Indecent Proposal (Boys of Bishop)

by Molly O'Keefe

  This was about the power of choice.

  And she could choose, right now, to stop him.

  Or she could let him in.

  He could stop waiting for them to be equals because in this, they were. They always had been.

  Her skin was warm under his touch and he slid his palm up higher on her leg, until he felt the silk lining of her skirt on the top of his hand, the trembling muscles of her leg under his palm.

  A flush climbed out from the demure edge of her suit jacket and he watched it cross the boundaries of her collarbones, up the pale, beautiful length of her neck into her face. Her panting breaths gave away her secrets; so did her dilated eyes. Her hands at her sides, opening and closing as if they couldn’t make up their mind.

  “If you want me to stop, I will,” he breathed.

  “What are you going to do?”

  “Put my fingers inside of you. Make you come.”

  The sound she made was part laugh, part sex sound. The sound she made when he pushed inside of her.

  The blood in his veins nearly boiled.

  “Do you want that?” he asked.

  She nodded and he laughed, pressing the smallest, most tender kiss to the corner of her lips.

  “Say it,” he breathed into her mouth.

  “I want that.”

  Another kiss, and when she turned her mouth to kiss him back, to send them furious and rabid into each other’s clothes, he pulled away. “Say the whole thing.”

  She grabbed his head in her hands, holding him so she could stare right into the center of his brain, his soul. Whatever he expected from Ryan, he always somehow got more. Something more hot. More fierce. As if his imaginings were somehow clichéd, watered-down boy fantasies, and she came at him a whole woman.

  “I want you to put your fingers inside me and make me come, and then I want you to lick your hand clean.”

  Good Christ. Done. He was done. She’d just finished him.

  There was no careful seduction, no balancing of the scales, no waiting to see if what he wanted was okay with her. Instead she spread her legs, tipped her hips, and he breached the damp silk of her underwear, finding beneath it a hot welcome.

  She hissed as his finger slid inside of her and jerked when his thumb, searching through her curls and those tender folds of skin, found the bead of her clitoris.

  Her fingers clenched the fabric of his suit jacket and he wanted to rip it off his body so he could feel the bite of her nails against his skin again. But his hands were full and she did not seem at all invested in taking off clothes. His or hers.

  The hand at her back slipped farther down between her body and the seat, grabbing her ass so he could hold her still, for his driving fingers.

  She cried out and he pressed his mouth to hers. Not a kiss. But a way to silence her.

  “Shhh,” he breathed against her.

  Her sighing response tipped up at the end into a cry and he kissed her for real, his tongue in her mouth. She bit at him, sucked at him, and then pulled him all the way against her until he fell to his knees in the foot well beside her.

  It was mad and wild and totally silent. Fucking her with his fingers, devouring her with his mouth. She coiled and jerked, hips beating against his chest. Her hands in his hair now, pulling until his eyes watered and it didn’t matter. None of it mattered because she was coming.

  He felt it with his fingers—the squeeze and clench and flutter of muscles, the liquid coating his fingers, the way her breath hiccupped into a sob.

  “Ryan,” he whispered. Not a question, not a demand, just her name, formed in his brain, birthed through his mouth. Ryan.

  “Finish it,” she whispered, and he leaned back to catch her eyes, twinkling and sexy and destructive in all ways.

  God. She was so beautiful. So sexy.

  Not looking away from those eyes, still on his knees before her, he took his hand from between her legs and put his fingers in his mouth.

  Her body twitched. His cock pounded.

  She lurched up from where she’d fallen back half against the window and he scrambled up to the seat beside her, both their hands fumbling at his zipper like he was a bomb about to go off. Finally, she had him out of his pants, her fist curled around him, and then she bent, slipping her lips around him. The hot, wet suction of her mouth nearly did him in immediately but he closed his eyes and tipped his head against the back of the seat, determined after all these weeks thinking about her touch that he would not explode at the first touch of her tongue.

  She moaned low in her throat, the vibrations rattling through his skin, through his muscles and bone, to echo in his own throat.

