by Logan Belle
“Move to the edge,” he said, his voice thick with need. She slid down, her legs dangling off the side of the table. He sat back in the chair and spread her legs, leaning forward to lick her pussy with a long stroke of his tongue. She moaned and arched her back, and he slid a finger inside of her.
“Oh my God,” she breathed. His tongue flicked against her clit as his finger moved in and out. She felt her hands pulling at his hair, and she felt her pelvis moving hard and rhythmically. Her mind hummed like a motor, all her thoughts scattered and meaningless. By the time he climbed onto the table and she felt his cock brush against her pussy, she was just a trembling raw nerve that could be soothed only by his filling her. She opened her legs wider, clutching at his buttocks almost frantically. She thought he would tease her, and she knew that if he made her wait she would not be able to stand it. But mercifully, he pushed into her, and the sensation was so hard and fast, she felt her pussy spasm almost instantly, clenching him in an orgasm so strong, she felt a moment of panic at her loss of control. She was screaming out nonsensical words, and in return he murmured something, his face against her cheek, until his own tumble of words turned into a loud shout, startling her as his body shook and thrust in a nearly violent display of his own ecstasy. Afterward, he maneuvered so that his back was on the hard table, and she was cradled against him.
“I’m not going to be able to walk,” she said, only half joking.
“I’ll carry you,” he said, pulling her close. And she knew he was not joking at all.
CHAPTER 43
Regina had passed Front Page Books on the corner of West Fourth Street countless times, and knew it was one of the few remaining independent bookstores in Manhattan. That morning, on her way back to her apartment after four nights in a row at Sebastian’s, she noticed a window display of the nominees for the Young Lions Fiction Award, including one of the titles she had recommended as a finalist. She felt it was a sign, and she pushed open the glass door to the sound of a tinkling bell. A big orange tabby cat came running and circled her feet.
Regina bent and rubbed its soft head. The cat brushed against her legs, tail held high.
“Merlin, come here,” a woman called from behind the front counter. She wore a T-shirt and jeans and lots of turquoise jewelry. She looked young, not older than thirty, but her hair was almost completely gray. “I’m sorry,” she said to Regina. “I don’t know what’s gotten into him lately. After ten years he’s suddenly greeting every customer, and not everyone wants that particular addition to their shopping experience, I know.”
The woman walked over and scooped the loudly purring animal into her arms. “May I help you find something?” she asked, almost as an afterthought.
Regina had not known at first why exactly she walked into the store. But as soon as the woman asked if she could help, the answer was obvious.
“I’m wondering if you have any job openings.”
“Possibly,” the woman said. “Do you have experience?”
“I’m a librarian,” Regina said, and it felt good to say it.
“Oh, our poor, beleaguered libraries,” the woman said. “What are we going to do about all these cuts to funding? No libraries, no bookstores. History will see this as the decline of our civilization. They say you judge a civilization by its art, not its politics, you know. Or something like that.”
“I noticed your display in the window of the Young Lions Fiction Award nominees.”
She didn’t mention that she had been part of the selection committee.
“What’s your name?” the woman asked.
“Regina Finch,” she said.
“Leave your phone number, Regina,” said the woman. “I’ll call you after I speak with my partner. Or better yet . . .” The woman placed Merlin the cat on the floor and returned to the counter, beckoning for Regina to follow. She fumbled around in a drawer and then handed Regina a business card.
“I’m Lucy,” she said. “E-mail me your résumé.”
“Great,” Regina said, trying to contain her excitement. “I will. Thanks!”
Outside, she walked quickly back to her apartment. She’d barely spent any time at home during the past two weeks, but she had designated today as a serious job-search day, and she felt Front Page Books was a promising start. She would send her résumé to Lucy, and if it seemed a tad overeager to forward a résumé five minutes after meeting, so be it. She missed books, and she wanted to find her place working with them. As she’d been trying to explain to Sebastian, it wasn’t just what she needed, it was what she deeply wanted.
