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James was a quiet man. Unassuming. Whereas the people around him could easily and accurately be called the life of whichever party they attended, he was happy to stay out of the way. Emma was the real power in the social lives, and although he would never claim to be the power behind the throne, behind the thrown is certainly where he felt most comfortable.
He was a thinker, a planner; he was meticulous and organized. He was the man who made things possible, and he missed nothing.
From his place behind the black granite-topped bar, his eyes flicked around the room at all the smiling, happy faces enjoying that evening that he and his stunning partner made possible. Each face, each elegant gown, each immaculate suit, and each raised glass of complimentary champagne was a testament to the months of diligent work that had been put into making this one evening the resounding success it was shaping up to be.
Opening a bar of any description was never as straightforward as most people would think. There were licenses, insurances, and permits. There were shoulders to rub and palms to grease. It wasn’t quite like working with the local mafia, but the civic council, in his humble opinion, seemed to have taken advice about their working practices from episodes of The Sopranos.
Of course, not a single one of them had accounted for the force of nature that his eyes kept returning to.
Every single woman in the room could be called the belle of the ball. Each of them were stunning in their own right. But in a club full of primadonnas and catwalk starlets, it was Emma, with that gorgeous flowing mane of blonde hair, who lit up the room. And tonight, she was on fire.
The people hanging off her every word were the creme-de-la-creme of local politics and fame. They had earned their places in the world through grit, determination, and sheer force of will. Yet Emma was a force to be reckoned with, and not one of them had ever stood a chance; most of them had not even realized what was happening to them until it was far too late.
James didn’t know how she did it. But where he was a plans person, she was a people person. She could take one look at someone and know exactly what they were capable of and exactly how that could best be used to benefit her and James. She would ask James to intentionally make mistakes on licensing applications so that they could be called in to see the council official. That official would be convinced to introduce them to their superior, and then their superior after that, and the superior after that, further up the chain of authority until Emma had the Mayor herself looking at the proposals for the club on James’s pre-prepared laptop.
One click of a button, one swirl of flashing lights on the screen, and Emma owned each of them.
Over and over, this process was repeated, months of painstaking work. Local officials, builders, contractors, suppliers, realtors, insurance agents, fire marshals, and security consultants. All of them were coerced into seeing things the way Emma wanted them to. Most of them were given simple instructions, they were told the way Emma would like things done, and the program would make them think that it was not only the best idea they’d ever had but that they were the ones who had it. Behind it all was Emma, with her perfect smile, dazzling eyes, and razor-sharp mind.
But behind Emma was James… and James missed nothing.
James recognized about a third of the people in the club; most of them had honored the “plus one” part of their invitations, and more than a few had, as Emma predicted, extended the invitation to people she hadn’t been able to reach personally. He had stood out of the way when Emma, holding an oversized pair of scissors and surrounded by mayoral aides and local celebrities, had cut the ribbon to declare the club open. A moment that was marked by enough flash photography to make it a health hazard to any photo-sensitive epileptics for three city blocks.
Now the party was in full swing, James was able to watch the night he had planned unfold like a perfectly synchronized ballet. A small army of elegantly dressed and suitably “programmed” serving girls was wandering around the crowds, each of them holding a silver tray of freshly filled, chilled champagne flutes. A cute strawberry blonde flashed him a cute, flushed smile as she picked up a fresh tray. She had been under his desk in the office barely two hours ago, working him free of some last-minute nerves while her friend, the brunette tending the patrons around the edges of the dancefloor, had been doing the same to Emma.
Another example of the gifts that his wonderful partner kept giving him.
