by Anthology
“Blake—Yes.” Amused with himself, Thor kept typing. “I attribute my fierce sex life to the fact I exude positive affirmation to make men want me.” He set his tablet down and reached for a crab cake. No one did seafood appetizers tastier than Club Macanudo. “You have to put these fantasies out into the universe. Then they’ll happen.”
“Sex is this effortless, huh?” Blake retorted. He’d try and humor them along for a good laugh, but that was where this would stop, joke only. Right? “From what I hear, Nello will be more than enough.”
“Yup. You ever read The Power of Now?” Thor asked.
“No.”
“Or The Secret?” Vive added.
Blake shook his head. “I don’t believe in that hogwash.”
“Your attitude explains why you’re twenty-nine and have yet to bottom.”
“Bottoming isn’t everything.” Blake forked at the crab cakes. In the last six months, he’d lost twenty pounds. He could afford the calories.
“Getting banged is, too. Submitting yourself to a man who wants to dominate your body is the most erotic form of expression on this planet.” Thor said that almost lyrically. He lived and breathed through his asshole.
Vive leaned forward as Hedda’s paws hung off her lap. “Amen to that, gorgeous.”
“Take it from me, a power bottom. I know what I’m talking about. We need to find you a top, one who’s hung and brutal.” Thor bit down, making a loud crunch from the cracker. He continued with his mouth full. “I don’t care what he looks like as long as he has a hard cock and knows how to use it.”
“Why?” Blake asked, unsure he liked the sound of that.
“The better their body is, the worse the face appears. On the contrary, the better their cock is, the worse the body is. It’s true.” Thor pointed his finger in Blake’s direction. “If only they could all be headless, it would go with their heartless ways and reinforce the only thing we really care about…dick.”
“That’s not true.” Blake squirmed in his chair. Somewhere deep down inside, he sort of still believed in true love, again. Maybe.
“Let’s hear it. Your wish list, please,” Vive bossed. She got into anything relating to smut. It’s what kept hers and Thor’s friendship going. That, and the fact they both loved to gossip and were the offspring of two of America’s richest families.
“Hmmm…” In hopes hydration might help him think, Blake reached for his water glass.
“Start with number one. What do you crave?”
I want—
His sexual fantasies were interrupted by the loud chime on Vive’s cell phone.
She glanced at the screen. “Mother of pearl! Let the Lex Easton wedding drama begin.”
“What?” Thor asked.
“It’s a text from Taddy, look.”
MELTDOWN ALERT: GOWN DOSEN’T FIT. HELP STAGE PUBLICITY PHOTOS!!! BRING CLOTHES PINS.
***
Meatpacking District
“Suck in.”
“I am…” Lex Easton, bride-to-be, tried her hardest not to cry, but she sure as hell huffed. Her lifelong friend of twenty-nine years, Taddy Brill, was on the verge of crushing her body into what felt to be a gazillion pieces.
She squeezed on her...as hard as possible.
The dress had to fit.
Taddy zipped her up...as far as she could.
The dress didn’t fit.
“Harder! Suck in harder!” Taddy shouted in her ear.
She’d arrived with Lex to the West Side Studios three hours before. They’d shared the same limo. After eighty minutes of coloring Lex’s honey locks with guru extraordinaire Nackie, another sixty in makeup with dark-circle miracle worker Christopher, and the remainder of time spent getting every curve of her body stuffed into shapewear to make her shapeless, Lex should’ve been suited up by then...Lights. Camera. Action.
But no, the glam squad wasn’t working to her advantage. It seemed impossible to try and get the right picture for The Manhattanite Times. At the rate they were going, there’d be no photos.
“Stop, you’re hurting me.” Lex empathized with every bride who had gone through this in the past. The whole process was really quiet silly when she thought about it. A non-virgin, twenty-nine-year-old woman, walking down the aisle to marry the man who’d already fathered her child. She questioned why she was even doing it. The notion of grabbing her fiancé, jumping in a cab, and going to the courthouse to get hitched seemed more practical to who she was.
The wedding wasn’t for her, Massimo or their six-month-old son, but for her rock-n-roll iconic mother, Birdie Easton.
