by Luke Steel
Cresting the hill in my tiny rental car, the magnificent main house comes into view as I pass a circle of gatehouses and maintenance sheds. One of them, set apart from the others, is a charming two-story colonial style house, with a garden and a stone fence lining it. As I pass, I can see a swing set and garden in the back. I’d love to live in something as sweet and charming as that, and it’s only one of the houses on the grounds of this estate. Unbelievable, really.
And James owns all of it. Before I knew who he was, he seemed like … well, just a guy. An unfairly hot, sexy, sleep with him for just one night guy, but still a normal person. Down to earth, even. But the rich are different, isn’t that how the saying goes? I’ve worked enough events for that echelon of people to know that great wealth can make some folks a little ‘off’ relative to the rest of the world.
What could we possibly have in common?
As I think it, I feel a rush in my chest and between my thighs as my body offers up some choice reminders. Sex. We definitely, positively, undisputedly seem to have mind-blowing sex in common. But that’s probably all.
My tires crunch on the pebbled service road that leads to the side of the house, and I try to keep that thought in mind. The next few days we might tangle up again, but best to keep in mind that this is just for fun. The party ends Saturday. Quite literally, in this case.
Six
James
Chemistry. Some kind of weird, primitive, animal instinct. Maybe it’s the wedding. All the lovey-dovey around me is contagious and screwing with my DNA. I feel like a wild man has taken over my brain. I woke up this morning with a monster hard-on, and even another quick jerk in the shower did nothing to calm it down. And since I’ve come downstairs, I’ve been prowling the house like a tiger, hoping to catch Emma when she arrives.
I’m on a wide balcony at the back of the house, staked out at a corner where I can see vehicles driving down the service entrance to the kitchen where I know she’ll be.
How did I not get her number?
Judging by the scratches on the back of my neck from where she was gripping my head—Christ, I could come just thinking about the way she held on and bucked on my mouth—I know she enjoyed every second of what happened. I guess in the rush afterward, little details like her number kind of slipped. And then so did she, like a ghost, right after. I’d be in full on panic mode thinking of ways to try to find her if she wasn’t going to be back today.
“Hey, man, you missed breakfast.”
My brother walks out onto the terrace to join me. It’s a beautiful crisp morning, though it’s due to warm up later.
“Ah, yeah, had some calls to get out of the way.”
“Running the empire, huh?”
“Something like that.”
“It’s cool. Tomorrow is the fancy breakfast anyway. Everyone will be here then.”
I don’t say anything because, in the distance, a vehicle just turned onto the service road and up the drive. As it gets closer, though, I can see it’s a white van. The driver is male.
“You waiting for someone?”
“No. Why?”
“What do you mean, ‘Why?’ You’re watching every car that comes up the drive.”
“An army is invading my house. I want to know who’s here.”
He laughs, “I know, I know. More on the way, too.” He turns away and cranes his neck to look up at the house behind us. But he’s a little too casual when he asks his next question. “Are you bringing a date to the wedding?”
I think of Emma.
“No,” I say. But then something occurs to me. “But why are you asking me?”
Hands in his pockets, Joe kicks at some imaginary dirt. “Well, Lena has a lot of friends here. If you wanted to meet any of them…”
“Don’t even try it, little brother. I already met the maid-of-honor. Man eater, that girl.”
“Oh yeah, Kim was definitely feeling you. But she has a date. At least for this.”
I snort because all signs point to Kim being the type of girl who doesn’t always leave with the guy who brought her.
“Lena wanted me to ask.”
“Save it, brother. I’m not in trouble in that department.”
“I know. We just thought we could introduce you.”
I clap him on the shoulder. “You keep saying ‘we.’ It’s cute.”
Joe turns red, but he’s saved by the sound of a door opening on the terrace below us. We lean over the railing to see a laughing Lena twirling out through the palazzo doors, her little team of bridesmaids squealing after her. Lena is in some kind of flowing dress, with trailing scarves floating around her in the air as she spins. It’s not the wedding dress, but the ladies are still all aflutter.
