Bettie Page Presents: The Librarian (14 page)

CHAPTER 25

“I can't remember the last time I had a full meal,” said her mother, peering at her over the menu at Kellari, a Greek restaurant just two blocks from the library. “There's no sense cooking for just myself. It's still quite a shock not having you around, Regina.”

Regina smiled tightly, glancing around the restaurant. It was a welcoming and beautiful space, with wood-beamed cathedral ceilings and an open kitchen. She reminded herself that it was her birthday, that her mother was there to celebrate with her.

“You shouldn't stop cooking just because I'm not at home, Ma. Just cut down the proportions and make your usual.”

“It's not the same,” her mother said.

They settled into silence, broken only when the waiter came to take their orders.

“I'll start with the traditional Greek salad,” said Regina. “And then I'll have the grilled jumbo shrimp.” She handed over her menu.

The waiter smiled and looked expectantly at Regina's mother.

“These fish are all just grilled?” her mother asked, pointing to the menu page of fish by the pound.

“Yes, that's right, madame. And we recommend ordering a pound per person.”

“I can't decide. What should I get, Regina? Is there any difference between these fish? Lavraki . . . pompano . . . it's all just white fish, right?”

“If you're looking for something mild . . .” the waiter said, starting a fish-by-fish description, and Regina knew he was just wasting his time.

“Let me just order for you, Ma,” she said. “She'll have the Greek salad to start, followed by the Dover sole.”

“Very good, madame.” He took their menus and retreated.

“I thought you might show me around the library before dinner. I thought that's why we were picking a restaurant in this neighborhood.”

Regina had, in fact, originally planned to have her mother come to see her at the library and to show her around. But the thought of running into Sloan—or, worse yet, Sebastian—changed her mind.

“Well, you know, Ma, I work there all day, and by six I'm ready to go.”

Her mother nodded. “In the end, they're all just jobs, right? No matter how impressive the building. So you could have stayed in Philadelphia after all, eh? Nothing magical about New York.”

Regina immediately thought of Sebastian and felt herself blush.

Her mother, mercifully, did not notice.

“I like New York. Look, I'm sorry about not showing you around the library. Why don't you change your plans? Instead of driving back to Philly tonight after dinner, stay overnight, and I'll take you around in the morning.”

“You know I'd never be able to sleep here, Regina. The noise. The crowds . . .”

“Ma, it won't be noisy and crowded in a hotel room.” Again, she thought of Sebastian and the Four Seasons. She shook her head slightly, as if to clear her mind. “I'd offer for you to stay with me, but the place is pretty small and my roommate—”

“It's fine, Regina. You'll show me the library another time.”

But it wasn't fine. As always, she felt she was letting her mother down. Her mother's need for her was overwhelming. It was why she'd never considered applying to colleges outside of Philadelphia, and why she'd never gotten an apartment in Center City while at Drexel but had lived with her mother in the suburbs and commuted to class every day. And if there were a library in Philadelphia that could rival the NYPL, she probably would still be living there. She supposed it would be different if her father were still around, or if her mother had ever dated and found a new relationship. But it was as if, when her father died, her mother just gave up on having a life. The problem was, she expected Regina to do the same. She hadn't realized to what extent she had gone along with this until now—now that she had some distance. If her mother had come to visit just to try to guilt-trip her into moving home, she had wasted her time.

Her phone vibrated. She tried to check it discreetly.

“What's that? A cell phone? You didn't tell me you got a new cell phone. Why am I running around calling your apartment and the library if I could reach you on your own phone? What's the number?”

Regina looked at the text.
I'm sending the car for you now
.

Uh-oh.

She texted back.
I'm not at home.

“Regina, I'm talking to you. What's your cell number?”

“What? Oh, it's . . . just a work phone. I'm not allowed to give out the number.”

“The library pays for it?”

“Yes, that's right.”

Am I going to have to come rescue you again?

Regina responded:
I wish you could, but even you can't rescue me from dinner with my mother.

The waiter arrived with their salads.

You didn't tell me you would be unavailable tonight. That's not acceptable, and I will deal with you accordingly.

She crossed her legs.