  She twisted her grip and then dropped her hand and took him deep in her mouth, until he felt the head of his cock brush the back of her throat and then, somehow, impossibly, like a dream from when he was a teenager, even deeper.

  “Oh, God, Ryan,” he breathed.

  He stood no chance against that, and he slipped his hand around the back of her neck until it felt like he controlled her in his grip, like he moved her.

  And she surrendered to it.

  Oh, God.

  He eased her back and then because he was so turned on and she was so willing, he pressed her back down again. Just a little. Just enough. And then again. And again.

  Her hands came up and clawed at his jacket, gripping it in her fists.

  His orgasm destroyed him. Shook him from the ground up, and he was helpless in its grip. In her grip. Her soft mouth still around him as she swallowed. He put his hands in his own hair so he wouldn’t accidentally pull hers. Wouldn’t accidentally hurt her.

  Even wrecked by that orgasm, he was still pushed to the edges of his control by what he felt for her.

  Again, he thought when he could think again. I want that again. Over and over until all the bullshit between us is gone. Until all that’s left is how we make each other feel.

  There was a subtle knock on the glass between the front and back seats, and he swore.

  She groaned, covering her face with her hands.

  “We’re here, sir,” came the muffled voice of Dan, his driver. “Back at the loft.”

  “Do you think we could tell him to go around the block a few times?” he whispered.

  “There are beds inside that loft,” she said, and he rolled his head to face her.

  “All my staff and my family are also in there.”

  “What?” She jerked backward.

  “Sorry, it was Wallace’s idea. A kind of State of the Union Party and Debrief. I forgot to mention it.”

  “Yeah, you did,” she muttered. But they’d been so busy, racing from event to event. And frankly, despite his fantasizing about this, he’d never thought they would get to this point. Half naked and replete in the back of the limo.

  But they could not hold onto the heat between them, and the chill settled around them as he and Ryan adjusted their clothes.

  “Who are we when we go inside there?” she asked, staring up at the building.

  “I don’t know.”

  “You think this is arbitrary, don’t you?” she asked. “The way I’m trying to keep our public and private lives separate. You think I’m being difficult?”

  He shook his head. “I don’t know why you’re doing it, but I know it’s not just to be difficult.”

  “Because I need to have something to call my own,” she told him, her face stark in the sunlight. Her lipstick gone, her eyeliner smudged. “Something that doesn’t get used by you.”

  “Used? Is that what you think I’m doing?” God. Say no. Please tell me no.

  “I think you would drag me under,” she said. Her eyes—those eyes cut right through every lie he wanted to believe about them. “And never even know you were doing it.”

  Ryan used to have this dress that she loved. It was her mother’s old prom dress, and she’d let Nora and Ryan play endless hours of dress-up in it. It was a gauzy thing covered in sequins, more classy and elegant than the jeans an
d flannel shirts and tennis shoes they saw Mom in every day.

  In the end, before she and Nora outgrew dress-up and each other, from a distance the dress looked awesome, but close up it was obvious every single one of those sequins was in danger of falling off. Threads were pulled everywhere.

  Walking into the condo full of staff and Harrison’s parents, she felt like that dress.

  What had been the point of that? she wondered. Of Harrison initiating it and Ryan letting it happen.

  Right, she thought, stopping herself from shrugging off the responsibility, like you just let that blow job happen. You just let him fuck your mouth like some kind of porn star. Like you didn’t love it.

  But she did. She’d loved all of it.

  And she could have stopped him, he gave her ample opportunity to, but in the end, like the horny poor-decision maker she was, she’d jumped right in.

  And if no one were in this condo right now, she would let it happen again. Maybe on the kitchen island. And again, upstairs in his bedroom, and then maybe again in the old claw-foot tub in the bathroom.

  What am I doing? she wondered, trying to get as much distance between herself and the temptation of her husband as possible.

  Wallace gave everyone the great news that Harrison had pulled ahead in the polls. He also let them know that the fundraiser had been a success and they could keep the scheduled television spots in the next two weeks.