I look at my brother and even I have to smile at the goofy puppy look on his face as he watches his soon-to-be-bride. It’s the same look he’d get every time he saw her when we were kids—even the first time he saw her.
The ladies are so focused on exclaiming over the dress that they don’t see us on the upper tier of the balcony until Joe lets out a wolf-whistle. All of them turn at once and giggle when they spot us. Lena is a slight blonde cutie standing still in her little circle, smiling up at Joe with some mischief and a wink. She preens, holding out the skirt and turning a little circle just for Joe to see. We both applaud and catcall as the ladies turn together and rush back into the house.
He says, “She designed that dress, you know.”
“Lena?”
“Yeah. She told the event team what she wanted, and that chick we met earlier…what was her name, Emily?
“Emma,” I correct him.
“Yeah, her. She had it made for her. Lena’s ‘hummingbird dress,’ she calls it.”
“Not fairy wings?”
“Nope, hummingbirds. Same design as the floor, apparently.”
“Oh, wow.”
“Hey, when you said she could have her fantasy wedding, she took you at your word.”
“Man, I’m just glad. I truly am. It feels good to be able to do this for you. For both of you.”
We hug it out for a while before we break apart and he punches my shoulder.
Over his shoulder, I see another car turning down the drive. Blue Civic. I focus in like a laser. There’s a woman behind the wheel. I can’t see her face too clearly, but there’s no mistaking the horn-rimmed glasses.
Without thinking, I start to tear in that direction.
Joe stops in my path. “You ready?” Joe asks.
“Oh hell yeah,” I say.
“Then where are you going? Isn’t the way back through the house?”
“What?” I can’t take my eyes off Emma. She’s stepped out of the driver side, and thrown her bag on the hood, rifling through it. From this vantage, I can see she’s wearing the crew black again. And whaddya know, it’s another skirt.
Joe says, “The day trip, remember? We’re going into town with the parents.”
“Shit, that is today, isn’t it?” I promised the houseguests a day to get to know the little seaside town a few miles from Blake, a posh little center with shopping and wineries. I can’t bow out without looking like a dick.
“We’re meeting everyone in about fifteen at the front of the house. Ready to go?”
In the distance, Emma walks toward the house and disappears from view.
She has to work today anyway. I need to get a hold of myself.
I head back in with him and resign myself to go. Today—this whole week—is for Joe and Lena, not me and the event planner.
“Let’s go be a family or whatever.”
Seven
James
The tour took most of the day, and the family and the rest of the party are good and exhausted when we make it back to Blake House. I liked it more than I expected I would. The families are old friends, so they know each other well. Lena is definitely the most whimsical of the clan, but they’re good people.
While the rest of them oohed and ahhed over shops,
I was busy planning operation Get-Emma-Alone. A few cases of wine and a phone call to my assistant later, and the wheels are in motion.
The Renaissance Events team leader, Justine, is waiting for us as the caravan of cars pulls up to the house. She’s a severe looking woman with long dark hair, silver at both temples. It’s hard not to think of Bride of Frankenstein when you look at her. A little scary. The old woman nearly curtsies when I walk to meet her.
“Mr. Blake, your assistant let me know you wished to speak to me. Is there anything amiss?”
I shake my head. “Not at all. Just the opposite. I wanted to commend your team for the incredible job they’re doing this week. The bride is happy, so we’re all happy, of course.”
The woman looks visibly relieved, though still sour. “I am so pleased to hear this. We’re of course honored to stage such a joyous occasion in this historic location.”
No doubt she was even more excited by press attention the company would receive when the pictures are released to designer magazines.
I’m magnanimous. “That’s exactly why I asked to talk to you. I’d love to meet the event designer. I’m very taken with how innovative the setup has been.”
