“Show me your tits,” he growls as he hits my clit with a fingertip, distracting me from my mission. “Now.”
I nod as I let go of him and slide my hands up between us to undo the buttons on the front of my poplin blouse. My hands shake as I go one by one down to my belly button, and he watches me with dark eyes, burning my skin as I go.
“Show me,” he says as he brushes my clit again, and I part the material of my blouse, revealing my lace bra. I pull the cups down, exposing my pink nipples, and I immensely enjoy the flare of his pupils as he takes me in, so I decide to push him a little more by pinching my stiff peaks.
His response is everything.
Ryan roars as he drops forward, taking the tip of my breast into his mouth and sucking hard as we fall. He controls the impact by taking the brunt of it on his knees before my back hits the floor. I can feel the cool tile of the entryway through my blouse, but it doesn’t matter, because I am on fire.
He scores my nipple with his teeth as he rips out the seam of my panties before thrusting two fingers deep inside me.
“Yes,” I pant.
He lets go of my nipple with a pop, taking his hard cock in his hand and guiding it to my opening before he thrusts deep inside me. I let out a gasp at the intrusion, and he doesn’t let me adjust to the thickness of him as he fills me over and over.
His body covers mine completely, and I slide my hands up the back of his T-shirt and score my nails down his skin as he takes me. And he does take, but he also gives, because with each punishing drive, he brings me closer and closer to the orgasm that’s barreling down on me.
I pant and grasp and just hold on as he pounds into me over and over, and then like an elastic band that’s been stretched too far, I snap. I was wrong about the climax that I knew would be huge. It isn’t huge; it destroys me. It wrecks me as it ravages through me, so much so that I’m only able to register Ryan’s snarl as he comes.
And then he’s silent.
He’s so quiet and still as his breathing settles, and I feel something not good fill the room. I should have braced, but I didn’t, because I foolishly thought we were having a moment. Ryan and I had come together, and it was more than stolen touches this time. I let it come into my head that maybe he had come to care for me when he had given no indication so. But I find out that I was wrong, so very wrong, when he slaps the tile next to my head with his palm.
And then he pulls out quickly and rolls, pushing up to his feet. He keeps his back to me as he tucks himself back in his jeans and does up the buttons and then his belt. And the whole time, he stays so fucking silent that my heart begins to sink right through my body and down to the cold floor he’s left me on.
“Ryan?” I ask, and I hate that my voice sounds soft and unsure, because that is not who I am or who I ever want to be. And furthermore, I do not like that he’s made me sound that way. But still, right now, I can’t help it. And I am sorrier when he turns around and glares at me.
“You got your piece of my dick, duchess, but you won’t get your fancy claws in me,” he snarls. “This was it. There won’t be a repeat.”
“What?” I whisper, horrified. I feel heat hit my face, and I grab at the parted material of my blouse, trying to cover myself belatedly.
“You heard me,” he says. “You got one fuck, and now we’re done.”
“Nice mouth,” I snap.
“Manners come with the uniform,” he replies, drawing my attention to the jeans I had never seen him in before, the ones that fit him so very well. “But they’re not for you.”
And with that parting shot, he turns on his heels and slams my front door behind him, leaving me sprawled on the floor of my foyer half dressed, with his cum slipping out of my body.
“I think I made a mistake,” I say to myself before I push to stand and feel the sting of muscles that haven’t been used in a while. I lock the front door, and then I walk upstairs to my bedroom and undress. I pull on a heavy, oversized sweatshirt that falls to my knees. I don’t bother brushing my hair or washing my face. What’s the use? There’s no sense in tending to the outside when the inside is looking so ugly.
And then I climb under the covers of my big bed all alone and think about each and every choice I’ve made in my career and in my life that led me to this moment. I feel each one, I own it, and then I let it go before I finally let myself drift off to sleep on my pillow damp with tears, knowing I’m always going to be all alone, and that’s okay. I’ll make peace with it.
“President Chancellor Vetoes Global Bill”
Chapter 2
Vetoed
“Good morning, everyone,” I say to the room when I step up to the podium. “President Chancellor has vetoed House Bill 2250.”
The room is silent for a moment, and then it explodes with a cacophony of voices. Every single reporter in the room is shouting questions at me and all at the same time.
This morning when I entered the White House offices, the official notice had gone out throughout my office. The president had decided early this morning that he was going to veto the bill that would take the bulk of the weapons, money, and global power that the United States holds and give it to several nations who harbor hostility toward the U.S.
“While I’m sure you all have many questions, this is developing now,” I explain. “The President has not hidden his concerns over what he considers a dangerous bill that was laid out to the house floor. President Chancellor has expressed these concerns at length and had many productive talks with the members of Congress. And after asking many questions, the president feels that he and the American people have been left with less answers and more questions.
“So at this time, he is exercising his right to veto. Thank you. That will be all for today.”
And then I turn and walk out of the room to the tune of questions shouted at my back.
