“It’s about us.” Allee smiled.
My sheepish eyes gave it away.
“It’s so well-written, Madewell.”
I was glowing. A compliment from Allee!
“Do they get their happily ever after?”
“I don’t know. I haven’t gotten to the end.”
“Life has no outline, does it?”
Her profound words moved me. She was right, as always.
Over the course of the next two weeks, I learned more about Allee’s secret life and came away with a newfound respect for her. She had fallen into it by way of a classmate at Parsons who, too, used it as a means to pay for her tuition and expenses. Plus, for Allee, the money enabled her to keep her dream of going to Paris alive. Servicing her wealthy clients was demeaning, and sometimes dangerous and perverted. She had thought often about giving it up, even before she’d met me. But once she was into it, there was no getting out of it. Sid threatened to expose everything if she didn’t comply. When she told him she wanted out of the life, Sid went ballistic because she was his top earner. She was determined to give it up, regardless of the life-threatening consequences. She deliberately missed a client appointment and that night Sid forced himself into her apartment and beat her up to send her a message. My poor baby! The more I learned about Sid, the more I hated the son-of-a-bitch. I was going to do him in. The only problem was that she didn’t know where he lived. He was “invisible.”
We never talked about her sexploits. Or about my father. For all intents and purposes, he was dead. In my life, and I hoped Allee’s. My final encounter with my father nonetheless haunted me. I stayed away from the Upper East Side and his watering holes so that I wouldn’t run into him.
The night before Allee was planning to go back to work, I came home with a shopping bag in my hand. Inside were several small containers and chopsticks.
“Chinese food!” exclaimed Allee, her appetite voracious.
I laid them out in a row on the dining table. Wearing my pajamas that hung sexily low on her hips, she opened the cartons one at a time, in perfect order. Chow Mein… Moo Shu Pork… white rice… and…
Her engagement ring. A sweet, turn-of-the-century diamond ring that came from an estate in France, so unlike the over-the-top Tiffany ring Charlotte had picked out. Allee gasped.
“Oh, Madewell, it’s so beautiful!” Like her. Tears welled up in her loving eyes.
Before one escaped, I removed the delicate ring from the carton. I needed to propose to her again. To let go of the past and do it right. Getting down on one knee, I gazed up into her eyes and asked, “Will you, Allee Adair, accept my hand in marriage?”
“Oh, Madewell! Yes! Yes! Yes!” Her breathy rasp deepened each time she said the word. She was almost orgasmic.
Enamored and aroused, I slid the ring on her finger and then lifted her hand to my lips and kissed the back of it. A tear rolled down her cheek.
I could wait no more. The tantalizing aroma of the Chinese food wafted into my nose, but what I was starving for was my Allee. Rising to my feet, I tore off my jeans and tee and then her PJ’s. Her body had healed itself. Only a few traces of the bruises remained and she was a tad thin, but other than that, it was back to its former glory.
The sex that followed was beyond. Perhaps because we hadn’t made love for almost two weeks.
I lifted her right there onto the table, laying her face up. Her glorious hair fanned across the glossy wood.
“Are you hungry, baby?” I asked.
“Yes,” she said breathily.
With the chopsticks, I fed her a heaping portion of the Chow Mein. She swallowed hard.
A bit of it had fallen into her cleavage. Leaning over the table, I dipped my head and lapped up the noodles. My hands groped her sensuous breasts, and my mouth moved to her pink, puckered nipples. I rolled my tongue around them and then sucked them, feeling them harden and elongate in my mouth. Oh, man, were they delicious! My erection pressed against the table, a tingling running up and down it.
“Can I have some more?” she rasped.
“Of the Chow Mein?”
“No, Madewell. Of you.”
My stiff cock hardened even more at her words. I stood up. What a beautiful view I had of her quivering breasts and sensual face! I was going to watch her come. Drink in the expression on her face as I brought her to climax.
