Blue Angel

by Logan Belle

  He held out his hand, and she placed her hand in his. It was big, and when he closed his fingers around hers, she knew she had to have sex with him. It had been a long time since she’d wanted a guy like this. It was different from what she felt for Bette—that was a curiosity, a new type of attraction, and a little careerism. For Justin she had the kind of gut-level attraction that made her feel out of control. It was scary and thrilling—that rollercoaster in the pit of your stomach feeling.

  “It’s freezing out here—I’d better get you back inside.”

  She let him lead her back into the elevator. They didn’t return to the ground level, but instead stopped on the third floor.

  Poppy knew they were headed to his bedroom—and she didn’t mind one bit. The only question was—would Martha?

  The room was all sleek dark wood and chrome. One entire wall was mirrored, as was the ceiling. Poppy could feel herself getting wet already. And from the looks of Justin’s crotch, he was hard for her—again.

  He closed the door.

  “I wish I could have a tank in here and just watch you all night long,” he said. “That is, after I fucked you.”

  Poppy looked at him, startled. His crudeness made her want him even more.

  “Show me what you’re wearing under those jeans,” he said. She undressed down to her black bra and black lace thong. “God, you’re perfect,” he said. She loved hearing it. She let him pull the strap of her bra down over her shoulder, freeing one breast. He sucked one nipple while cupping her ass.

  He moved up to kiss her mouth, and she felt his erection through his pants. She ran her hand along the length of it. He was huge, and this made her a little nervous. She hoped he didn’t want her to give him a blow job. She didn’t like doing that when the guy was too big, and Justin Baxter definitely fell into that category. She didn’t even know if she’d be comfortable with him fucking her, but he was hot enough that it was worth a try.

  “Get on the bed,” he said, his voice thick.

  She climbed onto the king-size bed. She felt weird being on the expensive-looking comforter in her underwear. And wasn’t his wife wondering where the hell they were?

  “On your stomach,” he said.

  She stretched out on her stomach as he asked.

  He knelt on the bed beside her and slowly pulled down her panties. He gently pressed her legs apart, and she spread them for him, feeling slightly uncomfortable to be splayed out like that on her stomach. His face pressed between her legs, and his tongue, then a finger delved into her pussy. She was instantly wet.

  “I want to tie you up—is that okay?” he said.

  “I don’t know,” she said, uneasy.

  “I’ll do it very loosely—it’s just for fun. You can pull your arms out if you really want to.”

  “Um, all right.”

  He pulled a red satin box from a bedside table.

  “I’m going to put this on you first.” It was a black eye mask, like the kind people wore on airplanes when they wanted to sleep.

  “Justin . . .” Of course she knew people did stuff like this, but she’d never imagined it for herself.

  “Let’s just try it. If you’re uncomfortable, we’ll take it off. No big deal. And it will make me incredibly turned on to know I am looking at you but your eyes are closed, and you are just feeling what I do to you.”

  Well, when he put it that way!

  “Okay,” she said.

  She sat up, and he secured the cover over her eyes, carefully adjusting the elastic band so it didn’t get tangled in her hair.

  “Lie back down,” he said softly. She got back on her stomach. “Stretch out your arms.” She complied, and he gently tied them to the bedpost. Her powerlessness was shockingly exciting. The nervous anticipation she felt was so intense, she knew she would come the next time he fingered her.

  Minutes passed, and he did not touch her. She wanted to say something, but felt like she would be breaking the mood. So she waited. And waited.

  Finally, she felt his tongue. He lapped at her pussy, his tongue soft and gentle. She moaned, but needed him to penetrate her to give her release.

  “Fuck me,” she said.

  “I want you to come from what you feel right now,” he said.

  “I don’t know if I can.”

  The tongue pressed deeper inside her, and her pelvis moved of its own accord. She felt her mind detach in that floaty way it got when her body took over completely. A finger pressed into her, maybe two. She groaned.

  “I want you to come,” he said. “And when you do, I want you to tell me while you’re coming.”

