by Dark Angel
"We’re here, sir," my driver tells me, stopping the car in front of New Kingston’s City Hall. The building towers over us, its wide columns giving it the semblance of an old roman palace. The dome at the top gives it a royal flair, and somehow, it seems fitting—Liam Jeffries thinks of himself as a king. Unfortunately for him, the real world has come knocking on his door, and I’m its messenger.
The black SUV from my security detail parks behind us, and my men get out of the car in a hurry, eager to secure the perimeter. I don’t bother with waiting; I step out of my car immediately, eager to get this over with. Jack, the head of security looks at me with a resigned expression; he already knows how little I care about protocol. In the end, though, he respects the fact that I only care about getting shit done.
Stretching my legs, I take a deep breath as I gaze at the building in front of me. I didn’t remember it being this imposing, but then again, I haven’t been back to New Kingston in a few years.
I straighten my cuffs and button my jacket as I walk up the stairs toward the main entrance; there are a few people leaving the building, and they all turn their heads to look at me. Some people are just wondering about the security apparatus, but most of them are just surprised that governor Carter Andrews is dropping by unannounced. If I scheduled my visit through the regular channels, I’m sure there’d already be a cadre of journalists waiting for me, and as far as I’m concerned, the less the spotlight is on me the better. I’m not in this for the fame, and I don’t care about the attention; I care about getting the job done. That’s what I was elected for.
Even though I despise the spotlight, it’s impossible for me to get rid of all the superfluous attention. I became, after all, New York’s youngest Governor in history at the age of 29. If you add the fact that I’m worth $730 million dollars, all from tech companies I built after serving in Iraq, and keep in shape by working out every single day… Well, you know where I’m going with this.
Yeah, okay. I've got the 8-pack abs. I've got the pecs. I’ve never done it before, but other women have measured my cock. I mean really measured it, not just putting it in their mouths to call it measuring. They tell me I’m 12 inches, base to tip.
It seems the ladies love that.
Being single doesn’t help matters too; judging by all the attention women’s magazines give me, my marital status seems like a big deal. To be honest, I don’t really mind the attention women devote to me ... as long as that doesn’t get in the way of my job. I’m more than willing to sleep with hot women, but if they think I’ll put them up on a pedestal, they’re mistaken.
If they think I’ll sacrifice my time from this job to satisfy their desire for a boyfriend, they’re a bit mistaken.
They don’t know who I am if they think that.
And who exactly am I?
I’m the man who won the Governor’s race two years ago. I passed signature legislation that will have a direct and material change on the people of this State, which will let them live longer.
Despite all of this, I don’t play who I am up to the media. I can’t exactly say the same about the King of New Kingston, though. Prancing around like royalty and cutting deals like an Emperor, this bastard must think himself above the law. Too bad that, as far as he’s concerned, I’m the law.
"Governor Andrews," calls out a petite blonde woman, a pile of folders clutched close to her chest. I stop, looking at her as she takes a deep breath and tucks a stray lock of hair behind her ear. Judging by her white button up shirt and professional tight skirt, she seems to be part of the Mayor’s entourage. "I’m here to take you to the Mayor’s office," she says, her cheeks flushing the moment we lock eyes. "The… the Mayor already knows you’re here, and he’s waiting for you!"
"Good," I tell her, politely smiling, "I’m on a tight schedule, so just lead the way."
Her cheeks flush even more and she looks down at her feet, trying to avert my gaze. Eventually, she turns on her heels and I follow after her. We walk to the second floor and she takes me down a hallway, stopping in front of two wooden double doors, a grand entrance to the Mayor’s office.
"Go ahead, Governor," she tells me, stepping aside with a coy smile. I look at her with a wide smile, reading the eagerness all over her face. I’d just have to say the word and she’d be on her knees in a heartbeat. But I didn’t come here to allow myself to get distracted; I have a job to do.
