Naked Angel

by Logan Belle

  She had felt such a rush out on that stage. She had thought she would feel vulnerable and exposed once she took off her clothes, but it was just the opposite: She felt completely empowered. And the applause felt much more personal than the applause she had experienced as a member of the corps de ballet; today’s applause had been just for her.

  “What time do we have to be downstairs for the party?” she said when Max closed the door behind her.

  “We have plenty of time. You could even nap if you want.”

  “I’m not going to sleep. But I am going to take a long shower.”

  Max kissed her cheek and hugged her. “Whatever you want, babe. I’m just going to check my e-mail and make sure that everything is under control back in New York.”

  Nadia walked into the bedroom, humming “China Girl.” And then she noticed the large, gift-wrapped box on the bed.

  She approached it gingerly, as if someone or something were going to jump out at her.

  “Max?” she called.

  “Yeah?”

  “Come here for a sec.”

  He appeared in the doorway.

  “What is this?”

  He grinned. “A performance gift. I was going to get you roses, but flowers are for ballerinas. I needed something for a burlesque dancer, and this seemed to fit the bill.”

  She shook her head.

  “You didn’t have to do that.”

  “Open it,” he said.

  She slowly untied the wide black ribbon and lifted the lid. Whatever was inside was covered with tissue paper. She pulled the paper aside and gasped.

  “You didn’t… .” She pulled out one shoe, then the other. They looked like the red passementerie Louboutins. But that couldn’t be.

  “I’m so proud of you, Nadia.”

  She ran over to him, and he pulled her into his arms.

  “How did you find them?”

  “I can’t share my trade secrets,” he said.

  “No, seriously Max—how did you get a pair of these?”

  “Let’s just say I employ a very resourceful costumer. And I know you’re not comfortable in heels yet, but you’ll get there. I don’t intend for these to just sit on a shelf.”

  The gesture so overwhelmed her, she started to cry. He kissed her eyelashes and wiped away her tears.

  “Don’t shower yet,” he said softly. “I’m just going to make you dirty again.”

  Max lifted Nadia’s dress up and off over her shoulders. She got busy unbuttoning his shirt and pants.

  He cupped her breasts, slowly stroking her nipples to hard points.

  “Put on the shoes,” he whispered.

  “Really?” she said.

  “Yeah—I want to see them on you.”

  “Now?” she said.

  He nodded. She stood, wearing only her white cotton underwear, and carefully stepped into the Louboutins. As magnificent as they were in the box, they were meant to be worn.

  He pulled off his pants and underwear. His cock was erect. She stood in front of him and stroked him.

  “Don’t stand in the shoes,” he whispered. She could sense he was already breathing more quickly. “I don’t want to stress your feet. Just lie down.”

  She complied, lying across the bed on her back. Max looked at her as if she was a piece of art in a museum, then he slowly pulled off her underwear, but left her shoes on.

  He stretched out beside her, stroking her breasts, then her pussy, while his tongue played with her nipples. His fingers moved over her so lightly she could close her eyes and almost wonder if she was really feeling it. Then he grazed her clit, and finally rubbed it more firmly. She squirmed.

  “More,” she said. But he didn’t touch her inside, even though after a minute or so she had spread her legs, and it took all of her willpower not to just grab his hand and press his fingers where she wanted them.

  Sensing her impatience, he moved on top of her, and she eagerly guided him inside. He had to work his way slowly into her, even though she felt totally ready for him.

  “Oh, my God,” she said.

  “Are you okay?”

  “Yes—you feel so good.”

  He pulled back slightly and pulled her right leg over his shoulder, then the left. The angle gave him deeper penetration—and it gave her a view of the shoes as he fucked her.

  The pleasure between her legs was so intense, it almost felt like pain. She didn’t know if it was the post-performance high, the position, or the sight of the shoes, but a tremor rippled through her pelvis, to her breasts, and higher, until it felt like her mouth was vibrating. By the time she cried out, Max was bucking against her with an intensity she had never experienced. Their hands were clasped together over her head, and the noise they both made was enough to worry her about someone calling security.