I began by fingering her clit, turning it into a hard nub. A long, pleasurable moan escaped her lush lips. Intermittently, I stroked her folds. She was wet with want. So, so deliciously wet. I sucked my fingers, glistening with her delicious juices, and, went back for more. Closing her eyes, she arched her head and moaned again.
“Open your eyes baby. Look at me.”
She fluttered her eyes open and met my gaze.
“You’re mine,” I said, looking straight into her eyes.
“Only yours,” she rasped back.
Yes, only mine. No other man could touch her. Ever. Not even a dead one. Anchoring my hands onto the smooth wood of the table, I buried my head into that warm space between her inner thighs. My eager tongue devoured her, flicking and licking the sweet, moist folds. She was mine. All mine. I was never going to let any other man have her again.
I could wait no more. In a swift smooth move, I grabbed her by the ankles, slid her down to the edge of the table, and threw her legs over my shoulders. I reached for my erection and slid it into her pussy inch by thick inch. A bit of pre-cum and her slickness enabled it to glide inside with ease. Man, it felt good to be back inside her. She was so warm, wet, and tight. I started off slowly, with light, controlled strokes. I needed to know how much she could handle. The last thing I wanted was to hurt my baby.
“Go harder, Madewell,” she said in that throaty voice. “Harder and faster. I’m not going to break.”
A diabolical smile crossed my face. My girl was ready! I rammed my cock back into her drenched sex, amazed how deep I could penetrate her in this standing position. I picked up my pace and pumped harder. Intense, delectable pressure was building up along my shaft.
“Oh, oh, oh, oh!” she shrieked, meeting my every thrust.
“Am I hurting you, baby?” I asked, suddenly alarmed.
“You’re killing me.” But I could tell by her hooded eyes and parted lips that she was enjoying every minute as much as I was. I was hitting her magic spot, giving her extreme erogenous pleasure. My proud cock was screaming out, “Bull’s-eye” each time, getting ready to climax in her hot juices. I watched her face contort with pleasure as she let me pummel her. All the while, my middle finger never stopped working her clit. Adding to her erotic pleasure, my other hand tweaked her perfect nipples. Her moans grew louder. She was on the edge.
I began to feel her waves of ecstasy spread around my hard thickness, bringing me to the place I wanted—no, needed—to be. I screamed out her name as my cock blasted a hot rush of my release. My juices joined hers as she cried out with pure joy. I brushed away the strands of hair that had fallen into her face so that I could see it. So beautiful! So sexy! So mine! Our eyes met.
“I love you, Ryan Madewell IV.”
“I love you more.”
“You’re full of shit.”
As I fingered her one more time and made her cry out with yet another burst of pleasure, I thought to myself: No, I’m not.
EIGHTEEN
We got back into a routine, but it was slightly different than the one we had before the incident. I insisted that Marcus shadow Allee, just in case she ever ran into Sid again; he was lurking somewhere out there. Who knew what the lowlife was capable of? After insisting that she could take care of herself, Allee finally gave in. She was slowly learning that she couldn’t win every battle with me.
On weekdays, I walked Allee to the subway station with Marcus trailing close behind us. He traveled with her on the train to the Met every morning and back home in the evening. She still refused to take the Escalade to and from work.
After I would drop Allee
off at the subway station, knowing that she would be safe under Marcus’s watchful eye (she didn’t know he carried a concealed weapon), I would go back to the loft to write. Allee couldn’t be more thrilled that I’d quit my Arts & Smarts job. She was proud of me. “That took balls, Madewell,” she had said.
I let Allee read everything I wrote. Most of the time, she loved what she read, but occasionally she told me it was crap. I could always count on her for brutal honesty, whether I liked it or not. She encouraged me to send my short stories to a couple of literary magazines. “You’re never going to be a professional writer if you don’t get published.” Allee, as usual, was right, but I was reluctant. I’ll admit it—I was afraid of rejection. I had never gotten rejected in my life, if you didn’t count my father’s dismissal or Charlotte’s breakup with me. I heard from my mother, who still called me regularly, that Charlotte had moved on to my old Andover classmate, Max Wentright III. His family had even more money than ours. I told my mother that he was perfect marriage material for Charlotte but not to bring up her name again. Fortunately, she knew better than to talk about my father. It was taboo.
