President Stepbrother...With Benefits: A Bad Boy Alpha Male Stepbrother Romance

by Victoria Cabot

  I always loved the Map Room whenever I come to The White House. The Press Secretary runs down the hallway. When he sees me he nods to me in a pained greeting.

  "Where's the President?" I ask.

  "He's running late," the Press Secretary answers and I know that he's fucking lying. He has no clue where the President is.

  Whatever, I'm going to the Map Room.

  Not everyone, but a lot of people follow me. There is sheer pandemonium now with so many people in the building, but whatever. The more eyes, the better.

  I walk down the hallway and open the door to the Map Room.

  The room is dark. That's strange. Usually the lights stay on.

  I turn on the light.

  Well, fuck me. Let me repeat that differently. What. The. Fuck.

  Right there in front of me is a sight I will never forget. And neither will the fucking world. Mainly because at least two dozen people who followed me are recording it with their cell phone cameras.

  The President of the United States. The Commander-in-Chief. He's on his knees. Blowing his VP. As in, the older dude has his pants and boxers down and his dick in the President's mouth. And the President is sucking.

  Fuck.

  "Hey guys," I say to them with a smirk. "When you get done, I need to talk to you about HR-222."

  2

  Ashley

  "Listen babe, I just don't think we're a good fit," Jake is telling me over the speakerphone in my office. "I think we're looking for two different things."

  I'm sitting there a bit shocked. Jake Trappey, lawyer for the Nuclear Proliferation Society, was never the man I thought I was going to marry. But he really wasn't the man I thought that would dump me after going out with me for six months.

  "Are you breaking up with me over the phone, Jake?" I ask. "Seriously? You can't do it in person?"

  There's a deep sigh on the other end of the line. "It's just that the not having any sex is killing me, Ashley," he says after a pause. "I need to fuck. I'm a man."

  It's not like we haven't had any sex while we've been dating.

  Okay, that's a lie. I'm a virgin. But we've done other stuff before!

  I've gone down on him a few times. And trust me when I tell you that there's nothing really inspiring that he has down there that I've felt an urge to stick inside of me.

  I remain quiet.

  "Are you there?" he asks over the phone.

  I’m typing away at my keyboard with him on speaker. It's bad enough that he's going to break up with me over the phone, but I'll be damned if he causes me to miss my deadline as well.

  "I'm here," I say. "Just finishing up some stuff."

  "See, that's the problem," he says right back to me. "You're always busy finishing something else up. It's like you never gave us a chance to even get started."

  I pause my typing and look at the phone. What is he saying?

  "I mean, do you want to get together later? Maybe if we have sex, then we wouldn't need to separate?" he asks.

  Is he for real?

  I pick up the headset to my phone and ask, incredulously, "Are you seriously telling me if I give you sexual favors you'll reinstate my girlfriend access?"

  Whoa. Where did I learn to phrase it like that? I've been working in DC too long.

  "Yes?" Jake asks.

  "Goodbye, Jake," I say with formality, transferring him back to speakerphone. "Have a nice life. Not interested."

  I work at the American Cancer and Poverty Elimination Institute. It's a public-advocacy lobbying firm in Washington DC, just off of K Street. I've been here all three years after college, and my hard work and determination got me from an unpaid internship to a project manager in that time. So what if I let work dictate the way I sound? I was on a career path forward. And no man was going to stop me or get in the way.

  As if to make that statement a reality, my direct manager, Carl, decided he needs to walk in at that moment. He knocks once and opens the door, holding a series of files.

  I realize only belatedly that Jake is still on the line and on speakerphone as he gives me his fond farewell, "I hope you die alone, you ice-cold, frozen bitch!"

  Jake hangs up and the sound of the dial tone fills the air. I blush and turn off the speakerphone and look at Carl, who has his eyebrows raised. "I mean, was he upset I walked in?" Carl asks with a friendly smirk.