  Nadia slowly pulled her legs down, and Max collapsed on top of her.

  “What was that?” she said, stroking his head. His hair was soaked with sweat.

  “We came together,” he said. “I’m so glad we finally did.”

  “I’m so glad I finally did,” she said.

  “Wait a minute.” He rolled off of her and propped himself up on one elbow, looking at her. “You’ve never had that before?”

  “No,” she said. “I thought that was something people just made up for books and movies.”

  He hugged her, and she tasted the saltiness of his chest. “Oh, Nadia. Ballet dancing might be in your past, but there is a whole future full of physical experiences ahead of you. I will be your personal choreographer,” he said.

  “And exclusive?” she said. She couldn’t believe she’d had the nerve to say it. She thought of the adage that a guy isn’t thinking clearly before sex, and a woman isn’t thinking clearly after.

  “Yes. Exclusively,” he said, kissing her. “Let me ask you something,” he went on, stroking her hair. She ran her hand over his chest and felt his heart still beating fast. “Do you want to keep doing burlesque? I mean, the way you danced today … I don’t want to be the one responsible for holding you back.”

  She tilted her head up to look at him. “My God, I love you for asking me that. But the truth is, no—I don’t. I’m glad I did it, but no burlesque performance could ever top the experience I had today. I’m ready to let it go.”

  “You’re really going to work with me at Ballet Arts?” he said.

  “Yes. I want to work with you.”

  “I’ve spent my whole career looking for my muse. I think I’ve finally found her,” he said.

  “That’s my job, head muse?”

  “Well, I’d say that’s your unofficial title.”

  “What will be my official one?”

  “We’ll figure it out. We have plenty of time.”

  “Oh, we do?”

  “I’m hoping the rest of our lives.”

  She pulled him close and slid her shoes off gently. She would wear them soon. She wasn’t sure when, but she wasn’t worried about it. The bones and muscles would strengthen and mend.

  As for now, the most painfully broken part of her was finally healed.

  Mallory woke up disoriented. Where was she? Was it day or night? And why was Alec shaking her?

  “Come on, Mal—time to get up.”

  She groaned. “What time is it?”

  “Almost five. The party starts in an hour.”

  The party. Everything came back to her in a rush: Vegas, the competition, Billy Barton, the loss. And now she had to get dressed as if she had something to celebrate.

  She sat up and propped an extra pillow behind her head.

  “Can you explain to me now what Billy was doing at our table?”

  “Really, it’s the craziest story: The only reason he backed Violet and the club was because she was blackmailing him.”

  “That’s ridiculous. I don’t believe it.”

  “It’s true. Apparently, she had some very explicit photos of him and Tyler, and he couldn’t risk outing Tyler just as his career was
taking off with Burberry. But once he and Tyler felt ready to go public with their relationship, Billy pulled the plug on her and the club.”

  She rolled over. But now Violet had the prize money.

  Her head was spinning. Taking that Tylenol PM in the late afternoon had probably not been the best idea.

  “I need coffee,” she said.

  “I’ll make you coffee. Just get in the shower.”

  She sat up as Alec opened the curtains. Sunlight flooded the room. “I’m not in the mood for a party. I wish you hadn’t planned this.”

  “Everyone who came out here to support us should have a nice way to end the weekend,” he said to her. “And we should, too. Come on, Mal. It’s not the end of the world. Maybe another investor will come along.”

  “This is our livelihood, Alec,” she said. “We can’t live on some fantasy.”

  “Mallory, you have to relax. Martha will pay us our salaries through the end of the year. And by that time we’ll know if the club is viable or not.”

  “Winning the contest would have gotten us through the spring.”

  “But we didn’t win. And now we have to move on.” He kissed her. “I’m going to get your coffee. Shower and you’ll feel better.”

  Mallory watched him leave in search of the coffeemaker. Then she buried herself under the covers.

  The place they called “The Chandelier” was spectacular: It was a three-story bar wrapped around a spiral staircase, with the top two tiers enclosed by ropes of millions of beaded crystals.

