“I see it,” I whisper, carefully folding it up and sliding it behind the first bow before I pull it tight. “It’s a little lopsided. Should I do it again?”
He stills my hands. “It’s perfect.”
“I want to do it again.”
He grins. “Okay.”
He walks me through the steps again, faster this time, and going quicker makes the bow neater. And when it’s done, I smooth my hands down his chest.
“That was really hot,” I whisper.
“Hot enough to earn me a peek under the robe?”
“Nope. I don’t want to get stuck waiting behind Beyoncé. Get your butt in gear, mister.”
I spent the morning pouring over coverage of previous years’ Galas, and I’ve decided the best time to arrive is before the live streaming coverage begins. The chairs of the event arrive just after six, so I want to arrive at quarter after the hour, and even if our driver gets stuck in traffic, it’s only four blocks.
Only four blocks, and yet it still takes half an hour to get there because we need to loop around and come down Fifth Avenue, and then we get stuck in a queue of stretch SUVs.
Jake squeezes my hand. “Can I distract you by guessing what’s under your dress? Is it lime green? Bright pink?”
I smile. “Basic black.”
“Interesting switch up.” He winks.
“I considered wearing bright pink stockings, but they didn’t go with my open-toed shoes.”
“I can arrange for another gala event for us to go to. Or you could just wear them for me.”
“I could do that,” I whisper. “But I like galas, too.”
“You say that now. You haven’t heard the din of noise when we get out of the car.”
He’s not wrong. It’s deafening. When our driver pulls up at the spot where we get out, there’s a solid security presence keeping paparazzi at bay, but nothing can muffle the roar of more than a hundred photographers hungry for just the right shot.
“Get out of the way! Get off the carpet! Motherfucking asshole, you’re blocking my shot! Taylor, turn around! Turn around! We can’t see you!” It wasn’t just one person screaming it, but the noise all runs together into one screech.
“Ignore them,” Jake murmurs in my ear. “It’s all a game. They’re trying to get people to react. Slip, pull a face, something like that. Or maybe they actually will get the perfect shot. But they don’t have press access, and what they want isn’t my concern.”
My heart beats fast in my chest as I nod.
We snake forward in a line to get to the red carpet area. A publicist with a walkie-talkie at the top of the line is controlling who can move forward, and when we get to her, she recognizes Jake. “Mr. Aston, welcome to the Met Gala. You can move up the stairs on the right-hand side. Please stay a few paces behind Ms. Bellevue ahead of you.”
He murmurs his thanks and sets his hand on my arm, just behind my elbow. “Ready?”
“Sure, whatever, no big deal,” I say breathlessly. Then I totally reveal my inner dork because I squeal. “The carpet isn’t red!”
He laughs. “They went blue this year, I guess.”
I tip my face up to beam at him, and flashbulbs explode to our right.
I don’t care how ridiculous I look in that photo, I’m going to frame it.
He gives me a look of infinite fondness. “Let’s go. Four flights of stairs, then we’re done with the gauntlet.”
On each landing, we stop and he’s photographed. Sometimes they ask who I am, and he always replies the same way. “My girlfriend, Jana.” He doesn’t give them my last name. It’s none of their business, he’s insisted over and over again when we’ve discussed how to handle this.
He swears he’ll destroy anyone that invades my privacy. I’m not sure he has that power—I’m not sure anyone does—but I can handle some curiosity because of who I’m dating.
It’s a small price to pay for the way he looks at me.
At the top of the stairs, he laces his fingers through mine, and we leave the public spectacle behind.
Inside, there’s a receiving line. I feel faint as Jake air-kisses Anna Wintour, then she turns to me. “Lovely to meet you,” she says.
“It’s an honor to be here,” I whisper, and then we’re moving on down the line, greeting the other hosts of the evening, including the designer being honored this year, Rei Kawakubo. She’s wearing sneakers, but she tells me she loves my shoes, and I proudly say I chose them myself.