  “But now is not the time to relax,” Wallace said, rallying the troops, who looked about as exhausted as she felt. Only Harrison seemed to glow. And glow harder after every event.

  He really was made for this, she thought.

  Or maybe it was just the blue balls making him glow like that.

  “Let’s stay on point, let’s keep our message out there. Let’s not get sloppy,” Wallace said. Everyone cheered and good-naturedly called him coach, and then they all dug into the muffins and fruit that Harrison had had delivered.

  The only problem was Ted Montgomery. Like a vulture sensing eminent death, he’d been circling Harrison’s victory.

  “Why are they here?” Ryan asked Wallace, after his speech.

  “I invited them.” Wallace poured himself a coffee and grinned at her over the edge of the cup.

  “What? Why?”

  Wallace shrugged.

  “You’re flaunting our success, aren’t you?”

  “Rubbing it in their faces,” Wallace agreed without a shred of shame, before leaving her to talk to staff.

  Harrison seemed to be making sure there was at least the distance of the room between him and his father, and most of the staff were doing the same, watching the Montgomerys like they were a cancer that might spread.

  Noelle and Patty were talking in the kitchen area. Noelle’s eyes darted toward Ryan over the top of Patty’s helmet hair and then guiltily away.

  Paul.

  In the whirlwind of the campaign, in the war of attrition between her and Harrison, she’d completely forgotten about Paul.

  And the Paul bomb could detonate and destroy this team. All this work.

  Ryan kept her eyes on Patty and Noelle and when Patty left the kitchen, and when it wouldn’t look too obvious, Ryan swept in and cornered Noelle near the muffin tray. Taking a second to take stock of what was left: about twenty bran muffins and only one banana. And the banana ones were the best.

  How many muffins were too many? she wondered. Three? Because she’d had three and a half already.

  Nausea no longer ruled her life. She woke up at eleven weeks pregnant and the nausea was replaced by a bottomless pit of hunger and food cravings that made no sense. She wanted to take that banana muffin and salt it before shoving it in her mouth. She wanted to roll that muffin in hot sauce.

  “Hi, Ryan,” Noelle said, cool and unreadable.

  “Noelle,” she said.

  “You want to eat some food off my plate?” she asked.

  “Very funny.”

  “How about that one?” She pointed to a paper plate on the edge of the sink with a whole strawberry on it. Who took a strawberry and didn’t eat it?

  “I’m fine. I wanted to ask you if you knew anything more about what we’d talked about at the luncheon.”

  Noelle stiffened. Her eyes darted around the room and when she saw Patty over near the windows talking to Jill, she relaxed.

  “No,” she answered. “Nothing.”

  “You would tell me, right?” Ryan asked.

  Noelle nodded, rolling her eyes behind her glasses.

  “Okay,” Ryan said, wondering why every exchange with this woman seemed so difficult. She reached for that last banana muffin, but Noelle grabbed her arm.

  “I … I need a favor,” Noelle said.

  “From me?”

  “Of course you.”

  “Secrets and now favors? Next are you going to invite me to a slumber party?”

  Noelle just blinked at her. Unamused.

  “What do you need?”

  “Wallace. Is he dating anyone?”

  “Is that … are you joking?”

  Noelle blushed bright red and turned away. “Forget it.”

  “No, no, stop.” She put a hand on Noelle’s arm to keep her from walking away. “I’m sorry—you just surprised me is all.”

  “It’s stupid,” Noelle breathed, shaking her head.

  “Do you like him, or are you asking for, like … political reasons?”

  “Look at him,” Noelle muttered, staring at Wallace balefully through her eyelashes.

  Ryan turned to watch the guy, wearing a bow tie, as he talked to Jill and Harrison.

  “He is handsome.”

  “Handsome,” Noelle said, like the idea was an insult. “The guy is brilliant.”

  “Oh, well, that too.” Aren’t I a shallow creature?

  “And what he’s doing … I just … I admire him is all.” Oh, I know that feeling. That poison-tipped edge of admiration.