The woman puts a hand to her neck and smiles like a vampire, soaking up the praise. What she doesn’t do is offer Emma’s name. I wait a beat and then play my second card.
“Also, as I know it’s a team effort and everyone is working hard, I wanted to thank the whole team. I have a small gift for everyone. Would you take me to meet them, please?”
Her hesitation is very brief, but long enough to press the point and extend my arm in invitation for her to lead the way. A couple of the valets follow with crates behind us.
We crunch down a white pebble trail to the staging area, where a circle of white catering vans is parked next to the kitchen doors. Some of the activity has died down a bit as evening sets in, and various crew is standing together and talking, or loading bins. They all perk up when the diminutive Justine passes, nearly snapping to attention, some of them.
I see Emma standing in the light of the catering vans, holding her tablet up as she checks the labels on cartons as they’re wheeled past. The glow throws her body in a silhouette that’s all curves and legs.
Justine speaks into a small short-wave handset just like the one Emma wore the previous night, and all around us the Renaissance Events crew stops what they’re doing to gather closer to us. When Emma looks up, I simply stand back and wait, though I feel tense and hot to have to keep myself from going straight for her and carrying her away with me. When our eyes meet, I see her take a tiny step back.
The group stands cautiously around, with Emma at the back.
I clear my throat and introduce myself. “I’m James Blake, the owner of the house. I wanted to thank you,” I pause and look directly at Emma, “all of you, for the wonderful job you’re doing for us. It’s an impressive operation, truly. “
The little group breaks out into smiles, and I signal to the guys behind me to bring the crates forward.
“While we were in town today, I picked up a few bottles of the local vineyard wines for the crew. The bride and groom asked me to give these to you. So please, take a few and enjoy, with our compliments.” A little clapping and a few cheers ring out. “No drinking on the job!” I shout out mockingly, and the laughing and cheers get louder. “But we can’t wait to see how the final day turns out. Cheers, guys.”
I notice that almost everyone takes a moment to lean in and pat Emma on the back before they come forward to choose their bottles. She ducks her head in that way of hers but doesn’t move forward. She’s smiling, though.
“Thanks, Mr. Blake,” one of the crew, a young man, says to me. “We really appreciate the gift.”
I lean in to shake his hand as he offers it, but my eyes are on Emma. Justine slips up to Emma and whispers something in her ear. Emma’s smile fades as she listens to whatever the woman is saying to her, and once again, I have to fight an urge to push over to Emma’s side and make the crone sorry for whatever she said.
Frustrated, I look at the guy and gesture to Emma and Justine. “What’s doing over there? Do you know?”
“Oh, them?” He trails off, looking at them and back at me as though he’s not sure if he should be discussing this with me.
I gamble and say out of the corner of my mouth, “Don’t worry. I get the feeling your boss is kind of difficult.”
He puts a hand to his mouth to hide a laugh, relieved. “She’s one scary lady.” He leans in close to me. “And she hates that Emma is such a great designer. Justine acts like Emma’s just an assistant or something, but Emma’s the one who puts everything together. Justine couldn’t do this kind of party without her.”
As we talk, Emma just nods meekly at everything Justine says, and it pisses me off.
“Ok, thanks, man. What’s your name?”
“Julian.”
We shake hands again. “Enjoy the wine.”
I make my way over to Emma and Justine, who both quiet as I step close. Justine is all smiles again, but Emma’s face is a blank.
“Everyone seemed to like the presents.”
Justine leans in, “Again, thank you Mr. Bl—“
“No, no. It’s obvious you have a very talented team here. As a matter of fact, I’ve asked my assistant if she wouldn’t mind meeting with you in the front foyer. We have another event in two months at our headquarters in the city, and I’d like to discuss bringing you in again.”
Justine discretely checks her watch. “Now? But it’s nearly nine—“
“Is that a problem?”
“Not at all. In the foyer you said?” I imagine the dollar signs dancing in the woman’s head.