“You're being very rude, Regina.”

“Sorry.” She put her phone on top of the cloth napkin covering her lap.

Her mother looked at her suspiciously. “Is there something you're not telling me? I know you, Regina. Something's going on.”

“Nothing is going on,” Regina said quickly.

“Are you seeing someone? Don't get distracted with all that dating nonsense. You left me to work, so I hope you are focusing on work.”

Regina pushed her salad around with her fork. “I'll have to start dating at some point, Ma. You met Dad when you were my age. Or close to it.”

“And look where that got me.”

Regina had no idea what her mother meant by that and didn't want to know.

“You two seemed happy, Ma,” said Regina wistfully.

“Until he left me.”

“He didn't
leave
you. He died. I mean, please.”

“The result is the same, Regina. All I'm trying to tell you is that you need to stay in charge of your own life. You're rolling your eyes at me now, but you'll thank me later. Don't get distracted.”

•

Regina stood naked in the room.

As soon as she'd arrived at his apartment, Sebastian had ordered her to strip. She stood in front of him wearing nothing but the padlock necklace, and he led her to the room—or, as she'd come to think of it, the Room—and blindfolded her once again before marching her inside.

The Room was chilly, and she felt her nipples grow hard. She wondered if Sebastian had noticed, and if he'd take it as a sign of arousal.

The truth was, she did not feel aroused. She was nervous. Sebastian had barely looked at her when she walked in the door, and hadn't spoken one word since his clipped utterance, “Take off all of your clothes.” Now, though she couldn't see him, his anger was palpable.

“There's a long bench here, Regina.” The sound of his voice startled her. “Lie down on your stomach.”

She felt around, and her hands touched a piece of furniture that was hard but seemed to be upholstered in leather. Awkwardly, she stretched her body onto it, facedown.

“Let your arms dangle to the floor,” he said. “Now make two fists, and reach your arms under the bench so your hands are touching.”

She did and immediately felt him bind them with some sort of cuff made of nonabrasive but firm material.

“Keep your legs straight, or I'll have to tie them, too. And trust me, you don't want that.”

Her heart began to race. Sebastian circled the bench, his footsteps heavy and slow. She tried to remind herself that this was the man who brought her such intense physical pleasure—that whatever was immediately in store for her, the pleasure would follow. And then she had the strangest thought: if someone offered her the chance to skip this part, to go straight to the pleasure, would she?

“You told me you understood what the necklace meant,” he said.

“I do . . .”

“Don't speak unless I tell you to. You said you understood what the necklace meant, which is my ownership and your obedience. Your unavailability to me is not acceptable. Your failure to tell me about your mother's visit is not acceptable. Do you understand me?”

She stayed silent.

“Good. Now take your punishment.”

CHAPTER 26

She felt her entire body tense, and she knew that whatever happened next would not be as bad as the anticipation. She clenched her ass, hating that she was so exposed.

A loud sound, like a firecracker, startled her. And then again, and she realized it was something smacking against the floor at great speed.

And then she felt something strike her buttocks, inflicting a pain quick and sharp and unlike anything she'd felt before. She gasped, and then it came again—so fast she barely had time to recover from the first blow. And again.

“Do you need me to stop, Regina? You may speak.”

“No,” she said.

“Good girl.” And again. Her mind raced to figure out what was going on, and she realized he must be using some sort of whip. The image of this made the pain worse.

He struck her two more times.

“Ow,” she gasped, unable to keep herself silent. She braced herself for more. Nothing happened. She remained tense, waiting, the skin on her ass and back of her thighs burning.

“I'll give you time to think about what you've done wrong.”

Then she heard him leave the room.

Knowing that he was not there to strike her did not make her any less tense. The solitude, the not knowing when he would return, were just as bad as the physical pain—maybe worse.

The sting of her flesh dulled slightly. She knew that when she moved, it would no doubt return in spades. But for now, she was more aware of the muscle strain in her shoulders and arms. She turned her head to the opposite side so that her neck would not get stiff. She wished she could see what surrounded her in the room. Seeing the furniture, or whatever one called it, would give her hints as to what might be in store for her in the future. But that was probably exactly what he did
not
want.

