I needed something big and fat and hard and wide to ram itself right up inside me. And unfortunately, the closest thing available was my right middle finger, which just wasn’t going to do it. My vibrator was at home in my bedside drawer, loaded with dead batteries and collecting dust, because I just hadn’t had the time (or the desire) to use it in over a year. And I was stuck in the middle of the Washington PR crisis of the century, so it wasn’t like I could take the afternoon off in favor of a mini-dildo-and-orgasm fest at home.
Damn it all to hell.
In an instant, I was transported back to earth, no more satisfied than I was when I entered the stall. Dejected, I rearranged my clothing and traipsed out of the stall to wash my hands—and ran smack-dab into Rebecca. She looked a bit afraid.
“Jasmine, ahmm, pardon me for asking, but what on earth were you doing in there?” She nodded her head towards the empty stall.
“Umm, nothing,” I lied. “Just umm, freshening up.”A ridiculous statement, considering that the musky smell of my sex enveloped the entire restroom.
“Riiiiight,” Jasmine chuckled. It was obvious she suspected something kinky was going on. “I just came in here to tell you I was able to set something up with Rodney Doyle. He’s very busy, and he’d only agree to see you if you went over to his office right now. You need to get there no later than two o’clock, or you’ll miss him.”
I glanced at my watch. One forty-five. Doyle’s office was on K Street, almost three miles away, and a good twenty-minute drive in slow afternoon traffic. Getting there by two would be an impossible task—something I was sure Rodney Doyle knew full well when he made the appointment. But then again, I might get lucky and land a cab driven by a lunatic speed-demon through a bunch of green lights, and make it with a minute to spare. It was worth a shot.
“Call Rodney Doyle back and tell him I’m on my way.” I dashed back to my cubicle to grab my coat and purse, and I was off.
Chapter 2
I got lucky, for once. The first cab I hailed was driven by a turbaned Pakistani man who probably hadn’t bathed in at least a week. He might have stunk, but he sure knew how to beat the worst DC traffic. After less than five minutes of swerving and swooping around other cars, jumping curbs, and running stop signs, I was in front of the looming Beltway Times building on K Street.
I checked my watch. 1:52. I had exactly eight minutes to get inside, take the elevator to the penthouse office suite, and convince Rodney Doyle to save my boss’ career. An easy enough, task, right?
Not exactly.
I tipped the cabbie a fiver for his efforts and swept into the building’s swank marble lobby.A grouchy-looking security guard blocked the door. “Do you have an appointment?” he growled at me, looking official and rude at more than two hundred pounds—all muscle.
“I’m here to see Rodney Doyle. My appointment’s at two.”
The huge security guard looked me up and down, frowned, and rested his left hand on his gun while he used his right to check his register book. “Says here that Rodney Doyle don’t have no two o’clock appointment.”
“He does now. My secretary just set it up.” I checked my watch again and tapped my foot incessantly. I was running out of time.
The guard punched an extension into his security phone with his thick, meaty fingers. I silently wondered if it was true that you could tell how big a guy’s dick was by the size of his fingers, and shivered. I was on the verge of coming just looking at the doorman’s big, black, pulpy digits.
God help me.
The guard hung up the receiver and grunted. “You’re clear. Sign the register and take this badge. Go up to the eighteenth floor, show the badge, and they’ll let you in.”
“Thank you.” By now I was sweating buckets, and my panties were swimming in my own juices. I didn’t know what had me turned on more—the huge hulk of a man behind the security desk or the fact I was about to meet Rodney Doyle. Then again, I’d gotten so horny at that point that anything remotely male within an eight-mile radius could probably have turned me on.
I was in serious need of a serious lay.
“Ma’am, you better get going. Mr. Doyle don’t like to be kept waiting.” The hulking security guard’s deep-bass voice jerked me out of my reverie. I made for the elevator, passed my electronic security badge over the scanner, and I was off.