  She felt it building, as his fingers worked in and out, one on her clit. He ran one along the rim of her asshole but didn’t press it inside of her. Still, it was enough to push her over the edge.

  “I’m coming,” she moaned. Suddenly, he pulled off her mask and was in front of her. But it was impossible, because the fingers were still working inside of her, pressing rhythmically with her orgasm.

  “What the fuck?” She turned around the best she could manage with her arms restrained.

  No.

  There, at the foot of the bed, leaning over her, stood Martha. Her gaze was fixed intently on Poppy’s ass and pussy; she was oblivious to Poppy’s shock.

  “Stop!” she yelled. And yet, the spasms continued inside her pussy. Justin moved behind her, taking Martha’s place. She felt the tip of his cock against her ass, sliding against her wet lips; she couldn’t stop.

  “I want to fuck you now,” he breathed against her neck, his body pressed against hers, one arm underneath her, bringing her pelvis into position for himself. “And Martha is going to watch,” he said.

  His cock was poised at her pussy, brushing against her but not going inside. Her head was spinning, but her body was arching back to him.

  “Do you want me to fuck you?” he said.

  “Yes,” she whispered. And with that, he plunged into her, and the size of him made her gasp. He moved slowly enough for her to get used to him.

  Martha started untying her wrists.

  “Press up on your knees,” he said. She listened to him, and with her ass tilted up to him she felt his thrusting grow faster and knew he was going to come—and he did, loudly.

  He pulled out, and she immediately turned over onto her back. She looked over at Martha, who was perched on a chair, her gaze glassy and her mouth slack. Poppy pulled the bedspread over herself.

  “We’ll give you some privacy,” Justin said. “The bathroom is right through that corridor. Take as long as you like. We’ll be downstairs. We hope you have time for a drink. The night is young.” He winked at her, and opened the bedroom door for Martha.

  He closed it behind them.

  When Poppy was sure they were gone, she reached onto the ground for her handbag. She hoped she had her MAC compact and maybe some eyeliner with her, because God knew she needed a major touch-up after that crazy romp.

  And then she saw them fanned out on the edge of the bed: five hundred-dollar bills.

  Motherfuckers!

  11

  Julie’s couch folded out into a queen-size bed. Thank you, Pottery Barn, Mallory thought, as she helped Julie tuck the fitted sheets around it.

  “Maybe a break isn’t the worst idea in the world,” Julie said, smoothing out one side and lying down on it. Mallory knew she was keeping her friend up way past her work-night bedtime, but that’s what former college roommates were for, right?

  “How can you say that? I love him. In what universe is breaking up a good idea when you’re in love?” She sniffed and reached for another tissue.

  “I don’t know. You still haven’t told me why you broke up tonight.”

  Here it goes. There was no way this was going to go over well.

  “It started two nights ago. I told him I was having second thoughts about a law career, and he was so judgmental and unsupportive and basically attacked my character and said I was giving up just because it wasn’
t coming easily enough for me.”

  “He can be such a jerk! Ugh, it makes me mad.”

  “I know. So I walked out . . .”

  “I’m sorry I didn’t answer my phone! I’ve been going to sleep at eight lately. I’m like a third grader. Anyway—go on.”

  “I couldn’t get in touch with you or Allison so I called Bette, that dancer from the Blue Angel.”

  “Why?”

  “I had seen her earlier in the day . . . and she was so understanding about my questioning my job. So I texted her, and she was home, and we hung out and we . . . sort of hooked up.”

  Silence. And then, “Mal, I think you need to see a therapist.”

  “Oh, my God, I do not!”

  “Yes. It’s okay, hon. We’re here for you. I’ll help you find someone. Obviously, you are having some sort of identity crisis. . . .”

  “I’m not having an identity crisis. The only crisis is that my boyfriend and best friend won’t listen to me!”

  “Well, how did you think Alec was going to react to this news? His girlfriend of four years goes lesbo, and he’s supposed to jump up and down with joy?”