Rejection after rejection came. I was downtrodden, thinking about a Plan B. Was it law school? Buy a restaurant and get some Cordon Bleu training? Start a blog about being an unemployed writer? Allee, however, never stopped being my cheerleader. “Remember, you just need one to sell,” she said.
It happened at the end of April. On a gloomy, rainy day. When I opened my email, there was one waiting for me from the Acquisitions Editor of The New Yorker. My eyes grew wide as I read the words. They loved my story! I had sent them the one about the aging father and son. On top of wanting to publish it in the July edition of the magazine, they wanted to know if I would consider being a regular contributor. They were familiar with my Arts & Smarts articles and thought I had “a voice and perspective” that would fit well with their readers. Holy shit! The prestigious New Yorker wanted me! The one magazine my father revered and coveted but couldn’t get his greedy hands on! I couldn’t wait to tell Allee and called her right away on her cell. Fortunately, she was on her lunch break and picked up. “I’m coming home!” she squealed.
Thirty minutes later, Allee flew into the loft, holding a soaked umbrella in one hand and a bottle of expensive champagne in the other. She was beaming. She no longer wore her unnecessary eyeglasses, which I now understood she used to separate her daytime and nighttime personas and safeguard her identity when she was working for Sid.
“Congratulations, Madewell!” She wrapped her arms around me and crushed her lips into mine. “Let’s celebrate.” She popped the cork, and we guzzled the champagne straight from the bottle.
She then proceeded to tear off my jeans and tee and ravage me. Her work uniform came off too, along with the trench coat she was wearing over it. High from the afternoon champagne, we melted onto the cool hardwood floor, a tangle of arms and legs, unable to get enough of the other. We climaxed together, coming with reckless abandon. When I finally recovered, I sat up, stretching my long legs out in front of me, and positioned her naked body on my lap. She sat with one knee up and the other outstretched while I nibbled her ears and neck from behind, my arms folded around her full, heated breasts. The warmth of her buttocks on my swollen cock coursed through my body.
“Don’t go back to work,” I breathed in her ear.
Breaking away from me, she stood up and put her Met uniform back on. Even in that plain uniform, she was sexy and beautiful to me.
“Madewell, just because you’ve got a job again doesn’t mean I can afford to lose mine.”
I twisted my mouth in frustration. I suppose she had a point.
“You’ve never had to worry about money a day in your life.” Her tone was snarky, and I wondered if we were verging on a fight.
What she said was true. I had never had to worry about getting food on my table, paying off student loans, or keeping a roof over my head. Sometimes I could be a self-centered jerk.
I loved that only Allie could do that... make me see the best and worst of me. Hoping to avoid a fight that I’d never win, I let it go.
Rising to my feet, I pulled her into my arms and covered her mouth with a final, passionate kiss.
“Keep writing, Madewell,” she ordered as she let herself out of the loft. I shot her a wink. She was my lover, my muse, and the woman with whom I was going to spend the rest of my life. She was mine. As I started editing another story, I couldn’t wait for her to come back home.
NINETEEN
Life was good. In fact, life couldn’t be better. I enjoyed writing musings on the New York cultural scene for The New Yorker and sold several more short stories. One of them was even nominated for a literary prize. Allee, who was so proud of me, told me I should try my hand at writing a novel, but I wasn’t there yet.
Good things happened to Allee too. She got a promotion at the Met and was now the Assistant Curator in the painting department. For her, it was a fantasy job, and one step closer to her dream of being a curator at The Musée D’Orsay. She no longer had to wear that uniform. I took her shopping at Barneys for a new chic wardrobe. I told her she had to look the part. I also told her that she had to stop equating me paying for stuff with taking money from her johns. It was a hard concept for her to get through her thick, stubborn skull, but ultimately, she acquiesced. When we got back to the loft, she gave me a fashion show, parading in front of me in all of her new outfits. Everything she put on looked great on her lean, curvaceous body. And everything she put on, I couldn’t wait to tear off.
