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Paris smiled wider. "They're absolutely right."
Marvin raised an eyebrow. "Oh?"
"I'm never letting them forget this."
He laughed, shaking his head. "I had a feeling."
"They want you," Paris spoke, but she was smiling, her eyes already closing, exhausted and happy and safe, the adrenaline of the evening fading into contentment.
"Let them want," Marvin said, his lips against her hair. "I'm already taken."
The car eased smoothly away from the curb, the glittering lights of Los Angeles sliding across the tinted windows as the warehouse and the wild night behind them disappeared into the distance.
Hearing him say those words — even though deep down she knew it was a bold-faced lie — Paris couldn't control herself any longer. With a soft, needy sound, she shifted from the side seat straight into his lap, straddling him boldly. The expensive dress rode up her thighs as she settled against him, her arms wrapping around his neck.
She captured his lips in a wild, passionate kiss.
It wasn't gentle. It was hungry, desperate, and full of hours of built-up longing. Paris kissed him like she was starving for him — her soft, full lips pressing hard against his, parting instantly so her tongue could slide into his mouth with eager need. Marvin met her with equal fire, his tongue tangling with hers in a wet, sensual dance that quickly grew deeper and messier. Their tongues stroked and thrust against each other, exploring every inch, tasting, licking, claiming. Thick, slippery saliva quickly coated their lips and chins as they devoured one another, exchanging it greedily with every deep, filthy stroke.
Paris moaned into his mouth, her hips rocking subtly against him as she felt him hardening beneath her. Marvin's hands were all over her — sliding boldly up her thighs, gripping the soft, warm flesh as he pulled her down harder onto his lap. One hand roamed up her back, then cupped the generous curve of her ass, squeezing possessively while the other tangled in her hair, tilting her head exactly how he wanted. Paris responded by pressing her breasts firmly against his chest, her hands roaming over his shoulders and chest, fingers digging into the fabric of his shirt as if she wanted to tear it off.
They kissed like two lovers who had been apart for far too long — wild, passionate, and beautifully messy. Tongues moved in perfect, hungry rhythm, saliva dripping down their chins as they sucked and licked at each other's mouths. Soft, needy whimpers and low groans filled the private cabin of the car. Paris ground down against him shamelessly, feeling the hard outline of his cock pressing between her thighs through their clothes, making her even wetter.
When they finally broke apart for air, both were breathing hard, lips swollen and glistening with saliva, eyes dark with desire. A thick, shiny string of mixed spit still connected their mouths for a moment before it broke.
Marvin barely gave her time to catch her breath.
With a soft, desperate moan, she was pulled back in for another long, devouring kiss. This one was even deeper — slower at first, savoring the taste of her, then growing wilder again as their tongues tangled once more in wet, passionate strokes. Marvin's hands continued their hungry exploration — squeezing her ass, sliding up her sides, cupping her breasts through the dress and teasing her hardened nipples with his thumbs. Paris arched into every touch, her hips rolling in slow, sensual circles against him as the kiss went on and on.
The car continued its smooth journey through the glittering city, but inside the car, the only thing that mattered was the heat, the passion, and the undeniable connection between them.
With a soft, desperate moan, Paris was pulled back into another long, devouring kiss. This one started slower, almost reverent, as Marvin savored the taste of the wine, but quickly turned wilder. Their tongues tangled in slick, passionate strokes that left her dizzy.
His hands never stopped their hungry exploration—squeezing the firm curve of her ass, sliding up her sides, then boldly cupping her breasts through the thin fabric of her dress.
His thumbs teased her hardened nipples until she whimpered into his mouth. Sitting firmly in his lap, Paris arched against him, rolling her hips in slow, sensual circles, grinding down onto the growing hardness she felt beneath her.
When they finally broke apart, she was breathing hard, chest heaving as if she might have actually suffocated had he not pulled back at the right moment. Her glossy lips were swollen, her cheeks flushed. Her head slightly tilted, lips swollen, a glow on her face. "Oh my God… it's so addictive kissing you," she gasped, her signature breathy, Valley-girl lilt thicker with arousal. "It's not even like cigarettes or alcohol or any of that other shit. You're seriously gonna be my drug, Daddy."
Marvin chuckled low, his hands still possessively kneading her ass, pulling her closer so she stayed pressed right against him. The car glided smoothly through the glittering Los Angeles night, but nothing outside mattered.
Paris tilted her head, giving him a playful, pouty look. "Now, my Daddy… why don't you tell me why you pulled us out of the bar so soon? From the way it looked, you were enjoying that little conversation with those bitches way too much."
A slow, knowing smile spread across Marvin's face. "Well, I have a gift for my little girl."
He gave a subtle signal. Up front, Gordon, the driver, reached over from the passenger seat and passed back a sleek metal briefcase.
Marvin grabbed it with one hand while the other stayed firmly on Paris's ass, groping and massaging with lazy affection. He set the briefcase aside for a moment, then, with both hands now free, easily lifted her by the hips and turned her so her back rested against his chest.
Paris let out a surprised little giggle but didn't resist, watching everything with bright, curious eyes, completely trusting him to do as he pleased.
His arms wrapped around her from behind as he placed the cool metal briefcase across her lap. With a soft click, he opened it. Paris's gaze dropped inside. The first thing she saw was many thick, professionally bound sets of papers. The first cover page read *Project Paris* in bold, elegant lettering, and beneath it: *Legally Blonde*.
