Fallen Angel (Club Burlesque) (22 page)

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Authors: Logan Belle

BOOK: Fallen Angel (Club Burlesque)
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He looked at her like she’d just kicked his dog.
“What’s
wrong?
What do you think is wrong? Why don’t you tell me what you think you’re doing?”
“I’m, um, blindfolding you.”
“Yeah, I gathered that, Mallory.” His voice softened, but he spoke to her as if she were a child. “I can only overlook so much. It’s one thing to act slutty on a stage, but I don’t want these S&M antics in my home.”
Mallory sat back on her heels. She couldn’t have been more shocked if he had struck her.
Then she thought no, he must be joking.
Please let him be joking.
“Very funny,” she said, though she was sure her face was drained of all color.
Gavin sat up. She couldn’t help peeking to see if he was still hard.
He wasn’t.
“I’m serious, Mallory. Maybe in your line of work you’re used to sleeping with guys who expect a show in the bedroom, but I’m not one of them. I like women who have a little class.”
Mallory couldn’t, in that moment, think of any reply to that—other than to tell him to fuck off. But considering he signed her paycheck, that probably wasn’t the best response. Although, was she really going to be able to work for him after this?
“I should go,” she said, fumbling around for her clothes. She felt more naked than she ever had on stage.
 
Poppy walked into the Cellar steeling herself against whatever Violet had in mind for her; no matter what she was offered, Poppy wasn’t buying.
The same girl sat behind the reception desk.
“Can I help you?” she said.
“I’m here to see Violet.”
Poppy took a seat on one of the red velvet couches. She wasn’t going through those double doors no matter what. If Violet wanted to speak with her, she could meet her in the reception area. Fortunately, she didn’t have to argue this point; Violet appeared from behind the doors, swinging a long, black trench coat over a purple and green old-fashioned barmaid frock, gartered white stockings, and five-inch, black patent leather Mary Janes.
“I’m checking out,” Violet said to the receptionist.
“
Auf wiedersehen
,”
the girl said. Poppy smiled. Nothing like a little dominatrix humor.
“Where are we going? I don’t have a lot of time,” Poppy said, as Violet hustled her out the door.
“Will you stop bitching and moaning. This won’t take long.”
They rode the elevator in silence. Poppy felt she could hear the cables squeaking and straining, and she was relieved when the doors opened into the dark lobby.
Outside, midtown bustled with the after-work and theater crowd. Poppy pulled her coat closed more tightly and thought about her marinade. She wished she’d never heard the name Violet Offender.
Violet steered her into a small Irish pub. She ordered two scotches and commandeered a booth in the corner. Two stockbroker types eyed them, and Violet gave them the finger.
“I don’t want this,” Poppy said, pushing the drink away. Violet shrugged, downed her drink, and then started on Poppy’s.
“So, I was having some thoughts. Big picture ideas. Since you seem pressed for time—though I can’t imagine what could be so interesting in your apartment—I’ll get right to it: I suggest you quit the Blue Angel.”
Poppy shook her head. “I don’t even want to
know
what is going on in that head of yours, but you’re out of your mind. I’m not leaving the Blue Angel. Agnes gave me my start, and it’s the best club in the city.”
Violet sighed and took Poppy’s hand. Poppy tried to pull it away, but Violet turned her wrist and put her thumb on her pulse. The odd gesture distracted Poppy from withdrawing from her touch.
“Agnes’s day is over. She just doesn’t realize it yet.” Violet said. “I’m going to make her realize it: I expect you to quit.”
Poppy laughed. “Why should I care what you expect?”
“If you don’t, I’ll cut you off. And I don’t think you’d last very long without what I’m giving you. That ugly dyke you have at home is certainly not taking care of business.”
“That so-called ‘ugly dyke’ is twenty times the person you are. You make me come—so what? My vibrator does the same thing.”
Violet had an odd smile on her face.
“Do you know that every time I fucked you I was pretending you were Mallory?”
The remark was so out of context, so out of the blue, Poppy couldn’t reply. She knew her silence was giving the comment more power than it deserved, but for the life of her she couldn’t think of a retort.
“And the next time I see you, you will be answering to me. That is, if you really mean what you said about wanting to work at the Blue Angel.”
19
M
allory’s office door was closed, but she kept glancing at it as if it might open at any moment. She had yet to see Gavin, thank God, but she couldn’t hide in her office all day. For one thing, it was almost lunchtime, and she was hungry. Even if she ordered in from Guy & Gallard she’d have to go out to the reception desk.
The more she thought about it, the more last night’s episode struck her as funny—humorous bordering on the absurd. Unfortunately, the person who would most appreciate the hilarity of the story was the one person she couldn’t talk to about it: Alec. She was even thinking that the botched hookup would make a great burlesque skit. But that, too, was no longer an outlet for her. Which led her to the obvious question: what the hell had she done?
Her cell phone rang. She didn’t recognize the incoming number.
“Hello?”
“It’s Poppy. Sorry to bother you at work. And I know you probably don’t want to deal with everyone else’s drama anymore. But it would be great if you could talk.”
“Sure. I can talk.” It would be a relief to deal with someone else’s problems. “What’s going on?”
“It’s about the Blue Angel. Can you meet me for coffee or something?”
“Meet me at City Bakery in a half hour.”
 
