Pandora's Pleasure: An Enemies-to-Lovers Romance

by Vanessa Fewings

  Palmer looked concerned. “Sorry?”

  “What?”

  “Are you okay?”

  With my face burning up, I tried to catch a breath. “I just remembered I have to talk to…somebody. It’s amazing. I mean, it’s been lovely to see you again.”

  “Likewise.” He gave a bow.

  With a look of apology, I hurried through the crowd searching for Damien.

  No one walked away from the Vice President. It wasn’t what you did, ever. It was always the other way around. You followed protocol and respected his rank as first in succession to the President.

  My sex was alight with sensations coaxing me toward an orgasm—right here in the middle of a fucking garden party.

  I’m going to kill him…

  My fake fiancé was using a remote to pulse those spheres inside me to what felt like maximum oscillation.

  I glared at him as I approached.

  Damien raised a finger to indicate he was deep in conversation within a circle of journalists, and then waved to impress upon me he couldn’t be interrupted.

  Ignoring him, I eased through the gathering and whispered, “Turn it off.”

  He offered a polite smile to the men and women around him. “Excuse me for one second.”

  Damien’s strong grip led me a few feet away. “I’m in the middle of an interview.”

  “How dare you? Of all places. Turn it off.”

  “I don’t have the control,” he said flatly.

  “What?”

  He smiled, seeing the blissful torment on my face.

  “Listen to me,” I seethed. “If you don’t want me screaming—”

  “You’re not a screamer.” He gave a shrug. “That’s what I’ve learned so far. There’s more of a slow, quiet build up and then your expression is one of pure joy. You moan softly when you finally climax.” He played with a strand of my golden hair. “No one will notice. Except me, of course. Come at will.”

  “I’m serious.”

  “So am I.” His thumb caressed my bottom lip. “You’re my break from the tediousness.”

  “People are looking, Damien.”

  “I love your dress. The color is—”

  “Mr. Godman!”

  He hesitated and then admitted, “I seriously don’t have the control.”

  “Who does?”

  “Theo’s in charge of that side of the operation.”

  I rushed away from him, searching for Theo in the crowd, my face blanching and my heart racing—feeling mortified that it was Godman’s senior campaign manager controlling the device. I’d never be able to face him again.

  Damien had gone too far.

  Theo Tamer stood across the lawn, looking dashing in a slate gray suit. He, too, was engrossed in conversation with Damien’s father, no less—a Presidential candidate who was surrounded by secret service officers.

  One of them gestured that I wasn’t to approach.

  Pivoting away, I hurried through the crowd with my heels clicking on stone, entering the house and pushing past the other guests who were between me and the restroom. I’d be just as enamored as them with the historic elements of the place if my labia wasn’t about to explode.

  I made it to the restroom and shoved the door open.

  But as I turned to lock it, the door swung forward and Damien stepped inside with me.

  “No.” I shoved at his chest. “Get out.”

  He turned, locking the door, and then pushed me backwards until my back hit the chintzy wallpaper. Reaching for my wrists, he dragged them above my head and held them there as he boxed me in, watching me intensely.

  “I have to take them out,” I pleaded.

  “They are to stay in for the duration of this event. Those were my orders.”

  “You don’t understand.”

  I felt myself rising into the stratosphere as his erection pressed against my belly through his pants, causing raw, exquisite sensations to surge through me.

  I gasped, my body squirming as his firmness rubbed against my lower stomach making the torture worse. It was impossible to remain still.

  My wrists twisted in his grip as I writhed against his firm chest, his all-seeing stare locked on me. The butt plug and balls inside me worked in unison, setting off each other, rendering me a throbbing mess of need as I rode out this euphoria against Damien’s firm body.

  “Good girl,” he soothed.

  I licked my lips to ease the dryness. “It’s too much.”

  “You’re doing well.”