“Shut up, Lex,” Taddy hissed, foaming at the mouth. Her Harry Winston chandelier earrings, the ones Lex bought her for her birthday, swung and jingled with every exerted effort.
“Taddy. You’re smashing my tits.” Her breasts were like her waist, which was taking shape after her ass. No part of her wanted to fit into the gown she’d designed for her own wedding. Shit, even the pave-encrusted platform heels Stuart Weitzman had custom-made for her feet were suddenly too small.
“When did your boobs…get so Scarlett Johansson-ish?”
“They’re full of milk.” She thought she had pumped, but come to think of it, she hadn’t. Her day had been booked with Easton Essentials showroom work, a newborn baby who required a diaper change more times than she cared to think about, and then there’d been the wedding preparations. Not just any wedding, but New York’s celebrity-centric, ‘posh to the max’ extravaganza of the decade.
Crap. She needed a nanny, but Massimo, her fiancé, wouldn’t hear of it.
“Hold it. Stop breathing. Let’s try one more time.”
“Ouch.” The clasp caught a piece of her skin, the inch or two which refused to tuck in.
“I almost have…the zipper…up.” Taddy seemed to forget the garment was attached to her. “Come on, you darn bodice. Work with me here.” She talked directly to the champagne organza.
“It’s too tight…” Lex stepped back. Don’t scream, don’t cry. “Let’s call this quits. I don’t think I can take any more.”
“We need the photos. Not just for your personal memories, but for the marketing campaign. Hello,” Taddy reminded, the wedding having been turned into a publicity event for Easton Essentials’ new bridal collection.
The minute the wedding was announced, Lex went into entrepreneurial mode and launched a new line of bridal wear for Easton Essentials called Easton Weds. Not very original, but Bridal magazine had declared it the next Vera Wang.
With her runway-ready designs being a hit, the much-anticipated bridal debut focused on creamy whites, floral brocades, and flirty silhouettes. It was supposed to be timeless, thoughtful, and hugging her body just right. The forty-piece line was carried in over three thousand bridal boutiques across the country. Sales exceeded all projections, but the stores required more images of Lex for collateral support.
“We could hire body doubles. Or use other models. I’m getting sick of seeing your face in all the ads, anyways,” Taddy joked.
Chubby as a child, Lex had shied away from the spotlight as an adult. Once Massimo fell in love with her, she’d experienced a level of self-confidence as never before. She learned to love her body and herself. Her face was on the label, the billboards in Times Square, and on every magazine cover from New York to Dubai. Their bestselling dress sizes were double digits. Consumers loved Lex’s curves.
“Ha!” Lex felt an urge to kick her but knew Taddy meant well. She always did. “It was your idea to put my face on this label. I wanted to stay behind the scenes, remember?” For the first two years of Easton Essentials’ success, no one had ever met Lex. Massimo, who was her fabric supplier at the time, thought she was a man. He was pleasantly mistaken.
“Blah, blah, blah. Humanizing you was genius. The shoppers wanted to see the wizard behind the curtain at Oz and they have. You’ve made millions off the campaign. Correction, we’ve made millions.” Taddy crossed her arms and eyed Lex up and down
. “We’ll leave the dress open in the back. Minus your ‘cup runneth over’ cleavage, no one will notice.” She glanced at the clock on the wall. “Vive should be here by now with those clothes pins.”
“Screw that. The Jaws of Life won’t get me in, or out, of my gown. Nothing will help.” Lex couldn’t believe the dress was too small. She’d worked out for months, getting fit to look the part of a princess when she married her real life prince, Massimo Tittoni, royal heir to Isola di Girasoli and CEO of Girasoli Garment Company.
She’d adopted Taddy’s cardio schedule of ninety minutes on the elliptical daily. She’d stuck to Vive’s diet of twelve hundred calories a day—no more, maybe less. And she incorporated Blake’s panache for weights—lift, lift, lift.
As a designer and owner of Easton Essentials, the world’s fastest growing fashion brand, not fitting in her wedding dress was rather a big fuck-up.