I did a quick mirror-check on the elevator doors, and discovered that I looked quite the tramp. My blouse and skirt were rumpled and creased from my solo romp in the bathroom stall. My mascara had run a bit, giving me little raccoon eyes. And the apples of my cheeks were covered with a textbook sex flush.
Ack.
It was a bit late for me to freshen up. I was about to beg the most powerful newspaper editor in Washington for a break, and I was going to do it looking like a mousy, pudgy, horny tramp. Not exactly my usual polished PR style. But it would have to do. I smoothed the creases of my blouse and skirt as best I could with my sweaty palms, rubbed at the mascara under my eyes with my fingers, and hoped for the best.
The mirrored elevator doors slid open to reveal a huge penthouse office suite. The far wall was nothing but floor-to-ceiling smoked glass, the middle of which held a door that read “RODNEY DOYLE: PRIVATE.” Across from me behind a large gleaming desk sat a very glamorous receptionist.
“You must be Jasmine Rand,” the receptionist cooed as she looked me up and down with noticeable distaste. She couldn’t have been more than twenty. Her size-zero frame was poured into a tight-fitting Prada suit—which meant either she was grossly overpaid or had a major sugar-daddy. “Mr. Doyle is expecting you. Right this way.”
I followed the tiny woman to Rodney Doyle’s imposing glass door, which she opened slowly. “Good luck,” she chirped, looking me up and down again before she turned on her kitten heel and went back to her perch behind the gleaming reception desk.
I glanced into the office and found it empty. Or so I thought.
I heard a booming voice that seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere at once. “Well, what are you waiting for, Kingdom Fucking Come?”
Kingdom Fucking Come? An interesting choice of words.
I stepped gingerly into the office, looked around, and saw no one. Just a wall of mirrors and a very expensive-looking leather-on-mahogany desk with matching chairs.
The booming voice again. “Funny, I would have expected you to come groveling on your hands and knees, Ms. Rand. But I suppose that’s not your style. I bet you prefer to do things standing up. Come. Come, please.”
The number of double entendres in that statement was ridiculous.
Who really talked like that in real life? Nobody. Well, porn stars, perhaps. But not newspaper editors.
Maybe the fact my panties were floating in a river of my own nectar just made me hear sexual innuendo where there was none.
“Excuse me, but where are you?” I asked the empty air.
“Over here.” One of the mirrors turned, and out of nowhere popped Rodney Doyle.
Or rather, a dozen Rodney Doyles. He was reflected twelve times over in the wall of mirrors. I couldn’t tell which one was real and which ones were just reflections. It was like something out of an old movie.
“What the hell is this, a joke? If so, it’s not funny.”
I felt a light tap on my shoulder, and spun around. The flesh-and-blood Rodney Doyle was just behind me. And he was even more gorgeous in the flesh than he was on television or reflected in a dozen creepy mirrors. The man was a veritable Greek god. Six-foot-four, hazel eyes, sandy blonde hair, chiseled features. A barrel-like chest and biceps that were so thick they nearly burst out the sleeves of his custom-tailored shirt. He smelled of musk and expensive aftershave, and his face was spread wide in a glistening, perfect smile. “I’m sorry if my little mirror trick upset you. I’ve been into mirror tricks since I was a kid. My mom rented me a copy of The Lady From Shanghai when I was fourteen and I loved the hall of mirrors scene so much that when I grew up and got rich, I h
ad one built into my office.”
“The Lady From Shanghai? Sorry, I’m not following.”
“It’s an old Orson Welles movie. Orson Welles used a hall of mirrors to subdue Rita Hayworth during a shootout. I find it works well at subduing everyone who comes into my office—which is quite important in my line of work.”
“Well, it didn’t subdue me. It just freaked me out.”
“One and the same,” Rodney said, and motioned me to sit in one of the massive chairs across from his desk. “So, Ms. Rand, I assume you’re here to beg me to save your ass?”
“I’m not here on my own behalf. I’m here to ask you to help Senator Grayle.”
He laughed. “Senator Grayle is beyond help at this point. His career ended the minute he let those hustlers’ mouths around his dick. I don’t know why you think I can do anything to change that.”