  Breathless and boneless, I shimmered through an orgasm, small sobs escaping at the unfairness of this delectable thrumming. My legs went weak, my body feeling limp. He was the only reason I was still standing.

  “Fuck you,” I said softly.

  He dragged me in for a kiss.

  “Theo?” I asked, turning my head away. “He controls this?”

  “He has a right, now that he knows what you taste like.”

  The dark truth that they were both playing with me snatched the remaining air from my lungs. My deep-throated groaning broke through the quiet, my breasts swelling and clit panging for contact against something. That something had to be Damien’s groin as I ground against him, out of control, chasing after these dangerous compulsions…these multiple orgasms savaging my ability to speak. All the while he held me tight, his focus never leaving, watching me intently as these sensations continued to wreck me.

  Finally, the frenetic buzzing ceased and I was able to breathe again, able to get my bearings and come down from the exhilaration.

  “Why?” I managed one word.

  Damien pushed off from me and stepped back. “When you defy me, like you did last night—” His hand reached out to cup my face. “I punish you.”

  Too exhausted to fight back, I rested my face in his hand as my breathing returned to normal.

  “How does your pussy feel?” he asked huskily.

  I fell against him, reaching around to hug him tight to thank him for this luxurious buzz that endured even now…thanking him for this reckless game.

  His arms failed to embrace me back.

  I pulled away, trying to regain my composure. I gave a nod to confirm I’d almost recovered.

  He led me over to where a roll of toilet paper sat on an ornate holder, pulling off a few reems. Then he lifted my hem and eased my panties down. With my thighs spread a little, he wiped me there, tenderly, easing away evidence of my arousal, and then disposed of the paper, flushing it away.

  As I tugged my dress down, he said, “Pull yourself together. I need you pretty and obedient. I need you by my side.”

  He left me standing there, stunned at his coldness.

  Leaning on the vanity, I caught my reflection in the mirror, seeing my frazzled expression and disheveled hair. I was caught up in the depravity of one of Washington’s most powerful men.

  Nothing could be done.

  Being used like this was never going to end.

  You don’t want it to end.

  I scraped my fingers through my locks and reapplied my lipstick. Then I raised my head to practice how a woman might stroll through a crowd and not reveal her post-Damien high.

  I stepped out onto the lawn, recognizing Brahms’ String Quartet No. 1 in C Minor. The piece heightened my dramatic march over to where Damien was standing.

  True to form, he’d nabbed himself a glass of champagne and an orange juice for me.

  “Thank you.” Taking it, I sipped thirstily, and then threw the other guests around us a warm smile.

  “Good girl,” he teased. “That’s right, act like you’re head over heels in love with me.”

  “Asking for the impossible?”

  “You admitted it last night.”

  “I didn’t finish the sentence.”

  “You implied it.”

  “It was the tequila.”

  “You can’t get enough of me.”

  “What makes you say that?”

  “Your pussy is still
throbbing. And your ass is spasming as you imagine my cock buried deep inside you instead of the jewel. We’ll get there. Just keep that plug in as instructed. We’ll increase the size incrementally so you can accommodate me.”

  “You’re crass.” I looked around for Theo to see if he was watching me.

  “You’re lucky I don’t get you to kneel before me in front of everyone.”

  “You’re lucky you’re not wearing orange juice on your shirt.”

  Damien reached for my wrist and gripped it with an ironclad hold. “One more word of contempt and those balls are buzzing again. Fancy another multiple? This time I won’t let you retreat to the house.”

  “Let me go or I’ll scream.”

  We stood there together, him glaring and me with my chin raised in defiance.

  He let go and sipped his drink. “Just two more weeks of this, Bardot. Then you’re free.”

  “I imagine you’re counting down the days. I know I am.”

  “I’m proud of so many of my achievements. But I’m especially proud of the fact that I’ve captured the famed debutante Pandora Bardot’s cunt.”

  I slapped him hard across the face.

  He didn’t even blink.

