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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.