She turned her head back to its original position. She shifted her legs. Her mind wandered, and she imagined what he might do to her later, after the Room. Would he use his tongue? His hands? Would he tease her before giving her his cock?

The door opened. She tensed. Would she have to endure more of the Room? If he had just kept going before, she would have taken it. But now, having stopped, it would be difficult to get back into the mind-set when her body was already clamoring for him to fuck her. It was embarrassing, but true: if he put his hands between her legs, he would feel that she was undeniably wet.

And then she did feel his hands, but not on her pussy. Instead, he gently rubbed the tender areas of flesh that had been abused. He untied her wrists.

Sebastian helped her to her feet, and she was wobbly. Leaning against him, still blindfolded, she stumbled along beside him out into the hallway. She heard him close the door behind them.

His hands moved behind her head, untying the blindfold.

She turned to look at him. His dark eyes were shining, his cheeks flushed. He took her face tenderly in his hands and kissed her lips. She opened her mouth to him, her body pressing against him. Brazenly, she took his hand and pressed it between her legs.

“Wait,” he whispered, and led her to the bedroom, helping her gently onto the bed. She reached for him.

“Just relax,” he said. She watched him undress, her excitement building. The sight of his cock made her want to use her mouth on him. She thought of telling him but couldn't bring herself to say the words.

He climbed next to her and ran his hand from her face down to her breasts. He took one nipple into his mouth, sucking gently. She squirmed, feeling the familiar pulse between her legs. He moved his mouth down to her navel, kissing her in a path until his mouth hovered above her pussy. She felt the warmth of his breath, and then the welcome pressure of his tongue against her clit.

“Sebastian,” she moaned, her hands in his hair. She spread her legs wider, her pelvis tilting. She was shameless, but she didn't care. He flicked his tongue at her, teasing, light as butterfly wings. She pulled at him, her heels digging into the bed. Just when she felt she couldn't take it anymore, he pressed his tongue deep into her. “Yes,” she said, and she was grinding against his mouth, moving with him as he fucked her with his tongue. He brushed her clit with his thumb, and pleasure shot through her, so intense it rivaled the pain of the whip. She felt her entire body tense, then release with an explosive orgasm that turned her to liquid.

“Turn over,” he said, and once on her stomach, he pulled her up on her hands and knees. He palmed her ass, then spread it. She resisted the urge to ask what he was doing, and then he spoke. “I'm going to fuck you this way,” he said.

“What way?” she asked.

And then he was reaching for the condom, and something else. The condom was on, and then he was slathering her anus with something cold, like jelly. She was going to tell him that this wasn't a good idea, that it wouldn't work, but like everything else he had dealt her, she told herself to go as long as she could without stopping him.

“Relax,” he told her, and she mentally repeated the command to herself. In a moment she felt his cock pressing, almost prodding its way to where she was sure it shouldn't go. Somehow, her body, barely done vibrating from the orgasm, proved shockingly pliant. He was in her, and it was shocking but not unbearable. She didn't know how deep he was inside her, and she was afraid to ask in case the answer was: “not all the way.” Because she felt she couldn't take any more. And yet, as his cock progressed ever so slowly, his hand slipped forward to stroke her pussy, and then she was taking more.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

“Yes.” And then he began to pulse, gently, inside of her. The feeling was so strange—not good, not bad. It was as if her body was confused, caught between signals of pleasure and pain. And she felt with any thrust, at any second, it could go in one direction or the other.

But somehow, Sebastian's measured movements kept her hovering there, just in the center of two opposing sensations. Pleasure, pain, pleasure . . . His hand brushed her pussy, making sure the scale tipped in the right direction.

“Regina,” he breathed, and then he made a sound she had not heard from him before, and he thrust harder. She bit her lip, telling herself that he would not go any faster. But then he did, and just as she had reached her limit, he cried out, and though she did not feel his orgasm in the way she usually did, she sensed the intensity of his release.

He pulled out of her slowly, and they both lay on their backs, side by side, breathing heavily.

“I didn't plan on doing that,” he said. “Just the sight of you, I want you so much. I want all of you, in every way. And I never feel like I get that. I never feel like I have enough.”