“Let’s tease your hair higher. Maybe do some extensions. A Dallas hair-do will make the rest of you appear smaller.”
Taddy was always full of great ideas, but somehow that one hurt Lex’s feelings.
“Fine.”
She waved her hairstylist Nackie over who brushed then sprayed. Lex closed her eyes and tried to breathe through her mouth but caught the taste of what reminded her of rubbing alcohol.
“As soon as we leave here, I’ll call Dr. Fassenbender.” The sounds of Taddy rummaging through her Givenchy satchel became louder. “Come to think of it, I may have one in here.”
“One what?” Lex asked, opening her eyes. There was no time for cosmetic surgery, not even lunchtime liposuction.
“Water pill. He has these kick-ass ones. Your bloat drops overnight.” A little blue capsule appeared in her hand. “Tah-dah. Here, take it.”
“No.” There was one thing Lex learned from her parent’s mistakes: don’t take pills.
“Suit yourself.” Taddy popped the dot onto her tongue. Closing her mouth, she smiled and swallowed.
“Dammit. This can’t be happening.” She shouldn’t have designed a ball gown pattern to wear. What was she thinking?
Elaborate Swarovski crystals scattered throughout the bodice from front to back and a richly textured layering of the full skirt gave her the fairytale she’d always envisioned. But she’d have to take the zipper out and make a corset back. God, she didn’t want to do that.
“My darlings, forget the dress!” shouted the photographer, Jemma Fereti, as she moved Nackie back to the sidelines. Jemma had been flown in from Milan at Taddy’s request to capture the pre-wedding photos of Lex and Massimo. “Taddy has a good idea. We’ll focus on head shots of you wearing the crown of Tittoni and the veil. I want you nudo.”
“Naked?” Lex gasped.
Known as Europe’s top fashion model turned co-designer at Girasoli and photographer, Jemma caught erotic femininity on film. She had wanted Lex in her birthday suit from the start of the shoot.
She stalked over to Lex and held out her hands. “I get that you’re frustrated. But I’m not here to shoot fashion. I’m here to get on my camera those beautiful jewel-toned eyes, those full lips, and the look of happiness you have when you think of Prince Tittoni.”
Such a smooth talker. “It’s been six months since I had the baby, Jemma. The weight should be off by now.” Her eyes stung with tears.
“No crying, Princess. Get out of the gown. We’ll do some abstract photos, sì. I promise to capture your real beauty, my darling.” Jemma stepped back and swapped out the camera she held for another with her assistant.
Yeah, lady…real means real fat. I don’t want that. I wanna be glamorous. “I can’t go nude,” Lex pleaded as she appeared to have already made up her mind. “These photos are not only going to The Times, but over to Vogue and Town & Country. They have to make a statement of class and elegance.”
“Sì,” she said agreeably.
“These are royal photos.” Her face was going to be blasted on the Easton Weds hangtag labels...and on every major media outlet in the world. Next to Kate Middleton, her wedding week was going to be the paparazzi’s biggest swoon. Millions were projected to follow her, if not in person then on TV, as she made her way down the aisle.
“Lex, she’s the best there is,” Taddy interrupted then lowered her voice to add, “Jemma will get more photos later with other models, otherwise known as Photoshop.”
There was one thing her BFF knew better than anyone else in the world and that was the importance of a good public image. If Taddy said yes then she’d have to go with it. She trusted her; she always had.
“The pics won’t be going anywhere if we don’t have any. Now, get out of that gown and keep the headpiece on.” The dominatrix was coming out in Jemma as she bossed her around. “Go get changed.” She faced her assistant. “Dim the lights.”
I can’t go nude.
Get Unsaid (The Manhattanites) today! http://averyaster.com/unsaid
Indecision
Elisabeth Grace
Chapter One
Jackie
“Damn it.” I threw my hands in the air and kicked the flat tire with my sneaker.
My runner’s high was quickly evaporating, being stuck on the side of a country road with a flat, no phone, and the sun beating down on my shoulders. I was starting to think that leaving the tourist-filled sidewalks of Bar Harbor to jog on the quiet country roads hadn’t been such a great idea. I glanced around at the rolling hills of the countryside. It could be an hour before someone happened upon me on this road. I supposed I was going to have to give changing the damn tire a try.