  Carl is the first guy who ever hired me and I've moved up the ranks with him. He's fifty, balding, has a belly full of Oreos, and I love him like a surrogate father. My real father died in a car accident when I was three and I have a stepfather in New York City, but Carl for the last few years has been a mentor in this business to me. At various points in my life, he’s been a friend, a confidante, a boss, a mentor, and a shoulder to cry on. Never a lover. But I never needed one.

  It used to be me and Mom for as long as I could remember, and when she got married, I was so happy that she found someone finally who could bring her beautiful smile back. But she never forgot me. I grew up well-adjusted and normal. My stepbrother? Not so much.

  I smile back at Carl, glad that he's found it in his heart to be merciful to me in what could be an awkward conversation. "We were just having phone sex, Carl," I say to him with a smile, handing him the report that I have been drafting up all day. "You caught him right when he was about to cum."

  "Well then, who am I to stand in the way of you getting some action, dear."

  I roll my eyes. "Please, Carl," I say looking at the clock. It's 6 pm. "I'll be here another three hours today. Grab take-out Chinese and fall asleep on my sofa and be back by 6 am tomorrow. I'm not having any sex anytime soon."

  "Well, then you'll be able to focus on this," he says, putting the files down on my desk. I look up at him quizzically. "We need you to find a way to spring a man from jail."

  I smile and start reading the file as Carl continues. "His name is Oliver Trask. And we have a wealthy donor who will fund the entire anti-poverty initiative program we have if we can find a way to secure a pardon. I can't describe how big this is, Ashley. It's pretty much the largest project that we have and it hinges on this man."

  "I don't know if we should be getting into the business of securing pardons for money," I say skeptically.

  "Don't worry about it. It's all in the file."

  I read through. Carl is right. Oliver Trask was a prominent tobacco researcher for the government. He was one of the first to discover that tobacco actually killed people. But this was back in the day of Big Tobacco and the money flying around DC was convincing people that tobacco was nothing more than a wonder drug. Oliver was trying to publish his papers but the Tobacco Lobby effectively shut him up, killing his government funding through the filibusters of some very powerful senators. So, Oliver went on a different path. He abducted one of the tobacco lawyers one evening and put 100 nicotine patches on the man's body.

  I gasp as I keep reading. Apparently you can have an overdose reaction on nicotine, which is exactly what happened to the tobacco lobbyist. He didn't die, but Oliver got caught and indicted and sentenced after a years-long trial. Three years ago, he started his sentence of ten years in jail for aggravated assault with intent to kill. All during the trial, his only defense was that if tobacco and nicotine were safe, why was he getting in trouble? It was enough to get the public and government thinking and the next year, the Attorney Generals of 30 states put together their landmark lawsuit against Big Tobacco. But it was too late for Oliver.

  "Our backer thinks that three years in jail is too much for this guy and he needs a Presidential pardon," Carl said, sitting down on my chair and getting ready to strategize. "Says he needs to get him out. That Oliver Trask paid his debts to society."

  I nod and start taking some notes as Carl continues. "The backer also thinks that if we can't spring him from the big house, he's going to have no choice but to pull our funding. Says that if we can't exercise our muscle, we're not going to make a difference with his cash anyways."

 
Oh man. So, it’s one of those demanding backers that plays hardball politics with their friends. Okay. I can deal with that. Carl looks at me. "That's why we're giving it to our best and brightest employee."

  I roll my eyes at his idle praise. These are pretty high stakes. I wonder what contacts and favors I'm going to have to pull in to get this one done.

  It's at that moment that Jean, our secretary, runs into my office. She looks at Carl as if we weren't even there. She's shrieking and looks hysterical.

  "Turn on the TV!" she yells. "Turn on the TV!"

  Spurred by her hysteria, I turn on the television to see what could have happened. Another terrorist attack?

  I flip to CNN.

  The image is grainy at first but I hear the commentators and then only realize what I'm seeing.

  It's the President of the United States. On his knees. With this mouth wrapped around...no?