At that point, I knew I had to appeal to Rodney’s enormous ego somehow, or I’d be sunk before I even started. “Surely you wouldn’t give up that easily,” I cooed. “After all, you and your paper have the power to turn public opinion any way you want. You even turned Monica Lewinsky into a saint for a while. You’re a media genius, or so everyone says. This ought to be a piece of cake for you.”
More booming laughter. Rodney’s electric blue eyes twinkled, and he gave me a knowing smile.“Flattery will get you nowhere, my dear,” he said. “I think far too highly of myself already.”
I scoffed. “That’s obvious. It’s a miracle that there’s any air left for me to breathe in here, given the size of your head.”
Rodney blinked. He was more than a little surprised by my retort; he probably wasn’t used to being insulted. “Let me level with you, Ms. Rand. I know that I can help Senator Grayle. But at this point, I don’t see any reason why I should. There’s a big difference between the two.” He walked over to a massive walnut cabinet and opened its doors, revealing a miniature bar. “Scotch on the rocks? I’m having one, and I think you should, too.”
“I don’t like hard liquor.”
Rodney ignored this and poured me a brimming highball from an expensive-looking bottle. “Ms. Rand, if you want to play with the big boys, the first thing you need to do is to drink with them.”
“Call me Jasmine, please.” I took a tiny sip from the glass and to my surprise, found the strong, yet smooth, liquor to my liking. “This is very good.”
“It should be, for eight hundred bucks a bottle. So tell me, Jasmine, what do you think about Senator Grayle’s latest indiscretion? I know—as I’m sure you do too—that Senator Grayle is no stranger to indiscretions. But this is the first time I’m aware of where he openly broke the law.”
I took another sip, this time a longer one. The booze made my throat tingle as it went down, then sent little waves of warmth through my belly. Little waves of warmth that were inching their way down towards my nether parts. “It doesn’t matter what I think of it,” I said. “I’m a PR staffer, not a judge. My job is to make the whole thing just ‘go away’, so Senator Grayle can be re-elected.”
Rodney’s eyebrows raised. “Surely you don’t believe that’s possible.”
The man was really getting annoying. “I have to believe it. Otherwise, I’m out of a job.”
“Quite a conundrum.” Rodney sat down across from me behind the massive desk. “Ms. Rand—“
“Jasmine, please,” I interrupted.
He ignored me. “Ms. Rand, to be perfectly honest, what happened today is hardly a surprise to me. I often wondered if my paper would have the opportunity to dish on one of Senator Grayle’s, shall we say, unique tastes. But he was far too good at keeping that part of his life under wraps from the press. I knew about it of course, but nobody at my paper was ever able to catch him in the act. Not that we haven’t tried, believe me.”
My eyes widened; that news surprised even me. From what I understood, the Beltway Times was only interested in making Democrats look bad. “I never knew the Times was interested in trashing die-hard Republicans like Senator Grayle,” I said.
“These days, the Beltway Times is interested in anything that will help sell papers,” Rodney replied. “It’s a very tough business now, much tougher than it used to be. And Senator Grayle’s private life was ripe for the picking. It was only a matter of time before he made a mistake like this.” Rodney leaned back in his chair and thoughtfully examined his fingernails. “At some point, I suppose even a connoisseur like Grayle can get bored with the kinkiest, most expensive sex-for-hire Washington has to offer. The only reason I can think of why he’d take such a risk is for the thrill of it.”
“What do you mean?”
Rodney rolled his eyes, as if I should have known what he meant already. “Maybe this is news to you, Ms. Rand, but your boss Senator Grayle is a total sex fiend. Into all sorts of kinky things, from what I understand. Though cheap male hustlers in Rock Creek Park is slumming it for him. He’s always preferred exclusive private sex clubs and the high-class bondage scene in the past.”
My eyes flew wide. I knew my boss was a sleazebag in the bedroom department, sure. But I’d never have pegged him for sex clubs and bondage. I always thought Grayle kept his tastes confined to the three elegant mistresses he had shacked up in fancy condos over in Georgetown. “How do you know all of this?”