  “Are people looking?”

  I meant the press…and the senators, and the Vice President and his wife. I wondered if the world might soon be seeing a photograph of me striking Gregor Godman’s son.

  Damien reached around my waist and yanked me toward him, pressing his lips to mine, forcing my mouth open to accommodate his lashing tongue exploring and pillaging and warring with mine. He stirred up all the same feelings that had surged through me in the restroom.

  I was hyper-aware of each sensation, including the feel of those spheres in my pussy. His ferocious kiss sparked arousal as he battled with my tongue; soaking my trepidation in confusion. Yet I surrendered to him anyway, desirous of the affection I’d been deprived of, wanting to love him again like I’d once believed I had.

  His hostile takeover of my mouth continued vigorous and full of vitriol, a merciless attack that made my body quake and relent to his—both of us still holding our glasses and not spilling a drop—like consummate professionals who knew how to endure a disaster with grace.

  Damien pulled away. “And now you smile, like your goddamned life depends on it.”

  Because it did.

  Anyone would be thrilled to be in the back of a chauffeur-driven car that was parked beside an enormous Dreamliner at Reagan National Airport, ready to fly first class to a private resort on a sunny Saturday morning. Unless of course that person was me, because my travel companion was none other than Damien G. Godman.

  I’d once read the G stood for George, because Damien’s mom had a thing for British royalty, and their empire building ways. That entire family was fucked-up.

  If he thought I was stubborn before, my refusing to leave the car and board that plane would really piss him off. My suitcase had already been carried on to the flight and I was mulling over ways I could reclaim it.

  Despite me telling Damien I didn’t want to go, he’d picked me up from home. My parents had literally shoved me out of the house and into the back of his waiting car. I’d been greeted by a surly Damien in the backseat. He’d ignored me for the entire journey here.

  Apparently, I’d brought this unexpected out of state jaunt on myself. There was the embarrassing matter of Washington D. C.’s journalists printing snapshots of yesterday’s garden party. Note to self: Don’t fuck up when the entire press core have their cameras trained on you and your beau.

  “Here comes the persuader,” I mumbled to myself.

  Theo Tamer had just climbed out of the car ahead of us, the same one that had escorted us to the airport. Proving Damien’s father wanted us out of the city and wasn’t willing to risk one of us bailing, since this trip had probably been arranged to correct yesterday’s “optics.”

  The car door flew open and Theo gestured. “Don’t keep Mr. Godman waiting.”

  “I’m not going.”

  “Then why did you get in the car?”

  “Why do you think?”

  Because Damien knew full well my parents wouldn’t have accepted me missing out on this opportunity for us to spend more time together.

  I stared at Theo. “Did you enjoy the other night?”

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  I flashed a wary glance at the chauffeur then focused back on Theo. “Our private time at The Ritz.”

  He shrugged. “What happens at Fight Club stays at Fight Club.”

  Great, he’d used a Chuck Palahniuk reference, one of Damien’s favorite authors.

  His eyes narrowed on me. “I need you out of the car.”

  “Why?”

  “I’m more than happy to say it here, if you want.”

  “What happened to ‘what stays at Fight Club’?”

  “What can I tell you…I’m light on my feet when it comes to threats. Now get the fuck out.”

  I let him take my hand and escort me across the tarmac. We stood at the base of the metal staircase where we could talk freely.

  Theo lowered his voice to a whisper. “What happened at The Ritz should be considered a present from your lover. He’s possessive, but still let you have that experience—”

  “I’m so embarrassed it was you.”

  “Why? You were beautiful. Damien controlled every aspect. You asked for that fantasy and he gave it to you.” He pressed his palm to his chest. “He knows I’ll put you first in any scenario.”

  I closed my eyes. “What we did in that room…”

  “Your secrets are my secrets.”

  My face blanched at the thought that this man had been intimate with me, yet he stood here as though nothing had happened, acting all business-as-usual, like it was no big deal that he’d gone down on me.