She climbed the stairs, hoping Carly was home. She hadn’t spoken to her in days.
“Hey, stranger,” Carly said when Regina walked inside the apartment. Regina felt a stab of guilt. Carly had sent her a Call me ASAP text last night when she’d been at a movie with Sebastian; later, she’d forgotten to respond.
“Hi,” Regina said. “I’m sorry I didn’t text you back last night. I was at a movie and then—”
“Say no more,” Carly said, waving her hand. “I can only imagine how things get at Sebastian’s love shack. By the way, your mother has called, like, nineteen times.”
Regina sighed. She’d been avoiding talking to her mother since she’d been fired. If she admitted that she was now jobless, her mother’s campaign to get her to move back home would be painful and relentless.
“I’m so sorry,” Regina said.
“Seriously, give that woman your cell phone number, or I will!” Carly said, shaking her finger at her in mock admonishment.
And that’s when Regina noticed the large emerald-cut diamond winking at her from Carly’s left-hand ring finger.
“Oh my God!” Regina said, crossing the room in a few quick strides and grabbing Carly’s hand. “Is this what I think it is?”
Carly nodded, beaming. “He proposed last night. That’s why I texted you.”
Regina pulled Carly into a hug. “Congratulations,” she said, feeling her eyes brim with tears of happiness for her roommate. And then she was embarrassed by the purely selfish thought that entered her mind: Now she wasn’t just jobless—she was probably about to become homeless.
Her phone buzzed, and she pulled back from Carly to fish it out of her bag.
“Sorry,” she said, “one sec. Hello?”
“Where are you?” Sebastian asked, sounding slightly breathless.
“My apartment. Why?”
“Get in a cab and meet me at Sixty-sixth and Madison.”
“Now? I just got home,” she said, walking into her room and closing the door. She pulled out her laptop. “And I have to send out my résumé—”
“It won’t take long. And I’ll drive you back to your apartment afterward if you want.”
“What’s at Sixty-sixth and Madison?”
“The Gaultier boutique.”
She shook her head. “And why am I meeting you at the Gaultier boutique?”
“Because I just found the perfect dress for you,” he said, as if it was the most obvious answer in the world.
“Sebastian, I don’t need a Gaultier dress.” Even Regina, in her state of fashion cluelessness, was aware of Jean Paul Gaultier and his provocative designs. If for no other reason, she knew of him as the costumer for Madonna’s legendary Blond Ambition tour in the 1990s.
“Of course you do,” Sebastian said. “What are you going to wear to the Young Lions gala?”
Regina held the phone away from her and gave it the annoyed glance she would have given to Sebastian had he been standing in front of her. Then she put the phone back to her ear. “I got fired, remember?”
“So? You’re still coming as my date, aren’t you? Now get your ass in a cab. I suspect the only thing hotter than you naked will be you in this dress.”
Regina smiled. “Okay. Wait for me there. I’ll be there as soon as I can.
” She hung up the phone. And then she opened her laptop to send out her résumé.
•
It wasn’t so much a dress as a confection, a fantasy garment that was sheer black lace from neck to floor. With its folded collar and small capped sleeves, it flirted with conservatism. But the body of the dress clung to her like a second skin, hugging her legs until the flared bottom, ending in a pool of delicate lace at her feet.
“Super-ultra-hot, isn’t it?” asked the salesman, a skinny black guy named Marcel. He had short-cropped hair bleached nearly white, and his eyes were rimmed with kohl liner. Regina, with a newfound interest in makeup ever since the photo shoot, resisted the urge to ask him for his brand of eyeliner.
“Very hot,” agreed Sebastian.
Regina looked at herself in the mirror and couldn’t disagree with them. The dress was stunning, and she felt as if it had been made for her. There was just one problem.
“It’s very, um, see-through,” she said, stating the obvious.
