Page 13 of Fallen Angel

Violet finally accepts the fact that she’s not going to come. Not from Jarod Marks. All the fame in the world isn’t enough for her dark eroticism. She closes her eyes and thinks of a woman she met after a show a few weeks ago. She wasn’t that pretty, but she had the softest, pinkest pussy Violet had ever seen. She ate her out for an hour and lost count of how many times the woman came. And Violet came from it, too.

Violet reaches down and touches herself, thinking of that pink pussy. Tension builds in her cunt, and she keeps rubbing as Jarod moves his cock in and out with cautious strokes, his breathing heavy. And then she feels it, that blinding, bodywide shudder of an orgasm. The mental image of the woman in her mind’s eye changes like the click of a camera shutter, and Violet moans as she imagines her Lola Lola.

She imagines Moxie.

What is it about Mallory Dale that has her so intrigued? She’s not entirely sure. It’s some combination of finding her completely basic but also wildly sexually attractive. Mallory Dale, with her safe little day job and her safe little relationship with that boyfriend of hers. Her pussy probably smells like roses and cotton candy. Violet just wants to tie her up and defile her.

And what Violet wants, Violet gets.

Chapter Nine

In the morning, the party continues.

Mallory’s best friends from college invited her to a birthday brunch at City Bakery in Flatiron. She walks in off 18th Street to soaring ceilings and a space that’s industrial but welcoming. The floors are worn wood, creaking under the steady traffic of both regulars and tourists, and the noise level is overwhelming at first. The place has a constant buzz of people in line debating what to order, kids marveling at the marshmallows, hipsters tapping away on laptops. The floorboards almost seem to vibrate with the energy of it all.

The heart of the café is the sprawling, slightly chaotic counter filled with trays of oversized cookies, croissants, and pretzel croissants stacked high. Chalkboard menus list the day’s offerings, and behind it all is the open kitchen where bakers work in full view. The iconic hot chocolate station, with its massive vat of thick, molten chocolate and handmade marshmallows bobbing in a separate bowl, is surrounded by a cluster of people.

“Happy birthday, birthday girl!” Allison rushes over to her with a delicious, vanilla perfume-scented hug. They’ve known each other since they were eighteen years old, and when they’re together Mallory feels that age again. With Allison and Julie, she suspects she always will.

Julie, always practical, gives her a wave but is clearly on the hunt for a table. The place is bi-level, and tables are a mismatch mix of communal wooden farm tables, small round café tables, and counter seating along the windows.

When they’re securely ensconced at a corner table on the upper level, Julie offers to take everyone’s order and go down to get the food. The place is cafeteria-style, and if a group wants a table, someone has to stay behind and guard it.

“Okay, but first …” Allison opens her suspiciously large handbag to reveal that she’s smuggled in a bottle of Krug.

“We’re going to get thrown out of here,” Julie says, glancing around. She works in book publishing, and if she has one flaw it’s that she never breaks a rule.

“You worry too much,” Allison says, popping the cork with a flourish and filling three paper cups. She works in PR and would never be accused of following any rules except the ones that suit her game.

“So you were at the club last night?” Julie says while Allison is busy with their contraband.

Mallory nods. “Yeah. Work night.”

The glasses are full, and Allison raises hers first.

“To Mally boo!” her friends say in unison, a callback to her college nickname. They toast, and that’s when Mallory notices …

“Julie? Um, what is that giant object weighing down your ring finger?”

“Wait—what?” Allison says, following her gaze. She looks at Mallory, and then the two of them jump up to hug their newly engaged friend. The woman at the table next to them moves her stroller out of the way so they don’t bump her offspring in the midst of their excitement.

“Yeah, Jonathan proposed last night,” Julie says, so obviously glowing that Mallory doesn’t know how she missed it. “I was dying to call you guys but I knew if I just waited twelve hours I could tell you in person.” She looks down at her ring lovingly, like it’s a pet.

“Where’d he do it?” Allison says.

“So he asked me where I wanted to go to dinner—said pick any place. And I said honestly, all I really want right now is a burger from the that place in Madison Square Park.”

“Shake Shack?” Allison says incredulously.

“Yes! Shake Shack. We got there and the line went all around the park. It was like a big lawn party. So even though we had to wait for like forty-five minutes, it was fun. Then we took our stuff to a bench near the Fifth Avenue side. And we were just sitting there eating, and there were pigeons kind of milling around waiting for scraps of food. And so Jonathan got down on one knee and I swear I thought he was feeding the pigeons or doing something like that, and the next thing you know he’s holding out this gorgeous ring and asking me to marry him! And it was just like in a movie—after I said yes and was hugging him, the people on the bench across from us started clapping.”

“Julie, I’m so happy for you,” Mallory says. And she truly is. If there’s anyone she can see getting married, it’s Julie. Even in college, Julie was a little more mature than Allison and Mallory—though neither of them would admit it. She’s always known what she wants, and most importantly Julie and Jonathan truly seem to be perfect match.

She and Allison have so many questions they talk over each other until Julie shuts them down. “All I know is, I love Jonathan. We’ll figure out the wedding soon enough.”

“You really have to plan ahead for the dress, so don’t wait too long to figure it out,” Allison says.

“I’m not making a big deal about the dress. I just want something simple and white.”