by Zoey Long
“I don’t know!” I say truthfully. “A museum? Are you a museum guy?” I tease him.
He stops for a moment, looks down.
“Do you want to go to a museum? We can totally do that. Because the Brooklyn Museum is having a really interesting exhibit right now on...” I chuckle and he knows I was kidding. “I do like museums. But it’s so nice out, I’m having a really good time with you right now. And besides, it’s Saturday. I’ve had enough school for right now.”
We’re between Chelsea and Soho now, the streets are filled with groups of people my age with bright matte lipstick, their hair in topknots and black ray ban sunglasses. A few second glances tells me we’re both being noticed, together and separately.
“It’s just down this street,” he says, turning me down Broadway. We stop in front of a swank hipster hotel.
“If you wanted to take me straight to a hotel, professor, you could have said so.” His face turns pink, the color of the tissue paper coming out of my bag. I like teasing him.
“There’s a really lovely bar on the rooftop of this building, it’s got literary themed drinks like the Tequila Mockingbird.”
“You’re so nerdy, I love it.”
He opens the double doors to the hotel and gestures for me to go ahead of him. The lighting in the lobby is similar to library light, all warm yellows. The walls of the lobby are lined from the floor to the ceiling with books, and there’s a fireplace and leather couches.
“Welcome, miss,” the attendant says as he greets us when I walk through the door. My heels click-clack on the marble floor.
“We’d like to go upstairs to Bar Bibliotheca,” Adam says, like he knows this guy. And who am I to say, maybe he does.
The attendant nods his head. “Of course, sir. Walk down this corridor, the elevator is to the right. Top floor. There’s not much of a wait right now if you hurry on up.”
We follow his directions and head to the elevator. I’m trying to act calm and cool, like this isn’t the nicest hotel I’ve ever been inside. Adam looks at me, his clear blue eyes are warm and inviting.
“So... you’ve been here before?” I ask.
He nods. “When I first moved to New York, this is where my friends and I used to come to celebrate a birthday, or whenever anyone got promoted or started a new job. The rooftop is really fantastic. It’s been here forever. I think you’ll love it. They have good drinks and some great small plate options.”
“I’m actually starving,” I admit.
The elevator dings and he motions for me to step in ahead of him. The inside of the elevator is dark chestnut brown, all wood and gold fixtures. There’s a mirror at the far end with a filigree gold frame around it. The buttons on the elevator look old fashioned, just black buttons. Adam presses the button for the topmost floor, labelled “Bar Bibliotheca” in gold cursive paint against the wood.
The moment that the elevator doors close he’s on me, pushing me up against the far wall of the elevator, kissing me hard, our mouths molding effortlessly together. I’m aching between my legs and I open them to accommodate him, pressing my pelvis into his. It’s like we’re stuck together with magnets and we can’t keep them apart for much longer. I’m still holding onto the bag in my right hand, but I allow the handles to drop down to my fingertips in a loose grip. The tissue paper is crumpling and ruffling with our steady movements. I bite his bottom lip playfully and this makes him come at me even harder, running his hands through my hair, tugging at the back of my hair in a way that sends shivers down my body. My arms are now covered in goosebumps, my nipples are stiff inside my bra. I let out a deep moan and his fingers are holding my face now.
“I want to make love to you,” he says suddenly. The elevator dings at the rooftop level and our lips part, I’m laughing a little. “But first, let’s get you some food and a cocktail.” He winks.
The doors of the elevator open and the first thing I see is a long, shiny oakwood bar with minimalist lights hanging above it. The bartender looks just like the man who opened the front door for us. He’s wearing charcoal grey pants, suspenders, and a white shirt. His sleeves are rolled up and he has a considerable amount of ink on both forearms. The walls are lined with books, and there are paintings on the walls that look like they’re from the Gatsby era, depicting young flapper girls in all levels of undress, with dark lipstick and severe black bobs, some with curls accented by jeweled headbands.
“Two?” the young bartender asks us, wiping down the bar with a rag before looking up and smiling.
“Yes, please,” Adam smiles back. “For the rooftop. Outside if you have anything available is much preferred.”
He nods. “Of course, sir. Follow me, please.”
Adam takes my hand and we’re led through the room toward a black curtain on the far wall. The bartender shifts it to the side, revealing a sliding glass door that leads to the rooftop bar and restaurant. Bar Bibliotheca is written in gold brocade letters on the menus he grabs. I step through the door and strong sunlight hits my bare calf, warming me.
The rooftop space is huge and expansive with wooden tables set up all around. Glamorous looking young people are drinking fancy cocktails while wearing sunglasses and summer weight suits, loafers, and A-line dresses. It’s a little too early to break out the seersucker and linen, but it’s a warm day. The bartender leads us to a small table that’s somewhat secluded from the others, more intimate.
“Thanks a lot,” Adam says as I take a seat. The weather is absolutely perfect, I can feel the sunshine on my bare shoulders and the wind gently blowing my hair. I put the bag of expensive lingerie down next to me and Adam sits across from me, smiling.
