by Ava Cummings
“I’m on deadline, but meet me Thursday at 7:00 p.m. at Cipriani Downtown. I’m on another Wall Street story, and it’s my new hangout.”
“Will do. You’re the only one I can turn to on this.”
Exhausted and emotionally spent, I meet Cari for a late dinner at Burger Heaven on 53rd near Madison. I came back to the office from the set visit and stayed glued to my desk, building up the courage to tell Bernie that I didn’t get the story. When she finally called me in to her office at the end of the day, I knew she would ask. Picking at the skin around my nails, I jammed my hands together, sat in the chair in front of her desk—and told her what happened. I thought her reaction would be cataclysmic, psychotic. Instead, she calmly nodded her head, said that would be all, and waved me out.
The silent treatment felt worse than a rage, in a way. I couldn’t decipher what she was thinking. Should I not bother coming back tomorrow? Or…what?
Cari and I get cheeseburgers and share an order of their signature curly fries. It is heaven, for two girls on a budget. I don’t even want to think about my day anymore, so I steer conversation in a different direction.
“I think I really like Alec,” I say, kicking things off.
“You should! He’s a total catch—investment banker, smart, successful, loaded, and built like a Greek god. What’s not to like?”
I nod. I can’t argue with that. “I just never thought I’d be with someone so, I don’t know, someone so…rich. Is that weird to say? He has his own town car and driver, for God’s sake. But it would be nice…I mean, it’s nice already.
“We could be a real New York love story: Wealthy financier meets small-town girl, and the two fall madly in love and live happily ever after in their Park Avenue penthouse,” I say, waving my arm through the air with a curly fry in hand. “Could this actually be happening to me?”
“You know the saying: If it looks like a duck and quacks like a duck… Who knew our girls’ night out would be so fruitful?” she says, and leans in with a mischievous smile. “So, have you sealed the deal?”
“We’ve gotten close, but…” I admit, surprised that Cari homed in on exactly what’s been eating at me. Alec and I have been together for weeks now. It’s odd that we have yet to really make love. I don’t know if it’s just timing, or if there’s something more to it. But I’m definitely starting to get a complex about it.
“You’ve been dating for a while now,” she says, shooting me a surprised look.
“Trust me, I know. It’s been frustrating. In many ways,” I say, forehead crinkling.
“You’ve got to do it before it goes on too long, or it’ll just start to get weird.”
I know she’s right. “Help me come up with a plan to woo him to the bedroom.” I smile.
“I know,” she says, hand flying in the air, “you could tell him you don’t feel well and that you need him to come by your apartment with soup.”
I give her the raised-eyebrow, cocked-head, don’t-be-so-lame look usually reserved for my mom and her ridiculous comments. “I don’t think we’re at the soup stage yet.”
“Okay, okay, how about—”
Cutting Cari off, I spill my larger concerns over Alec, which I’ve kept private until now.
“There is another thing that’s a little strange about him…”
She perks up.
“He hasn’t offered to take me to his place. He talks about how great it is—the view and the open layout and whatever—but no invite. Is that weird? Or am I just being my overly insecure self?”
“A little odd, but give him time. Maybe he’s protective about his personal space.”
I take a bite of my cheeseburger and decide to tell her the other part, about what he’s like when we’re together. Cari and I haven’t really talked about this stuff before, not in this kind of detail, but I need my best friend’s advice.
“He’s also…a little rough.”
“Huh?” Cari says, looking a bit alarmed.
“When we’re hooking up,” I say, as I pull my scarf down so she can see the marks. “Yeah, like he bites me.”
“My God, Anna!”
“I know. Crazy, right?”
“Do you like it?”
“In the heat of the moment, it feels good. But now that I have to walk around half covered up, I’m not sure about it. And you should see the rest of me. It’s just so…I don’t know, so…”
“Kinda violent?” says Cari.
I try to explain to Cari that it’s weirdly kind of a turn-on, too. As I remember the visceral rush of the hook-up in his office, my stomach clenches and a rush of blood heats my face.