With our hectic work schedules, we kept putting off getting married. Finally, we set a date, but couldn’t agree on where to hold our wedding. The one thing, however, where we were on the same page was that we both wanted a very small, intimate affair. Only a handful of our closest friends and family members. We knew exactly whom we wanted to invite. Still, we could not decide on a place. One night after marathon sex, it came to me. When I told Allee my idea, she said, “Madewell, sometimes you’re fucking brilliant.” Getting a compliment from her was like winning a big jackpot lottery ticket. On the other hand, getting a mind-blowing blow job from her was like being handed an instant win. And that’s what she gave me before we drifted off.
We decided to get married on the very spot in Central Park where we had completed the marathon together. The finishing line was going to be our starting line for our life together as husband and wife. It was a beautiful Sunday in early May, with spring in full fragrant bloom. Duffy, wearing a suit for the first time since I’d known him, was best man, and my sister, looking very pregnant, was maid of honor. Her partner, Beth, was going to officiate. We’d invited a handful of others… Marcus, who had grown very close to Allee and was going to give the bride away since she had no father… my beloved nanny Maria…my mother who had not yet shown up…and Samantha, Allee’s gorgeous blond friend from the Met. Chatting with her while I awaited Allee’s arrival, I couldn’t help wondering how my life would have turned out if I had asked her instead of Allee to show me the Picasso; fate is a strange bird. All the while, Duffy couldn’t take his eyes off her. I swear he was getting a hard-on beneath his dress pants.
My heart did a flip-flop when I spotted Allee heading my way on Marcus’s muscle-bound arm. Nothing could have prepared me for the intense emotion that swelled up inside me. She was wearing an antique ivory, mid-calf dress and a band of flowers around her head. Her dark, long hair hung loose, the shimmering curls cascading gloriously over her shoulders. She could have easily been mistaken for a belle époque beauty that had stepped out of Renoir painting. My bride was a work of art. I, in turn, was wearing a classic long-tailed morning suit, and could have been mistaken as a gentleman of that era.
Her eyes never left mine as we silently exchanged “I love you’s.” Her slow, steady progression toward me felt like an eternity. I couldn’t wait to have her in my arms.
Finally, that moment came, and I swept her next to me. “Baby, you look bea
utiful,” I said softly.
Her eyes twinkled as a warm smile flashed across her face. “You don’t look so bad yourself. Is everyone here?” She scanned the small group we’d invited. “Where’s your mother?”
“I don’t know,” I murmured. “It’s getting late. Maybe we should start without her.”
A mixture of anger and disappointment coursed through me. What beauty appointment was holding her up? Or was she at some charity fundraiser? Or maybe she’d had one too many to drink? My heart numbed.
“We should wait for her. She’s your mother. She couldn’t possibly miss her only son’s wedding,” insisted Allee.
Sometimes I didn’t know whose side Allee was on. At one point, she even thought we should invite my father. That was the only time we’d ever gotten into a major fight.
“After all he’s done?” The fucker. There was no way I was going to reconcile with him after what he had done to me. And done to Allee. I was perplexed, in fact furious, that Allee would even consider sharing the same air with him. I couldn’t even imagine the consequences. Except I knew they would be ugly.
“Stop being so hung up and egotistical,” she chided. “At some point, you’ve got to let the past go. He’s family.”
She was pissing me off royally. “Yeah, and I suppose you think Sid’s family too.”
“Fuck you, Madewell!” she said hotly. Tears were brimming in her eyes.
I immediately regretted what I’d said, but not soon enough. She stormed out of the loft. I spent hours combing the streets frantically looking for her, my heart growing sick with worry by the minute. Did she hop on some Greyhound bus? Get hit by a car? Run into Sid? The possibility that something terrible had happened to her sent a wave of panic over me. Damn my big mouth! Finally, I spotted her at our local newsstand reading comic books. It was close to midnight. I sighed with relief.
Undying Love Page 11