Leanna was doing her thing in the DJ booth, keeping that perfectly balanced atmosphere that held between a formal gala and a raving nightclub going with the skilled hand that he knew she had. Emma had recruited every single member of staff personally yaşlı escort except her. He had found Leanna, and it was a source of immeasurable pride that he had got it right and met Emma’s requirements on the first try. But what took Emma little more than a cursory glance to recognize in a person had taken him days of painstaking research. The strawberry blonde, for example, had turned up one day to make a delivery, and Emma had recruited her on the spot. Still, Lenna was a master at her craft, and the music she was pumping out was helping the champagne lubricate the flow of the happy buzz that permeated the crowd. Their eyes met across the crowded room, and James flashed her a smile and a friendly wink, their silent signal that all was well and she was performing perfectly. She would know the signal for when to change things. Then his eyes, once again, returned to his lover.
He was never exactly sure how to define his relationship with Emma. They were both a little too liberal with other lovers to be said to be in a relationship but far too committed to each other to be called anything less. They were totally loyal to each other, and his stomach pulled some pretty impressive flips every time her sparkling eyes met his. They had never said those three little words to each other, but he certainly felt… something.
As hard as it was, he pulled his eyes away from her to keep watch over the crowds and honor the occasional order from guests who weren’t keen on free champagne.
There were, as far as James could tell, three types of people in the club tonight. There was the staff – all of whom were female and programmed, most of whom had been intimate with Emma, some with James, a few with both. There were the invited guests – important people who, again, had almost all been programmed and had mostly served their purpose but were being thanked by being invited to the most up-market social event in their calendar. And then there was the rest.
These were the people who had been brought along by the invited guests and although most of them clearly hadn’t understood what the fuss was all about when they had first arrived, they certainly fell into the spirit of things as the night went on and they started to recognize who else was in attendance. But a strange behavior rippled through all of them.
There were plenty of hushed whispers and awed glances when the odd A-list celebrity walked through the doors, but even more so when that celebrity walked straight past the Mayor to greet Emma. When enough important people congregate around one person, that person becomes the most important one in the room. That person was, of course, Emma.
Wrapped in a dress that would have Victoria weeping to give up her secrets, she was a vision. A shimmering and sparkling grey number hung off one shoulder, with the other strap clinging to the top of her other arm; the velvet and silk garment clung to every single one of her divine curves. There was just enough cleavage to be tantalizing but not enough to be scandalous, and a long slit up one side exposed one of her flawless legs to the mid-thigh. The tasteful necklace hanging around her delicate throat seemed to defy the eye not to wander into the valley of her perfect femininity. There was no visible panty line either, although few would guess what James already knew… her panties were in his pocket, another gift to remind him that he was hers, and she was his, no matter what.
James was wearing a suit. High fashion was not one of his strengths, but Emma said he looked good in it, so he wore it.
Dazzling smiles reflected the flashing lights and rapturous bursts of surprisingly genuine laughter rippled over the music from different parts of the crowd. James was probably never going to understand the social dynamics that made an event like this work, but whatever flare that Emma had added to his plans, not to mention the sheer gravity of her presence, certainly appeared to be doing the trick.
Gravity was about as good a word to use when it came to the way she worked the crowd. She was like the sun, not only lighting up the room but drawing in everyone around her. Their eyes met countless times as the party went on, but not once was that meeting made with anything less than half a dozen people around her. Be that greeting people at the bottom of the entrance stairs, mingling around the seating area, or diving James to madness with the way she moved on the dancefloor, wherever she went, so went the crowds.
And just like a comet drawn to the gravity of his own sun, like a moth to the brilliance of her light, in walked the final piece of the puzzle.
********
Lizzie was feeling nervous.
Not because of the crowds of high-ranking people she would only usually see on TV, the ones who made more money in a year than she could hope to make in a lifetime. She wasn’t nervous about the gaziantep yaşlı escort loud music or the fact that she was coming out to attend this high-class event alone. It wasn’t her dress; she thought she looked nice, better than nice. She looked fucking hot.
Even if her braless and perpetually erect nipples were being teased and stimulated by every subtle movement of the material and her soaked lace thong was dragging over her throbbing clit with every step. No, that seemed to be the norm these days.
She was nervous about seeing… her.