“Well, make sure he doesn’t take it too far. Tell him you have boundaries.”
I nod my head. I try to backpedal a bit, not sure I should’ve revealed all that. “I know he has some quirks, but he’s a gentleman in other ways. I promise.”
I explain my plan for wooing him. I tell her how this morning Bernie gave me a sweet invite to the Victoria’s Secret fashion show tomorrow night. And that I’m going to ask him to go with me.
“Well, if that doesn’t do it,” says Cari, “then there’s definitely something wrong with this guy!”
13
After Hours
Inside the elegant and palatial Terrace Room at the Plaza Hotel, Alec and I scurry to our seats a few rows back from the catwalk as the lights dim and the music starts. Testosterone hangs thick in the air as the crowd—dominated by wide-eyed, executive-type men—cheers and hoots. I take note of the celebrities, pop stars, fashion editors, and a sprinkling of socialites.
A beautiful blond model decked out in a gorgeous gold corset with whimsical see-through harem pants opens the show. Another model follows in a dominatrix-like outfit with a black lace bra, panties, garter belt, and stockings. A third bravely sashays down the catwalk wearing only four bejeweled circles, strategically placed.
The beautiful women, golden skin, pumping music—sex is in the air. It’s seeping into our minds and bones, lubricating the seconds, the moments. As the crowd gets more wild, Alec does too. As if he can no longer hold himself back, he grabs ahold of my thigh, clutching the smooth muscles. While a dozen more models turn out in tiny ensembles, he strokes my skin and I give it to the moment, too, and ever so slightly spread my legs, letting him go higher. His hand moves under my skirt and caresses the outside of my panties, stroking up and down, over and over, in a smooth motion, keeping his arm as still as possible, so as not to draw attention. I let out an almost imperceptible moan and glance over at him. We exchange looks of lust—no smile, just intensity. He reaches under my panties, and I lean back in my chair.
I’m riding the precipice between satisfaction and self consciousness, not sure which way to go. Part of me wants to close my eyes and scream in joy as the pleasure builds, while the other half holds back just enough to stave it off. As he swirls his finger around me, I climb higher and higher. Glancing over, I see his eyes gently close and my stomach clutches. I look over to my right, and the person next to me is entranced with the show. I decide to give in—to Alec, to the heavy lure of gratification—and just when I’m about to come quietly, sharing this moment between us, yet in front of so many, the crowd erupts into applause and the lights come up.
Alec quickly removes his hand. Locked in a daze of bliss, I look up at him, unsure of what to do with my body, still reeling with arousal, nerves on end. He puts his hand to his face, inhales deeply as he closes his eyes, and then slips his fingers into his mouth. All the passion from a moment ago reignites, and I fall into him as we kiss with passion and fierceness. Wet and soft, his tongue enters my mouth and dances with mine. We both moan with desire and pull away as the audience starts to disperse.
“I’m not done with you yet. Not even close,” he says.
This will be the night. I know it.
He grabs my hand and we make our way out and into the Oak Room, the famous oak-paneled bar at the Plaza, where the private after-party is being held. In
his deft way, Alec snags two seats at the corner end of the bar. He orders two glasses of pinot noir.
“Have you ever done anything like that before?”
Embarrassed that he’s talking about it so openly, I curl into myself. He’s acknowledging something that felt like a quiet secret between us.
“Just the other time in the middle of Nobu…with you,” I say. “And in your office.”
He smiles.
“This public thing is all new to me,” I say, pausing. “But apparently not you.”
“You like?”
“Umm, what do you think?” I ask teasingly. It’s odd talking about it, yet it kind of feels liberating. I guess it’s intimate in a different way. Gaining a little more confidence, I venture, “It was definitely the best fashion show I’ve ever been to.”
He smiles lustfully.
“So what do you like?” he asks.
