So I got to my feet, zipping up and straightening my suit. It was no big deal. Other than the pussy juices on my chin, otherwise I looked completely normal, an alpha at a fancy lunch.
But with Lacey, it was another issue. Her entire being had that “just fucked” aura, eyes slightly dazed, body soft, loose and relaxed. And oh shit, but the smell. There was that hot and heavy, just-fucked cunt smell mixed with the virile tang of semen. How were we going to fix that?
Picking up her panties, I had an idea. Reaching between her legs, I swept the soft cloth between her thighs, scooping up the sperm, trying to clean her up. And then I gave them a quick sniff and dropped them in my pocket.
Her eyes blinked slowly.
“What are you gonna do with those?” she whispered, voice soft. “Why do you need those?”
Why did I need them? Shit, this was the evidence of our loving, something I’d treasure back at the apartment. Maybe I couldn’t fuck my stepdaughter out in the open, but I could sure as hell sniff her lacy panties in the privacy of my home and cum like a hurricane.
So I shrugged.
“It’s just my thing,” were my vague words. “No worries.”
The brunette shook her head slowly, but didn’t say anything, instead, trying to straighten herself out. Those brown curls were wild and lovely, her dress now a little wrinkled.
And grunting approvingly, I nodded again.
“Come on sweetheart. We gotta get back.”
Opening the door to the stall, fortunately all was clear. I slipped into the hallway, strolling back to the main table like nothing was wrong.
“I had to take a call,” I said to no one in particular, sitting down smoothly.
But the excuse was unnecessary because Amanda was recounting some story which she thought was hilarious, but everyone else thought was painfully boring. But not like she noticed, or cared.
And finally, the long-winded monologue ended.
“Oh, Jakey.” Amanda leaned into me with a fake smile. “You always laugh at my jokes, we’re perfect together,” she cooed, patting my hand.
More like I had a fake smile on my lips, face frozen in a grimace. But I grunted.
“Yeah, real funny story honey. Real funny.”
Amanda chortled lightly, fluffing out her hair.
“Like I said, we’re perfect together. Oh there you are honey!” she said to Lacey, who’d just made her way back to the table, avoiding my eyes. “You’re just in time to hear about my trip to the Hamptons! You know, it started when ….”
The second monologue was even worse, all the guests nodding and smiling in their chairs, unwilling prisoners. But I watched Lacey carefully. Sure enough, she twisted uncomfortably in her seat, rump sliding back and forth. It had to be her sore anus. Had to be.
“You all right, honey?” whispered Lacey’s Aunt Jill, a look of concern in her eyes.
“I’m fine,” the brunette replied, clearing her throat, voice raspy. Oh yeah, she’d been screaming in the bathroom, those vocal cords wrecked. “Just my stomach,” the brunette murmured. “I’m not feeling too well.”
Amanda paused then, frowning at her daughter.
“It’s the dessert,” she said in a loud voice so that everyone at the table could hear. “Two desserts isn’t good for anyone, you shouldn’t have eaten all that,” Amanda proclaimed.
I thought Lacey would take it lying down, saying something or other about how this was a special occasion.
But instead, the brunette lifted her head, expression mild.
“Oh it’s not that Mom,” came that dulcet voice. “It’s something else entirely,” she said, meeting my eyes full on. And my lips spread in a slow, knowing smile, uncaring who saw. Because yeah, it was my body that was causing hers to sing, and even if it was wrong, I had to get more. That’s right, Lacey’s my future stepdaughter, but we were only getting started … if I had my way.
CHAPTER FOUR
Lacey
I stepped through the revolving doors of the downtown Manhattan office building and went directly to the front desk, ballet flats noiseless against the polished marble floors.
“May I help you, Miss?”
“Yes, I’m Lacey Jones. Can you please tell me where Jake Mason’s office is?”
The woman looked surprised, eyeing me up and down. Yes, I stuck out among the gray suits of the corporate drones milling around. But oh well. My wild curly brown hair would always be this way, my figure too lush to fit a boring three-piece.
But the receptionist was a professional, and gave nothing away. After tapping on the computer to make sure my name was on the approved visitors list, she nodded neutrally.
“Here you are,” she said smoothly. “Top floor, ask for Mr. Mason.”
“Thanks.”
And after the elevator doors shut, I pressed cool palms against my thighs, trembling with nervousness. I needed to confront Jake and tell him what was on my mind. The last time I’d seen him, I’d been in no state of mind to deal with this crazy thing between us. But after a couple days, it was time.