“I’ll leave you with the wine list, cocktail menu, and our small plates. My name is Ben, if you need anything else, please don’t hesitate to call me over.”
I take my compact out of my purse to check my lipstick. It’s completely gone by now, no surprise.
“You look absolutely perfect,” Adam says. I simply apply some chapstick and return it to my bag, smiling at him. “Now, like I said, all the drinks are literary-themed. Feel free to order whatever you’d like.”
I crease my eyebrows at him.
“I never go out anymore. I haven’t really gone out since I got this job,” Adam explains, sensing my hesitation. “So today I really want to treat myself. Please don’t worry about it, because I’m not. And with you at my side, what better company is there than that, Ms. Desmond?”
My face gets warm at him calling me that and breaks into an involuntary grin. He hasn’t dared call me by my last name since the last time I was sitting in his class. I feel energized and impossibly turned on by this situation. I love when he reminds me that he’s still my teacher. Whenever I think about our next class, which is coming in only a few short days, my stomach flips, not necessarily in a bad way. How will I keep this quiet?
Adam has his drink menu open, his wavy blond hair is perfectly placed, and I am watching his tanned forearms flex with every movement.
“You’re so hot I can’t stand it,” I hear myself say out loud.
“Ha!” he exclaims, nearly dropping the menu. I’ve amused him. “Look around, Carrie. Everyone is looking at you, not me. But thank you.”
I take his word for it and open the cocktail menu. Ben comes back to take our drink order. He must not be the only bartender at Bibliotheca.
My Cosmo comes in a tall frosted martini glass, light pink and refreshing. I bring it to my lips and take a whiff before sipping. I only ordered it because of Carrie from Sex and the City and I know that’s lame but I love that show. And I don’t know if I like any other cocktails. Adam doesn’t need to know that though.
By the time we’re both on our second drink, I want to ask him if he wants me to spend the night here. I don’t want to assume, but it seems logical at this point. Adam takes a sip of whiskey and looks at me, folding his hands on the table. Good. Maybe he’s loose enough to talk freely.
“Thank you.”
He pauses for a moment and I don’t say anything else. I want to see where he’ll take this on his own.
“I was thinking… ah hell,” he begins.
I nod. This is it. This is the moment. Let him get there.
“I wanted to know, since we’re here already, and you’ve already spent the night at my place... It sounds so sleazy, but do you want to get a room here tonight?”
My cheeks are very hot from the vodka but I’ve wanted to say yes to that all day long. Since he fingered me in the dressing room and then pinned me against the elevator wall. Since last night when he went down on me and I returned the favor. I want him inside of me.
“Yes,” I breathe.
He sets the heavy, watered down glass of whiskey down on the wooden table. “Good.”
We pay the bill and make our way to the front desk to book a room. My limbs are swaying a little more loosely, but I’m just tipsy. My phone buzzes in the pocket of my dress and I take it out. It’s from Michelle, my roommate.
“Dude, did you go home for the weekend or something and not tell me?”
I am very careful with what I say back to her, even though I’ve had a few drinks. “Yep, sorry. With family. Be back tomorrow.”
“Oh. Cool. See you,” she responds right away. I see the ellipses bubble up to indicate that she’s typing more, but then they disappear and don’t come up again. I put the phone back in my pocket and see that this hotel hangs its’ keys on the back wall behind the front desk, like in an old-fashioned movie. How charming.
“Sir, you’re in room 517, that’s a corner room with king-sized bed, as requested. I’ll just need a credit card to get this started.”
Adam takes his black leather wallet out of his pants pocket and hands a shiny card to the attendant.
The elevator ride up to our room is chaste since we’re sharing it with another young couple and an older man. I can feel Adam’s eyes all over me as though they were caressing me, and I can’t wait to get him alone.
We step out on the fifth floor and follow the signs to room 517. I’m so wet I can feel how soaked the newly purchased thong is now, and I can’t wait for Adam to feel how excited he makes me. He takes the key with the oblong plastic piece attached to it and I press myself against his body from behind while he fiddles with the door. He smells like spicy cedar and whiskey.
Once we’re inside the room he has me against the wall and my eyes are closed. I don’t even know what it looks like yet before he pins my arms up above my head.
“Hold them there,” he orders me. Right now, there’s nothing I want more in the world than to do exactly what he says. He runs his fingertips down the length of my inner arms, making me shiver. “I want to see how wet you are. I know you kept the panties on from the store.”
I resist the urge to open my eyes and take in the room because I want to focus only on his touch right now. He slides his hand up my dress, scratching my thigh lightly before slipping his fingers into my thong.
“Holy fuck” he says. “You’re so wet.”
“Mmmhmm” I agree, biting my bottom lip. I gasp as he plays with my clit a little with his fingers before withdrawing and kissing me on the mouth. I can feel his dick already hard against my pelvis and I don’t know how much longer I can take this. Suddenly he’s off of me.
“Please go stand by the bed, Carrie.”
He’s using the same firm tone of voice he used the night before he went down on me. I open my eyes and it takes them a moment to adjust to the room. The walls are stark white and so is the huge bed, save for the charcoal area rug. There’s a huge window taking up a whole wall and I can see the outline of downtown Manhattan.