“You could line it,” Marcel said slowly, though clearly indicating with a quick purse of his lips that he considered this sacrilege. “Although, when Mr. Gaultier showed it on the runway, he really wanted to emphasize the sheerness of the lace.” He retrieved a large white three-ringed binder and opened it to one of the tabbed pages to show them a photo of the dress in Gaultier’s fall fashion show. The model wore the dress with a red bra and red thong underneath.
“Um, that’s not happening,” Regina said. “We’re going to an event at the library,” she said pointedly to Sebastian, as if he’d forgotten.
Marcel nodded, more sympathetic now that he saw Regina’s constraint more as a result of the occasion at hand and not one of sartorial incompetence. “If you want to preserve the look without being too risqué, you can wear a demi-bra and boy shorts. You could wear red, or, if you really want to play it safe, black.”
Of course, in keeping with Sebastian’s insistence that she wear lingerie at all times—and his dedication to providing it—Regina now had a huge variety from which to choose. She could have found virtually any color to wear under the dress from her personal collection.
“Red,” said Sebastian, smiling.
“Black,” said Regina, crossing her arms.
He looked at Marcel. “Sold.”
•
They walked down Madison Avenue holding hands, passing Barneys, Calvin Klein, and Tod’s. Regina adjusted the Gaultier shopping bag over her shoulder.
“You could have bought the dress without summoning me up here,” she said.
He looked at her as if she had made an outrageous suggestion. “Without your trying it on first?”
“That never used to stop you,” she said.
“Okay, you got me there. I just wanted an excuse to see you.”
“I just left your apartment this morning!”
“Exactly,” he said. “Too long ago.”
She smiled and shook her head. As they walked, women looked at Sebastian, and then at her. She never knew if people recognized Sebastian from magazines or the gossip sites, or if they just thought he was handsome, or if the sight of two people madly in love was simply enough to attract attention.
“Are you sure taking me to the gala is a good idea?” she asked. “Sloan is going to go ballistic.”
“I really couldn’t care less what Sloan thinks, and neither should you. The only reason I haven’t told her exactly what I think about her firing you is because you begged me not to.”
“I’ll be uncomfortable there,” she said.
He stopped walking and faced her. “Don’t be. You belong there as much as anyone. You worked on this event, and you should experience it.”
Regina knew he was right—she shouldn’t care what Sloan thought. She didn’t work for her anymore. Showing up at the gala might be the best way for her to put Sloan behind her.
“Besides,” he said, taking her face in his hands and kissing her on the mouth, “I have to be there—I’m presenting the first nominee. And if I go, you go; I want you by my side. Always.”
The kiss deepened, and she pressed her body against his. And then she knew exactly why people were staring.
CHAPTER 44
The library’s regal daytime beauty was, by night, transformed into something else entirely.
Astor Hall, lit softly by its roman-influenced candelabras, was a majestic arena of white marble and dramatic shadows. Staged with round, formally set tables for the two hundred and fifty guests, Regina barely recognized it as the place she had once walked through daily on her way up to her desk.
And she tried to pretend it wasn’t.
With her arm looped through Sebastian’s, Regina told herself that she shouldn’t feel uncomfortable at the Young Lions gala. She wasn’t the same woman who had walked wide-eyed up the stairs on the first day of her job. In some ways, she wasn’t even the same woman Sloan had fired two weeks earlier. With each passing day, Sebastian’s love—and she knew now that it was love, as deeply and securely as she had ever known anything—was helping to shape her into a version of herself she never dreamed could exist.
“These events are so much more tolerable when you skip the cocktail hour,” Sebastian said, winking at her. In his black tux, he was a vision—the epitome of male beauty. She smiled at him; in her Louboutins she was just a few inches shy of eye level. Still, he was easily able to kiss the top of her head, which is what he was doing just as a photographer from New York magazine snapped their picture. The attention startled her, but she tried not to show it.