Mallory found Poppy at a table on the upper level. Amidst the Flatiron lunch crowd—the publishing types and the stray tourist—she stood out with her razor sharp blond bob and hipster, vintage clothes. Mallory, on the other hand, dressed for work at the law firm, blended right in.
“I hardly recognized you,” Poppy said.
“I spotted you right away,” said Mallory. They half hugged hello, and it was awkward. “So what’s going on?”
Poppy sighed. “Do you want to get food first?”
Mallory looked over the railing to the first floor buffet. She was tempted by the macaroni and cheese—her favorite in the city—but she was too stressed out to eat. “I’m okay,” she said.
Poppy was already picking at a piece of chocolate zucchini cake. “Okay, so this is the deal. Remember when I asked you if you ever got bored with sex because you and Alec have been together for so long?”
Mallory tried not to visibly wince. It wasn’t Poppy’s fault. Maybe some people still didn’t know about their split.
“Yeah, I remember.”
“And I told you I was attracted to other people sometimes?”
“And I told you that was normal.”
“Okay, but what I did about it wasn’t that normal. I started hooking up with someone else.”
“It happens all the time, Poppy. Did Patricia find out?”
Poppy shook her head vigorously. “No.”
“Did you end it?”
“Yes.”
“Okay, then what are you worried about?”
“You don’t understand. I wasn’t just cheating on her with a normal person. I was cheating on her with . . . Violet.”
Mallory put her head in her hand. “Oh, Poppy. Why her?”
“I wasn’t looking for it. It just . . . happened. And she’s so hot, and she just started telling me what to do, and it was thrilling, and I got addicted to it—to her. She really is like a drug. But I decided I was done with it—I am done with it.”
“Okay. Good. Stick with that decision.”
“I’m trying to. She called me last night, and I told her I didn’t want to see her anymore. But I was wondering. . . . Are you involved with her, too? Or were you?”
“What? No—absolutely not. Why would you think that?”
“We got into sort of an argument last night, and maybe she was just trying to piss me off. She said every time we had sex she pretended I was you.”
Mallory’s eyes widened. “She was . . . probably just, like you said, trying to upset you.”
“Except I really think she meant it. She was very calm when she said it, very matter-of-fact.”
Mallory considered this bit of information. If she accepted it as true, then it put that night at the Plaza in an entirely new light. Violet was a manipulative person. If she wanted to get to Mallory, she would be smart enough to first remove any obstacles in her path—an obstacle like Alec. And apparently, she’d succeeded.
“But the thing that really bothered me was a comment she made about the Blue Angel. She told me I should quit. So I started asking around. And I think Agnes is selling it.”
“Yes, Agnes mentioned something like that to me.”
“What did she say?”
Mallory relayed the conversation she’d had the day she quit.
“This is not cool, because Violet said one more thing: she said the next time I saw her, I’d be answering to her if I still wanted to work at the Blue Angel.”
“That doesn’t make any sense.”
“I know. That’s why I wanted to talk to you about it.”
“Violet doesn’t have the money or the connections to buy the club. The ambition, maybe. But she’s nobody. It’s not possible.”
They sat in silence for a minute.
“Who else can we talk to about this?” Poppy said. Again, Mallory wanted to call Alec. But she would have to go with plan B.
“I’ll call Bette,” she said, already pressing the numbers on her phone.
 
