Fallen Angel (Club Burlesque)

by Logan Belle

  Alec stopped her at the first landing and checked the number on the green plastic keychain. It was a flat oval of plastic with the number seven on it and a single key dangling. It almost looked like the type of thing she had carried as a hall pass in high school.

  He opened the door to a small room dominated by a queensize bed covered with an ugly, art deco bedspread circa 1991. There was a small desk, and in the corner—freestanding—a shower.

  “What is this place?” Mallory said, half-laughing, halfappalled. “And how do you know about it?”

  “We did a piece for the magazine about the top ten hotels you need to know—and not for family vacations, if you get what I’m saying.”

  “I think I’m getting it,” she said, opening the bedside drawer. Instead of a Bible, she found two condoms. “You’re crazy,” she smiled. “Why did you bring me here?”

  He walked to her, taking her face in his hands.

  “It was just an impulse. Thinking maybe if it could be just us for an hour, away from everyone and everything else, we could find our way back. That, and the fact that I can’t wait another second to make love to you.”

  He kissed her, and the world fell away—Violet, the Blue Angel, the bar exam. Even that night with Gavin was like a tiny flickering star in an infinite universe. The rightness of that moment, of being held by him in that shitty little hotel room, told her on a visceral level that no matter what was going on externally, they were the center of the world. He was her gravity. She could look for that in other places, but she would never find it.

  She helped him pull off her coat. The room was freezing, and he found a space heater near the dresser.

  “I think that’s a fire hazard,” she said, eying it.

  “We won’t need it to get warm,” he said. The seriousness in his eyes quieted her, and she didn’t say another word as he undressed her. She lay back on the bed and watched him take off his own clothes. Her heart pounded, and she wondered how she could have considered what she felt for Gavin as attraction. It was nothing compared to this primal state of arousal. Every one of her senses felt heightened.

  He moved on top of her, and she spread her legs, already wet for him. She reached down to hold his cock, to guide it inside of her, but he held her hand away, pushing his way into her in a way that was as rough as it was satisfying, making her close to coming almost instantly. She clutched his back, kissing his neck and rubbing her face against the rough stubble of his cheek.

  She knew, of course, that he could read her body—probably knew it almost as well as she knew it herself—and could sense that she was close to coming. For that reason, probably to prolong their buildup, he pulled out of her. He stood up, at the edge of the bed, and she sat up, slightly lightheaded as she moved her legs on either side of his. She placed her hands on his hips and traced her tongue along his cock before closing the warmth of her mouth over as much of him as she could. She didn’t think there was anything more intimate than tasting yourself on a man’s cock, and she knew that few things turned Alec on more than her willingness to lick her own pussy juice.

  While she worked her mouth on his cock, she stretched her hand up to his chest, and sure enough, she could feel his heart racing. He wound his hands through her hair and pulled her head back, off of himself so that he didn’t get too close to coming.

  He knelt down in front of her and kissed her so hard she knew her mouth would feel bruised in the morning. She took his face in her hands and kissed his fluttering eyelids, the bridge of his nose, his stubble-sharp jawline.

  He leaned back to get something off of the floor, and she saw he was holding the long argyle socks she wore under her boots. He scooped one arm under her and lifted her toward the top of the bed, where he proceeded to tie her hands to the rickety iron headboard. He knotted each sock just tightly enough to make it impossible for her to get her hands free but not so tightly that it would hurt her or distract her.

  Now it was her heart that was pounding, and she couldn’t help thinking of the contrast between the way Alec was fucking her and Gavin’s freak-out last night.

  Alec trailed his hands down her arms, over her breasts, down her belly, to her pussy, where he stroked her clit before putting his face between her legs. He pressed his tongue inside her, his finger and mouth working in tandem, building the pressure in her cunt to an unbearable degree, making her dig her heels into the bed, wanting to grab him and pull him on top of her but not being able to because of the restraints. She moaned as he stopped touching her, using just his tongue to lick the outside of her pussy. The feeling of air on her abandoned flesh just heightened her arousal, and each warm stroke of his tongue brought her teasingly close to coming.

