by Jamie Knight
I clear my throat. “Sounds like you really are committed to selling this then,” I say, not sure why I sound so surprised. It was I who gave him the idea to make it believable, after all. I just didn’t know he was going to be that good or that quick about it.
Tommy loses a bit of his mirth as if he’s not as happy about it as he’s just appeared to be. “Yeah. Had to kiss her to make her believe all that stuff,” he says, looking guilty. “But my mind was on you. On doing this for you. For the company and us, so that she’s shown for what she really is, not just what she portrays.” He fidgets with his napkin. “At least I kissed you of my own volition before I kissed her, right?”
I put my hand in his under the table. “Yes.” I lean in close to him, nibbling his ear again. “Remember what I told you about things your heart is not in, honey.” I pause, blowing lightly into that same ear. “You can’t expect someone to buy something you don’t sell.”
He moves away a bit, but only so he can look me in the eyes. “I know. Lawyers sell innocence and guilt all the time to judges and juries. But I don’t want to feel like I’m just giving myself away to every other girl but you.”
“Think about it like you’re giving yourself away for me. For these other guys who are not strong enough, Tommy,” I say, kissing him in the bit of shadow and light by our table as people move in and around us, but don’t really see us.
For a moment, we are quiet. Just sitting with each other.
“So, where does it go now?” I ask.
“Now? I keep reeling her in. I keep acting like the willing, moldable protégé she thinks I am,” answers Tommy without pause. “I keep giving her little bits and pieces of the intimacy she’s looking for, but not the whole thing. Enough to satisfy. Enough to look and act like obedience, but not enough to truly give her anything of value. At least, not until after the weekend.”
Our drinks come by. Set down from the waitress’ tray, before she leaves to go grab our food.
“What about getting any of it on audio or video?” I ask, slightly disturbed at how methodical I am about this — about getting dirt on a dirty, unscrupulous lawyer. If I hadn’t been a secretary, I might’ve made a good career out of being an undercover cop.
Tommy smiles grimly. “That comes after the weekend when I give her a good and filthy reason as to why my phone’s out.” He pauses. “Promise me you won’t think any less of me, Melissa. It’s the best I could come up with, and even then, I’m afraid she might see right through it.”
I squeeze Tommy’s hand. “Worry about that when you get there, honey.” I lower my voice and cuddle close to him. “For now, just get through the week. Give her your little bits and pieces, and then we’ll figure out what to do from there.”
Tommy picks up his drink and sips from it. I’m not sure what it is, but it looks like whiskey or bourbon on ice, with nothing more.
“I tested the link between our phones for a reason,” he says.
My stomach drops under these words.
“If something goes really wrong in all this, I’ll call you, but there may not be an answer. You’ll just have to listen and take down what you hear. And then go to Kane.”
I’m about to tell him to quit scaring me. Quit talking like that, but I can’t. I don’t.
Our food arrives in the next second, and I’m not allowed to question. All I can do is say, “Yes, sir,” and obey.
So, I do, and try to eat my lunch without any thought to when or if I’ll have to go to Kane with nothing more than what I hear on the other line.
Chapter Thirty-Five
Melissa
After our lunch — something I’m wishing felt more like a date than it did — I’m back at the office preparing to put in another three or four hours of work before going home. Though it’s only Monday, I’m finding myself jumping ahead to Friday. Then Saturday, when our date is scheduled for. Not since I was a teenager have I felt so impatient, so ready to escape the confines of work and responsibility to enjoy a little time away. With someone special, of course.
Isabella asks, “How was lunch?” Her words bring me out of my thoughts.
I want to answer her, but I am not sure how. Tommy and I are trying to be covert. My mind gets caught on Tommy again. His sweet smile, his loving eyes. “Loving,” I breathe before I realize what I am saying.
Isabella turns to me. “Huh?”
I freeze, realizing I’ve just let slip something I promised I wouldn’t. Quickly, I turn to her and turn the tables on my admission. “Oh, nothing.” The way Isabella looks at me, I’m not sure whether she heard or not. “It’s nothing.”
Isabella frowns. She lets her expression darken with worry and frustration. “Okay.”
I just nod, turning back to my work. Back to the calendar, I’ve opened. Next week, Kane, Ashton, and a few others are marked as being “out of the office” for a day. Some are marked off for two days, and I know that’s for a conference coming up where they are hoping to expand and incorporate new companies. I don’t know which companies very well, apart from the fact that they are more technology-based.
I don’t have much time to look at the calendar after that. My phone pretty much rings off the hook for the next few hours. Each call seems to be punctuated by some kind of appearance from one of the heads of the company. Either on their way to or from the conference room, and I can’t help myself: I end up counting them. Noting a time for each, just in case Kane asks.
The end of the day comes slowly but inevitably. Finally, it’s time for me to pack up and go home, but by the time I step out into the parking lot, it hits me that I have nothing to look forward to. No Tommy. While I had been maybe hoping that he’d be off work at the same time as me this afternoon, and maybe be interested in having an early dinner, he isn’t anywhere to be seen.