"Thank you," I tell her, and reach for the handle of the door and turn it. I step inside the office, my pupils widening in response to the dim light inside: the curtains are drawn, and aside from a lamp in the corner, the lights are out. Standing behind a massive oak desk is Liam Jeffries, the infamous New Kingston mayor. He has his feet propped up on the desk, his hands behind his head, and a lazy grin on his face. I didn’t exactly expect a warm reception, but this is almost too much. I have the sense that he’s doing it on purpose, just to spite me.
"Here he is—the wonder Governor in the flesh, Carter Andrews!" he says merrily, taking his feet from the desk and standing up. He draws the curtains, sunlight streaming into the room and filling it with a warm gentle light. Squinting his eyes, Liam extends me his hand. "Sorry, late night yesterday," he tells me, not bothering to hide the fact that his late night had nothing do with work. He has "hangover" written all over his face. Not that it surprises me; from the stories I’ve heard, Liam lives for two things only: pussy and liquor.
"I figured as much," I say, shaking his hand firmly. I can do without all the formality most politicians love so much, but Liam’s casual ways just manage to piss me off. After all, I didn’t come here to be his buddy. I came with a warning.
"So, what brings such a busy man to my humble office?" he asks, sitting back down on his chair and pointing to the other one in front of the desk, offering me a seat. I sit, unbuttoning my jacket, and prepare my words.
"You know why I’m here," I tell him straight away, not wanting to beat around the bush. "The deal you’ve made … you have a few ways to call it off.
"Oh, you came all this way just to tell me that? You could've just called," he props his feet on top of the table again, looking at me with that annoying grin on his face. "The answer is no." I open my mouth to speak, but he raises his hand and cuts me short. "No means no. And it’s a fucking no, Governor."
Here we go. He’s just a Mayor, and he thinks of himself a king. He has no idea how close he is to having the living daylights knocked out of him.
"Like I told the news when they asked, I got three words for you Carter," Liam says, leaning back. "Go fuck yourself."
"Liam," I start, saying his first name pointedly, "Your deal flies in the face of the environmental legislation I’ve just passed." I don’t give two shits if I’m disrespecting him by not addressing him as Mayor—as far as I’m concerned, this guy is just another idiot who doesn’t even deserve an ounce of respect.
"Yeah, yeah. I don’t give two fucks about it. You might like to pass all kinds of laws while you’re sitting on your fancy Governor’s chair, but I’m living in the real world. I don’t have the time for your political agenda bullshit of the week; I became Mayor in this city because I care about the people here, not because I want to be another fucking cog in the state’s machine." I hear his words, but I can barely believe them. I fought tooth and nail to create a law that would protect our state for years to come, and this guy is pissing all over it with a grin … and that while trying to feed me some fake altruistic bullshit. Who the hell does he think he is?
"That’s not how it works. You can’t just do what you want; you’re a Mayor. Kindergarten is over, Liam. Listen to me and act like a real man for once." This is like talking to a kid who has decided to play a game intended for grown-ups. How in the hell did this guy end up a mayor?
"That’s fucking rich of you, to come here and tell me I can’t secure thousands of jobs for New Kingston. Why don’t you go visit all the people who need these jobs and tell them that they should sign up for food stamps beca
use you’ve signed some bullshit piece of paper. I bet that would go really well, Governor."
I knew this guy would be tough to deal with, but I didn’t expect this. He’s not tough; he’s an asshole, one who doesn’t care about anything. He doesn’t even want to negotiate or talk about what can be done. This damn bastard just wants to prove he’s better than everyone else. If it weren’t for the political consequences of it, I could just bury my fist into his face and ruin that pretty face of his. You pick up a few things while serving in Iraq, and ruining pretty boys’ faces is one of them.
"I don’t know who you think are, Liam, but this isn’t the Wild West. You can’t simply flood the city with factories and postpone the consequences. And there are consequences."
"Oh, I know all about consequences, Carter," he tells me, using my first name as a provocation. Unconsciously, I feel my hands balling into fists. I’ve always hated spoiled little kids like him. He takes his feet off of the table and leans toward me, his grin fading away as his expression turns into a hard one. "For instance, the consequences to your words are that you’re no longer welcome here."