  “Alec,” she said.

  “Tell me what you want,” he said.

  “You know what I want.” Now his finger moved inside of her, and she couldn’t speak at all. She spread her legs wider and moaned.

  “Say it,” he said. Even after all this time, and everything they did with one another, it was hard for her to verbalize what she wanted.

  “I want you to …” She couldn’t finish the sentence—he had reached the spot inside her that felt so good it almost hurt.

  “Tell me,” he said softly.

  “Fuck me,” she said.

  “I am fucking you.”

  “With your cock,” she said.

  He moved on top of her but still not inside of her. First, he reached up and untied her wrists. She immediately grabbed him, pulling him so hard she knew her nails were digging into his back. She couldn’t stop herself, and he didn’t complain. She felt she had never needed or wanted anything more than the simplicity of his cock inside her at that moment. But Alec buried his face in the crook of her neck, his hand stroking her breast. She felt him hard against her leg.

  “What are you waiting for?” she said, her voice so breathless she barely recognized it.

  “I’m afraid when we’re done you’re going to leave and I won’t see you again for weeks.”

  She stroked his hair, kissing the top of his head. “I’m not leaving.”

  Then, from somewhere in the room, his phone rang.

  “I forgot to turn that off… .”

  “Do you need to get it?”

  “Why would I need to answer it? You’re here with me.”

  And then she felt his cock nudge inside of her, very slowly despite how wet and ready she was. She kissed the underside of his jaw, and he bent his head to bury it in the crook of her neck. Her pussy throbbed around him as he stroked in and out, and when the pulsing of his cock changed to quick, hard thrusts, her body clicked into that mindless place where she was just one vibrating nerve of pleasure. The ripples of her orgasm washed through her

  Alec cried out, and she was vaguely aware—considering that she was barely conscious of anything but the physical sensations taking her over like a possession—that he was feeling the same, that they were, in that moment, almost a single physical entity, because one could not exist without the other.

  He pulled out and collapsed by her side. She turned toward him, placing one hand on his heaving chest.

  They looked at each other and smiled. He kissed the top of her head.

  And she thought about last night and felt guilty. She knew she had to tell him about it, but he spoke before she could.

  “I’m sorry about not handling what happened with Violet better,” he said. “I know I’ve given you mixed messages in the past about what I’ve wanted. But I never wanted that.”

  “It’s my fault. I’m insecure. When I moved to New York to be with you, I felt like you could have anyone in the world and wondered if you still really wanted me, the girl you’d been with since college. I guess that’s part of what drove me into burlesque—to be someone more than just Mallory Dale from Penn. Because you’re already so much more than the boy I met there. I want to be the one you want and not just someone you’re keeping along for the ride—out of comfort or habit when you’ve outgrown me.�
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  “I never, ever felt that way about you,” he said, pulling her close. “Mallory, I know I’ve made mistakes. And yeah, part of it is because we’ve been together since college, and maybe for a brief moment I thought I wanted you and more, but I know and have always known that all I really want is more of you.”

  She smiled. “Wow. The perks of dating a writer.”

  “I’m pouring my heart out and you’re making jokes?”

  “I’m not joking. I couldn’t be more serious.” She bent over toward the floor and pulled her shirt to her chest as a cover. “Listen: for the record, I’ve messed up more than you, and I’m really sorry.”

  “No, you haven’t.”

  She swallowed hard. “Yeah, I have.”

  “Like what?”

  “I hooked up with Gavin.”

  Alec sat up so abruptly the bed shook.

  “You slept with him?”

  She shook her head vigorously. “No.”

  “What, then?”

  “We just, you know, hooked up a little. But we did not have sex—I swear.”

  “When did this happen?”

