by Jamie Knight
“Not a word of a lie,” I said.
We kissed again and then went back to our respective day jobs. Just that bit of contact with her was enough to make my cock rock hard. I wondered about Emma if her pussy might be wet.
Chapter Eleven
Noah
I walked briskly from the cafe to get back to work. When I was nearly to the elevator, I heard a familiar voice behind me. It was a terrifying voice that never failed to fill me with dread and stop me in my tracks. Even back when I was very first learning how to walk.
“Noah, darling!”
“Hi, Mom,” I said, freezing in place, not needing to turn around.
“Come now, turn and face me when I am addressing you, young man.”
“Okay, Mom,” I said, doing a Michael Jackson dance move, turning on my heel.
Mom stood in the foyer of Howell and Howell, looking like the rich socialite that she was. Her fur coat was freshly fluffed. Her pearls shone brightly above her light blue Chanel suit. Eyeing me up and down, she pursed her lips in a disapproving manner.
“Don't be silly, dear, and honestly, what are you wearing?”
“Um, slacks and a turtleneck,” I said, looking down to double-check.
“Don't you get smart with me, young man!”
“Sorry, Mom.”
“And so, you should be, my word such sauciness.” She reached up and pinched my cheek like I was five and not thirty-five. “You really should dress better if you are going to be working a professional job.”
I fought the urge to roll my eyes. “Yes, I do know. I even got a suit.”
“You did? When?” Mom asked.
“A few days ago,” I joked, but Mom seemed to be oblivious. “I was saving it as a surprise for the gala.”
“Oh, how wonderful!”
“I'm glad you think so, even though the surprised is now ruined,” I snipped.
Mom’s high expectations meant that a suit had to be designer. She had seen me in suits before, some very expensive, but if it wasn’t from Savile Row, it wasn’t a suit to Mom.
“Oh, I'm sure it will still be a surprise,” Mom said as she patted me on the cheek.
“Really?”
“Oh yes, in my experience, there is rather a large difference between the idea of something and the fact of it.”
“Don't I know it,” I mused.
“Don't be saucy and please do not use contractions. It is so common.”
“Indeed, it is. In that, it is what most people do,” I pointed out.
“And you don't want to be like most people. I certainly don't, you are special, my boy. You should always seek to be the best that you can be.”
“Which is better than the unwashed masses,” I groaned.
“You said it, dear, but yes, I cannot help but disagree. Ordinary is fine for most people but we both know that you are bound for better things. I mean, how old were you when you graduated law school.”
“Twenty-three, Mom. You know that.”
“Right, and how did you manage such a feat?”
“You got me skipped two grades, so I graduated when I was sixteen. Then forced me to go into law school after finishing my undergraduate degree.”
She tutted. “Encouraged. I encouraged you to go to law school and can you blame me? Your majors weren't exactly useful.”
“Not for getting rich, no,” I agreed.
“And who doesn't want to be rich? I was just worried about your future, honey.”
“Because heaven forbid, I be in the middle class.”
“Oh!” Mom cried, clutching her chest like she had been stabbed, “please do not say things like that. You know I grew up poor and that sort of tragedy is nothing to make light of.”
“Great-grandpa was a plumber,” I pointed out.
“Exactly and your father and I both want better things for you.”
“My father?”
“Yes.”
“My father, who was an architect?” I asked.
“My point exactly!”
“Point taken,” I said, doing my best not to laugh.
Mom frowned but lightened up after a second. “Anyway, who was that little beauty I saw you with?”
“Beauty?” I asked playing dumb.
“Don't play dumb with me, young man.”
“Who's playing?”
“Come now, she was in your arms in the café next door and you were smooching, it was very clear what was going on.”
“You're right, I can't fool you.”
“Darn tootin',” Mom said smugly.
“Her name is Emma and, well, we're engaged.”
“You are?” Mom asked, her arms dropping, followed closely by her expression.
“Yeah, for a couple months now. I know I should have told you. I was cruel to keep it a secret, but I really wasn't sure how you would react to her if you knew.”
Mom’s frown deepened. “Why? What's wrong with her?”
“She's, um, a waitress,” I said, thinking fast for a plausible reason, “I don't think she went to college either.”
“Oh, hey, that's not a problem,” Mom said, surprising us both.
“Really?” I asked.
“No, of course not, nobody's perfect and if she makes you happy, which she clearly does, that's all that matters. I'm just glad that you're finally settling down. She looks like a good, healthy girl. She should have lots of strong babies.”
“We haven't really talked about that but yeah,” I said, my head still whirling. Mom seriously couldn't have surprised me more if she had said she was moving to Afghanistan to farm heroin.
“How old is she?” Mom asked.
“Twenty-seven,” I said.
“Oh, that is a good age. Old enough to be mature, young enough to still be in her prime.”
“That's the idea,” I teased with a sly wink.
“Oh, you!” Mom said, giving me a playful shove, “I guess we don't wave to invite Gina to the gala, now.”
“We?” I asked.
