Bad Intentions - Too Bad It’s Fake

I tried to be as gentle as I could. Not in terms of “letting her down.” I had no intention of doing that. I really did want her. Even beyond the fake fiancée thing to please my mom. The more I got to know her, the more I liked her, and I knew her biblically at this point. It was a bit scary, really.

The last time I felt that way about a woman, I got my heart crushed under her five-hundred-dollar heels. Emma didn’t seem that way and to be fair, Gina kind of did. There were red flags anyway, ones that I missed because I was so in love at the time and my mom seemed to like her, which was no small feat.

Emma was behind the counter when I got down the café later that morning. She was wearing a really cute outfit that made it difficult for me not to imagine her naked. Particularly her tits, which were absolutely amazing. I wondered if she was wearing underwear. She certainly hadn’t been the night before. Was that a regular thing, or had she done it just for my benefit? A small, terrible, arrogant part of me hoped it was the second one.

Steeling my courage, I went into the cafe and approached the counter.

“Hey,” I said.

“Hi,” she replied.

“Can we talk?”

“Now?”

“Yeah.”

“I’m going on break,” Emma said to the worker next to her.

Taking me to a far corner, Emma stopped to face me, her expression not happy, crossing her arms, pushing her perky young tits up even more than they were naturally.

“Speak,” she said sharply.

“I was just in a meeting, and it came up that Ann Howell is looking for a caterer for her three-year-old son’s birthday, but all the best caterers in town are busy. I remembered how great and fast your cooking was, and I suggested that you could do it.”

“You did?” She blinked up at me, totally shocked.

“I did. Sorry for not asking first, Ann was just looking for someone, and you were the first person I thought of.”

“Really?” A small smile started to play on her lips.

“Yeah, I mean, she’ll understand if you can’t do it. I was just supposed to come down here and ask if you can. It’s no big deal if you can’t. I just thought —”

She leaped into my arms, so I was holding her like I had when carrying her to her apartment and kissed me. The kiss was passionate but not hard, her tongue dancing playfully with mine. She tasted so good and smelled like raspberries. I had somehow missed that before. The scent, not the taste. Every part of her tasted absolutely amazing. I wasn’t really sure about making out at work, either hers or mine so, gently as I could, I set Emma down on her feet, still stroking her cheek.

“I can’t believe you thought of me,” she admitted.

“Of course, I did. You make some of the best food I’ve ever come across. Besides which, I think about you a lot anyway.”

“Really?” she asked, blushing now.

“Of course,” I said, kissing her tenderly on the lips.

“You probably have to get back to work,” she said.

“Yes, and so do you,” I said.

“You’re a lawyer, I’m just a coffee slinger,” she giggled.

“Both important jobs,” I said.

“Bullshit,” she said, seeming a bit surprised herself.

“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.”