The restaurant lights catch the wine as Emily tilts her glass, ruby liquid sloshing dangerously close to the rim. Her eyes haven't left mine since we sat down.
Emily takes another bite of her filet mignon, chewing slowly while giving me that look of unmistakable pride. The one that says, 'I just devoured you in a public parking lot, and I'd do it again.' My face heats up remembering what happened not twenty minutes ago.
"My steak is good, but not nearly as good as the appetizer."
She drains half her glass in one long swallow, then signals the waiter for another. It's her third glass since we sat down, and I can't help thinking about how she drove us here.
"Hey," I say, reaching across the table to touch her wrist. "Slow down. We're not in a rush."
Emily arches one perfect eyebrow. "Worried about me, baby?"
"Always," I admit. "But also thinking about the drive home."
Her lips curl into a mischievous smile. "You know, I have a solution for that." She leans forward, her voice dropping to a whisper that sends heat crawling up my neck. "If you're so concerned, you could drive us home... and I could just suck on it… Nice and slow, the whole way back."
The image her words paint makes my mouth go dry. "That sounds like a beautiful idea, but..." I hesitate, suddenly self-conscious. "I don't actually have a license."
Emily's eyes widen, genuine surprise flashing across her face before something else replaces it, something almost predatory. Her pupils dilate as she processes this new information.
"So what you're telling me," she says, leaning even closer, "is that you're completely dependent on Mommy to take you places?"
The words themselves could sound condescending, even insulting, but the breathless way she says them tells me something entirely different. There's an unmistakable thrill in her voice, a barely contained excitement dancing behind her eyes.
My cheeks burn even hotter. "I mean, I usually just take Ubers places," I say, suddenly feeling like I'm confessing something shameful. "I've been meaning to get my license for a while now, actually. Just haven't had the time with work and everything."
Emily waves her hand dismissively, her rings catching the light. "Danny, that's nonsense. Don't waste your money on that."
"What do you mean?" I ask, genuinely confused.
"Uber fees add up, baby. And driving lessons? The test? Insurance?" She clicks her tongue, reaching for her wine again. "Why bother when I can take you anywhere you need to go?"
Something in her tone makes my stomach flutter. It's the same feeling I get when she buys me things I can't afford, a mixture of gratitude and unease.
"Well, I'd get really nervous if I ever took advantage of you," I say carefully, tracing the condensation on my water glass. "I would hate it if you ever built any resentment up for…"
"Stop," she cuts me off quickly, reaching across the table to grab my hand. Her grip is tight. "I could never, ever resent you for needing me, baby. Never."
The intensity in her eyes makes my breath catch. There's something almost desperate there, a hunger that has nothing to do with sex and everything to do with being essential.
"But what about when you're busy with clients, or…"
"I'll make time," she insists, her thumb stroking my knuckles. "I want to drive you. I love knowing you need me."
"Besides," she continues, her voice dropping to that honey-sweet tone that makes my spine tingle, "think about all the fun we could have if I'm your personal chauffeur. Just you and me and those empty roads..."
Her foot slides against my calf under the table, and I nearly choke on my water.
"You're making a very compelling argument," I manage to say.
Emily smiles, victorious. "So it's settled then. No more of this license nonsense. You let Mommy take care of that, okay?"
I should probably push back, insist on my independence, but there's something about the way she's looking at me, like my dependence on her is the most precious gift I could give, that makes me nod.
"Okay," I surrender, and the smile that breaks across her face is dazzling.
"Good boy," Emily purrs.
I turn my attention back to my ribeye, reaching for my knife to cut into the perfectly cooked meat. It's the most expensive thing I've eaten, probably in my whole life, and I'm determined to savor it properly.
"No, honey, let me do that for you," Emily says, her hand already extending across the table toward my plate.
"I've got it," I say quickly, pulling my plate closer. "Really, I can cut my own steak."
Something flashes in her eyes, disappointment, maybe, or frustration, but it's gone so quickly I might have imagined it.
"Danny," she says softly, "I want to take care of you. Is that so terrible?"
I hesitate, knife still poised above my steak. The restaurant suddenly feels too warm, too crowded. A couple at the next table glances our way.
"It's not terrible," I whisper. "It's just... I don't need help with everything."
Emily withdraws her hand slowly, studying me with an expression I can't quite read. "Of course you don't," she says after a moment, her voice carefully neutral. "I just thought it would be nice."
I see a flash of hurt in Emily's eyes that makes my chest tighten. Before I can say anything else, she's already pushing her chair back, the legs scraping loudly against the hardwood floor.
