The dog never barked. Vive ran her long, sculpted fingernails through her pet’s grizzle-colored coat. It fascinated Blake how Vive took Hedda with her into Manhattan’s poshest restaurants and stores, and no one ever said a damn word. Maybe they were afraid Vive might slam their establishments with an editorial in Debauchery. Her ability to make or break a brand, eatery or business came from just two sets of words “loved it!” or “hated it!”
“The Lower East Side is unlivable.” She crossed her arms, raised her taupe-painted brows, and asked, “Have we already forgotten Miss Sandy?”
Hurricane Sandy had taken Miguel’s loft and the rest of lower Manhattan’s power out for two months. He’d stayed with Lex and her fiancé, Massimo, on the Upper East Side. Lex had just given birth to Massimo Junior, and Miguel helped with the newborn responsibilities until his electricity came back.
“I love living in Chelsea,” Blake commented. “But I agree about the Lower East Side. It must be published in some creative guide to being so bohemian that Miguel has to live down there.”
“And where are Lex and Taddy? They should be here by now, too.” Vive held up her cell phone showing no messages. “We’re being stood up.”
“They’re probably still at that bridal photo shoot for the Manhattanite Times. You know how Lex can be about her hair and makeup now that she’s going to be crowned Princess Tittoni.” He didn’t want to attend, let alone be in, a wedding the following week. The thought of cheering on matrimony when his own marriage had just crumbled, made his chest tight. Vive and Thor were trying to cheer him up, though. Lex had put them up to it. She’d been determined to make her royal wedding a celebration to remember.
“Well, if they’re gonna be late, this’ll give us a few minutes to discuss what you want for this new chapter in your life.” Thor pulled out his tablet, made a few screen strokes, and held up the glowing flat monitor to Blake’s view. It read ‘Blake’s Sex Wish List’.
“Yay! It’s gay cock talk.” Vive clapped her Chanel fashion-jeweled hands together.
Poor girl hadn’t seen dick in months. She lived vicariously through everyone else’s romps, especially her homosexual friends.
“Guys…no.” It was one thing to talk about sex, but he couldn’t carry out whatever they were thinking. In private, he’d vowed celibacy to himself, especially after Diego hadn’t given him much of a choice. Blake regretted even bringing up the topic of sex, but from the looks on his friend’s horny faces, there was no turning back. Shit.
“Blake—Yes.” Amused with himself, Thor kept typing. “I attribute my fierce sex life to the fact that I exude positive affirmation to make men want me.” He set his tablet down and reached for a crab cake. No one did seafood appetizers tastier than Club Macanudo. “You have to put these fantasies out into the universe. Then they’ll happen.”
“Sex is this effortless, huh?” Blake retorted. He’d try and humor them along for a good laugh, but that was where this would stop, joke only. Right? “From what I hear, Nello will be more than enough.”
“Yup. You ever read The Power of Now?” Thor asked.
“No.”
“Or The Secret?” Vive added.
Blake shook his head. “I don’t believe in that hogwash.”
“Your attitude explains why you’re twenty-nine and have yet to bottom.”
“Bottoming isn’t everything.” Blake forked at the crab cakes. In the last six months, he’d lost twenty pounds. He could afford the calories.
“Getting banged is, too. Submitting yourself to a man who wants to dominate your body is the most erotic form of expression on this planet.” Thor said that almost lyrically. He lived and breathed through his asshole.
Vive leaned forward as Hedda’s paws hung off her lap. “Amen to that, gorgeous.”
“Take it from me, a power bottom. I know what I’m talking about. We need to find you a top, one who’s hung and brutal.” Thor bit down, making a loud crunch from the cracker. He continued with his mouth full. “I don’t care what he looks like as long as he has a hard cock and knows how to use it.”
“Why?” Blake asked, unsure he liked the sound of that.
“The better their body is, the worse the face appears. On the contrary, the better their cock is, the worse the body is. It’s true.” Thor pointed his finger in Blake’s direction. “If only they could all be headless, it would go with their heartless ways and reinforce the only thing we really care about…dick.”
“That’s not true.” Blake squirmed in his chair. Somewhere deep down inside, he sort of still believed in true love, again. Maybe.
“Let’s hear it. Your wish list, please,” Vive bossed. She got into anything relating to smut. It’s what kept hers and Thor’s friendship going. That, and the fact they both loved to gossip and were the offspring of two of America’s richest families.
“Hmmm…” In hopes hydration might help him think, Blake reached for his water glass.
“Start with number one. What do you crave?”
I want—
His sexual fantasies were interrupted by the loud chime on Vive’s cell phone.
She glanced at the screen. “Mother of pearl! Let the Lex Easton wedding drama begin.”
“What?” Thor asked.
“It’s a text from Taddy, look.”
MELTDOWN ALERT: GOWN DOSEN’T FIT. HELP STAGE PUBLICITY PHOTOS!!! BRING CLOTHES PINS.
Meatpacking District
“Suck in.”