  “He’s the one who is always pushing me to hook up with girls! He’s the one who wanted a three-way, who brought me to the burlesque show . . . who made me leave work early to sit through his interview with Bette like some sort of fluffer . . .”

  “Okay, all I’m saying is this whole dynamic is unhealthy. If you want your relationship with Alec to work, you have to step away from all this craziness.”

  “When I was sitting home studying for the bar every night, he looked at me like I was a drag . . . like I couldn’t keep up with his lifestyle. Now that I’m in the same arena he’s threatened. It’s such bullshit.”

  “Then, like I said, maybe time apart is a good idea. You just got to New York. You’re still figuring out your life. How can you know how Alec should fit into it if you don’t even know what you want yet? If it’s meant to be, you guys will work it out. And a little distance always makes the truth of a relationship clear.”

  “Maybe.”

  “Either way, I think you need to get away from this strip club nonsense and figure out what you’re going to do with your professional life.”

  “It’s not a strip club. And even if it were a strip club, you’re being so small-minded. The Blue Angel is not causing the problem. It’s revealing the problem.”

  “How would you feel if Alec left after a fight and hooked up with someone else?”

  “I never said it was okay with me for him to hook up with another girl. He is the one who pushed for that open window. And I think it’s hypocritical that it’s okay when it’s in front of him for his amusement, but not okay when it’s for my personal experience.”

  “Did you tell him this?”

  “No. I hadn’t thought it through. Bette told me he wouldn’t be happy, but a part of me really believed we could discuss it calmly and it wouldn’t be a big deal. When he instantly jumped to us taking a break, I was shocked.”

  Julie looked at her with wide, brown eyes full of sympathy. She patted Mallory’s hand.

  “You have to figure your own stuff out before you can be in a couple. Try to get some sleep. You can stay here as long as you want. Put your clothes in that closet by the bathroom.”

  “Thanks, Jules. You’re the best.”

  “I’ll be in my room if you need me. I set the coffee up for the morning. I’m leaving the spare key on the kitchen counter.” She kissed Mallory on the forehead.

  Mallory looked at her stuffed overnight bag. She didn’t have the heart or the energy to start unpacking. With Julie behind her closed bedroom door, she felt free to start crying again. So she did.

  How was she going to sleep? Her life was a mess. And the thought of waking up at 6:30 in the morning to rush to the office made her stomach hurt.

  She heard the light bleat of her text alert. Alec! She dug through her handbag to unearth her phone.

  We’re at Luna Lounge—come out for a drink. Bring your man if you want. Xo B

  Bette. Mallory typed back, We broke up tonight. I’m in hell.

  While she waited for Bette’s response, she couldn’t resist texting Alec. This makes no sense to me, Alec. I want to talk. Please call me.

  When her BlackBerry beeped again, it was Bette.

  Svoboda! Don’t sit there wallowing. Get your ass in a cab. I’ll buy u a drink.

  Mallory couldn’t help smiling through her tears.

  She pulled on her shoes.

  “Men are all hypocrites. They can dish it out, but they can’t take it,” Bette said, throwing back a shot of vodka. Mallory couldn’t understand how Bette could consume so much alcohol but never appear drunk. Or how Bette could look hotter every time she saw her. Her skin was creamy, pale perfection, and the contrast to her black hair was stunning. Mallory thought again about dying her hair red. She would never be as beautiful as Bette, but hanging out with her certainly made her want to try.

  “You were right, though. You told me I shouldn’t say anything about it. But I didn’t want to lie or have something that major between us.”

  “So give it a rest for now. He’ll come around. Keep busy. You know what you should do? Come to my costume fitting tomorrow. Agnes is a genius. She’s doing something with crinoline you wouldn’t believe.”

  “What’s the costume?” Mallory asked, stalling. She couldn’t blow off work . . . could she?