"Emily, I didn't mean…" I start, but she's not listening.
Instead of leaving, though, she drags her chair around the table, positioning it right next to mine with determined grace. Several heads turn our way as she settles beside me, her thigh pressing against mine. The heat of her body radiates through my pants, sending an involuntary shiver up my spine.
"There," she says, reaching for my plate and pulling it between us. She takes my knife and fork from my hands, her fingers brushing mine deliberately. "Now I can show you what I mean."
My face burns as she begins cutting my steak into perfect bite-sized pieces, her movements precise and elegant. I'm acutely aware of the other diners watching us, probably wondering what kind of grown man needs his girlfriend to cut his food.
"See?" Emily murmurs, her voice low and intimate. "Isn't this nice?"
And weirdly, despite my embarrassment, there's something about her closeness, the faint scent of her perfume, the gentle way she handles my food, like it's an act of devotion rather than condescension, that makes my initial resistance seem foolish.
"Yeah," I admit quietly, surprising myself with how much I mean it. "It is."
Emily's smile blooms, transforming her whole face. She spears a perfectly cut piece of steak with my fork, lifting it to my lips. "Open up, baby," she coos, her eyes locked on mine.
I hesitate for just a second before parting my lips. The steak melts on my tongue, perfectly medium-rare and seasoned to perfection. Emily watches me chew with such intense satisfaction that I feel a strange flutter in my stomach.
"Good?" she asks, already preparing the next bite.
"Really good," I say after swallowing.
She continues feeding me and herself, alternating between my steak and hers, occasionally taking sips of wine between bites. There's something hypnotic about the rhythm she establishes, cut, feed, watch, repeat. My initial embarrassment gradually fades, replaced by a peculiar sense of calm.
"Let me feed you too," I say, watching the way Emily's eyes light up when she places another bite between my lips.
Her expression shifts instantly, a shadow of disappointment crossing her features. She pulls the fork back slightly, her bottom lip jutting out in what I can only describe as an adorable pout.
"Danny, please," she says softly, her hand finding my thigh under the table. "Let me do this. I'm having so much fun taking care of you."
The vulnerability in her voice catches me off guard.
"Okay," I concede, feeling something warm unfurl in my chest at the way her face brightens.
As she places another bite of steak in my mouth, Emily sighs contentedly. "Isn't it wonderful when we both have the day off like this?"
"Yeah, it really is," I agree, savoring the rich flavor as I chew.
"I just love being able to sleep in while cuddling you," she continues, her voice dropping to that intimate register that makes my heart skip. "Those lazy mornings when neither of us has to rush anywhere."
I swallow and smile at her. "I love that too. Just holding you, feeling your heartbeat against mine."
We fall into a comfortable silence as she continues feeding us both, her movements graceful and precise. The restaurant hums around us, but it feels like we're in our own little bubble. I watch the way her eyes crinkle when she smiles, how her white hair catches the light, and I'm struck again by how lucky I am.
But as I sit there, letting her care for me, my mind drifts to her work. A question that's been nagging at me for weeks suddenly surfaces.
"Hey Emily," I say, keeping my voice low, "I've always wondered something. How do you do so well financially, only charging your clients two hundred dollars?"
Emily freezes, fork halfway to her mouth. Her eyes go wide, and suddenly she's laughing, not a polite chuckle, but full-body laughter that shakes our table. She's laughing so hard she nearly falls out of her seat, drawing curious glances from nearby tables.
"Is that…" she gasps between fits of giggles, "is that what you really thought all this time?" She wipes tears from the corners of her eyes. "I always wondered if you didn't know, but I assumed..."
"What?" I ask, completely confused by her reaction.
Emily leans in close, her lips brushing against my ear as she whispers, "Baby, I charge a lot more than two hundred dollars for a night with me." Her breath is warm against my skin, smelling faintly of wine and expensive perfume.
I pull back, staring at her in disbelief. "But that's how much you charged me," I protest, my voice barely above a whisper.
Emily cups my face in her hands, her expression softening into something between amusement and tenderness. "Oh, sweet boy," she murmurs, "that wasn't my professional rate. That was just to keep things... proper, I suppose. A token amount."
My mind races, trying to process this new information. "So how much do you actually charge?"
Emily laughs softly, her eyes dancing with amusement. "That's just the basic package, honey. The weirder requests go up from there. Some of my special clients pay five figures for certain... experiences."
My jaw drops. "But you once did a whole weekend with me."