I’m not welcome? In my own state? This guy has no idea who he’s talking to. Whether he likes it or not, he will have to bend. In the end, everyone does. I get up from my seat and look him in the eye, the tension in the room increasing.
"Enjoy your little fantasy while it lasts, Liam. Because, in the end, you have no power. No choice." Leaving my words hanging in the air, I turn on my heels and leave his office.
Five minutes. That was how long it took for us to declare war to each other. I smile inwardly; if he wants war, he’s going to get one.
And I’m going to crush him… With a smile on my lips.
Vivian
I swear, I don’t even need an alarm clock to wake up most mornings. Most of my friends swear that they need a couple of minutes to snooze, or a solid 8 hours of sleep. Not me. A good five hours and I’m good to go. Hell, I could probably do with three. Or less.
Like last night. I think I may have finally passed out after the sex at around 3 am. I look over to the clock.
It’s 6:45 am. I always wake up at 6:45 am. So what is that? Slightly less than four hours. I can live with that. I won’t be draggy and tired all day. Besides, it was worth it. Sex is always worth it, in my opinion. It doesn’t have to always be toe-curling sex. It can be regular sex, or even sometimes bad sex. It depends what you end up doing with it. It’s like a movie. Even if it’s a bad movie, only rarely do you stop watching it. Or reading. Even if it’s a bad book, you usually finish to the end. I mean, sometimes you just DNF, but that’s not this book, is it? Because you only just met me, hun, and let me tell you, I think you’re going to like the ride I get to go on.
Anyways, back to the sex last night. It wasn’t the best. The guy, what’s his name? I forgot.
I look over to my right. He’s sleeping peacefully. Poor baby. He must be worn out. See, his cock was too small for me. I think it was only about four and a half inches. I swear—no lying. I was actually pretty intrigued. I asked him how big his cock was at the bar he picked me up at when I was having a drink after the Senate adjourned for the day, and he had told me it was ‘big enough to make me scream’.
I guess he meant scream in amazement because when I saw it a few hours later in my apartment, while I did feel a bit cheated, I was also really intrigued. Instead of kicking him out, I told him if he put on two condoms (to maybe make his cock bigger?) and gave me head while I read the latest Simone Sowood book on my Kindle he could fuck me afterward.
He was so grateful I wasn’t kicking him out he did exactly what I asked. That’s right. The guy next to me is a lobbyist for some group or another. Mr. Big Bad Lobbyist, thinking he’s going to go run for Congress. Too bad he has a baby dick and that Alpha Male façade just crumbles like nothing else when faced with a real woman. Like you or me—he can’t handle us.
Seriously, babe. I’ve dated a lot of guys. I’m not a slut; I don’t indiscriminately sleep around. I always want to go with the Alpha. I’ve done billionaires, CEOs, actors, Senators, Congressmen, Mafia lords, highlanders, princes, hell—even a guy claiming to be a fucking dragon.
At the end of the day, two things will happen with any of these so called bad boys or Alpha Males. First, I will crush their spirit because they won’t be able to keep up with me. They’ll end up becoming Soccer Dads, with beige shorts driving a minivan. That’s after they trade in their motorcycle and leave their MC. Second, I’ll get bored with them. Because they couldn’t be man enough to handle me.
It’s a curse, hun. I wish I weren’t so confident. But what can I do? I grew up like this. I’m the youngest Senator in the history of this country at 29 years old. I know I look good; I have blonde hair to my shoulders, I stay in shape by working out every day, I know my boobs look okay and my ass is still perky. I’m a hard worker. I graduated at the top of my class from Princeton and never looked back. When my friends were getting married, I was working. When they were going on vacation, I was working. And look at where it got me; I’m now the junior Senator from New York State and chairwoman of the Senate Commerce Committee. I have an apartment in Washington D.C. at the Watergate Hotel and an apartment in New York City on 39th and Park Avenue. I don’t have billions of dollars, but enough paid speeches to Wall Street banks and the NRA have left me with hundreds of millions of dollars. I can survive on that.