Sighing, I opened the driver’s door and hit the button to pop the trunk, then made my way to the back of the car. I pulled the trunk open and released another aggravated breath. The back of my car was packed full of cases of beer, all containing empty bottles. I’d been meaning to get around to returning them, but regretfully—at that moment anyway—I hadn’t gotten there yet.
I was a party girl, but these weren’t all my empties. My best friend, Chloe, had broken up with her douchebag of a boyfriend a couple months before, after she’d found him sampling his secretary on the desk in his office, so I’d thrown a get together in a last ditch effort to show her there was plenty of fun still to be had and lots of available men on the market.
I should know—I worked with a good portion of them, being a 911 Operator. Eligible cops, EMTs, and firefighters were a part of my existence, and I knew one of them would be my friend’s remedy to take her mind off her troubles. Unfortunately, Chloe hadn’t felt the same.
I pulled the cases of beer and empty wine bottles out of the trunk and placed them on the shoulder of the road, then pulled up the carpet of the trunk to expose the spare tire and other equipment. Setting the jack and tire wrench on the ground, I wrestled the tire out of the trunk. And what a wrestle it was, seeing as it was big, and I was tiny, and it was an all-around awkward thing to hold on to. Letting the tire drop onto the pavement, I wiped the sweat off my forehead with my forearm.
A half hour later, I’d managed somehow to figure out the jack and lift the car up enough that I would probably be able to remove the flat. Score one for me! Now all I had to do was loosen these nuts, take the ruined tire off, slide the new one on, replace the nuts, and I’d be good to go. Easy peasy.
I am female, hear me motherfucking roar.
Triumph surged through me as I picked up the tire wrench and placed it over the first nut, attempting to turn it. It didn’t budge. Hmm. That sucker was on good. I tried again, putting a little more oomph into it, but it still didn’t nudge. Like, not even a little. Had Hercules put these damn things on or what?
Inhaling a deep breath and trying to brush off my mounting frustration, I tried once more, this time leaning all my body weight into it. Still nothing.
Okay, this was okay, I told myself. I’d just come back to that one. I placed the wrench over another of the bolts and tried to loosen it. Again it didn’t budge.
Aargh!
Fed up
, I threw the tire wrench in the dirt, punched my car with the side of my fist, and screamed, my frustration finally bubbling over.
That’s when I heard the sound of tires slowly rolling over the dirt coming from behind me. I turned to see a police car parking on the shoulder.
A sigh left my mouth and I hunched my shoulders down in defeat. Great. I was all for getting help, but I didn’t even want to think of the ribbing I’d take if the guys from work found out I’d been a helpless female at the side of the road in need of help. Hopefully it was someone I knew well enough to convince them to keep their mouth shut.
I stood from my crouch and watched the door open. He was tall and muscular as evidenced by the way his black police uniform stretched across his chest and at the sleeves. His hair was longish and sandy brown with a slight curl at the ends. Instead of looking messy and unkempt, it suited him perfectly, curling up over his ears and at the base of his neck in a sexy way.
Nope, I definitely didn’t know this guy. If I’d ever seen him before he would’ve been on my radar and had it pinging like crazy—there was no chance I’d forget him. And now I’d meet him for the first time covered in dried sweat. Awesome. Thank God for extra-strength deodorant.
Speaking of that radar, the pinging was becoming more intense as he sauntered over to my car. Ping……ping….ping…ping…ping, ping, ping, ping, ping, ping.
As he drew nearer, I saw that his eyes were gray—no wait, they were green. Now they were gray again. I wasn’t sure what damn color his eyes were because they kept changing every time the sun hit them a different way.
He wore a small smirk, his lips tilting up at the corners. “Seems you’ve run into a bit of trouble,” he said, then gave my body a full perusal. He must’ve liked what he saw because his grin was even wider when he finished. My sports bra and running tights felt entirely too small all of a sudden.
I spared a glance away from his intoxicating eyes and read his name badge.
