Bettie Page Presents: The Librarian (11 page)

CHAPTER 21

He stood beside her, outside of a room in the loft she had not yet seen. The door was closed.

“Put these shoes on,” he said. She looked down to find a pair of white satin four-inch stilettos. She stepped into them.

“Now remove your robe,” he said.

Hesitating for only a second, wobbly on the heels, she untied the La Perla robe and shrugged it off of her shoulders. He took it from her.

“Turn your back to me and close your eyes,” he said. She complied.

She felt something soft slip over her eyes and realized he had blindfolded her with something that was lined with fur. Her hands instinctively fluttered to her face to touch it.

“Keep your hands by your side,” he said firmly. She did as he ordered. Her heart started to beat fast.

“I know we spoke earlier about how by being here, you are giving your consent. That you know you can walk out the door at any time—that you always have a choice. Most of my . . . partners come to me with a strong sense of their limits—hard limits, we call them. But since this is all new to you, you will just be discovering your limits as we go. So if we are engaged in something and you say ‘stop,' I'll ignore you.”

“You will?” she asked. Had she missed something?

“Yes. If you really can't continue, you need to say ‘hard limit,' and then I'll know to end the session immediately.”

“Hard limit,” she repeated, almost to herself.

She heard him turn the doorknob and open the door. It was amazing to her that she could identify his action by such minor sound, but she realized that with her vision taken away, her other senses were immediately heightened.

“Take ten steps forward,” he said. Slowly, she walked, concentrating on not stumbling in the heels. She reached out her hand, and he held her arm, stabilizing her. She would never have guessed how long ten steps could feel.

Her shoes made a loud sound against the hard floor.

“Stop here,” he said.

She heard the clang of metal, and a chill ran through her.

“Put your arms above your head.” She complied, feeling silly.

“Wider apart,” he said.

She felt something slip around her wrist, something smooth but firm, like leather. And then a click as her arm was secured against something, locked in the outstretched position above her head. And then her other arm.

“Stay still,” he said. “I'm using scissors, and if you move around I could accidentally cut you.”

“What?” she asked, instinctively squirming, her pulse racing. And then she felt the cool metal blade against her back, and the whisper of fabric coming apart. The silk nightgown slipped off of her as the scissors sliced it in half, the twin blades skimming the surface of her flesh as they traveled down her body.

She felt the cool air of the room on her bare skin, naked except for the high heels. Her hands were already beginning to tingle from their unnatural suspension.

She heard Sebastian's footsteps walking away from her. The door slammed shut.

And knew she was alone.

•

Regina could no longer feel her arms. For a while, she had tried bending her knees, or leaning backward or forward to get her circulation going. But in the end, she realized the straighter and more still she stood, the less stress on her back and leg muscles, which in some positions were burning with pain.

She didn't know how much time had passed. Twenty minutes? An hour? Two hours?

Her mind raced, debating whether she should call out for him. But something told her not to.

Just when she felt that she couldn't take it anymore, that she would break down and yell “hard limit” at the top of her lungs, she snapped to attention: the door had opened. She heard his footsteps moving toward her.

She heard the clanging of metal, and her mouth nearly watered at the thought that her arms would be released. But she soon realized that he was not releasing them, merely lowering them to the point where they were bent at the elbow. Still, it was sweet relief. Even if he left her in that position for a while longer, she could withstand it.

Sebastian stood in front of her. She felt he was so close, if she dipped forward, she would be able to feel him. But she stood completely still.

He pressed his hand between her legs, his fingers immediately finding the sweet spot that, before last night, she had never known existed. The contrast between the sharp and pleasurable strokes of his fingers and the dull, long ache she had been suffering was a contrast so intense, her legs buckled underneath her.

“Stand straight,” he commanded, and she struggled to keep upright. His withdrew his fingers from inside her and brushed her pussy gently, teasing her clit. Then she felt a quick, wet stroke of his tongue, and his finger back deep inside. She moaned, her arms aching, her legs struggling for balance and control, while her pussy throbbed with sensations she never could have imagined.

He brought her to the edge of release, and then stopped touching her. If her hands had been free, she would have fingered herself right then and there, so desperate was her need. And then she felt it, the unmistakable feeling of his cock brushing against the mouth of her pussy. He barely parted her lips, then pulled away.

“Please,” she said, ashamed of herself but knowing she was just getting started.

He parted her lips with his hands, the tip of his cock poised against her, but unmoving. She moaned, and pushed her body toward him.

“I'm still upset with you, Regina,” he said. “I want you to promise me, no more secrets. Not about sex,” he said.

“Okay,” she breathed.

“Promise me.”

“I promise,” she said, but her voice sounded very far away. His fingers were still playing with her, and it was unbearable.