Sure, I grew up wealthy, in a well-connected New England family. We summered in Cape Cod and lived on Beacon Hill when I was growing up. But like any New England family, I was always told that everything I would ever get in life I had to earn. If I didn’t work, I wouldn’t receive any benefits.
No one owns me. Not even a political party. I watch all these supposedly powerful men, out there peacocking and posturing for the camera. They’re all crippled because the parties have them by the balls. I told the Democrats to fuck off a while ago. Then I did the same to the Republicans. I’m an American. That’s my fucking party, babe.
But I’m also a woman. And I’ve just woken up. And I don’t have to pee, so that makes me horny. I don’t waste any time but slowly nudge the lobbyist whose name I can’t remember awake.
He slowly opens his eyes. He looks at me and smiles sweetly.
"Good morning," he says slowly.
"Babe," I tell him, "I need you between my legs."
He blinks a few times, and I give him a lascivious smile. That should get the blood pumping to the right areas. I could go down on him and get him hard, but I’m not really in the mood. Plus, with four and a half inches, how would I go about finding his cock?
Apparently, my smile is enough for him. Men are so easy to fucking manipulate, and within seconds, he’s moved his head down and begun kissing around my folds.
I close my eyes. It’s not super good, but it’ll get the job done. Kind of like buying the generic cereal at the store and not the brand name. Sometimes you just need to budget so you can spend your money on other things.
I pull up my phone and start looking through my emails as Mr. Big Bad Lobbyist starts to lick my clit. My eyes close and I shudder. It does feel good. I let myself go for a bit, enjoying the sensation.
That’s when the phone rings. I sigh. I look at the iPhone as it continues to vibrate and I wonder for a second if I should pick up. It’s an unlisted number. Or maybe just put the vibrating appliance down below too, help out this poor man whose lapping at me now, teasing me and stimulating me, sending small shudders up my body….
Oh look, I got lost in my train of thought and forgot to pick up. Oh well. I keep my eyes closed and bring a hand to my tits, teasing my nipples. It’s too much to ask this guy to take charge. Once you take the reins from the man, they’re loathe to give it back.
And then the phone rings again.
It was an unlisted number before, but this time there’s no mistaking the Caller ID.
It reads: The White House.
Right, so I should proba
bly pick that up.
"This is Vivian Hawthorne," I say into the phone. Mr. Lobbyist tries to lift his head to see what I’m doing, but I have enough dexterity that I’m able to use his other hand and push him back down between my legs. His tongue rubs and presses hard against my clit. I shudder in pleasure.
"Senator Hawthorne, please hold for the President of the United States," the White House operator says into the line.
I hold. This isn’t my first call with the Big Man. Rather, I spread my legs out a little bit more. I need to make this quick.
"Viv?" comes the voice of the boisterous Texan on the other end of the line. "How you doin’, doll?"
I sigh. The President has a way about him that makes you roll your eyes but melts your heart at the same time.
"I’m good, Mr. President, what seems to be on your mind this morning?" I ask into the phone.
Mr. Lobbyist keeps at it, and I can feel the first of the muscles in my body begin to tighten. Is it me, or is the fact that I’m on the phone while I’m getting head turning me on even more than normal. I may not have cum as easily, but something about this is doing it for me.
His tongue continues to lap at me, pressing, flicking, and squeezing my clit. I shudder. It’s good now.
"Say, Viv, I need your help, and because your technically Independent…" the President begins but I interrupt him, trying to talk through the sex haze.
"I am an Independent, sir," I say into the phone. I switched political affiliation from Republican to Independent a while ago. Before that I used to be a registered Democrat.
"Right," the President says. "Well, your unique nature in the Senate can be of help in a sensitive situation."
"Ooooohhh?" I ask, my voice catching as I feel a finger and a tongue now rubbing at my clit. I’m going to cum soon. I can’t stop it. The fires are spreading. I’m starting to go numb in my toes. It’s like this man’s tongue is operated by batteries or something. Oh God, it feels so fucking good. Fuck.