Fuck, Lizzie had been seeing her in every waking dream, every stray thought, and every restless night for weeks. Ever since that evening when she had presented the bar to its new owners. Lizzie had always admired the female form, but never enough to actually be attracted to it, yet she had rubbed herself furiously to thoughts of Emma more times than she could begin to count. But she hadn’t been able to reach climax… not once.
Other lovers held no appeal, no other fantasies had come close, and thoughts of James had been better than most, but only the image of looking up Emma’s sublime body and into those mesmerizing eyes while worshipping at the heat of her core had taken her to the edge. Only for her own body to stubbornly and treacherously refuse to fall over it.
She was half-crazed with lust and pent-up need, half-crazed with desire for another woman… either way, she was 100% fucking crazed!
It was obscene. Lizzie had found herself zoning out mid-way through conversations with her boss, ignoring clients’ questions during home viewings, missing deadlines, failing to make sales, and was almost caught trying to get herself off in the office bathrooms. All of it to thoughts of… her. Jesus, Lizzie had barely a submissive bone in her body, but the vision in her mind of simply kneeling before this goddess had made her knees threaten to give way beneath her on more than one occasion.
It was an obsession, a fixation, a crazed addiction to a drug she had not yet taken. It had become so bad that she had forbidden herself from coming to the opening tonight. Yet, despite her loudest and most vehement mental protestations, she found herself carefully applying her makeup, corralling every lock of hair into its perfect position and sliding on the nicest dress she owned, and heading out the door.
By the time she arrived at the club, a plan had formed in her mind. She would go in, she would say hello, she would stay for a while, and then she would leave. Not to be rude, but to show herself that this was a fixation that could be beaten, that she had the willpower and the mental fortitude to overcome what essentially amounted to a glorified high-school crush.
The queue to get into the club was enormous. There must have been enough people standing in the mild spring evening air to fil it to capacity twice over, and the thought of standing in it, in those damned heels, was not pleasant one. But, if she could wear out her patience with the mindless waiting, maybe breathing this obsession.
Her eyes flicked up to the signage and that spiral logo with a frown… “The road to hell is paved with…”
“Err… Miss Simmons?” A voice yanked her out of her thought process. She turned to look at its owner, a burly, smartly dressed man holding a clipboard and the black wire of an earpiece disappearing under the jacket of his equally black suit. “Miss Lizzie Simmons?” He repeated.
“Um, yes? That’s me,” she answered with a fluster as a hundred pairs of envious eyes in the queue all spun to look at her.
“Please,” the man smiled as he tucked the clipboard under one arm and unclipped the rope holding the queue into some form of organized mass, then gestured her out. “You are one of our VIP guests; you don’t need to wait. Miss Emma and Mr. James are expecting you.”
“Fuck!”
She smiled demurely and nodded, remembering to flash something of an apologetic look to the rest of the crowd before following the security contractor past all of them and through the main doors.
“Fuck Fuck Fuck!”
She stepped through the large glass doors, returned the nod offered to her by the other security guy, and stepped up to the sign-in booth. For a moment, she felt her jaw drop. Even the most cursory scan of the names above where she was supposed to sign hers pulled up a dozen names of the highest of high society. There were a few names she had only ever heard in relation to multi-million-pound movie contracts and hit singles and even more that were related to city politics. She had always suspected that she would be one of the lowest denominators in the room when it came to income, but this was ridiculous!
She cast a nervous glance up at the pretty check-in girl. The girl just smiled back in that overly polite way that only service industry employees know how to do. One that said, gaziantep yaşlı escort bayan “You are very welcome here, but you are holding up the line.”
Lizzie took a deep breath and signed her name.
*******
Emma was getting bored. Well, maybe not bored, but certainly getting impatient.
She had been schmoozing and mingling for what felt like hours, and the briefest glance at the clock behind the bar partly forgave her impatience by telling her that it had, in fact, been quite a few more hours than even she had thought.