Immediately, I know that Vanacore’s probably asked him to stay longer and “put in more hours” so she can get him busy with something outside of work, so, as I’m getting in my car, I decide to send him a text. It reads simply: Heading home. Call or text me if you get into trouble. Otherwise, let’s make a plan for tomorrow. Meeting for lunch or something. I send the text.
I’m not expecting to get a reply, but I do get one. Not right away, but as I’m pulling into the parking lot of my condo community.
It reads: I’m fine, Melissa. I’ve got this. I’ll call you when I get home. As far as lunch plans, I better not. Tell you more later. Love, Tommy.
While I don’t like hearing that my idea for lunch plans might be already out the window, I love the fact that this text is signed with “love, Tommy.” I don’t think even Dennis did that. That little thing is enough to warm my heart and take the edge of fear away from me as I leave the car and head inside.
While I tell myself logically that I’m going to use the next few hours to get caught up on laundry and other chores, I know the truth. I’m going to be thinking and worrying about Tommy until he calls me and lets me know he’s truly safe.
****
However “late” I thought he would stay at work; it’s early compared to when he actually calls me that night. Around ten o’clock. When he does call, Tommy sounds tired but pleased with himself. When I ask him what he and Vanacore were doing at the office so late, he says, “Telling me her life story. Where she started out, how she got into law. Turns out, she comes from a long line of professional abusers.”
I scrunch my eyebrows together. “Professional…abusers?” I’ve never heard the term before, and I have a great dislike for it already.
Tommy chuckles, but I don’t see anything funny. “Bad term. People who abuse their professional status,” he clarifies. “People who know how to skirt the lines of the law and get away with sustained, calculated abuse of the people under them, as well as the company they work for.”
“You would, studying law so long,” I say, wandering into my kitchen and finding my favorite wine glass. Next, I pull out the wine bottle from the fridge I didn’t finish and pour some of i
t into my wine glass. The rest of it.
“Yes, well, it gave me a lot of insight into her. She truly fits the case of the abused becomes the abuser.” Tommy sighs here, and I can tell he doesn’t like the reality he’s been faced with. That Vanacore is a result of what was done to her. “I’m hoping that this will help me do what I need to do, but I’m not going to lie. It makes it harder to do the job I’ve already decided needs doing.” He pauses, growling into the phone. “I hate myself for even feeling anything for her, but I do. I feel sad, but if I used my past as an excuse for my present the way she does, I wouldn’t be working as a lawyer. I’d require a lawyer.”
I bring the glass up to my mouth and murmur assent, knowing what he’s getting at. That “dark” part of himself I started to see come out that day he was harassed on the legal aid’s floor.
“What now?” I ask. “And why don’t you want to get together for lunch? Why did you immediately shoot that down?”
I take another sip of my wine, legitimately curious, though I already know it has something to do with Vanacore. With Tommy’s “evidence collection” he plans to start on her.
“Vanacore. She’s going to be watching me like a hawk, now that I’ve gotten her thinking that I really am into her and was just playing hard to get. So, I can’t take any chances that she’ll see me with you.”
I understand that, though I don’t really like it. I’ve been hoping we would be able to use the cover of lunches to discuss how things are going. “Fine. Seeing as she despises us lowly receptionists,” I say, “but just for that, you are staying over this entire weekend. I’m not letting you out of my sight.”
Tommy laughs sweetly. “Nothing would make me happier, pet.”
I move the phone closer to me and wander back into my sitting room from the kitchen. “So, you’ll call me like this tomorrow after work, too, right?”
“I will.” I hear a door closing, something thumping and creaking around him. “When I can.”
“Good.” I flop down on my couch. “If you don’t, I’ll worry.”
“I know,” says Tommy softly. “You’re the worrying type, but I like it. It lets me know you care.”
Dennis would’ve never said anything like that. In fact, he said the opposite. Quite a lot. Whenever he wanted to remind me how much of a “hassle” I was for him to put up with.
“I’m glad you know that I care. Unlike some people who found that annoying, you have the heart to appreciate it. Thank you, my love.”
I hear Tommy gasp around this. I hear the smile around his next words. “You’re welcome, my love.”
After that, he hangs up, I get ready for bed. As I do, I pray that I make it through the rest of the week to Saturday, when I finally get to spend more than a few hours with him.
Chapter Thirty-Six
Tommy
Since my “confession of love” to Vanacore on Monday, and her subsequent confessions from her early life as a young, bright-eyed law clerk, the next few days pass smoothly. For Tuesday and Wednesday, nothing extraordinarily-intimate happens between Vanacore and I. Except for maybe a few more stolen kisses here and there. As I give them to her and take them equally, I keep track of the number, making sure that I give Melissa at least that many.
Aside from these little displays, it’s mostly actual work that Vanacore and I get to. Which is fine by me, as that’s what I was hoping to create by making myself vulnerable in the way I did at the beginning of the week. To assuage her desire and pleasure at forcing me into uncomfortable situations, so that she “backs off” of trying to make me submit, and instead spends time trying to gradually expose me to her secret, lustful desires and her plans for me.
It’s on Thursday, though, that things take a turn in a more intimate, heavy direction. It’s just as we are going over case notes from some recent appearances in court. Notes dealing with a client who’s been slandered by her previous employer for indecent photographs and indecent content, though she was hired for a photoshoot dealing with more scantily-clad models.