“You say that like it's a bad thing,” she said, thinking she felt like she never had enough of him.

“It's not bad,” he said. “It's just not what I'm used to.”

He pulled her against him, holding her so tightly that she felt he would never let her go.

•

“Why didn't you tell me your mother was visiting?” Sebastian asked. She was underneath his heavy comforter, curled against him, her head on his shoulder.

It was the middle of the night—early morning, to be more accurate. She had fallen asleep briefly after they'd had sex, and then woken up to find him holding her. He encouraged her to go back to sleep, but she said she was wide awake. “Once I fall asleep and then wake up again, I'm pretty much awake for at least an hour.”

He told her he would stay up, too. She was surprised by the gesture of intimacy and not sure what to make of it. She did feel, in some way, the intensity of the sex they'd just shared made them closer, if only for this one night.

“I didn't even think of telling you that my mother was coming to see me,” she said honestly. “It's just so . . . separate from this part of my life.”

“I meant what I said earlier: I want to know everything about you.”

Regina couldn't help but smile, though she didn't know what to make of this. Was it just another way of his exerting control? Or was this a signal that he wanted more of a relationship?

“Like what?” she asked.

“Start with your mother. What's she like? What did you do with her tonight?”

She knew the elephant in the room was why her mother had visited. If she didn't admit that it was her birthday and he found out later, he'd be furious. She just hated to say it, as if it was a big deal or he was supposed to make a fuss.

“We went out to dinner for my birthday,” she said.

“Today is your birthday?”

“Well, technically, it was yesterday.”

“If I'd known that you were keeping
that
information from me, you would have gotten ten more lashes,” he said, but he smiled as he delivered the message.

“It's not a big deal,” she said.

“I'll be the judge of that. But there's not much I can do about it in the middle of the night—or morning. So your mother came to town for your birthday. You two are close?”

Regina hesitated for a minute. “We're close,” she said. “I guess.”

“What does that mean?”

“Well, it was just the two of us when I was growing up. My dad died of a heart attack when I was eight. So of course my mom and I were close. But now that I'm away from her—now that I'm starting to look at things with some distance—I think she depended on me too much.”

“Is it still like that?”

“I moved to New York, so . . . no. I'm not available to her the way I used to be. But believe me, I feel guilty about it. I feel guilty about it every day.”

“Don't,” he said, with a vehemence that surprised her.

“I can't help it. Remember when you asked me why I don't have a cell phone? I told you I didn't want one, or whatever I said. But the truth is I don't want her to be able to call me all the time. I told myself I was getting rid of the phone to save money, but I was really trying to get rid of her.”

She felt herself starting to shake.

“Regina,” he said, kissing her forehead. “It's
okay
. Parents can be . . . I mean, I haven't spoken to my father in over ten years.”

She pulled away from him slightly so she could look at him. His eyes seemed far away.

“You haven't? Why not?”

“We had a falling-out,” he said, in a tone of voice that didn't encourage further discussion about it.

“What about your mother?”

He hesitated for a second, barely long enough for Regina to notice. But she noticed.

“She died when I was in college,” he said. She could feel his body tense against hers, and she immediately regretted her question. After a brief silence, he kissed the top of her head and said, “So, from whom do you get your big blue eyes?”

She knew he was pointedly changing the subject, and she conceded with a small smile. “My father.”

“I wish you would let me photograph you. It kills me that you won't.”

Now it was her turn to pull away. “I told you, I hate having my picture taken. Besides, since when do you ask my permission to do anything?”

“Photographing someone is a lot like dominating someone: if the other person isn't willing, the results are pretty terrible.”

She nodded. She wished she could tell him she wanted to give it a try, but she couldn't. Now it was time for her to change the subject. “So, whom do
you
look like?” she asked.

“I look like myself,” he said, kissing her.

“I'm serious,” she said, pulling away. “Don't make me Google you,” she joked.

His face clouded. “If there's something you want to know, I can't stop you from reading gossip. But all you need to know about me is that I adore you.”

His arms went back around her. And she didn't say another word. His adoration
was
all she needed to know. At least, for now.