Billy Barton stopped by the front desk of the Maritime Hotel and picked up the room key.
“Can I have bags taken to your room, Mr. Barton?” said the concierge.
“No bags. Just point me in the direction of the Hiro Ball-room.”
Billy walked into the dramatic space to find a flurry of activity and the photo shoot already well under way. When his art director had suggested using this space, with its enormous paper lanterns hanging from the twenty-foot ceilings, he’d thought it was a great idea. Maybe dressing Kendall James as a modern-day geisha wasn’t the most inspired fashion direction, but she did look great in the black wig. But he wasn’t here to admire Kendall in her faux-Japanese salon. He was there to see her beautiful cohort, sidekick, and editorial prop, Tyler.
Billy was the one who’d suggested Tyler for the job. He was biased, of course, but who better to set off Kendall’s exotic, French-Irish–Cherokee beauty than the all-American, corn-fed boy from Kansas? It was going to be a gorgeous spread—those assholes at
W
could eat their hearts out. Of course, Tyler’s Burberry contract required him to wear Burberry in the editorial, which didn’t quite fit with the Japanese vibe—but the art director was being a good enough sport about it. What Billy wanted, Billy got—at least when it came to
Gruff
.
“Hi, Mr. Barton.” An editorial assistant showed him to a banquette. “Do you want something to drink?”
He looked at his watch. 11 a.m.
“A mojito,” he said. “Are they breaking soon?”
“Any minute,” the girl told him.
The drink calmed his nerves, and he settled back into the red banquette, watching his hot boyfriend work it, counting the minutes until he could get Tyler’s cock in his mouth.
The photographer started setting up a shot with a topless Kendall covering her breasts with a sushi tray while Tyler held a live koi.
“This looks like it might take a while. Maybe we can take a break?” Billy called out.
“You want to break now?” the photographer said.
“If it’s not a huge problem,” said Billy.
“I can wrap for lunch, but I need everyone back in an hour.”
“Perfect.”
Everyone whipped out their cell phones. Kendall’s publicist, an aggressively well-groomed older woman with a questionable British accent, rushed to her side. The assistants started taking lunch orders.
Billy waved Tyler over, and he had to admit that his boyfriend didn’t seem overjoyed to see him.
“Hey—the shoot looks great,” Billy said.
“Yeah,” said Tyler.
“What’s wrong?” Billy said. Tyler shrugged. “Follow me—I have something to cheer you up. Let’s go.”
The room he’d reserved was a penthouse suite. Billy loved the nautical theme of the room, with the round, oversized “cabin” windows and the outdoor deck with a shower which, unfortunately, it was currently too cold outside to use.
He’d arranged for room service to set up a lunch spread, and it was waiting for them.
“Are you hungry?” he asked Tyler.
“No. I’m too stressed out to eat.”
“What are you stressed about? The shoot is going great.”
“It’s not that.”
“What, then? Burberry is renewing your contract; your agent said she’s getting requests for you to host a male model reality show. . . . I’m fucking crazy about you. It’s all good.”
“What about that other stuff? The . . . situation?”
“I told you not to worry about that. I’m taking care of it. Agnes is selling. The lawyers drew up the paperwork yesterday. By the end of the week, this will be a done deal. Violet’s not going to do anything stupid.”
“How do you know?”
“She’s not going to mess with her golden goose, Tyler. She’s all jazzed up about a spring opening. She’s renaming the club “Violet’s Blue Angel.” We’re going to do a piece about it in
Gruff
. I’m keeping her happy, okay?”
“Okay.”
“Now why don’t you keep me happy.”
After watching Tyler strut around with Kendall James for an hour, he was already hard. If he really had his way, he’d have her up here, too, for a little creativity. Ideally, he’d watch Tyler fuck her, and then Billy would lick his cock until he was ready for Tyler to put it in his ass. But he could tell Kendall didn’t roll like that. He didn’t know how that guy Justin Baxter always managed to get people to do the craziest things at his parties. Like the time he somehow convinced Poppy LaRue to masturbate for them in a private room. He could never pull off things like that without paying for it, and look where that had gotten him.
Tyler poured himself a glass of champagne, and Billy unzipped his jeans. Tyler stood a few feet away, watching as Billy took his cock out of his boxers, stroking it. Tyler’s eyes locked on Billy’s cock, and Billy could tell that despite his bad mood, Tyler still wanted him.
Tyler walked over to Billy in quick strides, knelt, and licked the tip of his cock, then trailed his tongue down to his balls. He took them into his mouth one at a time, tonguing them, his hand working Billy’s shaft in hard, fast strokes. Billy moaned, wanting to feel his cock hit the base of Tyler’s throat, wanting to hear him gag.
“Open your mouth,” Billy said, grabbing his hair. Tyler took Billy’s cock in his mouth, letting Billy fuck his throat, knowing Billy would only come when it seemed like it was too much for Tyler to take. Billy thrust so hard and fast, it only took a few minutes for Tyler to almost retch, triggering Billy’s orgasm deep in his mouth. Tyler swallowed, clutching Billy’s ass, pulling him deeper. Billy’s moan trailed off, and he was still. He slumped back against the wall.
Tyler pushed him to turn around, and Billy smiled, bracing himself against the wall. He heard Tyler undoing his belt, the sound of his jeans hitting the hardwood floor. Tyler spit into his hand, and although Billy couldn’t see behind himself, he knew Tyler was rubbing his saliva on his cock, and that it might or might not be enough to help get his cock into Billy’s ass, which was all Billy had been thinking about since the minute he woke up that morning.
Tyler pulled Billy to the couch, standing behind it so he could bend Billy over the back of it. Tyler spit on his ass, using his thumb to rub the wetness into Billy’s asshole until Billy felt the head of Tyler’s cock breaking against any resistance his ass might have held. The club, the magazine, the photo shoot—none of it mattered. The entire universe revolved around the feeling he had at this moment as Tyler inched his flesh inside Billy’s, with agonizing slowness, until Billy felt himself fill up. And then the exquisite pain as Tyler pulled out and then in again, over and over. Tyler smacked his buttock, hard, and called him a bitch. Billy, to his surprise, felt himself cresting again, and then felt his release that made the room fade to black, and he didn’t recognize his own voice as he cried out. Even as Billy finished, Tyler continued to work his ass, pumping away until Billy heard him call out, too, coming with such aggression and volume that Billy felt it spill onto his legs.

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