Then we move into an exhibit hall where an installation details Kawakubo’s early work, her most popular period, and then most recently, the pieces where she’s almost left fashion behind except for as a purely artistic expression.
It’s incredible, and we spend a full hour exploring that before we find our seats for dinner.
Ben is standing next to the table Jake leads me to. Unlike Jake, he’s not in a classic black tux. Instead he’s wearing a jacket covered in a black and white geometric pattern, and he gives me a wicked look as we approach.
“Now we match, Jana. Promise me a dance.”
Jake growls at him.
“My dance card might be full,” I say, and Ben rolls his eyes.
“We’ll distract him with business deals. This is happening.” He gestures to a woman deep in conversation behind him. She’s wearing an avant garde outfit that can only be one of Rei Kawakubo’s pieces. “My sister, Elana. I’ll introduce you properly once she’s done talking to the exhibit curator. She picked out my jacket, so she’ll be pleased at our coordination.”
“I’m also wearing black and white,” Jake points out.
“Sure, sure,” Ben says with a wink. “Okay, I’ll be good.”
As soon as I meet Elana Russo in person, I realize I’ve seen her many times on the pages of Vogue.
“I think I follow you on Instagram,” I blurt out, and she laughs.
“That’s awesome. I really love what they’ve done for cosmetics. I’m not as on top of it as some of the up and coming designers, but it’s a lot of fun. Do you find it useful as an illustrator?”
“My Instagram account is mostly my cats,” I admit. “I never thought about using it for work. I’m kind of hopeless with the business side of things.”
“Oh, cats are great. What you want is to find a way to be authentically you and leverage it.” She twists around and looks at a man a few tables over. When he catches her eye, she waves him over. “You want to talk to this guy.”
“Who is he?”
“He oversaw the Facebook buyout of Instagram.”
That’s a bit above my level. Before I freak out, Jake smoothly intervenes. “Elana, chill out. We’re here to have fun tonight.”
She sighs. “Oh, Jake Aston. Now that you’re in love, it’s like I hardly even know you. Have fun?”
One corner of his mouth quirks up. “I know. I’m trying something new.”
Dinner passes in a blur, then there’s an incredible performance by an R&B singer before everyone takes to the dance floor.
For all his teasing, Ben doesn’t ask me to dance, and that’s for the best, because Jake isn’t letting me go. He even holds on to my hand during faster songs, but it’s the slow ones I like best, because he wraps me in his arms and holds me right against his body, hard and solid. It’s magical and sweet and sexy, too, with heat and want building between us as the night spirals on.
There’s talk of going to an after party, but when Jake calls for his car, and he pulls me onto the dance floor for one more slow spin, I decide I just want to go home.
When he strokes his fingertips up my spine, settling his hand in the bare spot at the top of my back, I lean in to his touch and shiver. “Maybe we should—”
“Head straight home?” His eyes glitter. “I agree.”
“Oh, good.” I sway back toward him and he leans in, pressing his forehead against mine as we turn slowly, then he kisses me.
I’m sure it looks gentle and romantic from anyone else’s vantage point, but
I can feel him tighten up around me as his lips part mine. I get the rough swipe of his tongue against my skin, between my teeth, then up against my own tongue, hot and demanding.
“Now,” he says, and I nod.
Right now.
We hold hands in the elevator up to the penthouse.
Neither of us says anything, and we don’t kiss or grope or anything like that. But with each passing second, my nipples grow tighter and my smile curves wider.
I can feel him looking at me, a sideways glance that is so nakedly full of longing I will spontaneously combust if I meet his gaze.
So instead I stare straight ahead and squeeze his fingers with mine.
I’m yours, forever.
No rush. No more aching because we’re apart. It’ll take a few weeks to sort out the move, but then I’m his, and I’ll be here, and we can do this every single night.
