Undying Love (10 page)

This time I wanted to come with her. “Now!” I growled.

“Oh, Golden Boy!”

As she came shuddering around me, spasms rocked my cock. My whole body shook as I bathed her blissfully with my molten release. It was the most mind-blowing orgasm I’d ever had.

I told her I loved her; I couldn’t help it.

From that moment on, Allee Adair was officially my girlfriend.

TEN

W
e fell into a routine. We got up together, had coffee, went for a jog, and then fucked our brains out, which could be anywhere from the elevator to the bed to the kitchen counter. Then we showered together, sometimes unable to resist each other, and got ready for work. I usually walked, dropping Allee at the local subway stop. I urged her to let Marcus drive her to the Met, but she refused, saying it would take too long and not look good among her fellow staffers.

Most nights, we went to my health club together and then came home and ordered in Allee always paying for half. But at least once a week, Allee would make me dinner. She was a fantastic cook, having mastered Julia Childs’s recipes to make her feel like Paris was at her fingertips. Usually, after dinner, Allee would read an art history book, curled up on a couch, and I would write. Not articles for
Arts & Smarts
, but rather short stories. I had shown Allee my revised story about the father and son, and it had brought tears to her eyes.

“That’s the way, Madewell,” she said to me.

“Do you really think it’s good?” I responded in disbelief.

“No.” She paused, making me quiver with doubt. “It’s great. Now shut up and write another one before I change my mind.” She poked her tongue out at me. I wanted to suck it. Man, she was infuriating. Such a tease!

And, of course, every night when we were together we would make glorious love. Usually more than once. Sometimes all night long. We couldn’t get enough of each other, and I missed her every minute she was away from me. She was not allowed to text or make personal phone calls while at her job except during her short lunch break, so the days at work were particularly frustrating for me. It didn’t stop me, however, from sending her sexy text messages. All day long, I longed to hold her and smother her with kisses. My mouth ached with desire and so did my dick. More than occasionally, I had to hide my boner under my desk or jerk off in the men’s room. It was pretty amazing I got any work done at all.

Our life together was so different than the one I had with Charlotte, who had insisted on dining out seven times a week at some posh Upper East Side restaurant where she usually didn’t eat a thing. She never wanted to eat downtown or stay at my place, as she couldn’t stand to be away from “her people”—rich, snobby Upper East Siders. Sex with Charlotte was perfunctory. Get it in and get it out. She needed her beauty sleep. Most weeknights, we never had any.

Talking about my ex, we bumped into each other a couple of times, but each encounter was icy and uncomfortable. Though I had seen her linked with other eligible billionaire bachelors in various gossipy publications, my mother told me she was furious with me, but convinced I would come to my senses. Neither she nor my father was pleased that I had dropped her. Neither were Charlotte’s hoity-toity parents who had already reserved The Pierre for a June wedding. My mother wanted to know if I was dating someone new. I told her I was. She was eager to meet her, and so was my father. Both hoped she came from as pedigreed a family as the Vanowens. The last thing I wanted to do was to introduce Allee to my drunken mother or subject her to my judgmental father. Unfortunately, at some point, that dreaded meeting would have to take place.

There was only one downside to living with Allee. She was still at Sid’s beck and call. A few times a week, he would call, and she would have to go directly from her job at the Met to a massage client. Still suspicious of Sid, I wanted her to stop with the second job. It took her away from me and made both of us irritable.

“I can easily pay off your college loans and any other debts,” I told her one night after a delicious session of making love.

“Madewell, I can’t accept your money,” replied Miss Feisty and Independent.

“Well, then, maybe you can work fewer hours at night.”

“I’m trying to work it out with Sid. It’s not that easy. Let’s not talk about it anymore. Please.”

Knowing I was never going to win this battle, I had no choice but to let her continue with the extra job. On those nights, she always went back to her apartment in Queens. I had only been there once—to help her pick up some clothes and bare necessities to keep at my loft. Located in an ethnically-mixed section of Forest Hills, it was a small, rundown flat but furnished with flea market finds that reflected Allee’s quirky personality and gave it charm; posters of her favorite Impressionist paintings hung on the wall. I insisted that she let Marcus drive her there when she was done with her massage appointments. But again, she adamantly declined, preferring to take the subway. It made me sick with worry that she traveled there alone late at night. She told me to get over it. She was a big girl who had taken care of herself her entire life. The only thing I’d gotten her to agree to was giving me her cell phone number so that we could be in touch all the time. I begged for a set of her keys in case she ever lost them or in case of an emergency. But she refused.

We spent our first Christmas together. We both agreed to buy each other a present, but only under Allee’s stipulation that we not spend a lot of money.

“Madewell, if you buy me something expensive, I swear I’ll return it and never speak to you again,” she had threatened over dinner one night.

“Will you still let me make love to you?”

She did her infuriating eye roll. “I’ll have to spank you first.”

A spanking from my girl sounded very appealing. My cock tingled.

While I was dying to buy her something super expensive like the vintage diamond watch I’d seen in the window of a local antiques shop to replace the shabby cloth band one she wore, I ended up buying a beautiful, thick collectors’ book containing reproductions of all the paintings that hung in the Musée D’Orsay.

“Oh, Madewell, I love it!” she beamed as she unwrapped it under our tree Christmas morning. Little did she know that it cost several hundred dollars, even on eBay. She flung her arms around me and initiated a deep passionate kiss. As my lips melded against hers, my cock hardened, wanting more.