  Mallory held Alec’s hand. She was glad she’d made the effort to blow out her hair and do a decent job with her makeup. She wore a black Morgane Le Fay cocktail dress; it was a little on the austere side, but it suited her mood.

  As they approached the bar, she had a view of the back of the curved, red banquettes. She thought she recognized the messy, auburn ponytail on one of the women seated, but knew that wasn’t possible.

  “That looks like Allison from behind,” said Mallory.

  “You are right—it absolutely looks like Allison,” Alec said. And something about the playfulness in his voice made her walk more quickly so she could get a better look.

  Before she could even circle to the front of the banquette, she knew that, sure enough, her friend had made the trip from New York.

  “Oh, my God, what are you doing here?” Mallory said. Allison jumped up and threw her arms around her.

  “Mallie! It was Alec’s idea. I missed your opening night a few months ago, and I didn’t want to miss this, too. Julie wanted to come, but she couldn’t get off from work.”

  “I can’t believe this. You saw the show?”

  Allison nodded. “And for the record, you were robbed!”

  “Where were you sitting?”

  “In the balcony. I made some new friends, and they’re here to party tonight.” She waved at three very hot guys seated next to the spot she’d just vacated.

  Mallory laughed. “I’m not sure Andrew would be excited about this development.”

  “It’s Vegas, baby. I’m allowed to look.”

  Mallory called Alec over. “I can’t believe you got Allison to come out here.”

  Alec smiled and gestured at the scene all around them. “I didn’t really have to twist her arm.”

  Mallory looked around the room and spotted Martha. Instead of her usual baggy dress, she was wearing an unusually pretty gown that was almost fitted. “Wow. Martha went all-out for this party. Vegas must be having some sort of effect on her.”

  In fact, everyone looked particularly polished and festive. She felt bad for being the only scrooge in the mix.

  “I’m sorry for being in a bad mood earlier,” she said to Alec.

  “Forget about it,” he said. “But come with me for a second.”

  He took her hand and led her up the staircase to the second level.

  “Unbelievable,” she said. She felt as if they were standing inside a sixty-five-foot chandelier.

  Only one other person was in the room, a good-looking guy in his mid-forties wearing a dark suit and drinking a blood orange-colored cocktail out of a martini glass. Mallory couldn’t imagine why Alec was bringing her to see this guy, unless he thought maybe it would take a throwback to their kinky past to get her out of her funk.

  The man crossed the room, extending his hand to Mallory.

  “You must be Mallory,” he said.

  She looked at Alec.

  “Um, yeah. And you are?”

  “Randy Kelly,” he said. She wasn’t sure if Randy was his first name or an adjective.

  A cocktail waitress strolled by holding a tray filled with the brightly colored drink that “Randy” was drinking.

  “Fire-Breathing Dragon?” said the waitress.

  “Um. No. Thanks—maybe later.” Mallory looked to Alec to tell her what the hell was going on. But Alec didn’t say anything—he just stood there with a nervous smile on his face. “Do you … work for the hotel, Randy?” she said.

  “No. I do a lot of work for their guests, but I work all over the strip.”

  She could not believe Alec had hired a male prostitute. Had he lost his mind?

  “Alec told me you might be a little reluctant,” Randy said with a grin.

  “Yeah, that’s putting it mildly. Would you—can you excuse us for a minute?”

  “Absolutely. I’ll just go upstairs with the paperwork. Whenever you’re ready.”

  Paperwork? Very officious for a gigolo. He must cost a fortune.

  “Have you lost your mind?” she hissed to Alec when Randy was out of earshot.

  “I didn’t get a chance to explain… .”

  “Are you trying to cheer me up? Is this some sort of wacky consolation prize? Because Alec, seriously, we’re engaged now… .”

  “I’m tired of being engaged.”

  “You are?” She looked around for the cocktail waitress. She was going to need that drink after all.

  “Yes. I’m ready to be married.”

  “Okay … so what does that have to do with gigolo Bob over there?”