Not the Met part. But the hands and the longing and the knowledge that as soon as the elevator doors open, I’ll be in his arms and he’ll be inside me and it’ll be perfect.
The lift stops, and he swipes his card.
Mundane little details that reassure, no this isn’t a dream.
This is your life, Jana. You and your super hot delivery guy, who’s hung and good with cats and goes down on you like an oral sex rock star.
Plus he’s got a decent job.
Check, check, check.
The doors slide open.
I take a deep breath, and as I exhale, Jake picks me up. “Enough waiting,” he growls, and he strides through his apartment—our apartment—high above New York City with me in his arms.
I lose my clutch somewhere in the hallway. My shoes are removed by a very lusty Mr. Aston as I perch on the edge of the bed, then he spins me around and unzips my dress, revealing the black body suit underneath.
His hands slide over my hips, from the black silk to bare skin, then curve around to cup my ass as I undo the bowtie. “This is even sexier,” I purr. “Undressing you.”
“Faster.”
“Be patient—” I shriek as he tips me back onto the bed, then looms above me, big and turned on and gorgeous. His mouth is hot and wet against my collarbone, then lower, between my breasts. He licks the skin there, a wide swath with his tongue that makes me moan.
“Your cleavage has been torturing me all night.”
“You didn’t say anything.”
“I was this close to dragging you behind that kimono exhibit and ravaging you.”
“Ravaging sounds fun.”
“Next time.”
“Deal.” I sigh as he runs his nose along the satin bra cup, then he uses his teeth to tug it down, freeing my nipple to the cool air. “Jake, yes…”
“Yes, what?”
“Suck there…”
“Here?” He pulls the soft flesh at the side of my breath into his mouth. “Mmm.”
“Jake.”
“Yes?”
“Lick my nipple, please. And suck it.”
He growls in appreciation and does both, and when he switches to the other side, he keeps up the delicious torture on the first side with his fingers, pinching and pulling and twisting until I’m hot and bothered and writhing beneath him.
Then he rolls me over, tapping my ass with a lazy slap as he pulls me up onto my knees. I rock on all fours, shamelessly presenting myself to him, because that’s how turned on I am—I’ve reached the it’s a good idea to wiggle your pussy at the horny guy stage.
“I like this…thing…” he says as presses his hips against mine and strokes his fingers down my back. “You’re so fucking curvy in it.” He squeezes my hips and runs his thumbs down the edge of the fabric where it disappears between my butt cheeks.
Then he presses there, through the fabric, but still.
He’s rubbing my ass, and it’s fucking hot.
I gasp, and he circles his thumb again.
“Yes?”
I sigh and drop my head to the bed. “Yes.”
“Right here?”
“Please…”
“Just a finger.”
Seriously, he could do whatever he wants to me, but sure, let’s start with a finger.
He pulls away, then lube and a condom land beside me on the bed. I twist my head so I can watch him strip before he crawls back to where I’m waiting in the middle of the giant bed.
He kisses my hip, then my thigh, and across to my sex. I close my eyes as he noses me through the silky fabric, then he tugs it aside and licks me from top to bottom. He groans and I rock against his face. More, yes, that, oh God.
“No, need you bare,” he whispers, then he’s behind me, helping me up. My head spins as he unzips the lingerie down my back before pressing me back down again. He works it off my legs, one at a time. He’s being so careful, and I can feel his hands shake.
He’s going to stop being careful any second, but he doesn’t want to rip the lingerie I made such a big deal of. Oh, my sweet man.
Then his hands land heavy on my hips.
Sweet, dirty man.
He strokes his fingers through my slickness, teasing my clit on each glide, then after a pause where I imagine he sheathes himself, he presses into me. Deep, all the way, filling me up to the point of stealing my breath.
“Yes,” he groans. “God, I love you.”
I pulse around him.
“Want to take you hard.”
“Do it.” I push back against him and he thrusts his hips. “Yes, that. Love it. Love you.”