“I am…” Lex Easton, bride-to-be, tried her hardest not to cry, but she sure as hell huffed. Her lifelong friend of twenty-nine years, Taddy Brill, was on the verge of crushing her body into what felt to be a gazillion pieces.
She squeezed on her...as hard as possible.
The dress had to fit.
Taddy zipped her up...as far as she could.
The dress didn’t fit.
“Harder! Suck in harder!” Taddy shouted in her ear.
She’d arrived with Lex to the West Side Studios three hours before. They’d shared the same limo. After eighty minutes of coloring Lex’s honey locks with guru extraordinaire Nackie, another sixty in makeup with dark-circle miracle worker Christopher, and the remainder of time spent getting every curve of her body stuffed into shapewear to make her shapeless, Lex should’ve been suited up by then...Lights. Camera. Action.
But no, the glam squad wasn’t working to her advantage. It seemed impossible to try and get the right picture for The Manhattanite Times. At the rate they were going, there’d be no photos.
“Stop, you’re hurting me.” Lex empathized with every bride who had gone through this in the past. The whole process was really quiet silly when she thought about it. A non-virgin, twenty-nine-year-old woman, walking down the aisle to marry the man who’d already fathered her child. She questioned why she was even doing it. The notion of grabbing her fiancé, jumping in a cab, and going to the courthouse to get hitched seemed more practical to who she was.
The wedding wasn’t for her, Massimo or their six-month-old son, but for her rock-n-roll iconic mother, Birdie Easton.
“Shut up, Lex,” Taddy hissed, foaming at the mouth. Her Harry Winston chandelier earrings, the ones Lex had bought her for her birthday, swung and jingled with every exerted effort.
“Taddy. You’re smashing my tits.” Her breasts were like her waist, which was taking shape after her ass. No part of her wanted to fit into the gown she’d designed for her own wedding. Shit, even the pave-encrusted platform heels Stuart Weitzman had custom-made for her feet were suddenly too small.
“When did your boobs…get so Scarlett Johansson-ish?”
“They’re full of milk.” She thought she had pumped, but come to think of it, she hadn’t. Her day had been booked with Easton Essentials showroom work, a newborn baby who required a diaper change more times than she cared to think about, and then there’d been the wedding preparations. Not just any wedding, but New York’s celebrity-centric, ‘posh to the max’ extravaganza of the decade.
br />
Crap. She needed a nanny, but Massimo, her fiancé, wouldn’t hear of it.
“Hold it. Stop breathing. Let’s try one more time.”
“Ouch.” The clasp caught a piece of her skin, the inch or two which refused to tuck in.
“I almost have…the zipper…up.” Taddy seemed to forget the garment was attached to her. “Come on, you darn bodice. Work with me here.” She talked directly to the champagne organza.
“It’s too tight…” Lex stepped back. Don’t scream, don’t cry. “Let’s call this quits. I don’t think I can take any more.”
“We need the photos. Not just for your personal memories, but for the marketing campaign. Hello,” Taddy reminded, the wedding having been turned into a publicity event for Easton Essentials’ new bridal collection.
The minute the wedding was announced, Lex went into entrepreneurial mode and launched a new line of bridal wear for Easton Essentials called Easton Weds. Not very original, but Bridal magazine had declared it the next Vera Wang.
With her runway-ready designs being a hit, the much-anticipated bridal debut focused on creamy whites, floral brocades, and flirty silhouettes. It was supposed to be timeless, thoughtful, and hugging her body just right. The forty-piece line was carried in over three thousand bridal boutiques across the country. Sales exceeded all projections, but the stores required more images of Lex for collateral support.
“We could hire body doubles. Or use other models. I’m getting sick of seeing your face in all the ads, anyways,” Taddy joked.
Chubby as a child, Lex had shied away from the spotlight as an adult. Once Massimo fell in love with her, she’d experienced a level of self-confidence like never before. She learned to love her body and herself. Her face was on the label, the billboards in Times Square, and on every magazine cover from New York to Dubai. Their bestselling dress sizes were double digits. Consumers loved Lex’s curves.
“Ha!” Lex felt an urge to kick her, but knew Taddy meant well. She always did. “It was your idea to put my face on this label. I wanted to stay behind the scenes, remember?” For the first two years of Easton Essentials’ success, no one had ever met Lex. Massimo, who was her fabric supplier at the time, thought she was a man. He was pleasantly mistaken.
“Blah, blah, blah. Humanizing you was genius. The shoppers wanted to see the wizard behind the curtain at Oz and they have. You’ve made millions off the campaign. Correction, we’ve made millions.” Taddy crossed her arms and eyed Lex up and down. “We’ll leave the dress open in the back. Minus your ‘cup runneth over’ cleavage, no one will notice.” She glanced at the clock on the wall. “Vive should be here by now with those clothes pins.”
“Screw that. The Jaws of Life won’t get me in, or out, of my gown. Nothing will help.” Lex couldn’t believe the dress was too small. She’d worked out for months, getting fit to look the part of a princess when she married her real life prince, Massimo Tittoni, royal heir to Isola di Girasoli and CEO of Girasoli Garment Company.