I do as he tells me, my pussy tingling with every step toward the bed.
“Face that way, that’s right. Just stay there.”
I hear him taking steps toward me but I don’t move. I close my eyes again on instinct and I can hear the rustle of the lingerie bag drop next to me. He unhooks the top of the navy dress and unzips it all the way down. I shiver slightly at his touch and then more when I hear him remove the corset from the bag.
Adam slips off the dress and it falls to my feet. My instinct is to kneel down and step out of it, but before I can he’s at the floor, kneeling down and coaxing each high-heeled foot up and out of the dress before standing again. He unhooks my bra and slides the straps down and off my arms, letting my breasts free. He cups my breasts in his hands, squeezing and pressing them gently in his palms. I let out a moan, my nipples stiffening. All I am left wearing now are the new pair of lace panties. Cool air swirls all over my skin but I don’t shiver. I feel exposed and excited, thinking about what he can see of me right now, my bare back and ass, wonder what he’s thinking. How much does it excite him? How hard is he right now?
“I’d like to lace you back up in this corset,” he says, his voice like smooth velvet breaking through the monologue of my thoughts. It’s a challenge to stay upright, but I manage to nod.
I can hear him rustling back in the bag on the floor but I don’t look back at him. I know that’s what he wants. He wants me to face the bed, eyes ahead of me.
“Please step into the garter belt and pull it over your hips to your waist.”
I follow his directions, stepping one foot and then the other into the garment he holds for me, and then stretching it up and over so that it accommodates my hips and sits flush against my waist and stomach. The navy satin material feels so good against my skin. I close my eyes for a moment and run my hands against my abdomen, over the material. My waist is cinched in.
“Please sit down in the chair to your right and put these stockings on. I’ll attach your garters.”
I look to the right and see a chestnut leather chair. I walk over to it and sit down, slipping the shoes off gently. They land without a sound and Adam moves them neatly to the side. I take the folded nude stockings from his hands.
“You can put them on yourself, then I’ll help the rest of the way,” he assures me.
I realize I like him telling me what to do in this way. I like this dynamic where I give him exactly what he’s asking for and hope to be rewarded with pleasure. I slide one stocking over my toes and up to my mid-thigh, then the other. Both stockings sit delicately at my mid-thigh before I stand up again.
Adam’s hands are warm as he glides his fingertips over my skin, and I realize want them all over me. He takes care to attach the front garter on each leg, pulling it down to the top of the stocking, attaching it and then adjusting the length of the strap so it sits snugly against my leg.
“Please stand by the bed again with your back to me.”
My pussy is still tingling and I wonder how ridiculously wet I am at this point as I follow his every direction. He’s still completely clothed, his black leather oxfords are still on. Adam stands behind me and attaches each garter in the back, stretching the strap down over my bare ass and securing it to the stocking.
“I’m going to wrap the corset on you from behind, it’s easiest if you hook the two center loops before moving to the others.”
This is the exact directive that the specialist at the lingerie store gave me before lacing me up. His knowledge of feminine undergarments is exciting, enough to make me really wet.
“Please adjust your bust,” he directs. “When I lace you in, they’ll lift even more on their own, of course. Just make sure they’re in the right place to begin.”
He looks over my shoulder and watches me adjust my breasts one at a time. I look down at the line of my bust and see that my skin is lightly peppered with goosebumps from my own touch. My breath is smooth and even.
I’m snapped back to the present when Adam engages his first full pull of both laces, pulling the core of my body back. I plant my feet to steady myself. He continues by pinching the X’s of each of the laces. I can feel h
im working the bottom and the top evenly and the garment steadily tightens against my waist. I inhale sharply and plant my feet as he keeps going. The whooshing sound of the laces in the grommets has me so excited that even the air in the room feels stimulating against my skin.
He pulls particularly hard and I let out a small noise.
“Let me know when it’s to your liking,” he says.
I flatten my palms against my corseted waist and feel the smooth structure of metal stays underneath the navy fabric.
“A little more.” I begin. “Then I think it’s good.”
He nods and works feverishly, pulling and tightening, the sharp sound of the laces invading my ears.
“That’s lovely,” he says, tying the laces off into a bow. “You need to break it in a bit before we can go tighter.”
That makes me smile. Once he’s done my instinct is to turn around right away but I hesitate and wait for him to direct me. He walks over to the leather chair where my shoes are sitting next to each other, waiting.
“Please step into these,” he says, sliding each stockinged foot into the shoes. He stands up behind me and we are quiet for a moment, both of us. It’s like I can feel him watching me breathe. His eyes are all over me, I can feel it.
“All right, my dear. Turn around.”
I can see how my appearance affects him when I turn. He’s still fully dressed, button down shirt, slacks, black leather shoes. His eyes widen, enraptured by me.
“You know I want to touch you.”
“Yes,” I breathe. I feel a rush of excitement and blood rushes to my cheeks.
“You know I will.”
“Yes,” I say again.
“Can I take your picture first?”