  “Recently,” she said—understatement of the year. But really, honesty had its limits. “While we’ve been apart.”

  “How many times?”

  “Just once,” she said, telling herself the incident in the office didn’t count.

  “Do you have feelings for him?”

  “No,” she said. “It was more that I wanted to know that I could be physical with someone else—that my relationship with you didn’t define me. I really felt lost—and I still do. Am I Mallory or Moxie? Whose future do I want? Because there is no way to have both or be both.”

  “You are both. And I love that about you.”

  She again thought of Gavin, and how guys like him could be titillated by her Moxie persona, but could never truly accept or live with her. And most people—even her own friends—thought she had to make a choice. When she’d met Julie and Allison for breakfast that morning a few weeks ago, they’d made it clear they saw her foray into burlesque as a detour, a distraction that took her further from herself and from the future she was meant to have. But she knew, and Alec knew, that it brought her closer to the right answer about her life.

  “You know you can’t work for that guy anymore. That is, if you want for us to be together. And I hope you do, Mallory.”

  “I do,” she said.

  “You’ll quit?”

  “Yes. But I don’t know what I’m going to do. My life is so chaotic.”

  “No, it’s not,” he said. “We have the most important thing right.”

  “How about you?” she said. “I’m so mad at Billy. Why wouldn’t he come to us if he was interested in getting into the burlesque business? How does he even know Violet? It feels like such a slap in the face. And I can’t stand her, Alec. I partly blame her for our breakup. She came between us—and you let her, to some degree—but after talking to Poppy I have no doubt she intended for that to happen. What if she’s getting involved in the magazine, too? Maybe they’re sleeping together or something.”

  “I doubt they’re sleeping together. I’m pretty sure Billy is gay.”

  Mallory thought about Violet’s sexual relationship with Poppy, and Poppy’s theory that she was obsessed with Mallory.

  “And Violet isn’t into guys.”

  “So what’s going on there?” Alec said.

  “Who knows? We should just stay as far away as possible.”

  His phone rang again, and he ignored it.

  “Maybe you should check your messages,” Mallory said. Alec nodded and retrieved his coat. He waited to make sure the call went to voice mail, then dialed into his phone.

  “It’s Justin Baxter,” he said.

  “What does he want?”

  “He said that he and Martha feel bad they didn’t get to Agnes in time to buy the Blue Angel, and they can’t stop thinking about it. He wants me to go to their place tonight for a drink.”

  “Do you think they have an idea of how to get the club after all?”

  “No. If it’s sold, it’s sold. I don’t know what they have in mind. But I guess we’ll find out.”

  “We?”

  “Aren’t you coming with me?”

  “Yes,” she said, kissing him. “I’m going with you.”

  “Well, I guess our work here is done,” Poppy said after Alec and Mallory absconded from City Bakery like two lovesick teenagers.

  “I feel so used,” Bette joked.

  “Really? I don’t feel used enough,” Poppy mumbled, barely daring to say it.

  Bette laughed, then rifled through her Vuitton handbag. “God, I wish I could smoke in here. After being in Paris and Milan I realize how uncivilized this damn city is.”

  “I’ll walk outside with you,” Poppy said.

  “Do you smoke?” Bette said.

  “No. I would just … I don’t mind walking outside,” Poppy said.

  Bette raised an eyebrow. “Are you flirting with me?” she said, in that unnerving, direct way she had.

  “What? No! Not at all,” Poppy said, flustered. The truth was, she wouldn’t dare flirt with Bette. She could barely think straight sitting across the table from her, could barely take her eyes off of her matte red, pillowy bottom lip. But that was different than flirting.

  “Well, that’s a shame,” Bette said.

  “What?” Had she heard her correctly?

  “I said that’s a shame. You’ve never looked better, my dear.” Bette smiled faintly, then looked off across the room as if thinking about something else entirely.

  “Oh, well, thanks.”