  Is that the Vice President? With his hands on his hips?

  The coverage keeps rolling to a video now. Showing the President definitely bobbing his head up and down onto the crotch of the old Vice President.

  Ew! Gross!

  I grimace as I try to get the mental picture of the Vice President - nicknamed the ‘Shadow of the Dark One’ by some of the liberal watchdog groups – getting a blowjob. This is surreal.

  The video shifts and the dynamic Presidential duo realize that people have walked into the room that they're in and all of a sudden they both look towards the cameras. With their junk hanging out. Or at least the VP's junk hanging out. The President is on his knees after all, and still wearing pants.

  "Wh-what's going?" The President asks, but his face goes white as a sheet as he realizes that there are people in the room now. People with recording devices...

  "Hey guys," a voice is saying. “When you get done, I need to talk to you about HR-222.”

  A sense of dread begins to creep through me. “But I can see that you’re busy,” the voice says again.

  It can't be him? Can it?

  "Maybe we should give you guys some privacy, and you can come to me, after you're finished," the voice concludes.

  The man turns around and the voice has a face now and it's staring into the cameras with a shocked expression. But there's a hint of a smirk too.

  God, I hate that smirk!

  The smirk that makes literally every woman in America swoon. The smirk that graces the covers of Sports Illustrated as it does an article on his workout routine with pictures of his bulging muscles and ripped physique that a Greek god seemed to have bestowed upon him. The smirk that the media has said belongs to someone they’ve named Congressman Casanova. More like Congressman Jerk or Congressman Asshole.

  The smirk that belongs to Austin Bain - my stepbrother.

  The commentator starts speaking as the camera footage plays on endless loop. "Again, ladies and gentlemen, this is breaking news. The United States entering into a massive sex scandal never before imagined by anyone in the world. The President of the United States caught in a compromising position with his direct successor. And discovered by the number three man in the government, the Speaker of the House."

  A second commentator chimes in. "That's right John. Speaker Bain is directly in line to assume the office of the Presidency should anything ever happen to either the President or Vice President..."

  The first commentator can't help but point out the obvious. "This is far worse than any other sex scandal any President has ever faced."

  The second one, apparently has nothing to say of value because he adds, "That's right. Enough to warrant impeachment or resignation for both men. That would make the Speaker of the House the next President of the United States."

  At first the words roll right off me. But then realization begins to dawn. My stepbrother? The Austin Bain? The one who uses and loses girls faster than girls go through Ben & Jerry's after a breakup? The one with the 'One and Done' policy? President of the United States?

  It's all so ridiculous that I manage to laugh out loud. I look around me. No one else is laughing. They're all somber. All sorrowful. At the state of the nation and embarrassed for the highest office in the land.

  Except for Carl. He looks at me with a twinkle in his eye.

  "Looks like getting that Presidential pardon might be easier than you thought, kiddo.”

  3

  Austin

  A part of me can't help but feel sorry for the President and his Veep. I mean, sure, I had never really liked them. But as of now, the entire nation might have kind of walked in on them having a private, intimate moment. That's really gotta fucking suck.

  I'm outside the Oval Office of The White House. Secret Service asked me to come with them. Most of the crowd that followed me has either left or been dispersed, but not without some major crowd control on part of the Secret Service and DCPD. I don't know why they've asked me to stay on. It's not like I've done anything wrong.

  But then again, remember, I'm the cocky fucking asshole who blew this situation wide open – no pun intended. I think I know what's coming. I look towards Nadia. She's as cool and collected as ever. She looks over to me and smiles. Is this a good time to mention to her that I'm still a bit tipsy from the four scotch on rocks that I had at the Capitol Grille? Nah, better fucking save that for later.

  The door to the Oval Office opens and the Chief of Staff, Ralph, waves me inside. Nadia follows me as I walk in. The President is sitting at his desk and the Vice President is next to him. The Chief Justice of the Supreme Court is standing in the Oval Office.

