Chapter Twenty-Six
After an hour on the massage table, Mallory’s mind is finally still, practically vibrating with a body high—as if the massage rushed serotonin through every cell of her being.
Before she and Bette leave the room, one of the masseuses encourages them to take their time getting up so they can fully awaken.
After they’ve been alone a minute, Bette says, “You know what’s great at a time like this?”
“No. What?”
“A good fuck.”
Mallory turns her head to look at her. “Bette. Be serious.”
“I am serious. Ever have sex right after a massage? Your muscles and nerves are already primed so you come in two seconds.”
“I’ll take your word for it.”
“Why would you do that?” Bette says, sliding off her table. Her beautiful body glistens with the rich massage oil.
“Because we’re friends and I don’t want to mess that up,” Mallory says. It’s a mature, responsible sentiment. But they’re just words, and words are a lot less powerful than the chemistry between them.
It’s so confusing. Since meeting Alec, she’s never once thought about being with another man.
But this is different. Alec might not agree, but she knows deep down it is.
She doesn’t want to be a couple with Bette.
There’s no chance of her falling in love and pair bonding.
It’s more that Bette makes her feel like a more daring, free version of herself.
When she thinks about it, Alec and Bette actually have a lot in common.
They both push her out of her comfort zone, except with Alec, it’s about his wants and desires. And with Bette, it’s about her own.
“Don’t be such a Chihuahua,” Bette says, retrieving her handbag from the countertop where she’d left it.
Mallory still doesn’t want to get up, but it’s time to return to reality.
Actually, reality is still deferred. Beyond the walls of the tranquil massage studio, the sun-drenched City of Angels awaits. Their vacation has just begun.
Mallory sits, modestly pulling the sheet over her body.
“What’s the rush?” Bette says. “You need to get your money’s worth.”
“I didn’t pay for this. Your friend did.”
“Well, then let him get his money’s worth. Believe me—he’d consider it a rip-off if one of us didn’t get off. And look what I brought.” She pulls the Pike Kegel Ball out of her handbag.
“Bette, put that thing away.”
She approaches the table, her eyes shining with desire and unspoken promise. “You should be open to new experiences out here.”
“I am. Just not that open.”
Bette shushes her, placing one hand on her shoulder and urging her back into a reclining position. She tugs the sheet away, exposing Mallory’s breasts. She slowly runs the ball over Mallory’s nipple, which is already erect just from Bette’s proximity.
She controls the ball with her palm, moving it between Mallory’s breasts, then rolling it down her stomach, and then between her legs, where she rubs it against her outer lips.
She presses it against her clit, rotating it in small circles.
Mallory’s breathing quickens, and she closes her eyes.
She feels the gentle pressure of the ball, and then the ecstatic sensation of Bette’s tongue.
Her pelvis rocks in barely perceptible motions, as if with a mind of its own.
She has the urgent need for Bette to finger her, to trigger the release that’s so close to the surface.
“I can’t believe you won’t try this little ball.
You’re such a bad girl,” Bette coos, manipulating the ball closer to Mallory’s wet and wanting center.
She reaches for Bette’s hand, pulling it toward her hungry lips, and moans when Bette complies with a gentle push of the Kegel ball inside her.
Then, just as quickly, Bette withdraws it and replaces it with her fingers, pressing deep and rhythmically in and out, in and out.
“Don’t stop,” Mallory says, arching her back; chills rush through her body as a prelude to a shudder of such intense pleasure it’s almost pain.
Bette joins her on the table, nearly on top of her.
Mallory props herself up on her elbows, leaning forward to suck on Bette’s breast. It feels so much more relaxed and natural than the last time she got to touch her.
Mallory doesn’t know if it’s because of the massage, the strange city, or the earthquake of an orgasm she just experienced.
Whatever the reason, exploring Bette’s body makes her feel like a kid running loose in a candy store.
Mallory trails her hands down Bette’s belly, touching her gently between her legs.
She marvels at how smooth and soft her bare vulva is, different than Mallory’s own hastily and only partially shaved pussy.
