by Logan Belle
Regina unhooked the skirt and stepped out of it. He pushed it aside.
“Kneel in front of the bed,” he told her.
She got down on her knees, and he removed her mask, replacing it with a blindfold. Her heart began to beat faster.
“Hands behind your back.” She felt rope around her wrists, and he cinched it tight. It was less comfortable than the cuffs he used in his apartment.
“Stand up,” he said, helping her to her feet. “Now lie on the bed on your stomach.” He helped her get into position, her head tilted to the side so she could breathe.
Then she felt him unzip the underskirt.
“This isn’t a good ide—”
“Don’t speak again until we leave this room,” he said. He tugged on the silk skirt and she obediently lifted her hips, enabling him to pull it down her thighs, over her knees, then past her feet. She was exposed from the waist down, wearing only black lace underwear.
She heard Sebastian’s footsteps retreating.
“Where are you going?” she asked. This was met with a crack of pain against her thighs as the single tail of a whip answered her.
“I said no talking. Trust, Regina.”
She winced in pain, and her mind slipped into the fantasy of his fingers spreading her open. Only the sweet pressure of his fingers or tongue on her clit would stop the pain.
There were no more sounds in the room. She heard people walking up and down the hall, and she cringed knowing that they were looking in and seeing her, as she had seen that bound woman in the first room. Her only consolation was that she was anonymous, and she was not naked.
Yet.
She didn’t know if Sebastian was there, waiting before removing more of her clothes, or if he had left her to return to the party downstairs. It took all of her willpower not to call out for him. Her arms were beginning to ache, the ropes already biting into her wrists. She realized that she was squirming, that it would hurt less if she stayed perfectly still.
Regina tried not to panic. She thought of the one thing he kept saying over and over about the night: trust. He would not just leave her there—at least, not for too long.
She could hear the music from downstairs. Florence and the Machine. Regina tried to lose herself in it, to imagine being somewhere else. But every thought turned sexual. She imagined the blindfold being removed and Sebastian’s hard cock there, at the tip of her lips. She could stick out her tongue and feel the salty warmth of him, pulsing with blood for her. . . .
She heard footsteps reenter the room. Her heart started to pound wildly. She wanted to call out his name, to make sure it was Sebastian, but she knew she couldn’t.
And then she felt hands stroking her ass, lightly dancing over the lace of her panties. Was it Sebastian’s touch? She couldn’t tell, and this thought horrified her. And then she remembered what he had said just before they’d walked into the hotel: The only thing you have to know about tonight is that no one will touch you but me.
The memory of this comment was the only thing that kept her from screaming as the hand traveled between her legs, slipping into her underwear, one finger lightly stroking the lips of her pussy. Her heart pounded so hard she was afraid she would stop breathing.
And above all, trust me.
Trust, Regina.
The finger pressed inside of her. It felt undeniably good, and yet there was nothing identifiable about the touch. It went in, it went out. Her mind held on to the fear that it was a stranger, but her body betrayed her, moving with the hand, greedy for an orgasm. And yet there was only so far she could go; she kept waiting for some clue that it was, in fact, Sebastian. And when nothing happened to give her this, her mind won out, and her body froze.
The touching stopped. Her underwear snapped back in place while her insides throbbed, aching for satisfaction.
She was afraid that the person would leave and that she would be left alone, wondering who had just been touching her. She couldn’t bear it. She bit her lip to keep from calling out.
Just when she thought that she would lose it . . . that she would break her silence and therefore exhibit a lack of trust—she felt her blindfold being untied and pulled off of her face.
She opened her eyes to find Sebastian kneeling beside the bed, his eyes searching and intense.
Regina felt such a flood of relief, such an uncoiling of tension, that she started to cry.
“Regina, don’t be upset. I told you no one would touch you but me. Didn’t you believe me?”
He untied her arms, and she straightened up slowly, rubbing her wrists. “I did . . . but how could I know for sure? And just thinking that people were walking by . . . looking at me.” She was sitting up now, glancing warily at the door. Sebastian stood up and closed it.
“We’ll get in trouble,” she said.
“Sssh . . . you have got to calm down,” he said, sitting next to her and putting his arm around her. “I didn’t mean to upset you. I like to experiment with limits. It . . . can bring people closer. It can heighten things.”
“It’s okay,” she said. And she meant it.
“Do you want to leave?” he asked.
“Yes,” she told him. And she meant that, too.
CHAPTER 34
Regina flexed her foot against the side of the bathtub.
The bubble-filled water brimmed almost to the top. She inhaled deeply, reveling in the warm, lavender-scented water.
Sebastian had known just what to do when they got back to his apartment. He helped her out of the Morgane Le Fay dress, wrapped her in a soft, oversize towel, and brought her immediately to the bathroom.
And he left her alone to relax.
She didn’t know how long she had been in the water. Her fingers and toes were completely pruned. She felt relaxed but wired at the same time. And she was tired of being alone.