  “You should tell him that.”

  Noelle scoffed. “In case you haven’t noticed, I’m the enemy.”

  “I wouldn’t go that far.”

  “Look over there.” She jerked her head back to where Harrison’s parents were standing alone next to the windows.

  “Like I said. You are not your boss. Or your boss’s husband.”

  “I just feel like …” Noelle watched Wallace from the corner of her eyes, like a pining puppy dog in glasses. “Forget it.”

  “Like ‘what have I got to offer that guy’?”

  “That’s exactly how I feel.”

  “Don’t sell yourself short, Noelle. You’ve got plenty to offer.”

  Noelle laughed and set her paper plate down. “You don’t know me, you know. You’re hardly an authority.”

  “True. But I want you to have something to offer. Just like I wanted to have something to offer to this campaign. And maybe … maybe that’s the first step.”

  Noelle narrowed her eyes, the professional cynic. “Yeah, maybe. Thanks. You know, everyone is totally impressed by how well you’re doing. You are kind of killing it.”

  “Damn right,” Ryan muttered with a smile, though she was secretly pleased that people thought she was killing it. She rather thought she was too.

  “I’m not sure if you’ve considered it, but …” Noelle rearranged the things left on her plate—the strawberry stem, the melon rind, the half-eaten donut. “You’re going to need some help in Washington, like an assistant.”

  “I hadn’t even thought of that. It’s already kind of getting difficult keeping things straight, and Wallace is organizing both Harrison and me and I know he’s stressed.” Man, me with an assistant. Dad would totally get a kick out of that. “Do you know someone?”

  Noelle’s mouth fell open. “Yeah. Me.”

  “You’re asking me for a job?”

  “Maybe. Yes.”

  “I thought you wanted to be a part of something.”

  “With you and Harrison, I would be.”

  “O
h.” The sound just slipped out of her because she did not know what to do with this feeling in her chest, this unbearable lightness. The sudden and strange pride in herself.

  “Let’s talk after the election,” Ryan said. “In the meantime, go talk to Wallace. Tell him you like his ties. Men go nuts for women who compliment them, even when they’re lying.” Ryan gave Noelle a nudge, largely so she could be alone with the muffin tray. Noelle balked like a teenager crossing a dance floor to talk to a boy she liked, but in the end she did it. She walked across the room and joined whatever conversation Wallace was having. And Wallace, once he saw her there at his elbow, opened up his circle and included her and within moments they were arguing.

  Which she imagined was like foreplay for these awkward brainiacs.

  “You ready to be a congressman’s wife?” a voice asked at her elbow, and she turned to find Ted Montgomery, holding a glass of orange juice he’d been doctoring with a flask of vodka in his jacket pocket, smiling at her.

  It was difficult not to physically recoil.

  It was strange to have such a strong visceral reaction to him because he looked like a time-machined version of the man who’d finger-fucked her to orgasm in the backseat of a car.

  “Is it much different than what I’m doing now?” she asked.

  “Well, I suppose that depends on what kind of woman you are?” There was something in his voice, just an inflection on the word woman that made the question … not okay. Very not okay.

  “How do you mean?” She crossed her arms over her chest, wishing she had something more physical between them. A brick wall. A thousand miles. Harrison.

  “Well, are you going to play the game that’s required of you? Can you shovel shit while dishing it out?”

  “That’s not part of the job as I see it. Harrison—”

  He laughed at her like she was a little girl showing him a piece of art and she felt her North Philly instincts rising up. She imagined grabbing that plastic tray of muffins and bashing it over his head.

  “My son is a lot of things, Ryan. But he is not cut out for politics. He’s too idealistic, too easily conned. You think you’re the first woman who has tricked him?”

  “What the hell are you talking about?”

  “Ask him about Heidi.” Ted stepped closer, his eyes taking a walk all over her as he leaned over to take the last banana muffin from the tray. “You picked the wrong Montgomery, sweetheart, if you wanted to fuck yourself into an easier life.”