Rodney swallowed his drink in one gulp and smirked. “I make it my business to know everything that happens in this town. Plus, Grayle and I run in some of the same, shall we say, circles.”
I should have been disgusted by that, but instead I felt more blood flowing to my nether parts. “I see.”
“I suppose you’re wondering what it would take for me to help you,” Rodney said. “I don’t generally do anything for anyone unless there’s something in it for me.”
I chuckle. “Right. That makes you just like everyone else in Washington.”
“Not quite. The favors I expect in return for my help are a bit different from the usual wheeling and dealing you see over on Capitol Hill.” Rodney raised his thick eyebrows and lowered his eyelids seductively. “Do you get my meaning?”
My crotch was getting hot. But I wasn’t about to let him know that. Not yet. “I’m afraid I don’t.”
Rodney checked his watch, looking bored. “I really must be going. I’m due to make an appearance on MSNBC in twenty minutes.” He got up to leave.
“But—“ I stammered. “You haven’t even given me a chance!”
“On the contrary,” he replied. “I gave you five minutes of my time. That’s more than ninety-nine percent of the PR staffers in town get.”
My back was up against the wall. I knew I needed to act fast and hard, or me and my career were done for. “I’d be willing to discuss favors with you. Privately. Any kind of favors you want.”
Rodney stopped short. “Is that so?”
“That’s so.”
“All right then. Meet me tonight at CityZen at the Mandarin Oriental. I’ll make reservations for eight, my treat.” He paused, looked at my outfit with displeasure. “And dress appropriately.”
“I always dress appropriately, I’ll have you know.”
“Not today, you don’t. That suit went out of style three years ago, and it was cheap to begin with. And it looks like you slept in it.”
“I beg your pardon—“
He raised his hand to silence me. “I could go on and on, but I won’t, because I’m a gentleman.”
“Hardly.” I’d had more than enough of this. I stood up to leave.
“Don’t go just yet.” Rodney crossed to me, his expression softening a bit. “Please don’t take what I just said the wrong way. I’m afraid I’m not known for my tact.”
“That’s obvious, too.”
To my surprise, Rodney placed a strong hand on my shoulder, and squeezed. I felt the squeeze send heated tingling throughout my body, all the way down to my toes. “You’re a very attractive woman, Jasmine,” he said, using my given name for the first time. “Just a little rough aro
und the edges. And truth be told, I like my women a little rough, if you know what I mean.”
My cheeks flushed. I was in way over my head. “I really should be getting back to Senator Grayle’s office. Thanks for the dinner invitation, but I think I’ll pass.”
“Wait.” Rodney took my hand, white-hot electricity on my skin. “I don’t mean to offend you, Jasmine. I really don’t. I just find you incredibly attractive, is all. Sometimes I get a bit rude and crude around women who turn me on. It’s a personal vice of mine.”
Oh. My. God.
I turned this man on?
Me, a mousy, frizzy-haired, slightly overweight, thirty-four-year-old celibate who hadn’t gotten laid in two years, unless you counted an occasional (very occasional) romp with my middle finger in bathroom stalls? Was he pulling my leg? “Pardon me, but is that a joke?”
“No joke. I’d really like to take you up on your offer and spend some time with you, Jasmine. Private time. And then, maybe we can see what I can do to help out Senator Grayle. Believe it or not, even I can be convinced to change my mind about certain things, from time to time.” He gave me a wink. “Not that it would be a tit-for-tat exchange or anything.”
I chuckled again. “Of course not.”
“I’ll see you at eight then. And wear something nice. I’m partial to red. Red and strapless.” He gestured to the door. “My assistant Marie will see you out.”
Red. I didn’t own anything red, let alone strapless. A shopping trip was definitely in order.
I turned on my heel and left, crotch buzzing.
Chapter 3
I made it downstairs to the lobby and headed out into the brisk afternoon air. I pulled out my cell phone and dialed Rebecca at the office.
Knights and Kink Romance Boxed Set Page 2