Her foot pressed the lever to drain the water. She stood up, feeling momentarily light-headed, and wrapped herself in a white towel. She dried the back of her neck, and then unclipped her hair so it fell around her shoulders. Looking in the mirror, she saw that her eyes were black with smudges of eyeliner and mascara. Using a tissue, she wiped them off the best that she could.
She padded softly into the bedroom.
“I didn’t think you were ever coming out,” he said with a grin. He had changed into white boxers and a cornflower-blue button-down shirt that was left open, the sleeves rolled up. She loved the way he looked in shirts, with the back of his dark hair curling slightly against the collars. He looked so heartbreakingly beautiful, it made everything she had been thinking about in the bathtub that much more difficult.
She noticed the two glasses of white wine on the bedside table. Following her gaze, he reached for one and handed it to her.
“Thanks,” she said. It was cold and crisp and seemed, in that moment, like the best thing she’d ever tasted.
He sat on the edge of the bed, and she sat next to him, turned slightly so she could face him. He smiled, and she almost lost her nerve at the sight of his dimples winking at her. But she didn’t allow herself to wimp out.
“Sebastian, I appreciate that you orchestrated this whole night because you were thinking about the issue of trust in our relationship. But what happened tonight—it’s not the way we’re going to learn to trust each other. Or know each other. At least, not in the way I want.”
“What did you have in mind?” he asked, in that teasing way of his.
“You got mad at me for not telling you about my virginity—for not disclosing the truth about my sexual experience. But you don’t tell me the truth about things in your past, your history—your life.”
“Of course I do,” he said. “And I said I was sorry about Sloan. . . .”
“This isn’t about Sloan. At least, not just about that. You know Margaret, at the library? She told me about yo
ur mother.”
Sebastian’s smile disappeared. “Isn’t she a little old for gossip?”
“She wasn’t gossiping. She saw us coming out of the room on the fourth floor the other night. I guess she felt I should know something about the man I’m . . . involved with.”
“But she didn’t tell you something about me, did she? She told you about my mother.”
“Come on. Don’t act like you don’t know what I’m trying to say. Why didn’t you tell me the full story about your mother? The night of my birthday, we were talking about the stuff that bothered us about our parents, and you never said one word about it. Why is that?”
“Because—as I said about Sloan—it has nothing to do with us.”
“And I’m saying it does. If we don’t talk about real things, how can we have trust? Dramatic sexual stuff is not what makes a relationship work.”
“How would you know?”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, as of a few weeks ago, you were a virgin. That leads me to assume you haven’t had many—if any—serious relationships. Sexual or otherwise. Have you?”
“Not really,” she admitted.
“Well, I have. And my relationships are pretty much all like this. And that’s the way I want it.”
“You said it was different with me.”
He sighed. “I feel differently about you.”
“How?”
“I don’t know, Regina!” he said, exasperated. “Sometimes I think I like you more than anyone I’ve been with. I find your lack of experience challenging. I think you’re good-hearted. It’s amazing that you’re not jaded. You’re easy to surprise and to please. But that doesn’t change what I want out of this.”
“And what’s that?”
“Exactly what we have. Except I want to photograph you.”
Now it was Regina’s turn to be exasperated. “Not that again.”
“For me, that’s intimacy. That’s sharing.”
Regina jumped off of the bed, splashing wine on her towel. “I can’t believe you. I’m telling you what I feel is missing from this relationship—or whatever you want to call it. And you’re asking me for more? Why should I give you what you want if you refuse even to try to give me what I want?”
“I thought I was,” he said stonily.
“Well,” she said, “you’re not.”
He seemed to think about this, and then slowly nodded as if answering a question. “I’ll take you home,” he said quietly.
•
“What you need is a nice, normal guy,” Carly said.
It was late morning, an endless morning during which Regina felt the hours tick by in the dark, sleepless, until the sun finally told her it was okay to get out of bed.
Over bagels and coffee, Regina couldn’t help breaking down in front of her roommate. She told her about the Jane Hotel, suspecting that even shock-proof Carly would be scandalized by the events of the night. But Carly had merely widened her eyes and sighed, “I love the Jane.”
Then, as if suddenly remembering that her friend/roommate duties required a little more empathy, she put a hand on Regina’s arm and said, “Look, what did I tell you from the beginning? Have fun, but don’t expect anything. So you had a good run, and now you can chalk it up to a crazy New York dating experience that you can tell your grandchildren about someday.”
Regina looked at her. “You think this is a story for my grandchildren?”
“Well, maybe not yours. I’m sure mine would love to hear about it, though.” She laughed uproariously and slapped her knee.
Regina hugged her knees to her chest, wanting the couch to swallow her up. “I’m so glad this is amusing to you.”
“I’m not laughing at you, Regina. You know I’ve been there.”
Yes, Carly had previewed this type of suffering after her breakup with Rob. The pain that was almost physical, the inability to eat or sleep. It was like the burst of energy Regina felt when she’d first met Sebastian, but in agonizing reverse.