My gift was a large heart-shaped chrome key ring—something I desperately needed as I was always misplacing or losing my keys. On it were the keys to her apartment as well. It was about time, and it made me feel better knowing I now had easy access to her apartment in case of an emergency. I returned the kiss.

I thanked my lucky stars that my parents had flown to their house in Aruba to escape the frigid winter weather. Allee prepared a delicious beouf bourguignon dinner, which we consumed in the late afternoon with a bottle of hearty Burgundy wine. Afterward, we retreated to my bed and fucked our brains out until we could fuck no more. We cuddled together and watched
Miracle on 34th Street
. I gazed up at my skylight. Snow was falling.

Allee Adair was my miracle. My angel. The best Christmas present I’d ever gotten. After one last orgasmic round of kissing, stroking, licking, and groping, we drifted off facing each other. Skin to skin. Organ to organ. Heart to heart.

Three months into our relationship, Allee came flying down the steps to the Met when I went to pick her up, something she rarely let me do. It was Valentine’s Day, and she had reluctantly agreed to let me take her to dinner at the Café des Artistes, easily the most romantic restaurant in the city. Wearing a vintage faux-leopard coat that she had found at a local flea market, she looked radiant.

“Guess what!” she beamed as she climbed into the Escalade. “I’m going to Paris for a year!” She flung her arms around me.

My heart practically stopped. “What do you mean?”

“I won a fellowship to study art at the prestigious École des Beaux Artes. I applied for it last year.”

I grabbed her by her shoulders. “What am
I
going to do?”

“You can come with me. Write in the Café de Flore like Hemingway.”

“It doesn’t work that way. I’ve got a fucking job. I run a magazine.” Rage was seeping through my veins.

“Then we’ll go our separate ways.” Her expression darkened. “Hey, Madewell, I know our relationship isn’t going to last forever. You’re a Fifth Avenue gazillionaire, and I’m a poor girl from Queens. It’s just a matter of time until you find another Charlotte.”

So she thought she was some kind of Band-Aid?
I was hurt, not only by her lack of trust in me, but also by her own lack of self-esteem.

“But how will you support yourself?” My tone was resentful and challenging.

“It includes living expenses, and besides, I’ve saved some money from my other job.”

Damn that other job.

“I don’t want you to go.” I was loud and clear about it.

“But I’ve waited my whole life to go to Paris.”

“And I’ve waited my whole life for a girl like you. Allee Adair, will you marry me?”

It came out as simple as that. On Valentine’s Day. Stuck in traffic at the corner of Fifth Avenue and Seventy-Ninth Street.

She gasped in shock. “You want to marry me?”

“Yes.”

“Why me, Madewell?”

“Because I’m madly in love with you.” I looked her straight at her. She didn’t blink.

She stared at me blankly and made my heart thrum with one of her unreadable “hmms.”

“Well…”

“Yeah.”

I crushed my lips onto hers so that she couldn’t say another word. Or change her mind.

ELEVEN

A
lthough I hadn’t yet picked out a ring (I wanted it to be unique and special), Allee and I were officially engaged. On the first day she had off from the Met, I introduced her to everyone in my office. They all loved her. She was warm, affable, and funny. So different from stuck-up Charlotte who treated everyone like dirt.

“Dude, she’s one hot babe,” said Duffy, taking me aside. “Find me one like her.” The fact that Allee was Irish like Duffy made them bond quickly. I couldn’t be happier that I’d chosen her to be my wife.

The next in line to know about the news was my sister Mimi. She wanted to meet Allee right away and proposed flying down from Boston with her spouse, Beth, over the weekend. Before getting off the call, she asked me if I had told our parents about the engagement. I told her I hadn’t. I wasn’t ready. That I’d never be ready. She understood.

To celebrate our engagement, my sister made a reservation at a charming French restaurant that was within walking distance of my loft. Wrapped under my arm as we strolled, Allee confessed that she was nervous about meeting her.

“Stop worrying,” I told her. “Mimi is nothing like my mother or father. You’re going to love her and she’s going to love you.”

“As much as you love me, Madewell?” she asked teasingly.

“Baby, no one can love you as much as I do.” That was the truth. I flipped her around and slammed my lips against her, deepening the bruising kiss with my tongue. She moaned into my mouth. If people were staring at us, I didn’t give a damn. That’s how much I loved her.

Mimi and Beth were already seated at a candlelit table when we arrived. I introduced Allee. They both gave her a warm embrace.

“She’s gorgeous, little bro!” Mimi said. “If I wasn’t already married, I might go after her myself.”

I gave my sister a wry look. “She’s
not
gay. Trust me.”

“How do
you
know that, Madewell?” quipped Allee. Both Mimi and Beth laughed hard as I blushed with embarrassment. It was going to be a good night.

We ordered a bottle of Burgundy and eased into conversation. All of us had a glass, except Mimi who had ordered a Perrier. She was wearing a smart pantsuit, as was Beth, her spouse of five years. She’d taken Beth’s last name, more than glad to be rid of the Madewell name after my father had disowned her. Unlike me, who resembled my mother, my sister had both the fortune and misfortune to resemble my father, right down to his steely gray eyes. Tall and fit, she was handsomely attractive and wore her prematurely graying hair in a flattering buzz cut. Beth, an ordained minister and activist for gay and lesbian rights, looked a lot like her. They could practically be sisters.

The conversation was lively. My sister told Allee that her real name was Meredith, but that I couldn’t pronounce it as toddler and called her Mimi instead. The endearing name stuck forever.

Allee responded, “He still has problems with big words.”