  “It’s an Alice in Wonderland dress. I’m performing to that Zebra song, ‘Through the Looking Glass.’ ”

  Mallory loved Zebra—but who didn’t? She was the biggest pop star in the country. She was six feet tall, androgynous, racially ambiguous, and dressed in costumes that made Lady Gaga look like the Queen of England. She never did interviews except for one in Rolling Stone when her first album was released. Billy Barton had told Mallory that Zebra turned down the cover of Vanity Fair and a New York Times “Style” feature story.

  “I have work tomorrow.”

  “Can’t you call in sick or something?”

  It was tempting. She’d never called in sick before. And it was flu season.

  “Maybe I will.”

  “I have a brilliant idea—I can get you a part in the show tomorrow night.”

  “Very funny.”

  “I’m serious. Kitty Klitty has been promoted to performer, and Agnes can’t hold her off anymore. She needs someone else to do the stage kitten bit—wear a cute outfit and pick up the clothes between sets.”

  “Bette, be serious.”

  “It’s so fun! You need to do something different to get you out of this funk. Come on—meet me at the club at noon, and we’ll talk to Agnes.”

  Mallory discreetly checked her BlackBerry in her bag. Nothing from Alec.

  “I’ll think about it,” she said.

  “Bette, what I am going to do with you? You need an audience even for a costume fitting,” Agnes said, adjusting the pins in the blue satin bustier that was cinched around Bette’s torso.

  “Mallory’s not my audience, Agnes. I brought her here for you.”

  Agnes flashed a glance at Mallory, who was perched on a folding chair in the dressing room.

  “What do I need with her?”

  “She’s going to stand in for Kitty tonight.”

  “I’ve got Poppy for that,” Agnes said without missing a beat. Mallory had expected her to laugh, scoff, scream—react in some way at least to the preposterous notion of Mallory’s participating in the show.

  “You know Poppy doesn’t want to do it. She sees it as a demotion. I wouldn’t be surprised if she was a no-show.”

  “That would be very stupid—unless she never wants to perform here again.”

  “All I’m saying is she doesn’t want to do it. So why not make things simple and let Mallory stand in?”

  Agnes eyed Mallory from head to toe.

  “How do I know she can do it?”

  “She’s a lawyer—I think she
can figure out how to pick up clothes. And she’s hot—I can vouch for that,” Bette winked at Mallory.

  Agnes rolled her eyes.

  “You’re a lawyer?” she said to Mallory.

  “Yes.”

  “We could use a lawyer around here. But smarts doesn’t make you good on stage. That takes moxie, and you seem like a quiet mouse.”

  “You saw me pull her out of the audience the other night—she got up on stage and rolled with my performance.”

  “That was you?”

  Mallory nodded.

  “Fine. I’ll give you a chance. But just one chance. No screw-ups. What will you wear?”

  “I’ll take care of that,” Bette said. “You just worry about what I’m wearing tonight.”

  “Don’t tell me what to worry about!” Agnes snapped. “This is my show, and everything on that stage is my business down to the panty liners you wear in your thong. So what are you going to wear, Ms. Lawyer?”

  “I’m . . . not sure yet,” Mallory said, looking helplessly at Bette.

  “We just went shopping at La Petite Coquette,” she said to Agnes. Then, to Mallory, “You’ll wear that garter and corset.”

  Just the garter and corset? But she knew better than to open her mouth in front of Agnes.

  Mallory heard high heels clicking outside the door, and then Poppy’s blond head appeared.

  “I thought I heard voices in here. What’s going on?” she said.

  “We are transforming Bette into Alice in Wonderland,” Agnes said.

  Poppy glanced at Mallory, but didn’t bother saying hello.

  “How was the Justin Baxter party?” Bette asked. Poppy’s cheeks turned pink.

  “Fine.”

  Bette arched an eyebrow, but said nothing.

  “So Poppy, thanks to Mallory you are off the hook,” Agnes said.

  “What do you mean?”

  From the look on Poppy’s face, Mallory was sure she wouldn’t be getting much thanks.

  “She’s going to fill in for Kitty tonight.”

  “That’s the stupidest thing I ever heard. Don’t you have a job you should be at or something?”

  “I took the day off,” Mallory said.

  “Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth,” Agnes said.