Sebastian quickly undid her wrist restraints, and—incapable of maintaining her balance—she fell against him. With one hand still stroking her, he eased her to the floor, hard and cold against her back.

“Please,” she said again, and this time, he moved on top of her. In another state of mind, she would have been embarrassed by how she spread her legs for him, grabbing at him, and then crying out the instant his cock filled her, bucking against him until her throbbing need was silenced by a violent orgasm.

He came seconds later, his mouth wet and open against her neck, murmuring things she could not understand.

Afterward, he picked her up as easily as if she were weightless. Still blindfolded, she rested her head against his shoulder and, to her horror, started to cry.

She felt his arms tighten around her, and he moved quickly through the loft. In a few seconds, she was lowered onto the bed and he removed the blindfold.

“Are you okay?” he asked, his handsome face tight with concern. He kissed her forehead, lifting up her bangs so he could press his mouth against her pale skin.

“Yes,” she said, trying to get control of herself. “It was just so . . . intense.”

“Intense is good,” he said. “If it's not intense, why do it? At least, that's the way I feel.”

“I can't believe that being physically uncomfortable can be turned into feeling good. It's just . . . strange.”

“But it isn't, if you think about it. We have to experience contrast to feel anything fully. Sadness or happiness, work or relaxation, solitude or connection with other people. What is one without the other? We wouldn't know.”

“Yes,” she said. “I totally get it.”

He pulled her close to him. “I knew you would.”

CHAPTER 22

It was midafternoon by the time Regina, in a daze, walked into her own apartment.

Carly looked up from her perch on the couch, a sketch pad on her lap.

“Where have you been? Why didn't you come home last night? I was worried sick about you,” she said, tossing down her pencil.

Regina bent to unbuckle her shoes. Sebastian had sent her home in a new outfit, Prada from head to toe. As always, the shoes were a killer.

“I'm surprised you came home last night,” Regina said. “From the looks of things at Nurse Bettie, that wasn't the direction you were headed in.”

“Don't turn this around on me. Where did you disappear to? You can't do things like that, Regina.”

“I didn't disappear—
you're
the one who left, remember?”

“I'm sorry. I've just been so depressed lately. I just needed something to get my mind off of Rob.”

“So you leave me with that creep at the bar?”

“Nick was okay. Besides, he's the one who told me you ran off with some guy.”

“It wasn't
some guy
—it was Sebastian. But either way, I'm sorry you were worried.” Regina was touched to see that Carly cared about her.

“What was Sebastian doing there? Stalking you?”

Regina shrugged and headed into the kitchen. She hadn't eaten anything since breakfast, and she was suddenly famished. She reached for a plate on the second shelf in the cabinet and realized her shoulders ached so much she could barely move her arms above her head.

“Ow,” she said, unable to get the plate.

“What's wrong?”

“Can you get a plate down for me?”

Carly appeared in the doorway. “Not until you tell me what's going on.”

“My arms are sore,” Regina said.

“Yeah, I get that. So unless you were playing midnight tennis in Central Park, I'm wondering why.” She put her hands on her hips. Regina couldn't help but smile. Somehow, her relationship with Sebastian had turned her snarky roommate into a protective den mother.

“If you hand me the plate, I'll tell you what's going on,” Regina said.

Carly reached for a plate, passed it to her, and said, “Spill it, Regina.”

•

They sat at the table eating leftover chicken fried rice and drinking bottles of Corona. Regina had changed into an old Drexel T-shirt and sweatpants. She was physically exhausted, but her mind felt revved up, as if it was now in a third gear she hadn't known she had.

“He likes to . . . I guess you'd say . . . dominate me,” Regina said.

“Doing what, specifically?” Carly asked.

Now that the moment had come, she was dying to tell someone exactly what was going on. She didn't know whether Carly would tell her that this was crazy, that she should run from this guy, or whether she would say, Sure, I do stuff like that all the time. Either way, Regina needed someone to confide in.

“Um, well, he gave me a cell phone and told me I always have to leave it on, and it's only for use between the two of us. And he texts me, like, commands. And he tells me what to wear—always high heels, and always a specific kind of underwear.”

“Well, frankly, Regina, you could use some style guidance.”

Regina shot her a look before continuing. “If I don't do what he asks—like if I don't dress the right way, he ‘punishes' me.”

Now she really had Carly's attention. Flippant, jaded, know-it-all Carly suddenly had eyes as wide as saucers.

“Go on,” she said.

“Well, he kind of . . . spanks me.” Regina couldn't say any more. She couldn't talk about the Room.

Carly nodded. “I've heard of this sort of thing,” she said, peeling the label off of her beer bottle.