“Holy shit, Jules,” Carter, Grace’s assistant, says when I clear the doors and am in the staff-only hallway. “That was fucking hot as hell. If I was into girls, I would be totally into you.”
I bark out a laugh. Carter is such a good guy. I’ve known him and his husband for years, because he worked with Grace in New York, and we all swam in the same circles. His comments go a long way to elevate my mood.
“Thanks, Carter.” I smile at him.
“Grace sent me,” he says. “She said you were having a shit day and wanted to know if you’d like her to watch you drink a bottle of wine before she has someone take you home.”
“That’s so Grace.” I laugh. Just because she’s adorably pregnant and can’t drink, she doesn’t want me to go home alone after a long day. And she doesn’t even know the half of what happened with Ryan.
“I know, right?”
“Tell her that I’m fine and am going home to drown my frustration in carbs not booze,” I reply. Carter watches me closely, like he’s trying to decide the veracity of my statements. “Really. I’m fine.”
“Oh all right,” he says. “But if she shows up at your house unannounced….”
“She can’t,” I remind him. “She can’t go anywhere without a massive team of secret service agents.
“True.” He smirks. “But I’m sure she could find someone to come check on you.”
“Don’t go there,” I say over my shoulder as I continue on down the hall.
I head to my office and grab my bag. I pull my keys out so I’m ready and head through the offices toward the exit. I see Captain Black out the corner of my eye talking to someone, and I just keep moving. He waves to me, but I don’t stop. I just keep moving through the building.
When I reach the external door, I push it open and take my first deep breath of the entire day. I’m just to my car when I hear someone shout in the distance, but I ignore it. Instead, I pull open the driver door and toss my bag on the front seat.
“Julia!” I hear, and I look to see Ryan at the exit to the offices. I let out a frustrated breath, plaster a fake smile on my face, and toss Ryan a wave
I don’t mean before I drop down into my cute little Mercedes. As I pull out of the parking lot, I see him running toward me between the cars.
But that’s a worry for another day.
It takes about an hour with D.C. traffic to get to my suburban neighborhood in Virginia. I don’t listen to the radio, because I can’t let the news updates get to me, so I connect my phone to Bluetooth so I can listen to my playlist. That goes out the window when Ryan calls for the third time, and I dismiss the call for the third time, and I’m tempted to throw my phone out the window. So I hold the button down to shut it off and toss it to the seat next to me.
Rachel is still missing, and while Rick looks like he’s keeping it together, I know he’s frustrated. I haven’t seen Cara since the other day, and I need to check in on her. Maybe tomorrow I’ll be able to check up on her.
I pull into my garage, scoop up my phone and keys, and toss them in my bag. I let myself in through the garage, which leads to a small laundry room off the kitchen, kicking off my heels by the door and dropping my purse on the kitchen counter.
I’m starving.
I need to figure out dinner and soon. I open the fridge, and there’s some wilted lettuce and a bottle of coffee creamer. That is less than promising. I pull my phone from my purse and power it back up so I can order a pizza. It takes a full minute while it dings with missed calls and a few angry voicemails from Ryan which consist of a tersely spoken “call me” and “I’m done fucking around.” And then I dial my favorite pizza place and order a large pepperoni for delivery. It’s not New York pizza, but it’ll do.
I don’t wash my face or change into sweats, because it would be bad form to open the door for the delivery kid looking like a mess and get spotted by paparazzi. It doesn’t happen often, but after a day like today, I wouldn’t discount the possibility.
So instead, I pad to the bar in my stocking feet and grab a brand-new pinot noir. I pull the cork and pour myself a glass. I guess I was lying after all when I told Carter that my plans excluded booze.
The doorbell rings, and I grab a twenty out of my wallet and another ten to tip.
“Here’s your pizza, Ms. Fairchild.”
“Thanks,” I tell him before taking the piping-hot box and closing the door.
I set it on the coffee table and grab my glass and the bottle. I settle on the couch and eat more pizza than I should and finish the bottle while watching Murder She Wrote reruns on cable.
With a heavy sigh when I realize it’s grown late, I pick up the pizza leftovers and toss them in the fridge before putting my wine glass in the sink and the bottle in the recycling bin. I make sure the doors are locked and then turn out the lights downstairs before padding quietly up the stairs.
My bedroom is dark when I enter, and I don’t turn the lights on. I toss my heels I picked up on my way through the kitchen into the closet and untie the sash belt of my dress before I work the small buttons down the front with my fingers.
“Christ, it’s like watching your Christmas present unwrap itself,” Ryan says from where I now see he’s lounging on my bed with his legs crossed at the ankles and his hands behind his head.
Of course, I do what any single woman from the city does when she realizes there’s a man in her bed when she thought she was alone in the house.
I scream bloody murder.
“Shh,” he soothes, and he’s in front of me before I can even blink.
“What are you doing here?” I ask accusingly when it feels like my heart has slowed to the point that it’s still beating like a racehorse but not so fast I’m about to die.
“You didn’t answer your phone,” he says like that explains everything.
“So you broke into my house?”
“Yes,” he replies after a beat.