“Okay, I guess I don't have to bring Gina to the event.”
“Might be a bit awkward if she came,” I said, trying to keep it casual but honestly on the very tipping edge of doing Snoopy happy dances.
“No kidding! Oh! I'm so happy!” she exclaimed, hugging me and turning me toward the elevator. “You have to tell me everything!”
“I-I'm just going back up to the office,” I said.
“Oh, I get it, a bit of a lunchtime smooch,” Mom said.
“Yeah,” I said, not daring to tell her the truth.
“That's fine, honey, you can tell me on the way up!”
She took me by the hand and led me toward the elevator, her grip stronger than an iron bar — from years of practice with my sister and me.
I felt kind of bad for lying but it made Mom so happy, and I was also unspeakably relieved that I wouldn't have to see Gina again — a fact which almost made all the subterfuge worth it in and of themselves.
“So, where did you meet?” Mom asked as the elevator doors shut.
“At the cafe,” I said, only tailoring the truth rather than outright lying.
“Ah, workplace romance.”
“Technically, though, we work on different floors doing different things,” I pointed out.
“She approached you, right?”
“Yeah, pretty much,” I said, smiling to myself.
“Shame it came to that, but I'm happy she did,” Mom said.
This was really saying something, Mom's opinions on male and female roles peaking in the 1960s, and she was firmly of the opinion that it was the man who was supposed to ask. At least she hadn't asked who had proposed.
“So am I,” I said, playing along.
“Do you have a date set yet?” she asked
“We were thinking of April the first,” I said, the elevator doors opening on the fourth floor. Smiling at Mom, I got ready to lie my ass off.
Chapter Twelve
Noah
I pulled u
p behind Emma's hearse at her apartment and cut the engine on the hotrod. I really wasn't sure it would be there in the morning. At home, I had taken the precaution of having it valeted, and they tended not to screw around with customers as rich as I was. If I wanted to leave it with them overnight, they would let me. No such luck at the office, the best they were able to do was a reserved spot in a parking lot, which always seemed to me like a great place to get mugged.
Putting the club onto the steering wheel, I locked the door and headed for the main entrance. Emma's unit was unnamed. The tag next to the buzzer button only said OCCUPANT. Only those who knew her knew that she was there. Very clever, I thought. I pressed the button, holding it for a few seconds as I had been taught in the etiquette classes I was forced to take as a child.
“Hello?” Emma said, the static of the old intercom doing little to malign her beautiful voice.
“It's me,” I said.
“Me who?” she asked.
“Me, Noah.”
“You, Jane?”
“Good one,” I laughed.
The door buzzed. I was once again granted entrance to the building and made my way to her most precious and sacred sanctum.
I gave three light raps on her apartment door and already started wiping my feet, even though there wasn't actually a mat, just a carpet. An unconscious reflex that might qualify as OCD if it were a bit more consistent, rather than only coming up when I was nervous for one reason or another. Though to be fair, it that case I was nervous because I didn't want to screw things up because I was really starting to like her.
“Come in,” Emma said, opening the door and heading back into the apartment.
She was dressed comfortably in a tank top and a pair of boxer shorts. It was a bit odd seeing her wear shorts because I'd never seen her wear anything but skirts or dresses, but they still looked good on her, doing wonderful things for her already beautiful ass.
I ignored the sudden and vehement swelling in my pants and followed her into the apartment, closing the door behind me.
“Thanks for doing this,” she said, turning her head back towards me as she walked. “I've always wanted a catering job like this but then I realized I don't actually know how to do it.” She giggled.
“I'm here to help,” I assured her.
“And I really appreciate it. I looked some stuff up online, and one of the main points of the agreements was that I should have a clear menu set out before I go in and start cooking on the day.”
“Sounds like a good plan,” I agreed, taking off my coat and setting it on her couch.
“I know, right? So, what I did was to make a list of the dishes I think I can make the best, my strong points if you will.”
“Good call,” I said.
“Thanks.”
“What do you need from me?” I asked.
“Two things.” She swung around and held up two fingers to emphasize her point.
“Okay.”
“First, I need your help with preparation, okay? Some of the dishes are pretty complex, and I only have two hands.”
“At your service,” I said, with a deep cordial bow.
“Great,” Emma said with a slight giggle at my intentional exaggeration. She turned and started for the apartment’s small kitchen. I followed.
“What's the second thing?”
“I need you to taste the food when it is done. I want your honest opinion, okay? If something tastes like kaka, tell me, okay? I really want to make my best stuff. Ann and Jim have some really powerful friends in really high places, and if they like my work, it could be the making of me.”
“I'm not exactly chopped liver, you know?” I said, with faux-insult.
“Oh, yes, of course, I didn't — you're yanking my chain, aren't you.”
“Just a bit,” I said with a big grin.
“I do you know, think that you're important, that is. I mean there's your charity work and all the defense cases you take. I mean you got that Turkish journalist out of prison for writing a satirical novel and—”
“You've been googling me.”
“Yes, I have. I didn't even know that international civil liberties were a thing.”