“Better get used to it,” Sebastian said to her, but she had no idea what he’d meant by it. Surely, there were more worthy subjects for the photographers. In just the front radius of the room, she spotted a gaggle of young Manhattan socialites, the actor Ethan Hawke (cute and vaguely scruffy but much older-looking than she thought of him), Julianne Moore (stunning in an amethyst-colored silk gown), and Adam Levine, the lead singer of Maroon Five. In his tuxedo jacket, his tattoos covered, he looked like any average New York guy. The only thing that signaled his star status was the willowy strawberry-blonde on his arm, whom Regina recognized from a Times Square billboard ad for Calvin Klein underwear. Regina was thankful Sebastian had talked her into the dramatic Gaultier gown. If she had worn anything less, she would have felt like a duckling among swans. Out of habit, her fingers traced the padlock necklace under her lace collar.
She glanced discreetly around the room, wondering when she would run into Sloan and dreading it. But instead of spotting her nemesis, she was delighted to see Margaret, who was chatting with one of the fiction nominees and looking elegant in a floor-length, beaded black dress, an impressive string of large pearls around her neck. She noticed Regina at almost the same moment Regina saw her, and Margaret excused herself to make her way over.
“I’m pleasantly surprised to see you here,” Margaret said.
“I thought you said you weren’t coming,” Regina said, putting her hand on Margaret’s shoulder.
“Oh, I hadn’t planned on it. But in light of my retirement, they’re giving me some sort of award. It would have been in poor taste not to show.” She turned to Sebastian, smiling at him warmly. “How are you, Sebastian? You look so very dapper . . . and more like your mother with every passing year. I know she would be so proud of your work here.”
Regina squeezed his hand, concerned at how he would take the comment. But one look at his face told her that, far from upsetting him, the comment had made him flush with happiness.
“Now if you’ll excuse me,” Margaret said, “I have yet to find a waiter with a glass of white wine instead of some ridiculous cocktail.”
Regina heard a familiar voice call, “Finch!” She turned to see Alex walking toward her with his date, a skinny young woman sporting a full-sleeve of tattoos and a buzz cut.
Regina recognized her as the
messenger pixie.
“You don’t call, you don’t write. . . . I can’t believe you just left like that,” he said, smiling to show he was just teasing her.
“Yeah, it was kind of sudden. Alex, this is Sebastian, Sebastian, this is Alex and . . .”
“Marnie,” the young woman said, holding out her hand.
Regina tugged on Sebastian’s sleeve. “This is the messenger who delivered all of your little missives,” she told him, and didn’t fail to see Marnie’s eyes widen.
“You’re the guy?” the young woman asked. “Dude, thanks for the tips. You bought me this,” she extended her arm to show a fresh tattoo, a line of cursive text running across the underside of her forearm: The mind is its own place, and in itself can make a heaven of hell, a hell of heaven. “It’s a Milton quote from Paradise Lost,” she said proudly.
“You know, I misjudged you,” Alex said to Regina. “You must be real badass to get fired after just three months on the job.”
Regina had no idea how to respond to that, though Marnie was nodding vigorously in agreement.
“We should circulate,” Sebastian said, squeezing Regina’s hand. She looked up, and he winked at her.
A short but distinguished-looking man with silver hair crossed the room to talk to Sebastian. Regina spotted him first, but as soon as Sebastian noticed the man, his face brightened.
“Good to see you, Gordon,” Sebastian said. “I want to introduce you to my girlfriend, Regina Finch.”
Regina smiled at Sebastian’s choice of words. The man shook her hand. “Regina, this is Gordon Mortimer, the publisher of Taschen.”
She knew of Taschen, probably the world’s biggest publisher of photography, art, and design books. Sebastian had a considerable collection of them in his apartment: Dalí, Helmet Newton, David LaChapelle, Roy Lichtenstein.
“Sebastian, I saw your show at Manning-Deere. Fabulous work. I’ve been talking to your agent, and he’s been noncommittal. But I’d love to do a book. Has he spoken to you?”