Some of the women here showed promise; more than a few were the sort she would love to lead into her office and seduce into submission. But most of them were painfully dull, not boring or anything as rude as that, just extraordinarily ordinary.
The men were worse. They ranged from mildly condescending to outright lecherous. Emma had no interest in men, well, at least not other than James. He was the diamond in so much rough. To hell with haystacks; he was the golden needle in the stack of needles. He was handsome, funny, intelligent, a damned good fuck, loyal and… she probably wouldn’t ever use the word “obedient,” at least not out loud, but the evidence was certainly there.
The one thing that set him apart from all the other fawning sycophants was the fact that he had never needed the program to follow her will. He had been part of the team that made the damned thing, but it had been her understanding of people that had led him to refine it from a failure into the working model it was now. Her ideas, his skill, their key to success.
In a world full of men far too impressed with themselves and their own sense of achievement, she had found the perfect partner in crime. The fact that he was so willingly enthralled with her and perfectly happy to let her seduce as many women as she wanted was more than a bonus. Her eyes flicked down from the clock and at the handsome dark-haired man watching the room.
As they often did, his eyes flicked to hers, and they shared another silent moment over the deafening room. There were plenty of women who made her pussy clench with little more than a look… but James was the only man. This time though, he gave a slight, almost imperceptible nod toward the stairs.
“Finally!” She thought to herself. There was only one reason that James would have to distract her from her mingling… and that reason was just stepping off the stairs.
“Jesus, that man really does miss nothing.”
She flashed a smile and a wink to James – he knew what to do next – made her apologies to the group of women she was pretending to listen to, and made her way over to Lizzie.
Emma moved with what James often called “an effortless grace.” She called it walking. He was always full of flowery language like that, but it made her smile, and his unwavering support gave her that added bit of confidence to do what needed to be done.
“Lizzie, darling!” Emma beamed as she approached the nervous-looking realtor. For the briefest of moments, Lizzie looked like a rabbit who thought the best way to deal with an oncoming set of headlights was just to stare at them.
“Oh, H… Hi, Emma,” she smiled weakly before taking her in properly. “Oh, wow, you look amazing!”
“Aww, thank you, darling,” Emma smiled back, swaying and turning on the spot for Lizzie to admire. “And you look gorgeous! Dare I say…” Emma leaned in to whisper into Lizzie’s ear, “… Good enough to eat.”
The jolt of electricity that shot through the realtor’s body seemed to be determined to find its way to her clit. Her legs wobbled, and as soaked as her lacy thong had been before arriving, that single thought flooded them with a fresh coating of creamy, frustrated lust.
Lizzie dragged her eyes away from the siren in front of her, missing the tiny, almost imperceptible predatory smile that curled at Emma’s lips, and looked around the room. Emma wasn’t sure if Lizzie had been in the club long enough to notice the subtle change in the room’s energy; it wasn’t quite so lively, and it wasn’t as fluid or as natural. Emma already knew that was because Leanna was setting up a playlist to run automatically, no longer controlling it herself, and the briefest glance over to the booth showed the ever-diligent James helping her to wind things down for the night. That booth would soon be empty.
“The party looks like it has been a great success.” Lizzie offered with a distracted smile.
“It’s been more than we ever could have hoped for,” Emma nodded, linking her arm with Lizzie and leading her toward the bar. One of the pretty waitresses had already taken James’s place, no doubt on his order.
“That man thinks of everything!”
Lizzie allowed herself to be led, but Emma didn’t need her almost superhuman perceptive skills to see that the dark-haired beauty was troubled. “Is everything okay?” she asked as they both slid themselves onto the leather barstools, and the waitress slid over two freshly poured flutes of Champagne.
“Oh yes, I’m…” One arched eyebrow from Emma, and the facade crumbled like a wet paper bag. She slumped her shoulders and sighed. “I don’t know what the hell is wrong with me. I am ruining everything!”
“What are you ruining, my love?”
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