“I don’t know.” I pause. “I like you,” I venture. “And I like it when you’re rough with me,” I continue, softly, seeing what kind of reaction I get from him.
“Yes,” he says, as if I’m his student, intensity building behind his eyes.
“When you get all alpha male on me. Like there’s nothing else you want to be doing and you’ve been deprived for far, far too long.” Did I really just say that? My cheeks flush with heat, and I know I just turned red.
“I don’t know how much longer I can contain myself,” he says, leaning in and whispering in my ear. “I want to tear your panties off.”
I laugh nervously. He looks serious, though.
“No one will notice. Trust me,” he says, as he leans over, each of us still seated on our bar stools, and stealthily reaches his hand around my waist, finding the band of my lace panties. He gets a good grip and pulls hard, ripping one side. He deftly pulls them out, up through the waist of my skirt. He pulls again and shreds them further, balling part of them up in his hand.
“Alec, what the….”
He gives what’s left of my panties one more sharp tug, keeping his hand movements to a minimum so as not to attract attention. I can’t believe how smooth he is about it. With one final tug, he has them totally off and balled up in his hand, slyly giving them a quick sniff before putting them in his pocket.
“That’s better. Now, let’s get out of here,” he says, tossing back his wine in one smooth gulp.
“I have an idea,” I say, pausing just a beat. “My office is just around the corner.”
“And do you have a very important deadline to meet tonight?” he asks, teasingly.
“Yes, and it’s with you. Come on. I don’t have my own office like you, Mr. Power Pants. But no one will be around—at least, no one should be around this late. But you never know, now, do you?”
We put our coats on and race out of the hotel and down Sixth Avenue. In the middle of the busy block, Alec stops, pulls me to him, and begins to kiss me furiously, like a pent-up animal who’s just been released from his cage. I melt into his mouth. His hands are all over me—on my back, my behind, my thighs—as he feels every inch of me. While his mouth owns me, he moves his hands to my front and slips them under my shirt, trying to work his way up. But the shirt is tight, and it’s resisting his efforts to get in.
Suddenly, his hands run back down my stomach and he grabs hold of my shirt at the hem. I hear a ripping noise and look down. I’m shocked to see he’s torn my shirt all the way up the front.
“You get me crazy, Anna.”
In the middle of Sixth Avenue, I’m pantie-less and now almost shirtless. Thank God I have my coat on, or I’d be practically naked in the middle of New York…which I think is just how Alec wants me.
I feel cool air rushing in. With my chest released from the restraints of the shirt, Alec grabs my breasts, one in each hand, and starts to work them, as he possesses my mouth. I reach to undo his belt. I want to take him in my hand. Suddenly, I remember where we are.
“We’re close to my office,” I manage to say. “We just closed an issue last night, so I know no one will be there. Let’s go before we get arrested.”
We hurry past security and up to the Celeb offices on the 43rd floor. I slow down the pace when we arrive. I want to give him the tour. Being in a newsroom is like entering the inner sanctum; not many get a peek at how it all happens. I stop by the “great wall”—the wall displaying all of our covers over the years, graced with nearly every celebrity known to man.
“Celeb’s been around for more than thirty years and, until recently, played nice with the stars,” I explain, sharing a little history. Now, I get to be the teacher for once. This is probably the one and only area where I actually know more than Alec. I revel in it for a moment and give my talk that I usually reserve for Bernie’s special visitors. “We would do sanctioned interviews, talking about the actor’s craft and the merits of their films. Our history is rooted in covering the film industry and getting unprecedented access to the stars.”
As we slowly walk the hall, I explain to him how the times have changed and how profiles no longer sell magazines and how readers demand to know every detail of the stars’ lives—the food they eat, even the underwear they wear.
It sounds absurd, but privately I kind of understand it. Oh, how many times did I lose myself in the pages of fashion magazines when I was growing up, longing for a closet full of straight-from-the-runway clothes and a spiky-haired boyfriend who brought me flowers.