“You have?” Regina asked, surprised.

“Sure. It's basic BDSM.”

“BD what?”

“BDSM: Bondage, discipline, sadomasochism. It's a pretty big subculture.”

“It is?”

“Sure. Some people are really into that shit.”

“So you don't think it's . . . weird?”

Carly shrugged. “It's not my bag, but whatever. I'm sure in small doses it could be hot. I used to know a girl who wore a collar.”

“What do you mean?”

“She wore this leather collar—like a dog collar. But it had a little lock on it. She told me it signified to other people in the community that she was ‘owned' by someone.”

“You're joking.”

“No.”

This made Regina feel much better. At least she wasn't
that
far gone.

“So you're saying this is all relatively normal,” said Regina.

“Oh, it's far from normal,” said Carly. “But as long as you're having fun with it, who cares? Especially if you get a Prada wardrobe out of the deal. I say, let him spank away.”

Regina blushed and looked down at her plate. Maybe Carly wasn't the best choice in confidante, but she was all Regina had at the moment. And at least now, Regina had a name for what she was dealing with: BDSM.

She'd have to do a little research, though something told her she wouldn't find a book on that particular subject in the library.

•

In the morning, Regina arrived at her desk to find Alex sitting in her seat, organizing a stack of books.

“Hey,” Regina said. “Sorry about yesterday. I hope it wasn't crazy busy.”

“Nah, it was fine. But Sloan wants to see you in her office.”

Regina had a sinking feeling. “About what?” she asked, dropping her bag behind the desk.

“I don't know. But judging from her tone when she called down here, I wouldn't keep her waiting while you try to figure it out.”

This did not bode well. Regina dutifully made her way down to the second floor.

Sloan's office door was ajar. Regina saw Sloan, her white-blond hair up in a perfectly careless knot, her navy-blue blouse rolled up neatly to her elbows, her tan wrists decorated with delicate gold bangle bracelets. She was sipping her Starbucks while skimming the
New York Post
online. Regina knocked on the doorframe.

Sloan looked up and narrowed her eyes.

“Well, well, well—how nice of you to make an appearance,” she said.

“I'm sorry about yesterday,” Regina said, flustered at having to offer her apologies—and her excuse—so soon. She had mentally rehearsed for this on the subway, but had been unable to come up with any plausible reason why she and Sebastian would have had to work together “off site” yesterday.

“Sit down, Regina,” said Sloan.

Reluctantly, Regina made her way into the office. The only extra chair in the office was covered with bridal magazines. Since Sloan made no move to clear it, Regina did so herself, and then awkwardly sat with the magazines on her lap.

“I know that when you started working here you felt the Delivery Desk was beneath you. . . .”

“No, it's not that. I just thought—”

“Please don't talk. As I was saying, I know you felt it was beneath you because of your degree and your honors and the whole bit. But at a library of this stature, the Delivery Desk is vital.
Vital
. And if I can't rely on you to be here every day, I can't keep you in that position.”

“Sloan, I
will
be here every day. It won't happen again.” Regina felt panicked. Could she possibly be fired for missing one day of work? God, what had she been thinking yesterday? What was wrong with her?

“Well, you'll have to prove it to me. And while you're showing me that I can rely on you, you'll work in Returns.”

Regina felt the blood rush to her face. “Sloan, that's not necessary. I promise, it won't happen again.”

“This isn't open for discussion, Regina. Now go report to Returns. Someone there will show you how to organize the materials on the carts and get them back on the shelves.”

Regina felt as if she was going to cry, but she didn't want Sloan to see how upset she was. She stood and placed the magazines back in the spot and headed for the door.

“Regina, one more thing,” Sloan called.

Regina turned around.

“I sincerely hope that your relationship with Sebastian Barnes is just professional. While his family's financial support of this library is indispensable, I would not want a member of my staff personally involved with him. It would be inappropriate and disruptive. Am I making myself clear?”

“Yes,” Regina said, unable to look her in the eyes.

“Good. And on your lunch break, please go to Vera Wang and pick up a swatch for me. Then I'll need you to take it to my florist.”

Regina nodded, then quickly walked away.

On her way to the stairs, she spotted Margaret. The old woman waved to her.

“Hello, Regina. You've been scarce lately. Care to meet for lunch on the steps today?”

“I wish I could, but Sloan has me running an errand for her.”

Margaret shook her head. “Sorry to hear that. We'll do it another time.”

Regina felt oddly sad. She wondered if Margaret thought she was making excuses or blowing her off in some way.

She felt her phone vibrate in her bag. Climbing the stairs to the Returns Desk, she read her text.

The car will be waiting for you outside at six
.

And just like that, all was right with her world.