  “I noticed it that day we ran into each other at M&J Trimming. You’re hotter now than you were when you first came to the Blue Angel. But that happens to girls, you know. It’s an inner confidence thing. It shows through. People think that’s bullshit, but it’s absolutely not. And that show you did the other night? Inspired. Who’s been teaching you? Mallory?” She smiled a devilish smile, her eyes a smoky mix of blue and gray against her dark silk blouse.

  “No, not really.”

  “Not that cunt Violet, I hope.”

  Poppy turned bright red—she could feel it. “No.”

  “Are you still seeing that dowdy lawyer?”

  “Patricia? Yes.”

  “Well, that’s nice. Relationships are a good thing if you can swing it. I, apparently, cannot.”

  “You’re not with Zebra anymore?” Poppy said, although she had already bought the Us, Life & Style, and OK! issues detailing their breakup.

  “No,” Bette said. She poked her straw in and out of her can of Diet Coke as if fishing for something at the bottom.

  Poppy had the urge to confess that she wished she had the nerve to break up with Patricia, but that she was afraid no one would ever love her the same way again. She was sure Bette would never stay with someone for such a stupid reason. She had no idea why Bette and Zebra had split up—every magazine cited a different implausible scenario—but she was sure Bette had been the one who initiated it. She couldn’t imagine Bette ever not being in control.

  “Are you and Patricia monogamous?” Bette said.

  “Yes,” Poppy said, thinking regretfully of Violet.

  “Well, that’s unfortunate,” Bette said.

  “What?”

  “For me, that is. Unfortunate for me.”

  “How do you figure?” Poppy said, her pulse racing. She braced herself. No matter what she says, I won’t do anything!

  Bette shrugged. Poppy resisted the urge to push the issue. There was something so maddeningly remote about the woman! But she had finally gotten away from Violet, and she didn’t need another complication, no matter how tempting it was. No matter that the woman she had a crush on—or was maybe the tiniest bit in love with—seemed to be opening the door to the possibility of the two of them fooling around.

  “Well, I should get going,” Bette finally said, pulling a cigarette o
ut of a silver case. Poppy noticed the large monogrammed Z on it. “Catch you later,” she said.

  Poppy watched her leave.

  21

  The cab pulled up to the gates of 40 Bond, and Mallory tried not to think of the fact that she had been there just last night. What were the odds of her ending up back there in less than twenty-four hours? It was as if the universe was mocking her. But she wasn’t going to mention it to Alec. She just prayed she didn’t run into Gavin.

  Fortunately, the Baxter townhouse was in a different area of the complex than the high-rise where Justin had his apartment, and as soon as they turned into it she felt safely ensconced in the world of her and Alec, no one else.

  “Glad you two could make it on such short notice,” Justin said as the butler took her coat. She knew from past experience that she had to remove her shoes—Martha was obsessive about her oak floors imported from Austria. “Mallory, we’ve missed seeing you at the Blue Angel.”

  “Oh, yeah, I took a little … leave of absence,” she said.

  “Mental health break?” Justin said.

  “Something like that.”

  Martha Pike lounged in the corner. She looked as unkempt and overweight as usual, her feet stuffed into unattractive but serviceable shoes. In her right hand, she clutched an elegant wooden cane.

  “Forgive me for not getting up,” she said.

  “Martha’s having some problems with her hip,” Justin said. Mallory knew she should be used to them by now, but she always marveled at the incongruous couple.

  Mallory and Alec sat side by side on one of the low, pale couches. A white-gloved cocktail waitress offered them champagne and chilled vodka. Mallory took the vodka. Ever since Bette had gotten her started drinking it last year, she recognized it as the best balm for her nerves.

  “So as I mentioned in my voice mail, I find it terribly frustrating that we were too late to get in on the Blue Angel deal.”

  “Yes, Justin and I have a real soft spot for that place,” Martha said wistfully. “But if the deal is done, the deal is done.”