In the process of going over these notes, we also go over the pictures. The evidence in question. They are of young women. In the ages ranging from 18 to 25, these girls look like they are the victims and the Muses in a fever dream. They’re naked and posing in a very classical setting. A studio of some sort surrounded by roses and lilacs.
It’s as we’re going over these pictures that Vanacore begins to fiddle with herself. Blatantly she asks me, “Which one out of all these young women would you like to fuck if you could?”
Her question is so sudden and brash, I’m taken aback and startled. But not as much as by the sight of her leaning back and pulling up her skirt. She isn’t wearing panties. Her pussy is red. Her lower lips are already slightly engorged. Definitely gaining in color and warmth.
I quickly grab the picture and stare at it in place of Vanacore’s pussy. There’s pink and pretty (what I imagine maybe Melissa’s pussy to look like), and then there’s just big and mean. Which Vanacore’s slit certainly fits. I don’t really want to answer the question of which of these nameless young woman I would fuck if I could, but I have to. So, I pick a young woman that I think looks the most like Melissa. Dark-colored hair in a bob, sparkling green eyes, and curvy features. Big, luscious lips. A pleasantly sized pussy and breasts, too.
I clear my throat and pass Vanacore back the picture. As I do, I point out my pick and croak, “That one.”
Vanacore looks at the photo. She strokes her pussy thoughtfully. Her eyebrows knit together, and she smiles hungrily and maliciously, though she’s torn between two energies. “You really like that look, don’t you? Looks a bit like Mary Poppins on the executive floor.” The way she says “Mary Poppins” is more mocking than the fact that she’s used the completely wrong name.
Part of me is tempted to correct her, but I smooth over that part of me and say. “Well, you asked me which one I liked, ma’am,” I say.
I lean forward and deciding I’m going to try to bewitch her in the same way she’s been able to do to me. As I capture her with my gaze, I send forward the intention that I truly captivate her and make her see what she wants to see in me. Whatever sexy, depraved fantasy she has.
“Which one do you like?” As I ask this question, I lean close enough to put the front of my pants on her desk, my cock and balls, though they are still clothed, and I have every intention of keeping them that way until Melissa has gotten to have them all to herself.
Vanacore puts down the photo and says, “You.” An answer I’m not terribly surprised by. But what she follows it up with, I’m not initially sure how or if I’m going to be able to get out of it. She adds, pointing to her snatch, “now give her some attention. A long, full-mouth kiss, Tommy, before I have to reprimand you.” Saying this, she brings her hips up closer to my junk.
I lick my lips.
Vanacore sees this and says, “I knew you were starving for her, Tommy. Why not get your fill?” As she says this, she leans back a bit in her chair and spreads her legs open. If I wasn’t disgusted by her before, I certainly am now.
I’m not going to lick her pussy. I’m not even going to like it. Not until Melissa and I have done at least that much, and I let her know that I’m going to be doing something along those lines to appease Vanacore. To play it up. Sweat gathers on my upper lip, but I don’t bother to wipe it or anything. Vanacore wants me to taste her, and I don’t want to. How do I get out of this and satisfy her at the same time?
Under these thoughts, I watch as Vanacore starts to really stroke herself. She goes so far as to put some of her fancy-smelling lotion on her hands and then rub it down her labia and press her fingers inside of her pussy.
Finally, as if I have some guardian angel of the Risqué looking after me, I offer, “Would you like a picture of me?”
For a moment, Vanacore doesn’t seem to put two and two together. She’s too busy experiencing the bliss created by her hand and her snatch. She hums in confusion, looking at me. I take
out my phone and wave it at her.
“A picture, ma’am? Would you like one of me?” I let my eyes wander to the discarded photo on her desk. “As you don’t like any of the girls in that one, and you just want me?”
“I want your cock in my pussy,” she groans, pressing her fingers into her slit a bit more. Causing the lotion to squelch.
Internally, I completely shut that request down. The only pussy my cock is going into is Melissa’s. “I can’t, Ma’am,” I beg. “I’m not ready.”
Vanacore huffs. “Fine, then just watch.”
I try to block it out and just think of my pet. But, through the thin walls of my thoughts, I hear Vanacore beginning to sigh and moan. She growls and hisses with growing tension and pleasure as she keeps touching herself, but I imagine that Melissa’s making some of those noises. Her own version, surrounding them with a beautifully sexy accent. I stop myself before I get too riled up though, remembering my promise of celibacy.
It’s just as I hear Vanacore cum. I act like I’m doing something similar, though my cock is going to be completely clean. As is my underwear.
As I finish my bit of acting, making her think that I’m having just as good of a time as she is and that she is the center of my world, I think, Shit. And here I thought this was going to be the perfect solution. For keeping her out of my body and space, but not for keeping my promise.
I grit my teeth. I then pull at my pants, neatly tucking my package away, so it looks like my Boner is satiated, and take a small Kleenex from her desk. I have nothing on my hands, but I make it look like I do. I then throw it in the wastebasket and make a mental note to tell Melissa about this tonight.