  “Who? You mean Randy?”

  She nodded, and he laughed. “He’s not a gigolo. He’s a marriage officiate.”

  “A what?”

  “Like a justice of the peace. He’s here to perform our wedding. If that’s okay with you.”

  Mallory looked down through the labyrinth of beads to the crowd of their friends below. She started to laugh. “I can’t believe this,” she said.

  “Is that a yes?”

  She looked at him, her heart pounding. Maybe she was crazy, but she felt no more hesitation than she had that night onstage when he’d proposed to her. Once she’d said yes to getting married, the how, when, and where of it made little difference to her. Maybe that was why the planning had felt like a burden to her—she knew it wasn’t because she felt any hesitation to actually go through with the wedding. “Yes—let’s do it.”

  He grabbed her and kissed her. She breathed in his smell, closed her eyes, and in his arms, everything else fell away—the competition, Violet, even the crowd below. Only when she opened her eyes, the twinkling crystals surprising her all over again, did she get her bearings in the moment: She was wrapped in a giant chandelier, and moments away from getting married.

  “I’ll get started on the paperwork. Go to our room and change,” Alec said.

  “Change into what?”

  “Look inside the black garment bag in my closet. Agnes sent it for you.”

  “My wedding dress?” Mallory gasped.

  He nodded. “Martha brought it along and put it in our room while you were at rehearsal yesterday.”

  “Why would she do that?”

  “It was Agnes’s idea.”

  Mallory tried to absorb everything, but it was almost too much to get her mind around.

  One of her favorite Rihanna songs reached them from down below.

  “Go get dressed,” Alec said.

  He didn’t have
to ask her again.

  35

  Mallory stood at the top of The Chandelier with Nadia and Martha by her side. The papers were signed, and the guests were being herded into some semblance of order below on the second floor by Allison, the consummate PR professional.

  “I live for this shit,” Allison said, when Mallory asked if she was sure she didn’t mind getting things organized. Allison was tasked with moving the hundred or so partiers from the bottom-level bar to the second floor, so Alec and Mallory could say their vows in the most dramatic space in the club. Her only regret was that Bette would not be there to share in the celebration. As she’d told Bette that day that now felt very long ago, none of this would be happening without her. She also wished Agnes could see the perfection of the dress—made all the more striking by the majestic curtain of crystal surrounding it.

  Nadia refastened one final hook on Mallory’s corset and then arranged the tulle billowing around her body. They stood at the top of the stairs, waiting for their cue. And then the song began playing: Lady Gaga’s “Bad Romance.” Martha and Nadia walked down the stairs first as makeshift bridesmaids. Then Mallory descended the stairs slowly, her hands shaking as she held a bouquet of white calla lilies.

  Some of her friends and the other partiers were sitting on banquettes and a few folding chairs, while many just stood on either side of the makeshift aisle. Mallory didn’t look at anyone except for Alec, who stood waiting for her at the other side of the room. Allison stood near the front as her maid of honor. And behind Alec stood Billy Barton, who, even in that room, was a standout in his purple velvet Paul Smith blazer.

  Mallory took her place next to Alec and handed her flowers to Allison.

  Randy smiled at them, and said, “Everyone, we are delighted to have you with us to witness the union of this beautiful couple, Alec and Mallory.” The crowd clapped and hooted as if they were at a burlesque show. Randy looked slightly startled, but patiently waited for the noise to quiet down. “Alec, do you take Mallory to be your wife, to whom you will be true in good times and in bad, in sickness and in health, to love and honor all the days of your life?”

  “I do.”

  Billy handed Alec a platinum band, which Alec slipped on her finger. It was simple, and Mallory wondered how, when she’d been consumed with the competition, he’d had the foresight to take care of all of this. She bit her lip to hold back her tears. Randy turned to her, and she tried to keep it together, knowing she would have to speak in another moment. “And Mallory, do you take Alec to be your husband, to whom you will be true in good times and in bad, in sickness and in health, to love and honor all the days of your life?”