“Yes. But now that I think of it, there’s also another matter that needs to be addressed in the pool house. Could you send someone with me to take a look?”
“Emma can see to it!” Justine turns to Emma and her friendliness level drops to icy. “Emma, go with Mr. Blake to see what he needs.” She turns and pastes her smile back on. “She’ll take good care of you,” she says and hurries off.
“I hope so,” I say after her, but loud enough only for Emma to hear.
I stand close to Emma as we both watch Justine crunch away.
Emma doesn’t look at me for a moment, just keeps staring after her boss.
“That was…” she pauses to find the word, “masterfully done.”
I don’t even pretend I don’t know what she’s talking about. “I thought so.”
“The wine. The wine was a nice touch.” She peeks at me out of the corner of her eye. “A nice gift, too.”
“I believe in supporting local businesses.”
That cracks her up, finally, and her laughter is sweet and light.
“Do you really have an assistant waiting for Justine?”
“Kenzie’s being a good sport. Otherwise, Justine would just come rushing back here.”
Emma turns on her heel and starts to walk in the direction of the pool house. I keep pace, all the while my hands in my pockets. It occurred to me Emma might not appreciate my little plan to get her alone, so I wait to feel her out a bit.
Pun intended.
We walk along the trail that leads to the pool house, lamps on either side of the path light the way.
“Do you know where you’re going?” I ask.
She looks at me out of the corner of her eye again. “It’s my job to know.”
I stop and tug at her arm. “The grounds, sure. But this…” I step into her space, and lean in, my mouth skimming hers. Standing this close to her after wanting her all day is almost torture, but it’s important. “This is not part of your job. This is you and me. And only if you want it.”
She sways a little on her feet and I pull back so I can see her eyes. They glitter in the dark. And when she doesn’t pull back, I take her hand in mine and lead the rest of the way.
The pool house is set back into the wooded bluff of the prop
erty, out of sight from the main house windows. It was renovated along with the rest of the house, but it’s not being used for the party. We’re alone when we walk up to the door.
I have keys to everything on the estate, and I slip us into the building without any trouble.
The minute—the second—the door shuts, Emma turns and grabs for me just as I reach for her.
The kiss is not gentle. Not even a little. Just like before, while our tongues play, her fists are in my hair and mine are gripping her ass. All the heat, all the pent-up frustration from waiting all goddamned day to get back here rushes up and both of us claw and scratch to get clothes out of the way.
The room we’re in is dark as a cave. All of the furniture is covered, and we only make it over to the base of a shadowed lump before we get tangled in the clothes we’re ripping off like animals.
Before we stumble, I lower us down to the floor and start to pull at her blouse again, buttons popping as I wrestle with them. By the moonlight streaming in through the windows, I can see her skirt ride high on those toned thighs and the delicious sweet spot shadowed between them. I drop a hand to her panties and stroke the fabric just over her pussy. She arches up from the floor with a gasp, her hips coming up already. The fabric is sopping wet. I’m half kneeling, half lying between her legs, and when she lifts up to try to pull me down to her, I follow only long enough to shove the cups of her bra up.
Her tits pop free and I’ve got my mouth on one, my fingers gently pinching the other. She made some progress with my shirt but loses her focus as I start to suck one nipple and then the other. I can feel her back arch up from the floor as her neck bows up, and then she’s gripping my hair again. Her whole body rises in a panting wave as she presses closer, and I feel her legs bend and hook over my hips as she tries to pull me into her. When I move from her nipples back up to her neck and then her mouth, she bites my lip, hard.
It hurts. And it’s good.
My dick feels as hard as rebar, and the only thing that makes it better is grinding up and into her. We’re making out like teenagers on the floor of my parents living room, and I’m past ready for a hell of a lot more than heavy petting. When I can’t get her to let me loose, I take both of her hands in my left and press them together over her head. Baby girl likes that, because she responds by nearly lifting me up and off the floor, her body wild under me.