“So the magazine has been forced to change. We still do the occasional puff piece, but mostly we’re tracking the biggest stars, charting their every move.
Alec watches me intensely as I talk, like he’s on the hunt, and I’m his prey. I feel like he’s analyzing every move, documenting every curve and sway of my body, listening to every intonation and inflection in my voice. I yearn to bring my hand to my mouth and chew my nails. The only thing stopping me is knowing that he’s watching so damn closely. I start to sweat under the pressure, as I blather on about Celeb.
“The celebrities need us. We create stars and keep the top ones in the hearts and minds of readers across the country. But they hate us, because we’ll inevitably catch them in some compromising situation, leading them to their downfall.”
I take him through the conference room and quickly show him the other wall—the wall displaying a mock-up of the current issue. “Totally top secret stuff. Let’s keep moving.” I grab his hand and lead him to my cubicle.
“And here is my desk. Where all the magic happens.”
“It’s nice,” he says with a smile. Alec is eight years older than I am, and I can tell it’s been a while since he’s been in a cubicle. “Thanks for the inside look.”
I feel like the student again. My little open cube is nowhere near the level of his power office. So, I decide to reach into my top desk drawer and grab the keys to Bernie’s office.
“The boss’s office. Have you done that one before?” I’m surprised by my own brazenness.
“Why, no, Anna Starr, I have not,” he says. “But I would very much like to.”
I slip the key into the lock and slowly swing Bernie’s office door open, trying to be quiet even though there’s no one around. The ambient light of the city filtering in from the wall of windows, coupled with the after-hours security lights in the corners of the room, give the office a slight glow, just enough to help us find our way. Instantly, Alec’s alpha-male erupts, and he grabs me by the hair and leads me around Bernie’s desk.
“I’m going to take you now, Anna Starr, in the way that I like.”
“Do you mean rough? I’ve noticed that you have a penchant for it.”
“You have?”
“I don’t totally get you yet, Alec Conrad,” I say questioningly.
“Well…what do you think about it?” he asks softly, showing a rare moment of gentleness.
I’m stumped for an answer at first. It turns me on, but it’s scary. I never know what he’s going to do next. But it’s the not knowing that thrills me. I pause for
a few more seconds before surrendering a response.
“Just don’t do anything permanent.”
He looks at me with a fierce desire and then leans in and proceeds to press his mouth to mine, furiously exploring. I swoon, all the blood rushing to my head. As my knees weaken, he hastily undoes his tie and draws it out from his collar.
“Let’s try it this way,” he says as he blindfolds me with the tie, gently knotting it behind my head. He swivels me around so that my back is toward him and pushes me over Bernie’s desk. He unzips my skirt and whisks it off. Next thing I know, he grabs the ripped sides of my shirt and yanks, splitting it in two and pulling it off me.
I feel a cold, hard hand come down on my butt, and a stinging feeling erupts as I realize he’s slapped me. The hand comes down again. It’s pleasure and pain at once. He starts gently at first, and then he gains intensity. I’m at his mercy—on Bernie’s desk.
“Is this okay?” he asks.
“Yes,” I practically scream.
He turns me over so I’m lying on my back on the desk. Alec moves Bernie’s desk chair over and props each of my feet on the arms. He stands in between my legs and starts working the sweet spot. Finding an intense cluster of nerves, he keeps rubbing in small circles, ever so lightly. I writhe in pleasure, hardly able to stand the intensity. He slides his fingers down me and slips them inside.
Still blindfolded, I can’t see and don’t know what he’s going to do next. I have to let go and let him do with me what he pleases. I hear him move and then feel his mouth on me, as he spreads my legs wider and pushes them up and back over my head. The tension and heat build inside, rocketing me to another planet. He moans into me, a deep, animal sound, and it sends me over the edge.
“I love the way you come,” he says.
As he raises me up and spins me around, we knock Bernie’s picture frames over, and something falls to the ground. I yank the tie off and see a handmade bowl in pieces on the floor.