“It shouldn't be, really. So many countries have their own laws, it can be almost impossible to keep them all straight.”
“Must take a really good memory.”
“Yes, and some bullshitting skills. All for the greater good, of course. In the case you mentioned, I got her out by pointing out that while there is a law against criticizing Turkishness because the novel was a satire, it did not criticize it directly and given the extremely specific references and deep metaphors it was unlikely that most people, even Turkish people, would get it anyway, and would likely just read it on a surface level. In the end, the government decided that they didn't mind being made fun if no one knew it was happening.”
“Genius,” Emma said shaking her head in wonder.
“A hail Mary actually, but it worked.”
As the even went on, food was assembled and prepared with amazing speed and efficiency, each tasting better than the last. I made sure to tell Emma so.
“Honestly? You're not just saying that?” she asked as I ate a sausage roll. Somehow, she had missed the fact that it was my third helping.
“Honestly, it's really good.”
She went and sat down with some emphasis at the dining table, resting her head in her hands. “I think I might have overdone it. I just want everything to be perfect.”
“It will be, and you didn't overdo anything. Yeah, it was a bit intense, but that was how you get to be the best.”
I put down the sausage roll and went to her. Putting my hands on her shoulders, I gently gave her a massage. Emma humming contently, not raising her head as I worked her tight shoulders and neck.
“That feels really good,” she said.
“You're going to do great,” I insisted.
When Emma had rallied a bit, we got down to writing up the menu for the party. In the end, there were maybe five items Emma struck from the list, bringing the menu down to seven items, each arranged perfectly for the course they were being prepared for.
I was so excited for her. This could really change her life.
Chapter Thirteen
Emma
We had been cooking most of the night. Noah had arrived just after five, and it was nearing midnight when all was said and done. To celebrate, we sat at the table and finished off the final dish I'd made, some handmade eclairs I'd gotten the recipe for online, finishing it off before there rest had to go into the fridge for later. I was going to be up to my eyeballs in party food for a week or so.
“You’re eating around the cream,” I said, looking at Noah.
“Saving it,” he said.
I laughed. “Aw, come on live a little. Bite right into the middle.”
“I don't think that's a good idea.”
“Why? Will you turn into a pumpkin?” I asked.
“Possibly.” He grinned.
I took a bit of the whipped cream from the center of the eclair and dabbed it on his nose. He looked at me with something resembling shock. Slowly and methodically, Noah took some of his own cream and flung it in my general direction. I could see it coming and managed to dodge, most of it going on my shoulder. I took more from mine and did the same flick move only with a good deal more accuracy hitting him directly in the chin. To be fair, I had a good deal of practice. Noah tried again, despite his failed first attempt, that shot getting me in the chest. Which would have been impressive if he hadn't clearly been aiming for my head.
“Nice shot,” I said before retiring fire, hitting him in the cheek.
“Touché,” he said, because of course, he did.
No longer trusting his aim, Noah broke off a bit of the eclair and came at me, smooshing it into my face. While he was distracted, I broke off a bit of my own and got him back, squishing my handful directly into his face. He stumbled back, from surprise as much as for
ce — I've never been very strong.
Noah caught himself, leaning against the table and blinked, trying to get his bearings. It was adorable.
Suddenly, he came to me. Not aggressively but with great conviction. I still put my hands up defensively, just in case. Taking me gently by the wrists, Noah pulled me up to my feet and towards him, taking me into an embrace, the cream making an interesting sound. Then, holding me still, he gently licked the cream from my face and started moving down towards my chest.
Struck by inspiration, I took him by the hand and led him towards the bathroom.
Getting my clothes off in record time, Noah started stroking my pussy and kissing my neck as I turned on the shower and tested the water temperature. When it was tolerable, I stripped Noah down to nothing, his beautiful cock already fully hard, and got into the shower with my fake fiancé close behind.
I went first, washing him off, first the cream and then in general, caressing every inch of his perfect body, half convinced that I had to be dreaming.
I tried to focus, but it was no use. When I got down to his legs and saw his big hard cock, I just couldn’t resist. I was overtaken by a powerful desire and just had to touch it.
Wrapping my hand lovingly around his throbbing shaft, I began to stroke, listening to his moans of pleasure. Before I knew it, I was gently lifting his shaft, still stroking it, and filling my mouth with one of his balls. It really did barely fit. Giving that one some tender loving care, I switched to the other and then back again, alternating at regular intervals until Noah was ready to explode, barley getting his cock into my mouth in time, but I did and was very happy.
There was something about his cum that made me feel amazing. Keeping his cock in my mouth, I started to suck him. Slow and gentle at first, for my benefit as much as his, getting used to his massive girth in my mouth. When I had adjusted a bit more, I wrapped one hand around his cock, keeping the other massaging his balls. Noah put a hand on my head to let me know that he liked it. I knew this was the intent because he didn't push or pressure me in any way to suck him harder. He just let me do what I was going to do with no pressure or expectation, which felt really freeing.