He takes his time easing back, then pumps forward fast and hard. Lazy pull, hard push. It’s torturous and amazing at the same time, dragging his heavy erection over all the nerve endings inside me before rocking forward so fast it’s like a jolt to the system.
And with each thrust, I can feel him swelling inside me. Getting harder. Closer.
I’m shamelessly humping back against him because I’m out of my mind with need. He’s so fucking big, and it almost hurts it’s so good, but it doesn’t because he gets me so wet.
So good, so big, so wet.
I’m the luckiest bitch in the world. I need to tell Nina she was right.
And then.
Then he touches me between my ass cheeks, his fingers slick with lube I didn’t even hear him open, and wait, I was wrong.
Now I’m the luckiest bitch in the world.
Who knew that felt so mind-blankingly right?
Just a finger.
Just the tip.
Then more, the whole finger, and I might explode and holy hell, his fingers are big. Not sure about the rest of him. But whatever, he can have me, all of me, however he wants me, because—
I explode into an orgasm that takes me by surprise, and my legs are shaking. Oh God, oh God, oh… And it’s too much, suddenly, all of it, but I’m still coming. I scream as he chases me up the bed, although we don’t really move, so maybe I’m just shaking on the spot, and my mind is blank but full of crazy thoughts at the same time.
Like…let’s do that again.
Right now.
Anal.
Who knew that was the perfect ending to the perfect day?
With a guttural groan that slides right in my soul, because I make him make that sound, Jake slams his cock inside my pussy one more time, and holds me down as he comes inside me. He’s twitching too, all of his muscles straining and tense, and we slowly melt into the bed.
“Wow,” I say as he rolls me over.
He kisses me. It’s wet and dirty and makes me hum inside. “Be right back,” he whispers, and I close my eyes. He returns before I open them, and his mouth covers mine again. “Was that good?”
I grin. “You know it was.”
“A solid five out of ten on the okay scale?”
“Definitely at least a six,” I tease. “More than adequate.” I shiver, and he covers me with his body more. “I want to do that again.”
“I’ll need ten minutes and a green smoothie.”
“Not now.” I yawn. “But lik
e…more of that. What we did.”
“You liked me playing with your ass?”
I nod.
“Good. Because I want to do more of that, too. I love every inch of you, and nothing makes me happier than you screaming my name.”
“Did I do that?”
“And how.” I blush and he trails kisses down my neck as his fingers stroke up my thigh. “Are you sure not now? Second round in the shower.” He curls his hand over my butt and dips into the crease there. “I’ll be gentle.”
And just like that, sleep can wait.
Epilogue
Jana
July
Six hours until a week of vacation.
I give the cats a sidelong glance from where I’m sitting at my new desk in my new office. Our new office, really, because their brand-new, top-of-the-line cat trees take up half the room. This isn’t a hardship because the room is massive, and I have cat mom guilt about upsetting their world order in such a significant way.
Can they sense I’m abandoning them?
It’s been a big adjustment. We moved to New York a month ago and Larken still spends most of her time under the armoire in the corner.
Kitten loves the forest of carpet-covered climbing things, though. And the boys do, too. Jake’s bribes have worked on three feline friends, and Larken will get there eventually, too.
“You guys will be well taken care of this week,” I tell them.
They ignore me, so I look out the window. I didn’t even realize until I moved in that the apartment had a view of the park. This room is beside his home gym, and I couldn’t believe it when I realized it was unused.
He just shrugged and said he prefers the other side of the building because it’s quieter.
Ha. Like the faint soundtrack of New York traffic is a negative. Not for this girl. I’m living every romantic comedy movie I grew up watching. Plus in my version, it doesn’t end with a kiss in the park.
I blush as I think about the way Jake woke me up in the early morning, with a long, slow, dirty kiss between my legs.
“Gotta go to work,” he’d whispered. “Be back mid-afternoon.”
Take Me to Bed: A Collection of Naughty Bedtime Stories Page 60