And Carly was right. She had warned her.
“You know I was a mess after Rob,” Carly said, as if reading her mind. “But what did I do?”
“Um, I don’t know,” Regina said.
“I got right back on the horse, as my mother would say.”
Regina didn’t know about that. As far as she could tell, there hadn’t been much riding going on in that apartment since the breakup. But maybe she’d just been too caught up in her own drama to notice what had been going on recently with her roommate.
“So what are you saying?” Regina asked, more for the sake of conversational politeness than out of actual interest. There was nothing Carly could say to make her feel better. She had fallen madly in love with an unattainable, arguably fucked-up guy, and the chances of her finding happiness with another man seemed about as likely as falling through the wardrobe into Narnia.
“I’ll fix you up with someone,” Carly said.
“Um, no, thanks,” Regina said, still shuddering at the thought of Nick and his buddies at Nurse Bettie.
“I know it won’t be easy to go out with a mere mortal after Sebastian Barnes, but you have to trust me, Regina,” she said.
“Yeah,” Regina said. “I’ve been hearing that a lot lately.”
She walked back into her bedroom and closed the door.
•
On Monday morning, Regina rushed to the Returns Desk, clutching her contraband Starbucks. She then noticed Sloan heading in the same direction, a yard ahead of her, moving at a fast clip. Her boss’s white-blond ponytail waved behind her head like an enemy flag.
Regina tossed her coffee into the nearest garbage can and slowed down. But there was no avoiding Sloan, who was clearly waiting for Regina at the desk.
A cart full of books was already parked next to her chair, needing her attention.
“Good morning, Regina,” said Sloan. “It’s your lucky day.”
Regina could barely look at her. She didn’t understand the jealousy and suspicion that churned in her gut like acid. She reminded herself that, as of a few days ago, Sebastian Barnes no longer mattered to her—not his past, not his present. Still, something about Sloan just got to her.
“Oh yeah? How so?” She dropped her bag on the floor.
“You’re going back to the Delivery Desk,” Sloan said.
This was good news. But Regina didn’t react to it, except to ask, “Should I go there now?”
“In a minute,” Sloan said. “But I need you to be available at noon. I have some errands to do, and I’ll need help.”
“Sorry,” Regina said. “I’m having lunch with Margaret.”
Sloan flinched at the rebuff but quickly recovered. “Well, by all means. Might as well do it while you can.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Didn’t she tell you? Due to budget cuts, her position has been eliminated.”
“You can’t cut the archives librarian.”
“I offered her a spot at the Returns Desk,” Sloan said breezily, as if she hadn’t heard her. “Unfortunately, she’s opted to retire. But then I guess she can tell you all about this over lunch.”
Regina brushed past her and hurried to the stairs. Rushing around to Margaret’s room, she wondered why the older woman hadn’t told her about this herself. And then she recalled that Margaret had visited her at the desk two days ago, but Regina had been too lost in the fog of her heartbreak over Sebastian to accept her coffee-break invitation.
The archives room was filled with sunlight, the beams illuminating panes of light dust in the air.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” Regina blurted out. Margaret was bent over a table, reading through an oversize, cloth-bound book with a magnifying glass.
Margaret looked up slowly.
“Well,
good morning to you, too,” she said, smiling.
“I don’t know how you can look so cheerful. Sloan just told me what’s happened.”
Margaret put down the heavy magnifying glass, laying it on top of the page.
“It was inevitable, Regina,” she said. “You don’t have to look at me like that. I’m not a victim. I’m well past retirement age as it is.”
“Well, I think the timing is really shitty. And the circumstances.”
“I’ve had a good run,” said Margaret. “And I’ve told you countless times, nothing here is what it used to be. Do you know that the previous president of this library drew up a plan to move millions of books off-site to storage in New Jersey? It will take at least a day from the time of a request for a reader to have the book delivered to the Main Reading Room here.”
“They can’t do that,” Regina said.
“Oh, they can, and they will. Believe me, we’ve protested. A few months ago—just before you got here—we sent a letter signed by hundreds of writers and academics. And that’s just one problem. The acquisitions budget here has shrunk twenty-six percent over the past four years. The train has left the station, Regina.”
To her shock, Regina started to cry.
“Oh, Regina. You’re taking this harder than I am.”
Margaret rounded the small table and put her arms around her. Regina gave in to the embrace, sobbing in Margaret’s arms like a child. Somehow, Margaret produced a cloth handkerchief and pressed it into her hand. Regina wiped her eyes.
“Thanks. I’m sorry. I don’t know what’s the matter with me.”
Margaret stepped back and smiled at her. “Everything will be fine, Regina. The library will survive. I’ll find work in a bookstore. Or maybe I’ll start one of those blog things. . . .”
Regina laughed.
“But most important, you will be fine.”
Regina nodded, unconvinced. “Thanks for telling me about Sebastian. I tried talking to him about his mother, but he refused.”