She’d adopted Taddy’s cardio schedule of ninety minutes on the elliptical daily. She’d stuck to Vive’s diet of twelve hundred calories a day—no more, maybe less. And she’d incorporated Blake’s panache for weights—lift, lift, lift.
As a designer and owner of Easton Essentials, the world’s fastest growing fashion brand, not fitting in her wedding dress was a rather big fuck-up.
“Let’s tease your hair higher. Maybe do some extensions. A Dallas hair-do will make the rest of you appear smaller.”
Taddy was always full of great ideas, but somehow that one hurt Lex’s feelings.
“Fine.”
She waved her hairstylist Nackie over, who brushed then sprayed. Lex closed her eyes and tried to breathe through her mouth, but caught the taste of what reminded her of rubbing alcohol.
“As soon as we leave here, I’ll call Dr. Fassenbender.” The sounds of Taddy rummaging through her Givenchy satchel became louder. “Come to think of it, I may have one in here.”
“One what?” Lex asked, opening her eyes. There was no time for cosmetic surgery, not even lunchtime liposuction.
“Water pill. He has these kick-ass ones. Your bloat drops overnight.” A little blue capsule appeared in her hand. “Tah-dah. Here, take it.”
“No.” There was one thing Lex learned from her parent’s mistakes: don’t take pills.
“Suit yourself.” Taddy popped the dot onto her tongue. Closing her mouth, she smiled and swallowed.
“Dammit. This can’t be happening.” She shouldn’t have designed a ball gown pattern to wear. What was she thinking?
Elaborate Swarovski crystals scattered throughout the bodice from front to back, and a richly textured layering of the full skirt gave her the fairytale she’d always envisioned. But she’d have to take the zipper out and make a corset back. God, she didn’t want to do that.
“My darlings, forget the dress!” shouted the photographer, Jemma Fereti, as she moved Nackie back to the sidelines. Jemma had been flown in from Milan at Taddy’s request to capture the pre-wedding photos of Lex and Massimo. “Taddy has a good idea. We’ll focus on head shots of you wearing the crown of Tittoni and the veil. I want you nuda.”
“Naked?” Lex gasped.
Known as Europe’s top fashion model, turned co-designer at Girasoli and photographer, Jemma caught erotic femininity on film. She had wanted Lex in her birthday suit from the start of the shoot.
She stalked over to Lex and held out her hands. “I get that you’re frustrated. But I’m not here to shoot fashion. I’m here to get on my camera those beautiful jewel-toned eyes, those full lips, and the look of happiness you have when you think of Prince Tittoni.”
Such a smooth talker. “It’s been six months since I had the baby, Jemma. The weight should be off by now.” Her eyes stung with tears.
“No crying, Princess. Get out of the gown. We’ll do some abstract photos, sì. I promise to capture your real beauty, my darling.” Jemma stepped back and swapped out the camera she held for another with her assistant.
Yeah, lady…real means real fat. I don’t want that. I wanna be glamorous. “I can’t go nude,” Lex pleaded as she appeared to have made up her mind already. “These photos are not only going to The Times, but over to Vogue and Town & Country. They have to make a statement of class and elegance.”
“Sì,” she said agreeably.
“These are royal photos.” Her face was going to be blasted on the Easton Weds hangtag labels and on every major media outlet in the world. Next to Kate Middleton, her wedding week was going to be the paparazzi’s biggest swoon. Millions were projected to follow her, if not in person then on TV, as she made her way down the aisle.
“Lex, she’s the best there is,” Taddy interrupted then lowered her voice to add, “Jemma will get more photos later with other models, otherwise known as Photoshop.”
There was one thing her BFF knew better than anyone else in the world and that was the importance of a good public image. If Taddy said yes, then she’d have to go with it. She trusted her; she always had.
“The pics won’t be going anywhere if we don’t have any. Now, get out of that gown and keep the headpiece on.” The dominatrix was coming out in Jemma as she bossed her around. “Go get changed.” She faced her assistant. “Dim the lights.”
I can’t go nude.
Table of Contents
Author's Note
A Different Kind of Boy
Cast of Characters
Part One: Never Drink the Free Cocktails
Prologue: From the Desk of Fairfield School for Boys
Chapter One: Mr. Yoo-hoo
Chapter Two: Think Regan MacNeil in the Exorcist
Chapter Three: Charlie Brown’s Mother
Part Two: Shit Storm
Chapter Four: Paging Dr. Phil
Chapter Five: The Secrets That Bind
Chapter Six: The Death of Fear
Part Three: Bondage Twink
Chapter Seven: Tie Him Up, T
ie Him Down
Chapter Eight: Love Me Some Enrique Iglesias!
Chapter Nine: Two Wigs & A Donut
The End
Get Unsaid
Dedication & Special Acknowledgments
About Avery Aster
There's More
Also By Avery Aster
A Smexy Excerpt
Avery Aster, XO, Blake
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