Blue Angel Read Online Free PDF Page B

turned to Mallory. “Are you in?”
    “She’s in,” Alec said.

4

    P oppy sat on the edge of her bed, finishing up a second coat of Essie A-List red nail polish on her toes. Her BlackBerry buzzed with a text. From Bette.
    Call me ASAP.
    Poppy dialed quickly.
    “Hi—what’s going on?”
    “How soon can you meet me at the Angel?”
    Poppy looked at her wet toenails. “A half hour?”
    “Meet me in the dressing room. Oh, and wear a black skirt and a white blouse. And a long, brown wig if you have one.”
    Poppy couldn’t imagine what this was about, but she wasn’t going to waste time asking questions. Bette’s rejection of her in the dressing room last night had stung . . . badly. But now . . . maybe Bette had just been waiting for a better time. More privacy. On the nights when there wasn’t a show at the Blue Angel, it was just a regular bar / lounge, and the dressing room wasn’t used.
    Of course!
    Now she just had to find a white blouse.
    *   *   *
    Bette was already in the dressing room, seated at one of the vanities. She wore an amazing black velvet trench coat that Poppy had never seen before. Poppy felt like a librarian in her stupid blouse and skirt. Why did she have to dress like a troll? Was it some kind of power play—only Bette could be hot?
    “Why didn’t you wear a long wig?” Bette asked.
    “I don’t have one like that.”
    “Hmm. I thought that might be the case. So I brought this for you.” She handed Poppy a brunette wig. Poppy reluctantly secured it on her head with bobby pins.
    “Perfect.” Bette stood and unbuttoned her trench, revealing her nude and perfect body.
    It was odd—Poppy had never hooked up with a woman before, had never particularly thought about it before Bette. But seeing her incredible breasts, creamy and pert and perfectly round, she felt as attracted to her as she had ever felt to a man. And when she touched them, cupping them gently and then brushing Bette’s hard nipples with her thumb, she felt her pussy quiver more intensely than it had with the last few guys she’d slept with. Bette pulled her face toward her and kissed her, deep and hard and with a surprising urgency. Poppy felt she couldn’t get enough of Bette’s mouth—her lips were full and soft, and she could smell her perfume—vanilla and orange and something woodsy.
    Bette unbuttoned Poppy’s blouse and squeezed her breasts, then slid her hands under her skirt. She stroked her pussy over her underwear, and Poppy was shocked that it was enough to make her wet.
    “Take off your skirt, and I’ll make you come,” Bette said. Poppy fumbled over the zipper, her hands shaking as she eased off her panties. No guy had ever spoken to her like this.
    Bette turned her around so that her ass was pressed against her own pussy, and Poppy looked at their reflection in the mirror of the vanity table. But when Bette slid one finger inside her, she closed her eyes.
    Her knees felt weak as Bette worked her finger slowly in and out, her thumb stroking her clit. She knew Bette was probably watching her in the mirror, and this would have made her self-conscious if the throbbing pleasure between her legs had not been making her mind a total blank. She moaned as she came, a sound that shocked her because she was usually so quiet. Bette moved to stand before her, then knelt down and licked her pussy with a single stroke of her tongue, like hard candy.
    “Oh, my God,” Poppy breathed.
    Bette stood so they were face-to-face.
    “Now you’re going to make me come.”
    Bette pulled her over to the musty green couch and proceeded to stretch out like a cat in the sun.
    “Use your tongue,” she commanded. Poppy wasn’t sure where or how she meant, so she knelt in front of the couch. Her own pussy was still throbbing, and she knew if Bette touched her again even for a few seconds she would have another orgasm.
    She took Bette’s breast into her mouth and touched the other one with her fingers. Bette slapped her