She laughs again, the sound warm and musical, her eyes crinkling at the corners. "Yeah, remember how much fun that was?"
I nod, still trying to process the numbers. "I don't understand. Why me? Why only two hundred?"
Emily's expression softens, and she reaches out to touch my cheek. "You were this cute kid who worked at the convenience store. You always looked so tired and sad." Her thumb strokes my skin gently. "I remember you told me you knew I was an escort from all the different men I'd brought with me when I'd stop by, but you didn't speak with any judgment. And then you asked me how much for one night."
She smiles, her eyes distant with the memory, like she's recalling the beginning of a beautiful love story rather than a business transaction.
"There was just something about you that felt..." She pauses, searching for the right words. "I don't know how to explain it. Like you just needed me in your life. And I thought maybe I could help you by sleeping with you." Her smile turns shy, almost embarrassed. "But I didn't want you to feel like it was a pity fuck, so I said two hundred dollars."
My chest tightens with a confusing mix of emotions. "So it was charity?"
"No!" She grabs my hand, squeezing it firmly. "God, no. It was..." She sighs, looking down at our intertwined fingers. "I was drawn to you. There was this... Innocence about you. Not in a creepy way," she adds quickly. "But in how genuine you were. How honest."
I swallow hard, remembering that night, how nervous I'd been counting out those worn bills, my hands shaking as I handed them over.
"I didn't sleep with you because I felt sorry for you," Emily continues, her voice dropping to a whisper. "I slept with you because I wanted to. The two hundred was just... formality. A boundary I thought we both needed."
Emily bursts into laughter again, nearly spilling her wine. "The two hundred didn't even cover the hotels, by the way," she says, wiping a tear from the corner of her eye.
"What?" I sit up straighter, confused. "But you said you knew a guy. That the rooms were free."
Her smile spreads wide across her face, eyes sparkling with mischief. "I wanted it to be nice for you," she admits with a little shrug. "I thought you deserved to fuck me somewhere with actual thread count sheets, not some cheap motel."
My mind races back through those early encounters, the plush king-sized beds, the rainfall showers, the champagne waiting in ice buckets. All that luxury I'd assumed was just part of her regular setup.
"I lost count of how many times we did it back then," I say, the memories warming my face.
Emily's fingers trace patterns on my wrist. "I know. Those early days were something else." Her voice drops lower as she leans in closer. "But nothing compared to what our future holds."
I feel my face flush deeper as I consider everything, how this incredible woman has transformed my life, how impossible it all seems.
"You know," she says suddenly, "I almost had to ask you out first, but you finally did it."
"What?" I can't hide my surprise.
"Oh, I fell for you very fast," she confesses, her fingers now entwined with mine. "But I was terrified you wouldn't want to date an escort who's over twice your age."
The vulnerability in her admission catches me off guard. This confident, beautiful woman who commands thousands of dollars for her time was afraid I might reject her? The idea seems absurd.
"I can't believe you were worried about that," I say, squeezing her hand. "I've been crazy about you since the first night. I just never thought someone like you would want more than... You know, the arrangement we had."
Emily's lips curve into a nostalgic smile, her eyes suddenly dancing with mischief. "Speaking of our first night together..." She takes another sip of wine, watching me over the rim of her glass. "Remember how you told me you weren't a virgin?"
Heat rushes to my face immediately. I duck my head, suddenly finding my plate intensely interesting. "Yeah," I mumble, unable to meet her eyes.
"What a little liar you were," she says, her voice warm with affection rather than accusation. She reaches out to tilt my chin up, forcing me to look at her. "You were shaking so hard I thought you might pass out."
"Come on," I protest weakly, glancing around to make sure no one can hear us. "Do we have to talk about this here?"
Her eyes sparkle with playful cruelty. "And remember the first time I let you go bareback? When I finally said you could finish inside me?"
"Emily, seriously," I hiss, my face burning hotter than the kitchen's grill.
She leans in closer, her lips brushing my ear. "You didn't even last five seconds," she whispers, her voice thick with fond amusement. "Just pushed in once and boom. Done."
When she pulls back, her expression is so tender, so full of genuine affection that my embarrassment begins to fade. She's not mocking me, she's treasuring the memory, cherishing every awkward, imperfect moment we've shared.
"You looked so mortified," she continues, running her finger along the rim of her wine glass. "But I thought it was the sweetest thing I'd ever seen. How much you wanted me."
I finally find my voice again. "I still want you that much," I admit. "Maybe even more now."
"Oh, I know."