  What the three of us had done at The Ritz would be a secret I’d carry with me forever, never to be shared with anyone.

  “Go on, up you go.”

  My heart couldn’t take much more of this angst. “Tell me how to make him love me.”

  Theo gave me a sympathetic look. “Earn his trust. Pure and simple.”

  “He thinks I’m with him for all the wrong reasons.”

  “Convince him otherwise.”

  “I want to visit Vanguard.” I want more.

  He hesitated. “Tell him.”

  “I will.” And I had, only so far there’d been no favorable response.

  Theo pointed to the stairs. “Be the woman he needs. You’re a rare gem. He knows that but he needs to see you’re capable of falling in love with every side of him.”

  How could I not trust his words? Theo’s touch during our shared intimacy had been gentle and respectful, and he continued to be loyal to Damien.

  I stood on tiptoe and planted a kiss on his left cheek. “Thank you.”

  “I’m here for both of you.”

  “It’s so hard to be around a man who hates me this much.”

  “There comes a time when hate can flip over to love. You’re already on the way to making that happen.”

  “I hope you’re right.”

  With a nod of gratitude, I made my way up the stairs and into the cabin—stopping short when I saw the plane was empty of passengers.

  I’m not quite sure why my father thought I could have a relaxing trip to Sanibel Island when I had to bring along the most contentious woman in the city.

  “Go have fun,” he’d said, “create some photo ops.”

  Meaning: Fix this fucking mess.

  He’d ordered us to leave Washington D. C. for the weekend—after also delivering the devastating news that the construction on Fairfield was indefinitely stalled…again.

  I leaned back against the headrest, reassuring myself that once I returned on Monday, I’d be back at it, right in the center of the fight. Nothing would derail my endeavor. I’d make my social outreach program my life’s work and not just because of
how it looked to voters. The fact it was my dad stifling my efforts was heartbreaking.

  Escaping this city, even if it was only for a little while, wasn’t such a bad idea.

  We were traveling in style on Dad’s Boeing Dreamliner, usually reserved for the campaign trail. It was a commercial jet big enough to accommodate his entire team and anyone else wanting to hitch a ride to those designated states where he needed to nab more votes.

  I glanced at my Rolex, my impatience rising.

  Where the hell was Pandora?

  We’d driven here together, though admittedly in silence. She was meant to be right behind me. I’d gone on ahead so I could chat with Andrew Holt, the co-pilot. We’d even managed a pre-flight check while waiting for Her Highness to board.

  Bardot finally appeared in the cabin looking as irritatingly gorgeous as ever as she brushed blonde locks out of her face. Her cream pantsuit and jacket had been designed for an older woman, but she wore it well. A pair of shades rested on top of her head—she was ready for the sun.

  She looked around. “Just us?”

  “Obviously.”

  “Where would you like me to sit?”

  “On the floor. Where you belong.”

  “Let’s keep it to ourselves that we’re the only passengers. Carbon footprints and all that.”

  My jaw flexed. “When the plane lands in Florida, it will pick up a hundred Gulf War veterans and bring them to D.C. They will then be provided with a tour of the White House.”

  “Oh, that’s nice.”

  “Why do you suddenly care about the environment, Bardot?” I said tersely. “Usually you only care about yourself.”

  She plopped down beside me. “My chat with Theo was enlightening.”

  I glared at her, and then softened my expression as Becca our flight attendant brought us both tall-stemmed glasses of white wine.

  “Drinking so soon?” Pandora chastised me.

  “Got to drown my sorrows somehow,” I mumbled, reaching for the glasses on the tray, and handing one to Pandora. “Thank you, Becca.” I gave her a grateful smile.

  She headed back up the aisle.

  I set my wine on the tray table next to me and pushed to my feet. “Excuse me.”

  Pandora looked panicked. “You better be staying on this plane.”