Emmy wasn't so out of it that she missed the irony: the first time she found herself alone with Greg was at a party with hundreds of people. Julie and he had invited her to some grand opening of something or other, all related to one of Julie's clients. In a massive private penthouse downtown, food and drink passing by constantly and the non-stop movement of people throughout the apartment. So, technically, they were anything but alone, but there was absolutely nobody either of them knew and after Julie left them to go schmooze, they found an open pair of seats on the couch, letting the waitstaff find them.
She was burning to ask him; as usual. She didn't know they'd have this opportunity, but it was a question she had to have answered. After two glasses of champagne, she felt the words begin to bubble up.
"Hey, Greg," she began, trying not to look as stiff as she felt. "I've got a funny question for you."
He turned and raised his eyebrows, waiting.
"Did you used to have a friend named John? John Corenzo?"
He blinked and nodded, surprised, but not showing any signs he might recognize her. "Yeah. You know John?"
She nodded. This was the moment: either let it drop or bring it to front. He obviously hadn't made a connection yet. "Yeah, I hung out with him for a little while a few years ago. What's up with him these days? I lost track."
Oblivious, Greg prattled on about whatever John was up to. Emmy couldn't have cared less, relieved that he had no recollection of their past encounter. But as he wound down his reminiscing, her relief turned to anger.
How dare he? How dare he do that to me and not remember?!!
And then she giggled at her stupid self-righteousness.
What? It was so memorable he should have called you the next day and wanted more? What do you want? To confront him? To have him acknowledge that he forced himself on you?
But she knew that wasn't the case. She really had wanted it. He really had known she needed to beg for it. She was more angry with John, and herself, than with Greg. But she was irritated he couldn't remember what for her was one of the most intense encounters of her life. And, true to form, she felt herself moisten as the images came rushing back: being stripped, him finger-fucking her, his cock sliding down her open throat.
"So, how did you know John?"
She looked up from her drink and stared at him, not sure where to go with the conversation. She just shrugged and offered a response that closed the subject. She'd done it and she felt drained, unsatisfied if at least less anxious.
They had their regular brunch the next day. She came over with a fruit salad, the weather warm with a cool breeze. She'd worn a sun dress feeling free and easy.
"Whoa," Greg said, greeting her. "You really are doing something different."
She smiled and ignored him, knowing he wasn't being manipulative, just nice. When she got to the kitchen, she realized Julie wasn't around. "Hey! Where's Julie?"
He came in, headed to the sink to wash his hands. "She said she was going to an appointment this morning, and assured me she'd be back by now." He turned to dry his hands and bumped against her, his hands moving the material of her dress against her thigh. "Oh! Sorry."
She smiled and shrugged it off.
"Hey," he said softly. "I was thinking more about John last night after I got home."
She froze and tried to act natural.
"I think I know why you brought him up." His tone was gentle, inviting.
She turned to him eyebrows raised, trying not to speak, knowing she'd give herself away if she did.
"You...you were that girl, right?" His look was a mixture of concern, embarrassment and something else, something deeper...a longing.
She shivered, feeling her juices flowing and mentally chastising herself for her reaction. She blushed and looked away, nodding slightly.
"I...hmmm...I've...after that night, I wondered what happened to you..."
She looked back, his tone seeming to open up space between them.
"John said you practically disappeared. We never really talked about it...except..."
She knew what exception he was referring to: the one where John revealed her kink, her need to be forced, to beg. She could feel her eyes moisten and she looked away, unable to say anything that would make sense.
He reached over and rubbed her shoulder gently, concerned she might shrink away. "You asked me for it, right?" Almost a whisper. "I keep wondering if I raped you that night..."
She closed her eyes, a tear forced out to slide down her cheek and shook her head. She opened her mouth to speak but closed it.
His hand stayed on her shoulder and she could feel he had moved closer. "I...it was...I can't..." He didn't know how to even talk about it, but she wished he would try harder.
She wasn't about to help him. The anger at her own need, her stupidity at putting herself in these situations, and she realized, all of a sudden, that once again she was being stupid. "Where is Julie?" Her voice croaked as she looked at him again.
He didn't release his hand, or move away. Instead, he brought his other hand to her shoulder and stared at her, concern and that thing that had been buried beginning to surface. Predatory, smoldering. She couldn't stand it; she couldn't pull away.
"I'm surprised she's not back yet, frankly." His hands moved gently, pushing against her muscles.
NoNoNoNONONO!
But that feeling in her stomach started up and she knew if he didn't put a stop to this, she wouldn't be able to.
"C'mon," he said, his voice light. "Let's go sit outside and wait for her."
Relief flooded through her. She didn't resist when he gently pulled on her shoulder, grabbing a glass and the bottle of wine as they left the kitchen.
"You've been holding this in this whole time?" He looked at her over the glass as he took a taste.
She looked away, finishing her own glass and pouring another.
Why was she here? What was she doing???
She nodded.
"I've felt so guilty about that night..."
"No! Please..." She blurted out, immediately regretting it.
He should feel guilty! For not trying to reach out to me!
She smiled inwardly, knowing that wasn't in the least why he felt guilt.
Seeing her reaction to his confession, he sat back, thinking, his eyes burning, that need barely hidden.
She imagined the gears turning in his head and she felt sticky at the top of her thighs. If he kept going, she'd have to go to the bathroom and take off her panties. Or leave. She was certain he could smell her.
"Guilty?" She whispered, now wondering how he would answer.
His mouth pressed into a line. "Hmmm...," he paused, studying her, calculating. "Tell me."
It was a simple directive, but it started a chain reaction she couldn't control. She felt her pussy lips squish a little as she pressed her thighs together and took another swig from her glass trying to collect her thoughts.
"Guilty about...Julie?"
He laughed quietly. "No," he said flatly. "That's not what you need, is it? That's not how you need this to go. You need to tell me..." He pressed his lips together and sat forward. "Julie? You have no idea, do you?"
She wasn't sure how to answer that question, but his expression put her off balance: the wolf was out in force, barely hidden by a thin veneer of civility. She caught a whiff of her musk and blushed again.
"I mean, you spend enough time together. Surely she's told you about our relationship, right?"
Emmy looked down and then to the patio doors, completely confused and unprepared for where the conversation was going. She hoped Julie would be back and they could start the day properly.
He got up and pulled his chair closer to her, facing her, their knees almost touching. "So. As I understand it, I did you a favor that night, right? John tried to tell me, but I didn't get it. Just now, though...just now I totally get you. You know what you need to do, right?"
She shook her head, but she knew her protests were stupid. She should just get up and leave. Tell Julie she hadn't felt well. Get out of there. Before...before...but the images from the sauna rushed back and the images from other parties where she heard her voice, her pleas to do whatever they'd done. And now, the feeling of Yogi Jacob's cock, brushing against her cheek, his simple question, her response, her response, her response. Taking him between her lips. Knowing her body, her arousal had made him hard, helping him find relief.
Greg's knees touched hers and applied pressure outward. She looked at his face and then down at his legs to see his penis pushing against the placket of his shorts. She knew she was already telling him yes with her expression. A tickling at her thighs and the smell of her musk reminded her of how aroused she was becoming. The thought she was doing this to him only pushed her further. He nodded, his eyes locking on her, his voice softly urging her. "Go on...it's okay...tell me." His hands reaching to her knees but resting on his own, waiting.
She looked up sharply, disoriented. Julie could be home any time. What was he expecting?
NoNoNONONO!
And with each silent protest, she felt her lips thicken and her underwear get wetter.