Bette is like an exotic, bald cat, and she hesitates just a moment before putting a finger inside her—like she’s encroaching on something personal and sacred.
She feels Bette’s pussy contract against her fingers, and this excites her in a way that’s unlike anything she’s ever experienced with guys.
It’s as if Bette’s body is communicating with hers in the most intimate way, and the wordless guidance shows Mallory exactly what to do.
When she senses that Bette is close to coming, it makes her so turned on she presses her own pussy against Bette’s leg, grinding against it in tandem with Bette’s pelvis thrusting against her hand.
And then Bette reaches for her, finding her open wetness with two fingers.
Mallory burrows her face in the crook of Bette’s neck, trying not to make too much noise as they climax together.
“Oh my god,” Mallory says with a gasp, rolling onto her back and breathing like she just ran a marathon. Slowly, her mind starts to return to reality, and she thinks of the masseuses and wonders if they’re waiting for them.
She sits up and looks around for her clothes.
“Not so fast,” Bette says, “I carried this in, now you carry it out.” And she presses the Kegel ball back into Mallory’s wet pussy.
After room service dinner, Mallory curls up on the couch with a cashmere hotel blanket and a novel she’d started reading weeks ago.
She bought it for two dollars off the outdoor rack at the Strand.
It had been an unseasonably warm December day, and she and Alec had walked for miles in the way you can only do in the city.
It was the type of day that reminded her why so many romantic comedies are set in Manhattan.
The book was a souvenir of that happy afternoon, and she never imagined that by the time she was halfway through reading it they’d broken up.
She looks up when Bette walks into the room.
She and two other women in town for the Baxter party are going to a club called Voyeur. Bette’s dressed for the occasion in a black corset and tight short skirt with white patent leather platform boots. Her fingernails and toenails are painted a metallic black.
“You sure you don’t want to go? It will be so fun. I promise.”
“Thanks, but no. I’m exhausted.” And feeling a little depressed, but she doesn’t admit that part. It feels like she’s crashing from a drug.
“I feel like I’m abandoning you.” Bette sits next to her.
It’s dark outside, and the view from their room displays the bright crescent moon like it’s yet another piece of carefully curated art. The strange surroundings that made her feel liberated during the day now feel like a prison. She longs for the familiar.
She longs for Alec.
“No, no. I’m fine. Really. I think I just miss Alec.”
“Oh, honey. Aren’t you having a good time?”
“Of course I am. But somehow that just makes it worse. I wish I could call him and tell him all about it. I know it sounds crazy, but I wish I could tell him about this hotel, about the massage, about the Kegel ball thing … He’s my best friend. I just don’t know what happened.”
Bette nods, but Mallory can tell she doesn’t understand how she can be unhappy in such a beautiful place. “Can I ask you something? When’s the last time you were in love?”
“I don’t know if I’ve ever been in love,” Bette says.
“Really?”
She shrugs. “Yeah. I’ve had lots of lovers and some girlfriends I really liked, But I never felt that connection like, this is my soul mate.”
“When’s the last time you had a girlfriend?”
“Two years ago, maybe.”
“That’s a long time.”
“What do I need the hassle for? I get laid when I want, I have fun. I have friends. Look at you—it’s a gorgeous night in L.A.
and we’re going to a fabulous club, and you can’t even get your ass off the couch.
No thanks: I want to live my life, and a relationship will only hold me back.
There aren’t many people who can roll with me, Moxie. ”
“Yeah. I can see that.”
Bette kisses her on the cheek, then stands up to start her night.
“Get some rest. I’ll see you in the morning.”
As soon as the door clicks shut behind her, Mallory does something she probably shouldn’t: She calls Alec.
It’s late in New York, and the call goes straight to voicemail.
She wonders if he’s out, or if he’s already asleep.
Not knowing makes her feel crazy, and she realizes staying in alone was a big mistake.
She uses her airplane ticket stub as a bookmark. And then she looks up the address for the club Voyeur.