared at him witheringly. "Oh, very funny, Paul."
"Come on, Paris…you played the game and you won. What are you so pissed off about?"
"What do you mean I won?"
"You're gonna be a diva. Do you know how many girls actually get the chance to do that?"
"Hmm, let me think…does that include the ones that sleep with you or just the ones that suck your dick?"
Paul grinned wickedly. "I suppose that didn't hurt your chances, did it?"
"No, just with Randy," Paris replied bitterly, as she climbed off the bed and wrapped the towel around her body. "I'm gonna take a shower. Thanks for everything, Paul. I guess I'll see you in couple months."
"You're welcome, Paris," Paul replied, smoothly, leaning over to kiss her cheek. "And thank you…I had a great time tonight. I think you did, too."
Paris rolled her eyes at his arrogance as he smirked and turned to leave. Just as he was about to open the door, Paris halted his exit.
"Paul?"
"Yeah?"
"Is there any reason why tonight has to be discussed at all?"
He smiled, Triple H-like, understanding her concern. "Baby, I don't kiss and tell. I'm Triple H…I don't have to."
With that, he left, closing the door behind him, as Paris threw the towel in the bathroom and struggled into her robe. She sniffled slightly, still feeling as if she had been used to a certain degree. She examined the towel and the bed, puzzled as to why there hadn't been any blood. However, the lack of blood didn't mean there was a lack of pain. She could barely walk and with each step, the burning between her legs intensified. I just need a long, hot bath, Paris decided, hoping in vain that Randy wouldn't find out. Of course, she wasn't an idiot. She knew he would find out. She just hoped that she was long gone in OVW before her indiscretions became fodder for the locker room gossip mills. She was about to retreat into the bathroom when there was a knock at the door. God, what now? Opening the door, she saw Dave Batista standing before her.
"Hey, Dave," she greeted, somewhat distracted.
"Paris, are you OK?"
She glanced at him questioningly and for a brief moment, something in his eyes told her that he knew. She didn't know how, but he knew.
"I'm fine…why do you ask?"
Dave sighed before stepping into the room and closing the door.
"I saw you with Paul…through the window."
Paris' mouth fell open as she stared at him in shock. She tried to speak, but only ended up hanging her head in shame.
"How much did you see?" she asked.
"Enough."
"Did Randy…?"
"I don't think so. I can't find him anywhere."
"Oh God, Dave, what have I done?"
Paris buried her face in her hands, crying piteously. Dave stepped toward her and pulled her into his huge arms for a brotherly hug.
"Unfortunately, you gave your virginity to the last person on Earth who deserved it…not to make you feel any worse or anything."
Paris looked up, stunned. "How did you know that I was…?"
"Come on, Paris…who's my best friend and who do I date?"
"But Randy…why did he keep pushing me away? Do you know?"
"Listen, Paris, there's a lot you don't know about what happened here tonight, but you need to talk to Randy. What he has to tell you is gonna hurt, but you have to trust me…he was only trying to protect you. He only had the best intentions."
"I don't understand."
"I know you don't, but you have to listen to Randy. Trust me on this one, OK?"
Paris nodded, as did Dave.
"Paris, can I ask you something personal?" the Monster of Evolution went on.
"I guess."
"He didn't hurt you, did he? Paul, I mean."
Paris laughed bitterly. Dave flinched at how hollow her laughter sounded.
"No, not physically anyway. I mean, it hurt and everything, but it's supposed to, right?"
"At first, I guess," Dave replied, shifting uncomfortably.
"Yeah, but then, it felt good," she continued, blushing. "It was how he acted afterwards."
Dave snorted. "I can just imagine. Let me guess—wham, bam, thank you ma'am? Or did he even bother to say thank you?"
Paris' mouth formed a tiny O at Dave's harsh words and inexplicably, she began to cry again.
"I'm sorry, Paris. I didn't mean to sound like a dick."
Paris laughed once again, that bitter, hollow sound that Dave wished he had never heard. "It's OK, Dave. Trust me, you're not the dick." Absently, she wiped her eyes.
Dave jammed his hands in his pockets, not sure what else to say. He knew he had to find Orton and get this mess under control before people started finding out about it and the shit hit the proverbial fan. It was going to be bad, no matter what, but maybe if Paris and Randy were brutally honest with each other and got everything out in the open, the damage could be minimal. Dave seriously doubted this, but there was no harm in hoping.
"Listen, Paris, I want you to go into that bathroom and take a hot bath, OK? Get yourself…cleaned up and I'll go find Randy so you guys can talk."
Shrugging, Dave crossed the room and opened the adjoining door to Evolution's suite. Pausing, he turned back and stopped Paris as she was entering the bathroom.
"Paris?"
"Yeah?"
"Not to be a jerk or anything, but you might want to cover your neck."
Paris blinked and glanced around the corner into the bathroom mirror. Her entire neck was covered with hickeys and bite marks. Shit, she thought.
"Thanks, Dave. Go find Randy, OK?"
She quietly closed the bathroom door as Evolution's Enforcer nodded and walked through the adjoining door into his suite.
Please read and review. As Jim Morrison would say, the end is near. But fear not, there will be more. I'm anxious to hear what you think so review soon, or E-mail me…I love to get E-mails. Hugs…
-Evilution