Her heart hammered against her ribs so hard she thought it might burst. A few months ago, the old Paris would have already snatched it out of his hands without a second thought. But now she held back, biting her lower lip, squirming in his lap as his hands continued their exploration—sliding up to cup and fondle her breasts again, rolling her nipples between his fingers while his lips brushed the side of her neck.
"Is it… what I think it is?" she asked, voice breathy and hopeful.
Marvin nuzzled her neck, kissing along her jaw as one hand dipped lower, stroking her thigh. "I don't know, baby… maybe it is." He kissed her again, deeper this time, making her moan softly while his fingers teased under the hem of her dress. Every time she tried to reach for the script, he pulled her back into another kiss or tightened his grip on her ass, turning the moment into a playful, heated game between lovers.
"Come on, Daddy," she whined between kisses, half-laughing, half-desperate, grinding back against him. "Stop teasing me… I've been dying for something like this."
He chuckled against her lips, giving her ass a firm squeeze. "One more kiss first. A proper one." She obliged eagerly, twisting in his lap to face him again, their mouths meeting in a slow, wet kiss that left them both breathing heavier. His hands roamed freely—squeezing, caressing, teasing—keeping her right on the edge of distraction.
Only when she was whimpering softly against his mouth did he finally pull back, eyes warm with affection. He lifted the script and placed it gently in her hands. "Here, my little girl. Read it carefully. This one's yours if you want it."
Paris clutched the script to her chest, her eyes sparkling with genuine excitement and emotion. For a moment, the party-girl heiress facade softened into something more vulnerable and real. "You're really something else, you know that?" she whispered, leaning in to kiss him again, slower and sweeter this time. "Thank you, Daddy."
Marvin smiled, his hands still gently fondling her ass and thighs as the car continued through the city lights, the two of them wrapped in their own private world of passion, playfulness, and growing love.
….
…
..
.
Paris settled deeper into Marvin's lap, her back resting comfortably against his chest as the car continued its smooth glide toward the Hilton. The thick script felt heavy and full of promise in her hands. She flipped through it eagerly, her perfectly manicured nails tapping the pages as she skipped ahead a few scenes, then flipped back to reread certain lines with intense focus, her signature bubbly energy mixing with genuine concentration.
Marvin gave her space to read, but he couldn't keep his hands to himself. His palms roamed slowly over her body—squeezing and kneading the soft, firm curves of her ass with possessive affection, occasionally sliding higher to cup and gently massage her breasts through her dress. His thumbs brushed teasing circles over her nipples, drawing soft, involuntary moans from her lips. Every now and then he leaned in, pressing slow, open-mouthed kisses along the side of her neck and shoulder, tasting her warm skin while one hand continued its lazy exploration between her thighs, stroking lightly without pushing too far.
"Mmm… Marvin," Paris giggled breathily, squirming in his lap as a particularly good line made her eyes light up. She tilted her head to give him better access to her neck even as she kept reading. "Stop… no, don't stop. Just… like that. God, this script is actually really good."
He chuckled softly against her skin, the vibration sending little shivers through her. "Take your time, baby girl. I want you to really feel it." His fingers gave her ass another firm, appreciative squeeze while his other hand stayed respectfully light on her breast, simply holding and teasing enough to keep her humming with pleasure without breaking her focus.
The whole ride to the Hilton, the pattern continued like a sensual dance made just for them. Paris would read intently for a stretch, then giggle or let out a little moan when Marvin's touches hit just the right spot—his lips brushing her earlobe, his hands worshipping every curve he could reach. She skipped ahead again, then flipped back, completely absorbed, occasionally murmuring lines under her breath in her breathy Valley-girl voice.
By the time the town car rolled beneath the bright canopy of the Hilton Hotel, Paris was already halfway through the script.
She barely noticed the car slowing.
Curled on Marvin's lap, she kept her eyes glued to the pages, absently worrying her lower lip as she read. One hand held the manuscript while the other rested against his chest to steady herself whenever Gordon eased the car around a corner. Marvin watched her with quiet amusement, one arm comfortably around her waist while his other hand rested possessively along the curve of her hip, his thumb tracing slow, absent circles through the fabric of her skirt.
The doorman—a longtime fixture of the Hilton who had watched rock stars stagger through the lobby at sunrise, politicians slip discreetly through side entrances, and celebrities arrive with entourages that filled entire floors—looked up as the familiar black town car came to a stop.
Paris Hilton had arrived in countless ways over the years: laughing with friends, surrounded by socialites, flanked by actors, musicians, and heirs to fortunes.
He had seen Paris Hilton arrive in every imaginable state. Laughing. Pouting.
Surrounded by models. Escorted by actors, musicians, European aristocrats, and every variety of Hollywood royalty.
But he had never seen her arrive quite like this.
Gordon stepped around the car with his usual flawless timing, already reaching for the rear door.
Before he could help, Marvin caught his eye and gave the slightest shake of his head.
"I've got her." The words were quiet but carried an effortless certainty that made Gordon step back without hesitation.
Marvin climbed out first, then leaned back into the cabin.
Paris didn't even glance up. "...Wait," she murmured, eyes racing across the page. "No way..."
Before Paris could fully process what was happening—before she could finish the sentence she was reading, her lips moving silently around the dialogue where Elle realizes Warner has been cheating—he was lifting her. Cradling her against his chest like she weighed nothing, like she was a doll.
"Marvin!" Her startled laugh echoed beneath the hotel entrance. "Oh my God."
She looked up at him with exaggerated disbelief. "I can literally walk."
She wiggled one foot dramatically. "See? Legs."
****
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