  The President looks at me and contempt drips from his mouth, "Well, Austin, looks like you caught us. Looks like you get the big chair. That's got to be the most expensive blowjob I've ever given in my life."

  It's like I get hit in the head by a ton of bricks. What the fuck did he just say? "Excuse me?" I manage to croak out.

  "I've just delivered my letter of resignation to the Chief Justice here," the President says to me. "The Vice President had me beat. Wrote his out before he even zipped his pants."

  This is too surreal. This morning I woke up Austin Bain - Congressman Big-Cock and Speaker of the fucking House. But I stay cool.

  "So, both of you are resigning?" I ask.

  Great. That's what they just told me. Way to stay cool. My mind is trying to process what that means.

  Basically that I'm the next President of the United States.

  Holy fucking shit.

  The President just rolls his eyes at me as he continues. "Although I didn't sign that damn House Resolution that you shepherded through, and you're not 35. So I don't know what's going to happen. But hey, it's not my problem anymore."

  And with that, the President, or ex-President gets up from his chair and begins to walk to the door of the Oval Office. "I'm giving a press conference in an hour where I'm going to announce my resignation," he says. "You're free to do whatever you want once you get sworn in."

  I want to say something at least. The man just gave up the most important job in the world. "I'm sorry, sir," I say. A rare moment of contrition.

  The ex-President and his Number Two stop at the door as he turns back. "Why, Austin?" he asks. I remain silent. "The only thing this affects are my speaking fees. Companies will pay a whole hell of a lot more for me now. The wives already knew and were already out of this marriage long ago."

  With that, he turns to leave, and walks out. I need a fucking scotch.

  President of the United States. I can't fucking believe it. I look over to Nadia. She's unfazed, on the phone writing out an email. Jesus Christ could come down from the heavens with a UFO and she would just probably yawn.

  Holy fucking fuck. Fuck.

  The Chief Justice comes up to me, holding a Bible in his hand. I look to him and realize he has to give me my oath of fucking office.

  Fuck. This shit is deep.

  "Congressman Bain, if you wouldn't mind?" the Chief Justice asks me. I nod absently and walk over. A White House photographer
comes into the room. The Chief Justice holds out a Bible and I place my right hand on it and hold up my left hand.

  "Sir, please repeat after me," the Chief Justice begins. Then he starts the oath, "I, Austin Bain, do solemnly swear...."

  I close my eyes once and think about what I'm about to do as he drones on. I’ve known these words since grade school. But I'm about to become the fucking President. It's like a delayed reaction is going on through my head. Then I open them again and look at the Chief Justice and repeat his words, "I, Austin Bain, do solemnly swear that I will faithfully execute the Office of President of the United States, and will to the best of my ability, preserve, protect and defend the Constitution of the United States. So help me God."

  And it's done. The White House photographer takes a few pictures as I stand there like an idiot.

  Nadia comes up to me. "You okay?" she asks.

  I nod. She hands me over a phone. "Your stepmom's been trying to reach you."

  Christ. That's right. I have a plane to catch. It's my Dad's birthday in a few hours. I take the phone from Nadia and put it to my ears.

  "Austin, dear, can you please make sure that you make an effort to get along with Ashley when you're over for your father's birthday?" she asks me over the phone.

  I freeze. I haven't thought about Ashley since this whole mess started. I remember thinking that maybe she was in the crowd, but that was just an idle thought. I wonder if she's been watching what happened on television. Actually, I wonder if my stepmother even knows. "It's just that you haven't seen Ashley even briefly. Ever since I married your father, the two of you are rarely in the same city or social circle at the same time. I just want to make sure that you two are civil to each other - since you never really got the chance to grow up together."

  "I'll try," I say, gritting me teeth. The only thing about Ashley that I know is that she wore glasses and was all limbs back when I left for college and Dad got married. She was still only 15 years old. "I don't remember her much, and it's not like we've spent much time as a family ever," I say.