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JIMMY
Clapping Pop on the shoulder, I move through the crowd in the marquee pavilion, flashing a grin at the white-jacketed waiter who stops in front of me, holding up his tray with a single tumbler of whiskey on it.
“Courtesy of Mr. Rampwood, sir.”
My fingers close around the glass, and I flash a smile. “Thanks.”
There are several Mr. Rampwoods here, but I’m willing to bet the one in question is Thelma’s cousin Pete. I spot him in the crowd, beelining for him.
He is standing near Holly and Artie, his hand resting on the back of his date. I study her carefully. Pete is the same age as Thelma, but this woman looks even more youthful. She looks like he stole her out of a college lecture hall.
Stopping beside them, I salute him with my whiskey glass. With a grin, Pete returns the gesture. I guess I was right in my guess.
“Jimmy, this is Mel,” Pete offers. The young woman holds out a hand, shaking mine and returning to clutch her champagne flute with both hands.
“It was a lovely ceremony,” she murmurs, looking slightly out of her depth. I know how she feels. I still feel like that, and I’ve been around for a few months.
“Thelma and Laura really outdid themselves,” I agree. The woman makes a slight face at Pete’s mother’s name, but it disappears quickly.
I bite back a smile. I have spent some time with Laura Rampwood during all this wedding planning. The woman is snobby as fuck. But I offered her free membership at Dynamo, and Thelma talked up the spa, so I got on her good side.
“Have you seen Thelma?” I ask Pete, who looks around but shakes his head.
“Sorry. No. Losing her already isn’t the best start, is it?”
Flipping him off, I leave them to mingle, making my way through everyone. It’s slow going because everyone wants to stop and congratulate me.
I finally make it to Holly’s side. “Thelma?”
Holly looks around much as Pete did. “I think I saw her going inside, perhaps to the bathroom?”
Nodding, I make my way inside. Some guests are standing near the bathrooms on the first floor, but I ignore them. I think I know where Thelma has gone.
I hurry up the stairs before anyone can call out and talk to me. I have had enough backslapping for the moment. Reaching the landing, I turn and walk to the door of Ken Rampwood’s office. The door is slightly ajar, and when I step inside, sure enough, Thelma is peeking out the window at the party below.
I knock the door shut with my elbow, and she glances over her shoulder, throwing me a grin.
“What are you doing here?” she laughs, turning so I can drink in her gorgeous form. She outdid herself in this dress. It’s perfect for her.
“Finishing what I started at the charity auction,” I growl, closing the distance between us in four steps. Tugging her against me, I silence her giggles with a hard kiss.
“I’m not opposed to that,” Thelma breathes, giggling as I pick her up by the waist, depositing her on the desk to kiss her more thoroughly, my hands carefully folding the skirts of her dress until I reach my goal.
My fingers brush satin and lace. Bingo. Deepening the kiss, I shove her panties aside, slicking my fingers through her folds and flicking her clit, swallowing her moans of appreciation.
I quickly release my dick, setting it at her entrance.
“This is going to have to be quick by necessity, babe,” I groan. “I’d like to take my time, but that door doesn’t have a lock, and people might come looking for us.”
Thelma’s pupils dilate as I slide home, sheathing myself fully.
“I’m okay with being quick,” she breathes, “as long as you take your time later tonight.”
“Oh, that’s a promise, babe.”
Thelma’s giggle cuts off into a moan as I flick her clit, hammering into her. I wasn’t kidding about this needing to be quick. I will try to set a record for how fast I can get her off. It might be useful knowledge to have for the rest of our lives.
THE END.