“That’s… odd.”
“Maybe,” he hedges, and I wonder what he’s talking about.
“What do you mean maybe?” I wonder why I can’t control the words that are coming out of my mouth. Obviously, it must be the bottle of wine.
“With Rachel missing and everything going on with the bill and the blackmail,” he explains, “I needed to make sure you were all right when you didn’t answer.”
Ahh, so it was a pity visit. That doesn’t sting my ego at all. But that’s fine. I shouldn’t want him. Ryan Black has future heartache written all over him. Unfortunately, I know that heartache would come on the heels of some of the best orgasms I’ve ever had in my life. The world is cruel.
“Well, you can see I’m fine, so have a good night,” I say before I turn to head to my closet to change into some pajamas. If I hadn’t had so much wine, maybe I would’ve noticed he was following me into the closet and not showing himself out.
“We need to talk,” he says as I slip my dress over my head and toss it in the hamper destined for the dry cleaners. He’s seen everything already, and I’m drunk enough I don’t really care, so I strip out of the rest of my clothes and pull on some lace-trimmed silk pajama pants and a matching camisole.
“What about?” I ask as I make my way into the bathroom and begin to wash the makeup off my face. He trails a single fingertip down my spine when I bend over the sink to rinse my face, and it’s all I can do to keep my reaction from showing.
He answers me when I pat my face dry.
“Did you listen to my voicemail messages?” he asks, changing the subject as I slip my earrings from my ears and place them in a little bowl on the counter.
“Some,” I say, shrugging as I reach for my toothbrush but find myself spun around and my back pressed against the counter. “W-what?”
“I told you I was done fucking around.”
“What does that even mean?”
“This,” he says, and then he crashes his mouth down on mine, and when he opens, I cave to the pressure and he licks inside.
I melt against him. I never stood a chance. I know it, and so does Ryan. But I have to put a stop to this before he tramples my heart all over again.
“Ryan,” I whisper when I pull back, and he lets me, but he also keeps me close.
“Julia.”
“I can’t risk it again,” I whisper. “It hurts too much.”
“I hurt you,” he acknowledges. “And I’m so fucking sorry for that. But I’m going to show you that the fall is worth the risk.”
“No.”
“Jules—”
“No,” I say, stronger this time. “I don’t want that.”
“It’ll be good between us,” he says. “You know that.”
“I know it could be and probably would be,” I reply. “That is, until you turn your anger on me again. And it will cut deep, and I know from experience I don’t want to feel that again.”
“Jules, if you’ll just listen—”
“No,” I say, interrupting him. “It’s been a long day, and I need you to go.”
“All right, I’ll go,” he concedes.
“I’ll see you on Monday.”
“You’ll see me before then.”
And then he turns on his heels, and I watch him walk out of my bathroom. I hear the door click closed behind him downstairs, and as I lie down in my bed, I wonder if I made another mistake.
“The Rumor Mill is on Fire with talk of the President’s Father Ready to Settle Down Again.”
Chapter 3
This one’s for you
I was literally bred, born, and raised for moments like this.
Where Grace had a normal childhood in the suburbs, I was born into one of the most prominent families in New York. When I was a tot, I studied classical ballet and piano. When I was old enough, I learned French, Spanish, German, and Japanese. I went to the best finishing school money could pay for. I earned top grades always, because anything less than a solid A was a failure and I would find myself grounded. I was accepted to NYU on my own merits and was recruited as a legacy into the sorority my mother and my grandmother were in.
I keep a fit figure through running and yoga. I do not ove
rindulge in anything, because I was raised in a very strict regime in order to maintain a trim physique to best showcase haute couture. I actually love to run. It helps me clear my head on difficult days.
And I have done all of these things, lived this life, not because I wanted to, not because it filled some deep-seated need in me to be the best that I could be, but because it was expected of me. I was bred and raised by parents of the social elite, and my sole purpose was to make a match that would benefit the family business in some way.
I find it incredibly ironic that after over thirty years of being the best of the best, I’m seen as nothing but a failure and a disappointment to my parents.
“May I escort you in?”
I turn toward the voice that sets me on edge every single time. While there is a very specific protocol for entering this event, I do not need an escort in. I’m that important. I go to politely decline, but when I turn around, the president’s father is there. He’s standing entirely too close to me, and I take a startled step back. I lose my balance when I shift my weight too quickly on my incredibly tall and pencil-slim heels.
He wraps his arm around my waist and pulls me into his arms, his reflexes faster than I would have figured for someone his age. I hear a disgusted noise and turn my head to see Captain Black watching me. He must have seen the whole thing, and I feel heat hit my cheeks at my embarrassment.
“Thank you,” I say quietly before pushing away from the senior senator, but it’s too late. Ryan had already walked away.
“Always happy to help a beautiful woman in need,” he replies with a wink and an inappropriate look at my breasts. I send him a tight smile, hoping he understands I will not be conquered, but I don’t think he gets it. Especially when he continues. “And I’d be more than happy to help with your needs.”
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